Joan Pickart - Texas Moon

“Forever!”

“No way, but we won’t argue the point at the moment.” He paused. “Listen, like it or not we’re in a bit of a mess here.” He glanced at the blue shawl where it was still spread across the bins of beads, then looked at Nancy again. “The shawl didn’t disappear while we were kissing.” He stared up at the ceiling, then narrowed his eyes as he directed his attention to the shawl. “Let’s gather some data.”

Nancy flipped one hand breezily in the air. “Why not? Data is nice. Gather your little heart out.”

Tux shot her a dark look, then folded his arms over his chest.

“If I was going to rob this place,” he said, “what would I get, besides a life’s supply of buttons and beads?”

Nancy shrugged. “Nothing. The majority of my business is mail orders paid by check. The cash flow from walk-in customers is minimal. Tux, seriously, there’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Is there a tenant living upstairs?”

“Yes. Me.”

He dropped his arms to plant his hands on his narrow hips.

“You’re joking. Right? You wouldn’t be dumb enough to live alone in this neighborhood. Right? If you do, I just may have to erase the adjective intelligent from my list describing you. Tell me you don’t live upstairs.”

“You’re pushing me, Mr. Bishop. This is my store.” She pointed to the ceiling. “Up there is my home. That’s not dumb, it’s sound economic reasoning. I’m a flight of stairs away from my store, which is handy, due to the fact that I can’t afford a car. Everything I need is within walking distance of here.”

“Including sleazes who would steal from their own grandmothers,” Tux said. “This is a high-crime district, lady.”

“This is where I live and work, mister. I’ve been here for nearly two years and I’ve never had one bit of trouble. We’re like a family on this block. We look after each other. No one else has been robbed, or whatever, since I’ve been here, either, because businesses in this area aren’t exactly Fortune 500 enterprises.”

“Okay, okay,” Tux conceded, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “You’ve made your point. Do you own a gun?”

“No.”

“Dandy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You don’t even have a way to protect yourself. Look, we’re not getting anywhere. I think what I should do is talk to someone who’s up on psychic powers, see if there’s a reasonable explanation for why my friend’s have suddenly gone berserk.”

“That makes sense. Maybe there’s nothing at all to worry about. Maybe Glenna bringing me the blue shawl was just a weird coincidence.” She shivered. “Oh, I hope so, I really do.”

Tux closed the distance between them and drew one thumb gently over her lips. Nancy shivered again, only this time it wasn’t from a sudden rush of fear. The feel of Tux’s callused thumb on the soft flesh of her lips had been a simple, quick gesture, yet it had instantaneously fanned the still glowing embers of desire within her into hot, leaping flames.

Tux’s friend had sensed she was in danger when he saw his visions? she thought. Tux, himself, was a source of danger to her ability to reason, think straight, behave in a manner she was accustomed to. Oh, yes, Tux Bishop was a very dangerous man.

“I’m sorry about all this, Nancy,” he said quietly. “I know I’ve frightened you, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll find out what I can, then report back to you.

“In the meantime, be very careful. Make certain you check the doors and windows at night, don’t go strolling outside after dark, things like that Do you have a telephone upstairs?”

“Yes, it rings up there and down here at the same time. I’ll give you one of my business cards with the number.” She hurried into the back room and returned to hand him the card, which he slipped into his shirt pocket.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

Nancy nodded.

Their eyes met. The sensual haze that had encased them during the kisses shared began to weave its invisible threads once again, over and around them.

The incredible awareness, the sensuous pull between them from the moment they’d seen each other was eerie, like nothing either of them had experienced before.

It was exciting, but unsettling.

It was confusing, yet intertwined with a calming rightness.

“No,” Nancy whispered, not realizing she’d spoken aloud.

“What are you doing to me, Nancy Shatner?” Tux said, his voice raspy.

“Nothing.” She took a step backward. “Nothing.”

“You look like a beautiful gypsy. Are you? A gypsy? Do you have powers, too, that you haven’t told me about?”

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly. I’m not a gypsy, I just happen to like to wear this style of clothes sometimes. I get them at Glenna’s store.”

“Then how do you explain whatever this is that keeps... crackling between us, keeps wrapping around us? I can’t find the right words to describe it, but I know you feel it as much as I do. How do you explain that?”

“It’s simply a result of the bizarre scenario we’re suddenly finding ourselves in,” she said. “What am I doing to you? If you’ll recall, Mr. Bishop, you came in here with your story of visions and danger, and a blue shawl. You started this whole... whatever it is.”

A slow smile began to form on Tux’s lips, a very male smile, that caused Nancy to take yet another step away from him.

“Well,” he replied, “I guess you’re right. I started it. The really interesting part will be to see where it all goes. Right, Nancy?”

She lifted her chin. “Goodbye, Tux. I have a great deal of work to do.”

He looked at her for another long moment, then nodded. “I’m off to find an expert on psychic powers. I’ll check with you later. Take care of yourself.”

Nancy watched as Tux strode from behind the bins to the door, then left the store. Only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath until he was gone, and drew in a gulp of much needed air.

“Oh, goodness,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“What a morning. What a mess. I don’t believe this.” She turned, then frowned as her gaze fell on the blue shawl. “Yes, I do,” she added wearily.

She snatched up the lusciously soft shawl and stomped into the back room.

Late that afternoon, Tux sat in the living room of a seventy-two-year-old man, who looked remarkably like Santa Claus.

“I appreciate your listening to my story, Dr. Nixon,” Tux said. “As I explained, I spent most of the day on the telephone looking for help with this situation, and was told more than once that you were the best authority in the area on psychic powers.”

“Call me Jeremiah, son,” the man answered. “Well, you’ve brought me an interesting tale, that’s for sure. But in all my years of researching psychic phenomena, I’ve always had to admit the same conclusion...there are no hard-and-fast rules we can count on.”

Tux leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers loosely together.

“Can you at least give me your opinion on what has happened?” he asked. “Why did I suddenly have visions predicting the future when I have never before had the power to do that? Even more, how do I know that what I saw will actually take place?”

“The blue shawl has already appeared, son.”

Tux slouched back in the chair. “I know.” He sighed and shook his head. “I hate this.”

Dr. Nixon chuckled. “A person wouldn’t need psychic powers to figure that out. You obviously like to be in control of your life, and at the moment you feel dictated to by outside forces.”

“Exactly. Not only that, there’s Nancy Shatner to consider. She’s in danger, or will be. But to what degree? I mean, maybe the fear I sensed, then saw on her face in the visions, was because a mouse ran across her floor.”