Something Different/Pepper's Way (20 page)

Gypsy giggled helplessly. “Did you see your dad’s face when we carried it in? And when you told him very seriously that your watch had stopped?”

“He looked even more peculiar when we opened the other boxes,” Chase noted ruefully. “Such odd souvenirs for a honeymoon: an abstract wooden sculpture of a knight on horseback, a bogus nineteenth-century sword—complete with scabbard, a hideous little genie-type lamp covered with tarnish…. You’d do great on a scavenger hunt, sweetheart.”

“
You’re
the one who fell in love with the sword,” Gypsy pointed out calmly.

“A memento of our courtship,” Chase said soulfully

“Right. Just don’t try to dance while wearing it.”

“As long as you don’t try to conjure a genie from that lamp.”

“Why not?” she asked in mock disappointment.

“I shudder to think what’d pop out.”

Gypsy sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“And speaking of being right”—he patted her gently— “I’ve been meaning to tell you that the Swiss cooking did wonders in adding that extra ballast you needed.”

“Uh-huh.” Gypsy twisted slightly for a view of her blanket-covered posterior. “Too much ballast, if you ask me. Just look! I’m getting broad in the beam!”

He choked on a laugh. “Your beam looks great to me.”

“Flatterer.”

“The choice of words was yours.” He drew her a bit closer. “Besides, you still weigh no more than a midget. I’ll have to fatten you up some more before we go to work on Radinka or Shadwell.”

Gypsy started laughing. “You’re hung up on those names! I thought you just used them as a terrifying example of the names I’d come up with on my own.”

Sheepishly Chase murmured, “They kinda grow on you though.”

“No, Chase,” she told him firmly.

“I suppose not. Still—”

“No.”

“No?”

“Definitely no. I’d be a widow as soon as the kids realized what you’d done to them.”

He sighed. “My first opportunity to come up with some really creative names,” he mourned sadly.

“Exercise your creative powers by naming Angel’s kittens. Or you can name the Mercedes. Or we’ll get a dog—”

“We already have one,” Chase told her casually.

Gypsy lifted her head to stare down at him. “We do?”

“Uh-huh. Bucephalus.”

“But he belongs to the Robbinses—”

“Not anymore. Remember when we called before the wedding to explain about Amy being in sole charge of the house while we were gone?” When Gypsy nodded, he went on. “You had to leave the room because Rebecca wanted to talk to you about flowers or something. Anyway, I was talking to Tim. It seems he’s been offered a two-year position, which could turn out to be permanent, in London starting next year. Bucephalus would have to spend six months in quarantine, and he’d be miserable. So Tim offered to give him to us. I accepted—for both of us.”

Gypsy smiled. “That’s wonderful. Now we have a head start on our family.”

Chase began to nuzzle her throat. “Mmmm. Would you care to start working toward the rest of our family, Gypsy mine?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmured, feeling that delicious tremor stir to life inside her. Then she smiled, and said almost to herself, “Gypsy mine; you’ve called me that from the first. Were you that sure of me, darling?”

“Not sure. Hopeful.” Chase pulled her easily over on top of him and smiled up at her whimsically. “I’ve never been one to search for rainbows, but you were my dream.” He hesitated, then added very softly, “‘So if I dream I have you, I have you.’”

A thousand and one thoughts tumbled through Gypsy’s mind.

“What is it, love?” Chase asked gently. “You’re giving me a very peculiar look.”

Gypsy carefully searched her memory of events. She was almost sure— Yes, she
was
sure! Her “night lover” had called only twice when Chase was actually in the room, and on both
occasions, she’d hung up on him before he could say more than a few words. What if… what if she
hadn’t
been so quick to hang up? Would she have discovered that it had been a tape-recorded message? Held up to the phone by a helpful friend, perhaps?

“You’re staring at me, love. Somewhat fiercely, I might add.”

“Chase…”

“Yes, love?”

“You just quoted Donne.”

