Always Friday (21 page)

He frowned. “You?”

His comment broke the spell she’d been under, and her anger
returned, saving her from making a complete ninny of herself. “Yes, me,” she
said, jerking her hand away. “But you made me wait, and that’s when I saw Jon
prancing around on that stage with nothing on but a little bit of rabbit fur
and horns. And he’s just a boy. He has no business being in an establishment
like this. He told me he had a job in a beef place.” She made a disdainful
sound. “I thought he meant a restaurant. I didn’t know he was the beef.”

Nick’s frown deepened. “Who’s Jon?”

“Jon Ponder. Known around here,” she said, turning to glare
at Sal, “as the Viking.”

“Ponder,” Nick said. “Your brother?”

“No, not my brother. My son.”

His black eyebrows shot up. “You don’t look old enough to
have a son his age. “You can’t be more than twenty-five yourself.”

Chris sighed in exasperation. “Look, I’m thirty-four years
old. I’ll show you my driver’s license if that will help. Actually, Jon is my
stepson, but I’ve been his mother since he was five.”

For some reason, Nick felt a pang of regret as he studied
the pert nose and the huge, dark-lashed blue eyes. If Jon was her stepson,
there had to be a father. But what kind of a husband would let this delicate
little angel-face drive a tow truck alone In Houston at this hour of the
morning? Didn’t the fool know it was dangerous? Nick clenched his fists.
Already he didn’t like the man. “And your husband? Where is he?”

“I’m a widow, Mr. Russo, not that it has anything to do with
this. I’m Jon’s legal guardian.”

Nick frowned, glanced at Sal, then back to her. “How old Is
Jon?”

“Eighteen.”

“And he still needs a guardian?” Nick asked, amusement
replacing concern.

“If you ask me, he needs a keeper,” Chris said with a bobble
of her head that shook the precarious topknot. Her eyes narrowed. “He may be in
college, but when I get him home I’m going to blister his fanny so that for the
next week he’ll have to carry a pillow if he wants to sit down.”

“I see.” Nick fought back a chuckle at the idea of Chris
trying to spank the strapping Jon Ponder. He outweighed her by at least a
hundred pounds. “Sal,” he said, turning to the manager who looked decidedly
uncomfortable, “why don’t you get the young man, and we’ll straighten this out.”

“Sure thing, Nick,” he said and hurried out as if he were
relieved to escape.

Chris turned to study the dark man, who seemed to be giving
her the once-over as well. His hands were broad, with long fingers and manicured
nails. He wore no rings, but she’d bet ten dollars he was the kind of macho
Italian male who wore a gold chain hidden beneath that white silk shirt and red
paisley tie. Probably had a hairy chest, too, if the dark shadows along his jaw
were any indication.

What was she doing thinking about his chest! She forced her
eyes away from him and studied the plaster patterns in a corner of the ceiling.

So he was handsome, so he was sexy—if you liked men who wore
shiny, hand-made shoes and gold watches that cost more than her car. Which she
didn’t. Nick Russo was way out of her league. He was one of those slick ones
with soft words and a slow hand who knew all the right moves.

Definitely not her type. Even if she were in the market. Which
she wasn’t.

Quiet strength and power radiated from him. It was as
evident as the expensive cologne he wore. Kind of intoxicating. Yet there was
an edge of hardness to him. Mr. Milella had sure jumped to his tune. Who was
this man to be giving the manager orders?

Never one to wonder when she could ask, Chris turned and
asked, “Mr. Russo, just how are you connected to Mr. Milella and this”—she
waved her hand around—”this place?”

“We’re family. Sal is my nephew, my older sister’s son. I
give him advice from time to time.” A slow smile exposed white, even teeth and
the slash of a dimple along his left cheek.

It was a mistake to look at him, for Chris felt her knees
begin to go weak again. It was the smile that did it, a smile so blatantly
seductive that her face flushed under his gaze and she went warm all over. What
was happening to her? She didn’t like the effect he had on her. She didn’t like
it a damned bit. She had to get Jon and get out of this place. Fast.

“I see.” Trying to keep her mind off the man who continued
to stand within touching distance, she began to hum “The Eyes of Texas” softly
as she nonchalantly studied the laces of her grubby Nikes. She could almost
feel his hands on her, his lips . . .

