Trading Secrets (12 page)

He kept his voice calm and steady, refusing to let the boy detect any impatience. Matt didn’t know much about handling kids, but he knew something about commanding men. He figured there were probably some similarities in approach. If not, he and Brad were going to be in for some rough times this summer.

“Got any quarters?” Brad asked with exaggerated weariness.

“Why?”

“There’s an arcade a few doors down. I’ll go blow some time there while you try to make it with the broad.”

Matt took one step toward his son. “The lady is a friend of mine. You will treat her with respect,” he said very softly. “Is that understood?”

Brad stared at him resentfully. “I don’t see why you have to get so freaked about the whole thing.”

“I asked you if you understood,” Matt cut in coldly.

“I understand. See you in half an hour,” Brad muttered, and turned to stalk down the glass-domed aisle without waiting for the quarters.

Matt watched him go, not sure he liked the Texas accent his son seemed to have acquired in the past couple of years. Then he swung around to push open the shop door. TTT, read the sign overhead. Underneath, the words spelled out what the three capital T’s stood for: TACKY TEXAS TEMPTATIONS. It figured Sabrina would be up front about the kind of stuff she was selling, Matt thought wryly. She seemed determined to let the world know exactly where she stood. What worried him was wondering where he would stand with her.

The guy in the leather pants was busy at the counter, so Matt stood just inside the doorway and glanced around with a surprisingly strong sense of curiosity. He took in the rows of bumper stickers advocating various Texas oddities, the ashtrays, manuals on how to talk like a genuine Texan, and assorted trinkets. He was idly examining a teapot painted with a scene of the Alamo when Sabrina emerged from a back room.

She didn’t see him at first, her attention on a customer who was selecting a package of chili makings. The first thing Matt realized was that she was wearing the fake silver necklace. It seemed to be turning green in places.

The rest of her outfit consisted of a pair of designer jeans and a turquoise silk western shirt. The leather belt at her waist was heavily ornamented with turquoise and silver; real silver, unlike the necklace. Her hair was in the familiar loose knot on top of her head and her feet were shod in high-heeled sandals. She looked a little outrageous, a little eccentric, and totally wonderful.

Matt stood unnoticed in the center of the shop, aware of the sudden, urgent ache in his lower body, and hoped no one would notice any relationship between his anatomical features and that of the bull in the window. In that instant Sabrina turned her head and saw him.

The moment she realized he was standing in the middle of her shop the odd sense of restlessness and unresolved emotions that had been bothering Sabrina since she had returned from Mexico suddenly flickered into focus.

“Matt!”

His mouth twisted with faint, sardonic humor. “The green in that necklace doesn’t quite go with the color of your shirt.”

Automatically her fingers lifted to toy with the edge of the deteriorating piece of jewelry. Her eyes never left his face. “I keep it around as a reminder that I have a long way to go in this business. The guy who sold this to me could teach me a few things.”

“How about the guy who tried to keep you from buying it?”

“He tried to teach me a few things, too. Matt, what on earth are you doing here?”

“Priorities.”

“What priorities?”

“I came to Texas to pick up my son. I’ve got him for the summer and, from the looks of things, maybe a lot longer.”

Sabrina tilted her head to one side. “That’s a priority, all right. An unexpected change in your lifestyle?”

“Very. It’s a long story. Will you have dinner with me and the kid tonight?”

“How long will you be in town?”

“I don’t know. That’s something I have to think about. There are a lot of things I’m having to think about these days. Dinner, Sabrina?”

She looked at him and smiled. “Why not? We can celebrate another milestone in my life.”

His eyes narrowed warily. “The last time we did that I managed to turn the occasion into a disaster. What’s the event this time?”

She grinned. “I became an aunt today. Where are you staying, Matt?”

“A motel a few blocks from here.” He gave her the name.

“That’s not far from my apartment.”

“Give me the directions and I’ll pick you up later,” he said urgently.

Obediently she turned to walk across to the glass-topped counter. Picking up a pen and a piece of paper, she jotted down a small map and handed it to him. She was aware that Matt was surreptitiously studying Alex as she did so. Alex, on the other hand, was ignoring the newcomer, concentrating on serving two very handsome young men who had just wandered into the shop. Beside her she felt Matt studying the transaction taking place at the counter and then relax in some indiscernible way.

