by Unknown
“Maybe not, but you never know what could happen, and I believe in being prepared. Come here.”
Fortune thought about the prize money and complied, though she knew with certainty that she’d never in a hundred years be able to drive the Panther, even if it meant the difference between winning and losing.
“All right. This is the center stand. It keeps the back wheel off the ground so that we can’t go anywhere. I’ll sit behind you. Get on.”
Fortune slid her leg over the big black machine. Hunter reached around her, taking her right hand in his and placing it on the handlebars. “This lever is the gas. Down here is the brake. On the left—put your left hand on this lever, Fortune. On the left is your clutch. Have you ever driven a car with a clutch?”
“Yes, at least I’ve done that.”
“Well, it operates the same way, except you’re dealing with levers instead of pedals.”
Fortune concentrated on Hunter’s instructions, not because she had any intention of driving the Panther, but because it was the only way she could still her racing pulse and keep her mind off the man’s arms around her.
Finally, when he was satisfied that she at least understood the mechanics of the machine, he switched positions, offering one last warning: “Never, never get on the machine without your helmet.”
Helmets fastened, they took off, flying along the interstate. One motorist after another, along with other bikers, slowed to examine the new Panther. Hunter knew that the contest was gaining national attention, but he hadn’t realized how much.
Nor had he realized how aware he would be of the woman clutching him as if he were a life buoy and she were in danger of drowning. But he was. At least she was behind him. She couldn’t know how disconcerting it was to feel her body pressed against his, her legs circling his bottom, her cheek against his neck.
Hunter soon decided that it was just as well that they couldn’t talk on the bike. In spite of a little voice that said Fortune probably did manage to fumble through whatever came her way, his thoughts were a mass of confusion, and he didn’t like being confused. He’d been through enough of that in his life, confusion of his own making. He didn’t need a woman with freckles and heated fingertips to make things worse.
But that was just what he had.
He hadn’t admitted even to himself how much he needed the money. There’d been too many years of moving from here to there, and one job to another, before he’d found himself racing a bike on the dirt tracks. His mother hadn’t understood why he’d wanted to take such chances in a job that was dirty and low-paying. But he’d won and had built a reputation, his own reputation, about as far away from Kincaid Industries as he could get.
The accident had wiped him out, both physically and financially. When he’d repaid Hale, he’d had nothing left, neither a bank account nor a career. A man with fused vertebrae in his back couldn’t race bikes, even if he wanted to.
They were heading up Highway 75, approaching Macon, when Fortune began nudging Hunter’s shoulder. He inclined his head and leaned back, trying to hear what she was saying. She pressed closer, trying to explain. He might have understood her words if he hadn’t been so conscious of her warm breath against his cheek. Finally, she motioned for him to pull over. He did.
“What’s wrong? Are you one of those women who has to stop every hour when she’s traveling?” His voice was rougher than he’d intended, but he felt out of control and didn’t know how to cover his uncertainty.
“Don’t be tacky, Tex,” she said in mock dismay. “Look up there.”
She was pointing to a billboard advertising the Ocmulgee Indian Mounds just outside of Macon. “ ‘Green mounds of death’? Could this be what we’re looking for?”
“That seems too easy,” Hunter argued.
“Don’t you think we’d better check it out?”
Hunter considered the question for a moment. If they were wrong, they’d lose valuable time. But if not, this sighting would be a gift. It was obvious that Fortune thought she was right. “Let’s do it,” he said.
A short time later they entered the Ocmulgee National Monument Park. At the visitors’ center they picked up a brochure describing the Indian mounds and walked outside to study them.
“Okay,” said Hunter, glancing around uneasily, “we’re here, what now?”
Fortune studied the brochure. Maybe she’d been wrong in pushing Hunter to come there. She’d always made her way without worrying about what anybody thought. But now she was hesitant.
“Well, the clue said ‘mounds of green for living and dying.’ According to this, there are seven mounds: Cornfield, Funeral, McDougal, two temple mounds, and one simply called Southeast Mound. Only one is open to the public. That’s the Earth Lodge, which is a reconstruction of a ceremonial building, probably a temple or a meeting place.”
“How do we know what we’re looking for?”
“Some kind of light, a ‘beacon in the night.’ I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to look around until we find it.”
“Let’s do it quick,” he said, and started out at a marching pace.
“Hold on, cowboy. At the rate you’re going, we could pass right by what we’re searching for. I think this calls for a little meandering.”
“Meandering?”
“Walking slow, Hunter, as if we’re enjoying the park like two people on a spring day.”
Something about his expression told Fortune that meandering was a speed with which Hunter was unfamiliar. But he obediently pulled up and began to study his surroundings.
The park was wearing May like a young woman in a green print frock. Flowering shrubs filled the air with sweet smells, and the sun shone brightly on the carpet of grass. They wandered along, not speaking, almost as if they really were on a date.
“Have you ever been here before, Hunter?”
“Nope. Unlike you, I always avoid federal facilities.”
