The Treasure Man

by Pamela Browning

  She wasn’t, though. She quickly and cleverly changed her tack. “Would you like to talk about it? Is something wrong?”

  “The two of us are wrong, Liss.” Patiently, he removed her hand from his collar and kissed her chastely on the cheek. “’Bye,” he said.

  He walked out the door and toward his Jeep.

  “Ben?” She called from the door. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, wishing she’d keep her voice down. The last thing he needed was for someone, maybe Ducky, to learn he’d been alone in her trailer with her, even though nothing had happened.

  “Okay. See you around.”

  “Right,” he said.

  Liss was still standing at the door, gazing out into the night as he drove away.

  Ben told himself that he shouldn’t have left the Sand Bar with her in the first place, but at least he’d weaseled out of the situation before he did any real harm. He was sure that Liss’s feelings were hurt, and she might badmouth him for a while, but his decision not to avail himself of her body was the right one.

  He was in a melancholy frame of mind when he drove up outside the Frangipani Inn. It was late, and the house was dark. As he often did when he arrived home from his classes or twelve-step meetings late at night, he walked around to the front porch. The wicker chair creaked when he lowered his weight onto it, but he took care not to rock. Chloe’s open bedroom window was right above where he sat.

  He dozed for a while and woke up with a start when he heard the front door open.

  Chloe stepped out into the moonlight. She was wearing a short robe, translucent, and it was open down the front. Certainly, she had no idea that he was sitting only a few feet away. She must have come down for a breath of air; the temperature of the upstairs bedrooms could be stifling on nights like this.

  Chloe went to the edge of the porch and leaned against one of the pillars. Behind her the palms swayed in the light wind blowing from the east, and her robe fell away to reveal even more of her. All of her, in fact, because she wore nothing underneath.

  His sharp intake of breath almost gave him away. Her breasts were full and shaded blue in the moonlight; her waist was narrow, her hips slim. Her tan was bisected by pale swimsuit lines. At the apex of her thighs, a tantalizing shadow hid what lay between.

  Ben had never seen anyone more beautiful than Chloe in those moments. The chair creaked when he stood, and she whirled around, startled.

  “It’s only me, Chloe,” he said quietly. Before she could wrap her robe around her, he strode across the porch. Her eyes were wide and luminous, her lips parted.

  “Ben,” she said, and that was all. She went into his arms willingly as he crushed her to him, and her skin was softer than he imagined, her lips more pliant. They parted beneath his, warm and wet, and he groaned. She wasn’t timid but demanding, giving more than taking, and as hungry as he was. Could a woman know the same ache, the same yearning, the same lust? In his experience, no. But other women weren’t Chloe.

  His hands slid up past her waist, inside the robe, where her skin was so smooth. Her breasts rested lightly in his palms, the nipples sharp little points beneath his thumbs. Her hands feathered down the sides of his face, covered his, showed him how to pleasure her. She was provocative as hell, and if this went on much longer, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Not that he wanted to end this. No. Never. He forced himself to release her lips, but she kept kissing him, trailing kisses down the side of his jaw, pushing aside his shirt so that she could kiss his bare chest.

  “Chloe,” he said urgently, his voice a rasp. “Are you protected?”

  She rested her cheek against his chest. “No,” she whispered. “I didn’t anticipate—didn’t plan this.”

  “Neither did I,” he told her as he struggled for his breathing to return to normal, for his heart to stop racing. They were twelve miles from a drugstore; that in itself would put a damper on things.

  She stepped away, wrapped her robe around her and tied it. She slid her fingers through her hair, an unconsciously sexy movement, and he heard her sigh. “Then I guess this isn’t going to happen,” she said, a catch in her voice.

  “Chloe, I—”

  “It’s better like this,” she said on a note of resignation. “I want you to respect me in the morning.”

  From the way she said it, he understood that she was trying to inject a bit of humor into the proceedings.

  “I would respect you no matter what,” he said, realizing as he spoke that he really meant it. That was the difference in his relationships with Chloe and Liss—and in a flash of insight, he realized that being able to respect the woman he was with increased his own self-esteem. A man of worth required a woman of worth. Simple, but a profound bit of self-discovery in this stage of his life.