“Here you go,” she said brightly, handing him the slip of paper.

He took it and stood looking down at her for a silent moment as though he were trying to make up his mind about something.

“It’s good to see you again, Sabrina,” Matt finally said.

Sabrina sensed a hundred unspoken messages flowing between them, messages she wasn’t able to interpret. “Yes.” Another heartbeat of silence. And then she gave in to the overwhelming urge to touch him. “Yes,” she whispered again, and stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth lightly against his. “It’s good to see you again, too, Matt.”

He sucked in a fierce breath, hazel eyes gleaming, but he made no move to prolong the small kiss of greeting. His hand closed too tightly around the scrap of paper with her address on it, crumpling it. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty. I’ll have Brad with me.”

“Brad?”

“The kid.”

“Ah, yes. The priority that brought you to Texas.”

“But not the one that’s keeping me here in Dallas.” He looked down at the crushed paper in his palm and carefully smoothed it. “We’ll have to go someplace that serves hamburgers. It’s all Brad eats, apparently.”

“Then why don’t we eat at my place?” Sabrina heard herself suggest without stopping to think. “We can grill hamburgers outside on the barbecue. Tell Brad to bring a swimsuit. My apartment complex has a pool.”

Matt looked abruptly relieved. “Thanks. We’ll be there at six thirty.” He turned and walked out of the shop without another word. Sabrina stared thoughtfully after him.

Several hours later Sabrina picked up two large packages of potato chips, a great deal of hamburger, and an enormous quantity of buns. It had been a long time since Nolan and Jeffrey were thirteen, but she’d never forgotten the huge piles of food young teenage boys could pack away. Just as she’d never forgotten the piles of laundry that accumulated in a household filled with men. She’d been the younger sister but the only female around, and somehow she’d wound up doing most of the laundry. She still retained an innate hatred for hampers and all they represented.

It was when she climbed back into the Alfa Romeo that she finally acknowledged her palms were damp from something besides the late-afternoon heat and humidity. Sabrina sat for a moment, staring through the windshield, the sack of groceries on the seat beside her, and thought about unexpected changes in a person’s life. She got the feeling that Matt’s arrival in Texas to collect his son had not been scheduled very far in advance. Sabrina knew what it was like to have the world turned upside down. From what she knew of Matt, this wasn’t the first time it had happened to him. She wondered at the sharp tug of empathy and understanding that went through her.

But the surprising jolt of sympathy didn’t account for the dampness of her palms or the quickened beat of her pulse as she sat contemplating the evening ahead.

It had been a distinct shock to walk out of the storage room and see him standing in the middle of her shop, amid the tourists and fake Texas chili. She wondered what had ever made her think, even for a moment, that first night in Mexico, that she could collect him for a souvenir vacation fling. Something about seeing him here in the real world put Matt August into a whole new perspective.

She was still sitting behind the wheel of the Alfa, gazing out at the smoldering parking lot, when the two men in blue polyester suits walked up to the car window on her side. One of them knocked.

Startled, Sabrina snapped her head around. The two men were almost twins. Both had dark hair trimmed to a regulation neatness, icy blue eyes, severe expressions, and both wore blue-and-red-striped ties with their crisp white shirts and their neat blue suits. Very reluctantly Sabrina rolled down her window.

“Miss Chase? My name is Griffin. This is Mr. Shadwell. We’d like to talk to you.” The man who called himself Griffin pulled out a wallet and flipped it open with a smooth, practiced motion.

Sabrina’s gaze dropped to the identification card she was being shown. She saw a picture of a man who looked just like the person in front of her and very similar to the one standing next to him. Then she saw the impressive, embossed symbol of an eagle. There was a great deal of formal writing on the card but Sabrina didn’t read any farther than the word Federal. Her infuriated eyes swept back up to Griffin.