“Did I, love?” He was smiling slightly, the jade eyes veiled by sleepy lids. “The man obviously had a way with words.”

“Chase.”

“Hmmm?”

“It was you. It
was
you… wasn’t it?”

“What was me, love?”

Gypsy tried to ignore wandering hands. “The phone calls. It had to be you. Wasn’t it you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

“Chase, you
have
to tell me! I’ll go nuts, and—” A startled giggle suddenly escaped her.

Jade eyes gleamed up at her, filled with laughter. “Ah-ha! I finally found your ticklish spot. You’re at my mercy now, love.”

Gypsy choked back another giggle, trying to ward off his tickling hand. “Chase! Stop that! And tell me it was you, dammit! Darling, I have to
know!”

“What was that, love? Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Chase!” she wailed.

He smiled.

one

WANTED: MAN
Must be over six feet tall and weigh at least two hundred pounds. Must own large house on considerable acreage. Must like animals. Must have job with flexible hours. Preferably single. Call Pepper.

HE WOULDN’T HAVE GIVEN THE AD A
second glance if he’d found it in the personals column of some trashy magazine. It certainly sounded typical of that kind of publication. And yet… Thor looked at the ad for the fifth time in as many minutes. Well, he fit all the requirements. And he was dying to find out what kind of woman would place such an ad in a large daily newspaper.

He’d seen the ad every day this week, and had grown more and more curious. And since he knew very well that the newspaper in which the ad was running didn’t pander to lonely-hearts or practical jokers, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was all about. A publicity stunt or something. Had to be. But if it
wasn’t…
well, then, what was it?

He possessed two overwhelming sins, neither of which was appropriate in his profession: curiosity and a love of the
absurd. Sighing, he reached for the phone and dialed the number printed after the name Pepper.

“Hello?”

It was a sweet, childish voice, presently filled with suspicion. She sounded as though she might possibly be five years old… on her next birthday.

“Pepper?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes?” Definitely wary now.

“I’m calling about your ad,” Thor began.

“Oh, Lord—another one! Listen, I’m pulling that ad tomorrow, so forget it! I’ve been listening to obscene suggestions all week, and I’m fed up! So, whoever you are, get your kicks somewhere else!”

The voice, he reflected, was still sweet and childish, but this was definitely no little girl he was talking to. Curiosity grew. Mildly, he told her, “I didn’t call to make obscene suggestions.”

“You didn’t? Then what do you want?” she demanded.

“I thought it was a matter of what
you
wanted,” he murmured. “A man over six feet tall, two hundred pounds—and so on.”

“Do you fit?” she asked, still suspicious.

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Does that matter?”

She sighed, irritated. “I’ve had calls from four high school quarterbacks this week, and I didn’t like any of their questions.”

“High school is definitely behind me,” he responded, then asked in spite of himself, “What did they ask you?”

Clearly aggrieved, she said, “Well, one of them asked if I like leather. The other questions weren’t repeatable.”

Trying not to laugh, Thor said, “Your ad is a bit… suggestive.”

“It is? But I spent so much time on the wording just to get the proper effect!” she wailed softly.

“The effect you got was far from proper. What, by the way, is the ad all about? You’ll notice,” he added virtuously, “that I’m not leaping to conclusions.”

“I’ll bet you leaped to plenty before you picked up the phone,” she muttered, and then sighed again. “You see, it’s my dog.”

“Your dog?” Thor echoed.

“Uh-huh. My landlord found out. That is, he’d known that I
had
a dog, but he got all upset with me last week. Said something about not realizing that I fed it hay. Anyway, I can’t keep my dog in this apartment anymore.”

“I see.” The matter was, indeed, becoming plainer to Thor. “Which is why you advertised for a large man with a house in the country.”

“Right.” She sounded relieved. “I mean, a small man would feel intimidated by a Dobe, don’t you think?”

Thor, whose mind couldn’t instantly identify
Dobe
to conjure a picture, agreed wholeheartedly. “Certainly. I suppose you’ll want to know how large my house is?”

