"It's my chess partner. He's finally made a move."

"Chess?"

She shrugged. "I like games."

Jake felt his gut tighten. "Okay. But chess?"

"It's more interesting than checkers."

Jake hesitated. "I'm curious again."

"He lives in Australia. Beep is cheaper than a phone call. See." She showed him the beeper. Queen to king's three scrolled across the tiny screen.

Jake didn't stiffen against the kick of instinct in his gut, but it wasn't easy. His smile easy, his voice light, he asked, "How did you get an Aussie chess partner?"

"Same way I got a Curious Jake. Met him here in the bar. He was in Denver for a convention a few years back."

"Oh." She played chess. She played chess with an Aussie? He felt as if he'd missed a beat and rubbed his face. "Australia. You can't play with someone closer to home?"

Phoebe tossed the beeper onto the desk and leaned back in her chair. "Sure, I could. But I have to keep taking his hand off my knee, and, besides, it makes a better story to play an Aussie."

"A better story?" Jake dropped into the chair across from her. "You play intercontinental chess because it makes a better story?"

"According to my mama, -story- is everything."

Jake propped his elbow on the armrest, his face crinkled into cute confusion.

Phoebe grinned. "My mama Wasn't a prize, but every now and again she'd sock home an important life lesson with a story."

"And having a better story was one of those important life lesson?"

Jake may have an ear for southern accents, Phoebe thought, but not for their idiosyncrasies. "Ever try to say, -don't do that,- to a thirteen-year-old?"

"No," Jake admitted. "What were you doing that your mama didn?t want you to?"

She smiled. "I was in love for the first time. He was the pastoR's wild child, and I was heading for trouble. Mama took me shopping, I saw these red shoes in a window, and she had me."

"Had you? With red shoes?"

"I was thirteen. I wanted those shoes bad. Real bad."

"First love and red shoes. Sure, I'm getting this."

Phoebe shook her head reprovingly. "I have to lay the threads of my story before I can draw them together, cowboy. You Yanks are so impatient."

Jake crossed one leg over the other and relaxed in the chair. "Lay your threads, I'm patiently listening, Reb, but you'd better deliver."

"If I don't, I'll buy you a drink. Now where was I?"

"Red shoes and first love."

"Right. Well, naturally I asked my mama for those shoes. I was sure my future happiness depended on having them on my feet ten minutes ago." She smiled briefly at Jake and almost lost the thread of her story when he smiled back. "My mama told me that she'd buy me those shoes if I'd dump the boy."

Jake straightened. "That's cold."

"No, That's -story.- She knew I'd break up with him sometime anyway." Jake faded away, and she was back on that hot street with her mama. "My mama smiled this smile that was part evil and part wise, then she said to me, she said, N-" Phoebe faltered, almost losing herself in the near slip. "-Now-girl, you and I know You're not gonna love this boy forever. When You're old like me and your young'uns ask you about your first love, which'll make a better story? I broke up with my first love? Or-and she smiled again-I gave him up for red shoes?"

Would he understand? Phoebe wondered, as she smiled at him.

Her smile, Jake suspected, was her mama's. There was evil round the edges-and a boatload of charm.

"You took the shoes, didn't you?"

"Course I did. Mama was a drunk, but she was a smart drunk, 'cept when it came to men." She shrugged, her eyes filled with bygones that weren?t really gone.

"Great story," Jake said.

"My mama had her moments." For an instant sadness almost overwhelmed her. There were so few of those happy moments kicking around her memory; it had been easy to push them into the deep, dark recesses of her mind. Was it the game that was bringing them bubbling to the surface, or was Jake somehow the catalyst, opening up her personal Pandora's box by making her feel again?

Because she couldn't help it, she looked at him and found him looking at her. Was that the same longing she felt, peeking out of his eyes, or was she projecting what she wanted, needed, to see? There was no way to know with this liquid fire creeping through her veins, turning her whole body languid with longing.

She tried to fight it by getting up. She pushed back her chair and started around the desk with some papers in her hand. She should have stayed put. The room Wasn't big enough. There Wasn't enough space left to spit, let alone breathe, on the other side of her desk. He was so close, her horizon was completely filled with his blue eyes and wide shoulders.

A move, any move, and her mouth would be against his. And the chiseled, pouty curve was more tempting than a puff pastry. Her mouth strained toward him, but she reined it in. The only outward sign of her struggle was a slight tremor that lit new fires in those heady blue depths. She Wasn't too proud to retreat, so she stepped back.

"I should run my errands," he said, a husky edge to his voice. "See you back here tonight?"

The question sounded more important than was allowed, than was safe. She didn?t know who he was or what he wanted, but he couldn't have it. She couldn't give it. There was only the game.

She nodded without breaking the lock he had on her eyes. He didn't move, despite his stated intention. The moment stretched out until she was certain she was going to burst into flame or climb over the desk and throw herself at his chest. Then a knock on the door broke passion's link. She dropped into her chair like something air had been let out of and shuffled the papers from one side of her desk to the other.

Without waiting for a response a big man opened the door opened and slouched in the frame.

"You Phoebe?"

"Yes."

"I'm looking for a job."

She had to glance at Jake then. Needed to see the answering gleam of laughter light his eyes more than she needed air to breathe. She made herself look away, made herself look at the intruder. His beefy profile and mean eyes made him easy to place in Harding's column. No surprised he hadn't gone for the subtle approach. This was a bar.

"Got nothing right now." She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts. "You can leave your name and number and-"

"I'll just check back." His mean eyes did the guy thing over her assets. Phoebe didn't flinch. She was used to it.

Jake Wasn't. He had to rein in the urge to punch the guy's mean lights out, even as he assessed the subtle change that had come over Phoebe. Her demeanor had lost all softness or warmth. No quarter visible.

The man looked at Jake and stiffened, his narrow eyes thinning to malevolent pinpoints. Jake didn't know him, but he could tell the man was a con.