Love and a Blue-Eyed Cowboy

by Unknown

  As she started to answer, he held up his hand to stop her. “No—never mind. Forget I said that. I brought you some proper clothes.”

  Fortune gasped. “You did what? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “Nothing, if you’re going to the park or planning to weed the garden. But we don’t know what is ahead of us, and I don’t want anything to interfere with our winning this hunt. So take the clothes. You can pay me out of your part of the prize money.”

  Her part of the prize money? Fortune could have told him she was working on a way to convince him that she ought to have all the prize money. But she was afraid he might resist. For now, she needed to keep the man happy. For now, she needed him as much as he needed her. For now, she wouldn’t think about the nine days she was about to spend with this man who’d already kept her awake half the night.

  “How could you possibly know what size I wear?” She peered into the bag. For a moment she was so angry with his high-handed action that she could barely speak. Then she pulled out new jeans, a T-shirt, and a cap, and her fury quickly self-destructed.

  It wasn’t for her benefit, she told herself. He just wanted to make sure nothing interfered with their winning. She didn’t need charity. They could win if she were nude. The clothes were an investment—not compassion. He was determined to win. She decided that had to be it, until she glanced at Hunter and caught the vanishing look of uncertainty on his face.

  Hunter didn’t want to admit that he was embarrassed over her pleasure. He fought back the color flushing his face with disdain. “I have a sister just about the same size as you, a fourteen-year-old sister. I thought these clothes would make the drive more comfortable for you. Sorry.”

  His sister. Fortune tried not to let him see that he’d caught her by surprise. Help was something she’d never asked for, and she didn’t know how to accept it. She wouldn’t admit it, but she couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d owned something that hadn’t been worn before, or how long it had been since somebody had been concerned for her comfort.

  Also in the bag were a blue chambray shirt, the same color blue as Hunter’s eyes, and a pair of brand-new tennis shoes, just her size. Suddenly, she wasn’t angry. She crumpled the bag and searched for some unemotional way to say thank you. She couldn’t find one.

  “You have a fourteen-year-old sister? Then I take it your mother is married,” she finally said.

  “Oh, yes,” he answered, but the lightness returned to his voice. “Yes, she’s married.” He strode to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door, turning a questioning glare toward her. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you seem so concerned about marriage, I figured you must have come from a broken home or had a bad relationship with a woman. Is this hang-up going to affect our partnership?”

  “I assure you, the only relationship I’m concerned about is that of the number-fourteen team in the Panther Scavenger Hunt.”

  “Then we need to get along, don’t we? So I thank you for the clothes, but let’s get this straight, cowboy. Nobody put you in charge. We may be a team, but I’ll decide what I wear, and what I don’t.”

  Fortune didn’t know why she was speaking so sharply. The man had just bought her a bag of new clothes. Maybe that was it. She’d been touched by his simple gesture, and she didn’t want him to know how much. As always when something or somebody got too close, she shored up her defenses.

  “Fine, you decide,” he snapped back. “I just considered your well-being an investment in our future. If you want to take a chance on being uncomfortable, that’s your choice—so long as it doesn’t jeopardize our mission.”

  Fortune crinkled the bag as she closed it and stepped up into the trunk. She didn’t want to spoil anything. She wanted their relationship to be good. But yuppie cowboys were people with whom she lacked experience. The only success she had was in dealing with runaways. And the only runaway in this truck was her heartbeat.

  She slid her gaze across the seat as Hunter crawled in and slammed the door. Maybe that was her answer. Treat Hunter as if he were a runaway. There was something about him that was just as prickly. She leaned back and relaxed.

  “Do we self-destruct in one minute?” she quipped.

  “What?” Hunter turned around and started down the highway toward town.

  “There was once an unlikely team, whose missions were impossible dreams. They listened to the tape, deciphered their fate, and completed the preposterous schemes.”

  “And that’s what you think this is—Mission Impossible?”

  “No, cowboy, and I don’t intend to let it become the Impossible Dream.”

