He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I already know the answer to that one. And I’m not talking to you about it, so don’t even let yourself get warmed up to ask.”

“Then you shouldn’t ask me why I act like a— The way I do.”

He gave her a long, searching look. “I don’t understand you. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met, except I keep thinking you’re exactly like so many of the women I’ve met, and that’s when I get into trouble.”

Even as she gazed at him standing in a pool of golden light with the wind rustling his hair, she could hear the creak of the paddle wheel fan overhead. “I’m not going to bed with you again.” She spoke softly. “That was a terrible mistake.”

“I know.”

She wished he hadn’t agreed so quickly. “I don’t think Saturday is a good idea.”

He refused to be brushed off. “It’s a great idea. You like art, and we’ll be out in public, so we won’t be able to paw each other.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

He grinned and chucked her under the chin, looking much too pleased with himself. “Pick you up at noon, hot stuff.”

As he walked away from her toward his car, she raised her voice. “Don’t you call me hot stuff!”

“Sorry.” He opened the door and slid inside. “Hot stuff, ma’am.”

She stood beneath the streetlamp and watched him drive away. It was only an art show, she thought. What harm could there be?

Ray Hardesty could see Phoebe’s blond hair shining in the streetlight from his vantage point on the hillside that ran behind the luxury condos. He had parked his van on a narrow road that led to a small residential development, and now he set the binoculars down on the seat. The rumors were true, he thought. Calebow had something personal going with the Stars’ new owner.

He was storing up information about Dan Calebow like nuts for winter, ready to be drawn out if he had to use it, but so far Calebow was screwing himself over. The Stars had won only a single game since the season opener, and all their turnovers made them look like a college team. With each loss, Ray felt a little better. Maybe Calebow was going to get himself fired for incompetence.

He waited until the Stars’ coach had driven away before he drove home himself. Ellen met him at the door and right away started fussing over him. He walked past her without a word, heading into the den, where he locked the door, slumped down in his favorite chair, and lit a cigarette.