“You’re from the IRS, aren’t you? Well, I filed those quarterly reports even though I was not legally obligated to do so, and I can prove it. I’ve about had it with you guys. My accountant says I’m in the clear as far as that 941 form goes, too, and I’m sick and tired of sending you certified letters explaining the situation. This is nothing short of harassment. I happen to be an accountant myself. I know my rights and I know the procedures you’re supposed to follow.”

“Miss Chase,” Griffin began forbiddingly, “this has nothing to do with your income taxes. Shadwell and I want to talk to you about another matter entirely.”

“Then you can damn well send me a letter telling me exactly what you’re going to hound me for this time and I will turn it over to my accountant. What’s the matter with you people? Don’t you realize that it’s the small businesses that make capitalism work in this country? Why harass folks like me who are just trying to make a living? If you want to go after someone, go after some of those monster conglomerates. Stop picking on me. I know why you do it, of course. You figure it’s easier to terrorize a small businessperson such as myself than some big corporation that can afford to fight you with a lot of legal firepower. But I’ve got news for you. You don’t scare me in the least.”

“Miss Chase, we just want to talk to you.” Griffin was beginning to appear uneasy. People walking out of the store carrying their grocery bags were starting to stare.

“Talk to my accountant.” Sabrina switched on the Alfa’s ignition and threw the car into gear. She pushed the accelerator to the floor and tore out of the supermarket parking-lot with a flourish.

The encounter with the government kept her fuming all the way home. It wasn’t until she had sliced the tomatoes, shaped the hamburger patties, and found a bowl for the potato chips that she finally calmed down. The fact that she had allowed the little scene in the parking lot to upset her so much was evidence enough of her heightened tension. The current battle with the IRS had been going on for six months, and she no longer got uptight when they fired their salvos.

Then again, she excused herself, she wasn’t used to dealing with them in the flesh. Normally the encounters took the form of paper missiles launched back and forth. Things must be getting bad if they were sending real, live agents after her. She’d better call her accountant in the morning.

But the tension in her did not fade as six thirty approached, even though she managed to put the scene with the IRS men out of her mind. The real source of her restlessness was Matt August, and she knew it. By the time the rental car pulled into the parking slot in front of her apartment, Sabrina was almost vibrating with the strange excitement.

She answered the knock on the door to find two sets of hazel eyes on her. The first pair moved over her with a controlled hunger. The second pair belonged to what appeared to be a miniature mercenary, and they passed over her with subdued resentment.

“Sabrina, this is my son, Brad.”

“How do you do, Brad?” Were you supposed to shake hands with thirteen-year-old kids wearing combat camouflage? Tentatively Sabrina extended her hand.

The boy ignored her hand and glanced up at his father. “I thought she’d at least be prettier. I mean, geez, you’ve been so freaked about her and we drove all the way from Houston just so you could see her.”

There was an instant of stunned silence. Then Sabrina saw the glitter of cold anger forming in Matt’s eyes and she found herself stepping in before he could say anything.

“What a charming young man you are, Brad. Perhaps I could have you stuffed and stand you next to the bull in my
shopwindow
. You’d look cute standing there dressed in your GI Joe outfit. Do come in. I’ve got the fire going in the barbecue grill on the back porch. We can all have a drink while we wait for things to heat up.” She smiled very brilliantly up at Matt.

“We’re not going anywhere until Brad gets around to apologizing for his rudeness.”

So much for trying to slide through an awkward situation, Sabrina thought. Now they were all going to have to stand here while father and son fought the contest of wills.

It wasn’t much of a battle. Brad was too vulnerable, too anxious not to alienate his father completely, Sabrina quickly realized. The sullen boy gave in immediately.

“I’m sorry, Miss Chase,” he said formally.

“There’s some soda in the refrigerator,” she told him, waving him through to the kitchen. “Help yourself.” Brad didn’t wait around for a second invitation. He seemed relieved to be out of the room.

Matt sighed as he watched his son depart. “I’m sorry about that, Sabrina. The kid’s having some problems. That’s why Ginny called me up at three in the morning to come get him, I guess.”

“I suspect his main problem is that he’s in the throes of adolescence.” Sabrina paused. “Come on in, Matt. The whiskey’s in the kitchen.”