taunting him were the bins of beads separated by color, representing the columns he’d seen in the visions.
Tux frowned and shook his head.
“Oh...hell,” he said, glaring at the woman.
Nancy blinked in surprise at the man’s unconventional greeting.
Not, she admitted, that she had said anything cheerful or welcoming. She’d been momentarily struck dumb by the unexpected presence of one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen.
He was about six feet tall, had need-of-a-trim blond hair that was sun-streaked to nearly white in places, a marvelous tan, and incredible blue eyes. A pale blue dress shirt covered broad shoulders and chest, and a flat belly. His jeans were faded, the now soft material hugging narrow hips and powerful legs.
Gorgeous, she reaffirmed in her mind.
“Oh, hell?” she repeated, moving to stand behind the row of bins.
Still glowering, Tux closed the distance remaining to the bins.
“Do you own a bright blue shawl?” he said gruffly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just answer the question.”
Nancy planted her hands on her hips. “I certainly will not. If you’re attempting to sell shawls, you’ve got a lot to learn about how to approach potential customers, mister. You’re rude, pure and simple. Goodbye.”
Tux stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, then looked at the woman again.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me start over. I’m Tux Bishop.”
“Nancy Shatner,” she said, eyeing him warily.
“Hello, Nancy.” Tux paused. “Do you own a bright blue shawl?”
“Goodbye, Mr. Bishop,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
“No, no, wait,” he said, raising both hands. “I’m not selling anything.”
“That’s good,” she said dryly, “because with your oh-socharming personality you couldn’t pay the rent by being a salesman.” She leaned slightly toward him. “Just what exactly is it that you want?”
Oh, lady, Tux thought, that was not a terrific question for a beautiful woman to ask a red-blooded, healthy man. With no stretch of the imagination whatsoever, he could visualize taking Nancy Shatner into his arms, nestling her to his body, then capturing her tantalizing lips with his own.
Whoa, Bishop, he ordered himself. He could feel the heat low in his body, coiling, twisting, turning. He wasn’t there intent on seduction. He needed answers to what had happened to him and why it had taken place, before he went out of his ever-lovin’ mind.
“Mr. Bishop?”
“What? Oh, call me Tux.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s more friendly, Nancy.”
“It’s Ms. Shatner. You don’t evoke friendliness, not even close. Look, I’m very busy, Mr. Bishop. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m rapidly approaching having no choice. Please state your reason for being here...now.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t have a long time to listen. Give me an edited version.”
This, Tux thought, was not going well. He needed to start over.
He flashed Nancy his best, hundred-watt, knock-’em-dead smile.
Good grief, Nancy thought, Tux Bishop smiling should be declared against the law. That smile probably had women dissolving into puddles at his feet. Well, not Nancy Shatner. So what if her heart had actually skipped a beat and a frisson of heat had slithered down her back? It didn’t mean a thing.
“Nancy,” Tux said, still smiling, “look, it’s an easy enough question that won’t cost you one penny to answer. Do you own a bright blue shawl?”
“No.”
“No, you won’t answer the question? Or no, you don’t own a blue shawl?”
Nancy sighed. “I have several shawls, but not a bright blue one. I have never owned a bright blue shawl. Does that complete your survey? Are we finished here?” She nodded. “We’re definitely finished. Goodbye, Mr. Bishop.”
“Tux. Listen, I... Oh, hell.”
“That’s how this conversation started. So, oh, hell, to you, too, and goodbye.”
“Nancy,” he began, a serious expression on his face, “I have to explain something to you. It’s very important, it really is. I realize that the last thing a woman wants to hear from some fool of a guy dumb enqugh to say it is ‘trust me,’ but that’s what I’m asking you to do. Trust me. Give me some time to tell you what’s going on.” He paused. “Please.”
No? Yes? Nancy thought. Darn it, he suddenly sounded, even looked, concerned, or worried, or... There was a sincere quality to his voice now, too, edged with a touch of... what? Panic? Urgency?
Trust him? Why should she? He was obviously after something, but heaven only knew what. Was the concern she was witnessing real, or was he a very practiced actor?
No, forget it. She was sending him packing right this second.
But then again, she was admittedly nosy enough to want to discover what he wanted from her.
“Well,” she said, “all right, you may have five minutes, but you’d better make this good, Mr. Bishop.”
“Thank you, Nancy. Is there somewhere we can go and sit down?”
“No. You stay right where you are. Speak. You’re using up your time.”
Tux sighed. “Yeah, okay. Try to keep an open mind, will you?”
Nancy looked directly at him, no readable expression on her face.
“You’re difficult to deal with, do you know that?” Tux said.
Damn, he thought, he’d decided to jump right in and tell Nancy about his psychic powers and the visions he’d seen. As uncomfortable as he was with his so-called gift, he’d felt there was no other way to handle this besides just blurting it out.
But he suddenly didn’t like that plan. He was standing in front of a very beautiful woman, and he had no intention of watching her narrow her eyes, take a step back, and mentally label him as strange.
He did not, however, want to lie to Nancy Shatner, either. This was going to have to be handled very carefully, with expertise, finesse.
“Hello?” Nancy prompted. “Your five minutes is ticking away very rapidly, Mr. Bishop.”
“Tux.”