  “And I you. Let’s sleep on it, Ben. I’ve got a big day tomorrow. The meeting with Patrice in Palm Beach.”

  He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. Her face was cast in darkness now, and she moved away.

  “Good night, Ben.”

  “Good night.”

  She went inside, and he heard the creak of the hall stairs as she walked to her room, the snick! of the latch as she shut the door.

  When Ben was sure that Chloe had disappeared into her room for good, he headed for the shower in his own quarters. A very hot one, which took care of the problem.

  THE NEXT MORNING, when Chloe drove to Palm Beach to meet with Patrice, she had more than enough to contemplate along the way. Not only the incident with Ben last night, which had left her feeling lost and alone. She’d gone downstairs because it was so hot and she couldn’t sleep. She’d been fantasizing as she stood on the porch that Ben might step out of the shadows and take her in his arms. When it actually happened, it was like being caught up in a dream.

  But in a dream, fantasies were fulfilled. In real life, sometimes they weren’t. Practicalities intervened, and in the harsh light of the next day, Chloe realized that backing off was the wisest thing she could have done.

  That wasn’t the only thing she brooded about. Naomi had called before Chloe left Sanluca to report that Tara was missing again.

  Naomi was beside herself. “Marilyn said Tara left her house Saturday night after she was supposed to have gone to bed. She would have had to climb out a window to get out without being seen, since Marilyn had stayed up late to work on a quilting project and was watching TV downstairs. I’m hoping Tara will turn up here at home soon. Last time I talked with her, she said she wanted to get a job.”

  “A job? Where?” Chloe had asked, exasperated. Work wasn’t exactly plentiful in Farish, Texas.

  “Tara suggested that maybe your friend Beth would hire her in her interior design business now that she’s expecting a baby.”

  “Beth can handle everything all by herself, and anyway, Tara doesn’t know anything about design.”

  “Tara hasn’t figured out that any job not requiring a college degree would be a dead end in Farish. But she’d better go back to high school in the fall, or she’ll never get as far as college,” Naomi said.

  “I’m willing to bet that Tara will be at Farish High on the first day of school in September,” Chloe said soothingly, but what if Tara really intended to drop out? The girl needed convincing that she should finish high school. Tara’s grades were okay, not spectacular, but Chloe was sure that if Tara was interested in something, she’d learn everything she could about it. She’d been fascinated by dinosaurs when she was younger, and she’d avidly read every book she could find on the subject. She’d learned to make origami dinosaurs, and she’d saved her allowance to buy balsa wood kits so she could build model dinosaurs. She’d completed many dinosaur science projects, some of which were on permanent display in the library at her former elementary school.

  But what would inspire Tara to finish school now? What would spike her interest? As much as she cared about her niece, as much as she understood Tara’s rebellion, Chloe was as puzzled as he
r sister over what to do about it.

  If anything could take her mind off this perplexing family matter, Palm Beach was it. The town was beautiful, with its long vistas of perfectly manicured boulevards, palm fronds waving in the gentle breeze from the ocean and steady parade of shiny Rolls-Royces proceeding at an elegant pace. Just for fun, Chloe drove along the ocean before heading toward the main shopping area and parking on a quiet side street.

  Patrice’s shop was called Spindrift and was located in one of the quaint, charming piazzas opening off Worth Avenue. When Chloe entered, a bell on the door chimed, and Patrice emerged from her office, wearing a big smile. “Come in, come in,” she said, hooking her arm through Chloe’s. “We’re not busy in the summer months, and this is a perfect time for us to chat. I’m so glad you’re here, Chloe. Tell me, what have you heard from Gwynne?”

  In the shop, Chloe had the impression of beautiful clothes artistically displayed, of tastefully dressed sales personnel lingering discreetly in the corners and of rarefied air perfumed with the scent of the sea. But there wasn’t much time to study her surroundings with Patrice bringing her a frosty glass of mint iced tea and making sure she was comfortable on the big cushy couch in her office.