“You mean, you’re interested?”

“Of course.” Thor looked around at his large, spotless living room and heard his housekeeper banging pots in the kitchen. Ah, well. He could keep the dog outside; he needed a watchdog anyway. Pepper’s voice intrigued him; he would have offered to look at a Bengal tiger if she’d asked. “Are you selling the dog, or—”

“Oh, no!” She was shocked. “I wouldn’t do that!”

So she was just finding the dog a good home. Odd how some people felt better about giving away their pets rather than selling them. “I see. Well, Pepper—” He hesitated. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t tell me your last—”

“Oh, everybody calls me Pepper,” she assured him cheerfully “Who
are you,
by the way?”

Thor found himself smiling. “Thorton Spicer. My friends call me Thor.”

“I’ll bet you have red hair.”

Surprised, he confirmed her guess. “Yes, I do, but how did you know?”

“Vikings,” she said cryptically, then went on as if no explanation were necessary. “Do you have a large house?”

“Four bedrooms, two baths, living room, den, study—”

“That sounds perfect! Land?”

“Fifteen acres.” He was growing more and more amused. But he warned himself not to develop a mental picture of Pepper; whenever he did that, he was always disappointed. Of course, his mind was already busy drawing. Pepper, it decided arbitrarily, was about five feet tall with blond hair and big blue eyes. He told his mind not to be so damn sure. She was probably six feet tall with black hair and played hockey.

“Perfect!” The little breathless voice sounded delighted. “Oh, but, you’d better—”

“See the dog,” he finished dryly. “Yes, perhaps I’d better. I’m heading into town this afternoon; if you’ll tell me where you live, I’ll stop by.”

She gave him clear, precise directions to her apartment building, which rather surprised him; she had sounded a bit feather-headed. Then she finished with, “You can’t miss it”— which made him immediately distrust the directions. But he promised to drop by around three o’clock.

Before she could respond, there was a loud crash from her end, and she said hurriedly, “Oh, heavens! Brutus! What’re you—? Look what you’ve done! Um, I’ll see you at three.”

Thor found himself listening to a dial tone, and assumed in
amusement that the last sentence had been intended for him. He hung up the phone, chuckling quietly. Well, it would certainly be interesting meeting Pepper. And he
did
need a watchdog. Brutus? He scaled his mental image of a Dobe up a few inches. Obviously a large dog. And why did the name keep ringing warning bells in his mind?

“Your lunch is getting cold,” Mrs. Small told him dourly from the doorway of the room.

Mrs. Small wasn’t. By any stretch of the imagination. She was only a little over five feet tall, but made up for the lack in other areas. All other areas. And she was the exception to the rule that all plump people were jolly souls. In five years Thor had never seen her so much as smile. He’d even given in to the lesser side of himself and tried a few practical jokes, only to be told coldly that he was too old for such nonsense.

Thor looked at her now and decided not to tell her about the possible addition to his household. “I told you not to bother,” he said instead.

“No bother, as long as you eat it.”

He wondered vaguely if Mrs. Small would ever call him by his name. Either of his names. She never had. He was almost terrified of the woman. “I’m coming,” he said hastily, noting that her habitual frown was assuming thunderous proportions.

She deepened her glare, nodded briefly, and turned away.

Thor sighed and got to his feet. He headed for the dining room—Mrs. Small would
never
feed him in the kitchen!— wondering if Pepper would live up to his mind’s optimism.

At exactly three o’clock Thor was standing before the door marked 3-B and silently bracing himself to be disappointed. He looked down at his neat dark slacks, white shirt, and sport
jacket, and thought wryly that most people probably didn’t care how they dressed to meet a dog. But then… he was meeting a woman. At least he hoped she was a woman.

He made a mental note to write to the friend from his college days, who now ran a rather lucrative dating service. If Jim hadn’t tried inserting peculiar ads in newspapers, he was missing a good bet….