  The director of the scavenger hunt repeated the information he’d given at the drawing, along with a new little piece of information. “There are several clues that are germane to all the teams,” he said, “but the remainder of the clues are different. It was decided that having separate targets for each team would prevent collusion. All your clues have the same degree of difficulty and the same mileage differences between them.”

  A representative of the advertising agency handling the campaign added a second new piece of information: “There will be other little surprises along the way that we hope you’ll enjoy. Any funds not used in the search are yours to keep.”

  The officials posed for pictures handing over the keys to the motorcycles, and the female team members were instructed to draw a list of clues from a glass bowl.

  “Remember, today is Thursday. Your deadline is five o’clock next Friday. The team deciphering the greatest number of clues within this time frame wins. Good luck, guys and gals. You may open your envelopes.”

  “No,” Hunter said, placing his hand over Fortune’s. “Not here, not yet.”

  “But—”

  “No matter what direction we go, we have to get to the intersection. Let’s get there, away from the other teams, and then we’ll study the clues carefully.”

  Disappointed, Fortune followed Hunter to the bike. He handed her a shiny black helmet and demonstrated the proper way to snap it closed. “Okay, let’s hit it,” he said, and threw one leg over the machine marked with the number 14. Fortune stared at the motorcycle nervously before she finally took a step closer.

  “Get on, Fortune. Fifty-thousand dollars, remember?”

  She did. Then she understood why she’d been so disturbed. It wasn’t because of the machine. It was because of the man driving it—and the sudden knowledge that she was going to have to sit behind him, close behind him, for nine days.

  Hunter, sensing her uncertainty, unsnapped his helmet and held out his hand. Slowly, Fortune took it, and he drew her up onto the bike. He explained where she was to put her feet, and how she should balance herself when they took a curve or came to a stop.

  Then he pulled both her arms around his waist, pressing them firmly against his abdomen for a long minute. “Hang on tight, wild woman, we’re on our way.”

  Three

  Fortune didn’t know whether she was flying or if she just felt as if she were. The hot air pushed aside by the bike was wrapping around her like a warm blanket, raising her body temperature even higher.

  Hunter had worried for nothing. As long as she had the cowboy to hold on to, her skin didn’t need protecting. If they had to travel anyplace cold, she’d be warm enough if she was stark naked.

  Naked? There was something primeval about the picture that came unbidden into her mind; her and Hunter, without clothes, riding a big black stallion across a barren landscape. She felt a bead of perspiration roll down between her breasts, and she tried to lean back, away from the hard, muscular planes of his body.

  At the intersection he pulled off the highway, followed a gravel drive behind a billboard, and came to a stop under a stand of loblolly pines. It was shady and cool beneath the trees, and except for the traffic on the interstate, it was quiet.

  “Now, let’s open the envelope and see what we have to work with,” he said, flic
king the bike’s kickstand into place.

  Fortune took the packet of information from its storage place and followed Hunter to a felled pine tree that made a good bench. Hunter’s blond hair was tousled from wearing the helmet. It was damp from perspiration and curled wickedly across the base of his neck and his forehead. He looked like a little boy, a modern Huck Finn, on an adventure.

  She was trembling slightly. It hadn’t occurred to her before that she knew nothing about this man. She’d taken in every stray and homeless person who’d ever knocked on her door without a second thought. But this was different. She was becoming personally involved, and long ago she’d vowed not to let herself get close to a man. Friendship, but nothing more.

  “What’s wrong?” He sat on the log and waited, his thick lashes raising slowly as he met her gaze.

  “Wrong? Uh, nothing. I was just thinking, I—we don’t know much about—about each other, do we?” She tried to keep her expression bland, but she knew that she failed.

  He was surprised at her uncertainty. Drafting a stranger to be his partner hadn’t bothered him, because she’d been necessary to his plan. He was a man who set a steady course and didn’t deviate. If there was a problem, he’d handle it. But Fortune’s unexpected doubt could be a problem. Maybe a little reassurance on his part was in order.