The door behind her opened and Chris jumped as if she’d been
shot.

“He left already,” Sal Milella said.

Chris expelled the breath she didn’t even know she was
holding. “He did?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried to smile at
the two. “Well, I’ll just run along too. Bye, now,” she said with a wiggle of
her fingers and began backing to the door.

“Wait,” Nick said.

She froze.

“What about my car?”

“Your car?”

“Yes, remember that’s what started all this. My car’s in the
parking lot, and I need it towed home. It’s a very valuable automobile.”

In her rush to get away, she had forgotten about the car. “Oh,
sure, Mr. Russo. No problem. I’ll hook it up and treat it like a baby.”

Thrusting her hand toward the manager, she said, “Good
night, Mr. Milella. It was very nice to meet you.”

“And you, too, Mrs. Ponder,” he returned graciously.

She could handle this, Chris thought as she went through the
door Nick held open for her. It was just another job. Nick Russo was just
another handsome man. He wasn’t the big bad wolf. She was acting like a
first-class idiot. She’d tow his car and that would be that.

But for all her efforts at trying to reassure herself, she
couldn’t shake the gut-level feeling that Nick was a threat to her well-ordered
life.

Le Boeuf was almost deserted as they walked through the big
room on the way to the door. Patrons were gone and lights were on. The air
smelled of a lingering melange of drinks and perfumes. A bartender was counting
cash from the register and only the drone of a vacuum cleaner in a far corner
disturbed the quiet. It was almost eerie after the raucous frenzy she’d
witnessed earlier.

Eerie, too, was the feel of Nick Russo’s hand resting at the
small of her back as he steered her toward the exit. For him, it was probably
an unconscious gesture; for her, it was unnerving. A thousand little snakes
wiggled up her spine and her stomach contracted. The only thing on her mind was
getting out of this place and away from this man. She didn’t care if he
elevated her blood pressure and made Raoul Bova look like an also-ran. She knew
from bitter experience that you couldn’t trust his type. The whole scene gave
her the willies. She quickened her pace to escape his touch and pushed at the
heavy door with both hands.

It didn’t budge.

She pushed again. Harder. Still it didn’t open. Panic
scrambled up her throat and ended in a little squeak. She threw her hip against
the thick, unyielding wood. Nick Russo grabbed her by the shoulders and she
went rigid. Gentle hands moved her aside, and she opened one eye in time to see
the dark-haired man smile and turn the key that had been in the lock all the
time.

She managed a feeble, self-conscious sound and a twist of
her lips that she hoped passed for a chuckle. “How dumb of me not to notice.”

His smile widened as he looked down at her. “Not at all.”

When he pushed open the door, she scooted around him and
sucked in a blessed breath of air to be free of that place and put some
distance between them.

Outside, the parking attendant snapped to at the sight of
Nick. “I stayed to keep an eye on your car, Mr. Russo. She’s a beauty.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” he said, peeling a bill off a wad thick
enough to buy the Astrodome and handing it to the grinning young man. “She’s a
real find. Perfect shape. I lucked into her at an estate sale and picked her up
for a bargain. I’m not sure why she quit on me tonight, but I’ll have her
running like new in a few days.”

Following the rapt gaze of the two, she saw an ancient
limousine sitting alone in the almost empty parking lot. Gleaming black and
chrome with a tire well behind the front fender, it looked like something from
an old movie.

“That’s your car?” Chris asked.

He nodded and they walked toward the heavy automobile. “A
1939 Rolls Royce Wraith. Mint condition. I bought it and drove it here from Galveston,
but it started acting a little jumpy a few blocks away. I decided to have it
towed until I have a chance to look at the engine. Cars are like women.” A slow
grin spread over his face. “They respond best to easy handling.” His fingers
caressed the distinctive feminine hood ornament as his gaze slid over Chris. “The
Spirit of Ecstasy,” he said, voice husky, index finger tracing the graceful
curve of a chrome leg. “Think you can handle it?”

Her eyes grew wide and she swallowed. “Handle what?” she
asked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nick gave a deep chuckle. “Towing the car . . . for a start.”