  It only took a few minutes to discuss Tayloe’s marriage to her Mexican bullfighter husband and Gwynne’s determination to get her master’s degree in speech pathology. Patrice seemed as eager as Chloe to get to the subject of their visit today.

  “I’m so curious to see what you have in that briefcase,” Patrice said. “Open it up and show me what you do.”

  Chloe was only too glad to comply, and she was gratified by Patrice’s enthusiastic response to her designs.

  “My customers are very discriminating and most of them have exquisite taste. Can you make more?”

  “I have a backlog of pieces that I can leave with you today if you like.”

  Patrice smiled. “I’ll display them in the window. Now, why don’t we go to lunch,” she suggested.

  They adjourned to an intimate restaurant around the corner and indulged in coconut shrimp, banana muffins and an enormous dessert featuring a copious amount of chocolate. They reminisced about the week Patrice had visited the inn years ago. Patrice recalled that Chloe had helped her bake her special brown-sugar cookies, and they’d held a tea party on the front porch. Afterward, Tayloe and Patrice had challenged Gwynne, Naomi and Chloe in Trivial Pursuit and won handily.

  As Patrice and Chloe were on the way out the restaurant door and saying their goodbyes, Chloe’s cell phone rang. Since it could be Naomi calling with news of Tara, Chloe dug the phone out of her handbag and clicked it on.

  “Chloe,” said Ben, his voice crackling through a bad connection. “You need to head home right away.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a girl sitting on the front porch painting her toenails green. She says she’s your niece.”

  WHEN CHLOE REACHED the Frangipani Inn, Tara was lying back in a huge hammock and fanning herself with a magazine.

  Chloe tossed her briefcase on a chair and perched her hands on her hips. “Tara! Whatever possessed you to come all the way to Sanluca?”

  Tara sat up with a scowl. “Don’t freak, Chloe. Anyway, that’s not much of a welcome for your favorite niece. You haven’t even said hello.”

  “That’s because I’m quite certain that I’ll soon be telling you goodbye. I intend to find out when the next plane leaves for Texas, and you’ll be on it.” Chloe sagged onto a rocking chair, regarding Tara balefully. Thank goodness Tara was safe, but Chloe didn’t care for the green nail polish or the indolent attitude that her niece was, at this very moment, exhibiting.

  “Tara, how did you get here?” At sixteen, her niece had lost all vestiges of babyhood; she was slim and pretty, with long blond hair the color that nature should have given Chloe. She was wearing short shorts and a top that barely covered the essentials.

  “I caught a bus. It dropped me off at the gas station. I rode over here to the inn with the Turtle Lady. I recognized her from pictures Mom has, except in person she doesn’t look so much like the picture, more like a raisin in sneakers.”

  “Tara, that’s not nice. Zephyr is—”

  “I know, I know. She’s a fixture around here and can’t help it if she’s as old as the Atlantic. Anyway, she was pumping gas when I got off the bus, and I asked her about turtles and she said she’d drive me to the inn. She was real helpful.”

  “Why are you here, Tara?”

  Tara blew her bangs out of her face. “I didn’t like living at Marilyn’s, and I’d saved enough money from babysitting and my allowance to leave. Besides, I’ve heard about Sanluca for what seems like forever from you and Mom. And you’re like me, Chloe—you don’t settle for the usual. You do your own thing. It’ll be fun spending the summer together, you’ll see.”

  Chloe sighed, overwhelmed. Ben strolled around the corner, spared her a curious lift of his brows and began to water the hibiscus hedge.

  “We’ll call your mom,” Chloe decided.

  “She’ll go ballistic,” Tara said in an ominous tone.

  “No, she won’t. When I talked to her, the only emotions I detected were gratitude and relief that you were okay. You’ve put her through a lot, Tara.”

  While Tara was still looking guilty, Chloe produced her cell phone from her handbag, punched the speed dial and passed it to her niece. “I’m going inside for a few minutes. Make peace with your mother, and then I’ll chat with her.”