  “Okay, let’s see. You know my name. My mother lives in Greenville, South Carolina. Her husband is Hale Kincaid. He’s on all the successful-people lists. I have a younger brother and sister who work in the family business, and the fourteen-year-old sister, who’s still in school.”

  “Family business? Kincaid family business?”

  To put some distance between them, Fortune walked away. She was standing beneath the billboard, the very large billboard advertising the Kincaid South, a hotel for the family, located just down the interstate. “You’re part of Kincaid Hotels, Inc., and you’re trying to win money in a contest?”

  Hunter sighed. He’d been foolishly hoping to conceal his family’s identity. To a woman who did her shopping at Goodwill, he no doubt appeared to be an ungrateful idiot. So much for any chance of simple understanding between them. Once again the Kincaid name threatened to brand him.

  No, not this time, Hunter decided. Fortune Dagosta made up her own mind about people. He’d bet on it. And for some obscure reason it was important that she see him as “the cowboy” and like him for himself.

  “Sorry, that’s their business, only one of the Kincaid holdings—theirs, not mine. And yes, I do need this prize money,” he said in a low voice. “So I guess you’ll just have to trust me, Ms. Dagosta. I think that’s little enough. After all, I trust you, and I picked you up at a prison farm.”

  She caught sight of a fleeting wry smile and realized that he was teasing her, trying to make her more comfortable. At the same time she knew that her acceptance of him was important. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It’s too late for either of us to back out.”

  “Well, open the envelope,” he said roughly, erasing that moment of vulnerability. “I warn you that I’m not good at riddles.”

  “Don’t worry, cowboy, I’m a whiz at solving puzzles, and I’ve covered most of this part of the country. So if we have to find something, I’ve probably seen it.”

  “Good,” was all he said. He could have told her that he’d spent many years covering the Southeast, too, and the rest of the country as well. But while he would talk about his family if he was pushed, Hunter never talked about himself.

  The envelope contained a single legal-size piece of paper. Fortune started to read to herself; then, breaking into a wide grin, she exclaimed, “Hunter, the clues—they’re in rhymes.”

  “Rhymes? You mean like your limericks?”

  “Yes, listen. This is the first one. ‘Brown splattered red, midst Carolina hills of green. Dig out one of Frank’s, let the sun shine through. And you will have solved an important clue.’ ”

  Hunter shook his head. “Brown on red? Let the sun shine through? I don’t understand.”

  “This is going to be hard,” Fortune said, studying the paper. ‘Dig something red out of something brown.’ Dig. That could mean to understand, or it could literally mean to dig. Since this is a contest of movement, I don’t think they’re getting thoughty on us.”

  “What’s red? Blood? ‘Red out of brown’ could be a blood bank. What do they think we are, vampires?”

  Fortune sprang to her feet. “No. Rubies. Dig up rubies. Out of Frank’s mines. Franklin, North Carolina, has mines where amateurs can go and search for precious stones.”

  “North Carolina. Getting there’s going to take a big chunk out of our week. Maybe we ought to try and figure the others out so that we can plan our route.”

  “Fine. Number two says, ‘Mary Etta claims the queen, of chickens tall, with eyes that gleam. The Panther pres. would like a picture of you, beneath its beak—that’s your second clue.’ ”

  “I know that one,” Hunter said with pleasure, “that’s the statue of the Big Chicken in Marietta, Georgia, where they’re famous for selling fried chicken.”

  Fortune cast a delighted smile on Hunter. Ever since she’d opened the package of clothes, her mental picture of him had changed. His attempt to reassure her by identifying himself when he’d clearly have preferred to keep his identity secret had only reinforced her instinct that she could trust him. They’d agreed that Hunter was to drive, she to navigate. That he was contributing to solving the puzzle was a plus neither had counted on. More than ever she was convinced that fate had intervened. They were going to win.

  “North Carolina and North Georgia, what next?” Hunter was spreading maps across the tall dead summer grass.