Suddenly, Chris became animated. “Oh, sure. No problem. Let
me get the truck, and I’ll have you hooked up and hauled before you can say ‘Jack
Robinson.’“

She fled to the wrecker and jumped into the cab. Gripping
the wheel, she forced herself to take deep breaths. Was he making a pass or was
it her overactive imagination? In all the years she’d been driving Hub Lovell’s
tow truck, she’d never gotten herself into a situation like this. Some folks,
Jon included, thought it was dangerous for her to drive a wrecker, but she’d
never run into serious problems. Well, she reconsidered, maybe a few
hair-raising situations here and there. But nothing she couldn’t deal with.

Nick Russo was a different matter altogether. She’d never
encountered a smooth-talking hunk with bedroom eyes and a seductive smile that
made her want to dissolve into a grease spot on the pavement. If she got out of
this intact, she was going to ground Jon Paul Ponder until he was thirty.

Somehow she managed to maneuver the truck over to the
ancient limo, get out, and work the hydraulics until the eagle claw had grasped
the wheels and she had raised the boom, lifting the Rolls. Nick Russo watched
her with an odd bemusement that made her nervous. Very nervous.

When she had secured the car with wheel straps, she tossed
her gloves into the truck and climbed in. “Where to?” she asked when he had
settled into the passenger seat.

“River Oaks,” he replied, and named an address in the most
exclusive area of Houston.

“It figures,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled
away. His type always lived in mansions in River Oaks with gardens and swimming
pools; she lived in a decrepit monstrosity in the Heights without so much as a
petunia. And the closest thing she had to a pool was the puddle on the kitchen
floor when the plumbing leaked from the bathtub upstairs.

“Did you say something?”

“Uh, no. I was just thinking about my plumbing. How long
have you lived in Houston, Mr. Russo?”

“I moved here from Chicago about eight years ago.”

“You still have family in Chicago?” she asked, trying to
find a safe topic of conversation to keep her mind off the sheer presence of
him filling the cab.

“Yes, I still have family in Chicago, but most of them have
moved to Houston now. The business opportunities were better here. What about
you?”

“What about me?”

“Tell me about Chris Ponder, lady wrecker driver. Are you
from Houston?”

“No, I’m originally from Texarkana. I came here to go to the
university and never left. My parents still live in Texarkana though. My dad
worked at the pickle plant, but he’s retired now. I have a younger brother who’s
an engineer in Sacramento.” Chris knew she was babbling, but she didn’t care.
She’d tell him her life story if it would fill the time until she could get rid
of him. “My brother’s name is Andrew, and he and his wife, Carol, have three
little girls.”

“How long have you been driving a tow truck?”

“About four and a half years. I usually work on weekends or
when it rains.”

“When it rains?”

“Sure,” she said. “Everybody needs a wrecker when the
streets flood. You’d think people would learn not to drive into high water, but
they never do. I make my best money when we get a couple of inches or more.”

“Isn’t it a dangerous occupation for a woman?”

Irritation flashed over her. She was sick to death of
hearing how dangerous it was for her to drive a tow truck. She didn’t need
anyone telling her how to run her life, least of all someone who hung out in
sleazy nightclubs. “I like it,” she snapped. “And it pays the bills. It’s
honest work, Mr. Russo.”

Nick smiled as he watched her chin jut out as she gripped
the wheel and concentrated on her driving. For the first time in a long time,
he felt the strong stirring of genuine attraction to a woman. Not since Paula
had left had he felt much of anything. Oh, he’d been out with women; he’d
played the games, but he hadn’t felt anything. And if he were honest with
himself, he hadn’t felt much for Paula their last couple of years together.

He looked at the little spitfire beside him and tried to
compare her with his ex-wife. Besides the fact that they were both beautiful,
although in very different ways, there was no comparison. Paula had been all
cool surface with no interest in family or anything other than her own image.
She’d never gotten excited about anything. He almost laughed out loud when he
tried to imagine Paula, In greasy jeans, driving a wrecker or trying to drag a
dancer offstage or yelling at Sal.

By the time she pulled into his driveway, Nick had decided that
he definitely planned on seeing more of Chris Ponder. It was going to be an
interesting relationship. She was an independent little thing, but she brought
out a protective streak that he didn’t even know he had.