  Ben, after turning off the water and neatly coiling the hose, followed Chloe into the house, where she had collapsed on a chair in the kitchen.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked mildly as he opened the freezer door and dropped a few ice cubes into a glass.

  “No,” Chloe said mournfully.

  “Your niece is kind of uptight,” Ben observed. “Care for some ice? I’ll get it for you.”

  “Sure,” Chloe said, extending her hand. Ben placed the glass with the ice in it and went to get more for himself. She upended the glass and crunched her teeth down on one of the cubes.

  Ben swiveled sharply. “Hey, do you have to do that? It drives me nuts.”

  “What—chewing ice?”

  He seemed abashed. “It’s a pet peeve. Sorry.”

  She swallowed. “That’s okay. Compared with the other things going on in my life right now, refraining from chewing ice is minor.”

  Ben poured water into both glasses and sat down at the table, across from her.

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  “Tara insists that she’s going to stay here.”

  “Why not let her? She’s a charming girl.”

  “Though significantly underclothed. Yes, Tara’s wonderful. Especially when she’s getting what she wants. Did you talk with her much?”

  “A little. I was replacing glass in the front windows when she walked up. She asked for you, and I told her you weren’t here. Then I called you. Afterward she told me a joke. I like her, Chloe. Maybe she just needs a bit of direction.”

  “Or a kick in the—”

  “Chloe? Chloe!” Tara hollered from the porch. “Mom wants to speak with you.”

  “Uh-oh, here goes,” Chloe muttered. She took another long swig from her glass and went to talk to her sister, ice tinkling as she walked.

  “Chloe, can Tara stay? Just for a while? She says she needs to get her head together.” Naomi was pleading.

  Glass in one hand, phone in the other, Chloe climbed the stairs so she’d be out of Tara’s hearing range. “A lot of people ought to regroup, including maybe me. Why can’t Tara get her head together in Texas, where she belongs?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself.”

  “She thinks I don’t have rules,” Chloe said darkly. “She thinks living here will be a piece of cake.”

  “Correction—she thinks it will be the whole cake. She likes the idea of meeting new people, and she really enjoyed talking with Ben.”
>
  “She told him a joke. I don’t have any idea what kind.”

  “Tara’s basically a good kid who is trying to behave herself. We clash, my daughter and I, and it would be good for us to be apart for a while. Let her stay, Chloe. Please. Puh-leeze?”

  Chloe gazed ceilingward for a long moment, hoping she wasn’t getting into something that would cause her grief down the road, like so many of her other rescue operations. Yet her loneliness here was paramount in her mind; she considered that importing companionship might be more productive than seeking it inappropriately with Ben.

  “All right, Mimi,” she said after a long sigh. “Tara can stay. But she has to follow my rules, and I’ll be strict. No one knows better than I do how kids get around restrictions. I’ve used all the angles myself. You’ve got to admit I was a whiz at evading our parents and making excuses.”

  “My hope is that Tara will be just like you.”

  “That’s touching. You’re going to owe me for this, Naomi. Big-time.”

  “Agreed. So will you tell Tara the happy news, or shall I?”

  “I’ll do it. I can use the opportunity to lay down the law. She may skedaddle back to Farish tomorrow after she realizes that she can’t put anything over on me.”

  “She won’t come home unless we force her. Chloe, you’re exactly what she needs.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Chloe paused. “Anything else I should do?”

  “Only one thing. Tell me more about Ben. Are you having a fling?”

  “Naomi. He’s right here in the house,” Chloe hissed after lowering her voice. “I don’t want him to hear me talking about him.” Downstairs the door slammed, and she looked out her bedroom window. Though she had no view of the porch from the turret room, she heard Tara talking, followed by Ben’s low laugh.

  “Okay,” Chloe said, “he’s on the porch talking with Tara.” She paused for effect. “Naomi, I really like the guy.”

  “Like, as in like? Or like?”

  “Hmm, if this were a questionnaire, I’d have to check neither of the above. He’s pleasant, and I enjoy being with him. The thing is, sometimes I’ve noticed the saddest, most mournful expression in his eyes, but I don’t know what’s going on with him.”