  “Number three—‘Guarded by a frog for eons now, it has a mineral taste that soothes all care. Bring us a vial of Lithia gold, and we’ll line your pockets with the kind you can hold.’ ”

  “Lithia gold—nothing comes to mind. Here, start checking.” He stood up, pulled several travel guides from the storage area, and started looking through them.

  “What do I look for?”

  “Frogs, minerals, gold, I don’t know.”

  But none of those clues showed up in their reference material, and Fortune had no idea what it meant. Finally, Hunter called a halt to the search. “Let’s go on to the next clue. We’ll come back to this one.”

  “In clue number four, ‘North is South and West is East, and thousands look at the hideous beast. Bring us a tear from the creature’s eyes, and Panther will reward you with a special prize.’ ”

  “And the next one?” Hunter’s forehead was creasing from worry.

  “Number five. ‘Green mounds of life and death lie lonely there. Man lived and died with loving care. Inside that darkness you’ll see the light. Capture that beacon in the night.’ ”

  “How many more?”

  “Only two,” Fortune said. “ ‘There once was a man named Bobby, who made collecting bears his hobby. He has a little postman, he’s the host with the most, man, go straight from Bobby to where?’

  “Bobby—bears—Bobby Bear!” Fortune exclaimed excitedly.

  “Who’s Bobby Bear?”

  “The country singer, in Nashville. Bobby Bear owns a shop where he sells nothing but bears. All we have to do is find a postman bear.”

  “Yeah,” Hunter agreed, “and figure out how to get from Bobby to where.”

  “So I don’t have all the answers.” The truth was slowly beginning to sink in. The first clues were easy. The other’s weren’t. Fortune felt the bitter taste of frustration in her mouth, and they hadn’t even left Cordele yet.

  “You say there’s one more?”

  “Yes, and it makes no sense. ‘If you’ve gotten this far, it’s time for some fun. You need a new hat, your hostess has one.’ There are two tickets attached to the sheet. I don’t know, Hunter, maybe this is a bad idea. How are we expected to solve these?”

  “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe they are just sending us i
n the right direction. We aren’t supposed to figure out what we’re going to find. Otherwise it would be too easy. The question is, do we go check out the chicken first, or go dig up some rubies?”

  “The chicken first, I think,” Fortune said slowly.

  “It’s in the same general direction as the ruby mines. Maybe we’ll figure out something else along the way.”

  “Suppose we’re wrong? We’ll waste valuable time.”

  “Look. Everybody is in the same boat. They won’t be able to solve them all either, and if they do, it won’t be at the same pace. We’ll just have to do our best.”

  “Damn! I didn’t think it would be this difficult. The last scavenger hunt I went on sent us after an old green comb and a rooster’s feather. This is hard.”

  He sounded disappointed. Before she thought, Fortune reached out and touched his arm. They were so close, she could feel the warmth of his body. “Don’t worry, cowboy. You and me, it was fate. We’re going to win.”

  In her blue-jean cutoffs, her stretchy top, and with those sun-kissed freckles, she looked like a pinup for The Farmer’s Almanac. All she needed was a corncob pipe, and she’d make a perfect date for the Saturday night square dance. Why, then, was he fighting the impulse to take her in his arms? Hunter wondered.

  “It won’t be easy,” he snapped.

  “Why not?” she shot back, dropping her hand in her lap.

  “Because nothing in my life ever has been.”

  “Never fear, Hunter Kincaid, you’re with Fortune Dagosta now. I’m your lucky charm. The way I figure it, we ought to be at the chicken in time for an early dinner. I just love fried chicken, don’t you?”

  As he felt a faint stirring of unexpected camaraderie, he admitted, “Maybe,” and started folding his maps. He didn’t need directions to get to Marietta, that part of the state was one he knew well.

  “Before we go, I want to give you a quick lesson in the operation of the Panther.”

  “Forget that,” Fortune said, “I couldn’t drive it even if you did. I’m not big on driving cars. At least I have a license for that.”