There it was again, his discomfort over being locked in. “The prison farm is a county, not a federal facility,” she explained patiently, then realized that he was teasing again. She smiled.
“What does the pamphlet say anyway?” Hunter asked.
“It says the people who built these mounds were a tribe called the Mississippians. The Indians we know as the Creeks came later.”
“What happened to them?”
“The Mississippians? Who knows. Probably outsiders arrived and brought every bad thing the white man ever had. Here it is, the Earth Lodge.”
Inside the mound the temperature was cool. The facility was dimly lit, just as it might have been during its original use. Opposite the door was a clay platform shaped like a large bird.
Hunter walked to the center of the lodge. “Will you look at this. They must have held meetings here.”
There were three seats on the platform and about fifty more on the bench around the wall. In the center was a fire pit.
“This is the first dark place we’ve been,” Fortune commented, eyeing the indirect light coming from somewhere overhead. “I wonder what kind of light the Indians used inside.”
A visitors’ guide suddenly answered from behind them. She’d probably been there all along, and neither had noticed. “Before the mound was wired for electricity,” she explained, “the Indians probably built a fire, or perhaps used some kind of primitive candles such as these.” She indicated a woven basket beside the door that contained small branches wrapped with brush, like small torches.
“ ‘Inside that darkness, you’ll see the light.’ ” Fortune turned to Hunter and gave him an impulsive hug. “We’ve found it, cowboy, our ‘beacon in the night.’ ”
“Can these be bought?” Hunter asked the guide.
“Not here, but I believe reproductions are being sold in the souvenir shop.”
“You did it, wild woman.” He responded to her hug by planting a kiss on her forehead. Fortune jerked away, pulling Hunter out the door and back down the path. Her heart was racing. They were a t
eam. They’d solved the first clue. Hunter didn’t let go of her hand until he had to pay for the torch at the visitors’ station.
They stopped at a roadside ice-cream parlor for a quick lunch. Hunter had two footlong hot dogs. Fortune had one, to which she added chili and coleslaw. She ate quickly, then finished off Hunter’s fries. She pocketed the extra packets of catsup and cleared off the table so that they could study the clues again.
By midafternoon they were standing beneath the fifty-six-foot chicken that appeared to be used as a directional marker for everybody in the Marietta, Georgia, area. It towered above the busy take-out restaurant like a hen sitting on her nest.
Hunter ordered a bucket of the good-smelling chicken with all the side dishes. Outside the building he talked a diner into taking their picture using the instant camera they’d been furnished by the hunt director.
When they went back to the bike, they saw a crowd of curious fans. “What’s this, man?” one young man asked.
“It’s a new Panther.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re on that scavenger hunt. Hey, there was another team just left here. I didn’t get a chance to check out their machine up close. Man, this is a beauty.”
Fortune felt her sense of euphoria evaporate. Somebody else had already been there. “Kincaid?”
“Stop it, we’re not going to worry, wild woman. Just because they interpreted this clue doesn’t mean they can solve all the others. We’re going to stick to our plan.”
He strapped the bag of food on the back, put her helmet on her head, and fastened it, running his fingertip lightly across her cheek. After a long moment he drew back and donned his helmet. “Let’s find a place to eat and camp for the night.”
“We’re going to camp out?” Fortune slid into the seat behind him and moved forward until she could clasp her hands around him. She’d noticed that other women passengers seemed less concerned about holding on, but her confidence level hadn’t quite reached that point yet. Now her fear of the machine fought a battle with her reluctance to be close to Hunter. At this point the battle was a draw.
“Yes, we’re going to camp out, that was part of the rules. Remember? They even provided us with the necessary gear. That’s what’s in these rolls tied up behind your seat.”
“But shouldn’t we keep going?”
“Probably.” He stretched and grimaced. “But if I’m going to last a week on this machine, I’m going to have to rest, at least until I get back in the swing of things.”
“Oh, your back. I’m sorry. I’d forgotten all about it. I mean, I haven’t forgotten, I was just thinking about other things. Oh, hell!…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t even think of a limerick to get her out of the situation.
“Don’t worry. I understand, and I know just the place to camp.”
The place was a little spit of land that jutted out into Lake Lanier, the man made thirty-eight-thousand-acre storage lake used to generate electricity and supply water for the state of Georgia.
“Can we build a fire?”
“Not here, only in the campgrounds. So we’d better lay out our bedroll and get set for the night. Then we’ll eat.”
“Bedroll? Singular?”
“Bedrolls, wild woman, plural.”
They unpacked their equipment and made their camp, bedrolls side by side. Hunter unstrapped his leather protective wear and pulled on a pair of shorts. They sat on the beach by the lake eating their chicken, biscuits, and beans, washed down with soft drinks Hunter had bought at the lakeside store.
Afterward Hunter retrieved his cigar and lit it, sending a thin trail of smoke into the air.
“Why do you smoke, cowboy?”
“Same reason you eat so fast and hoard food, wild woman—it gives me a sense of security.”
“Smoking gives you security? How?”
“My father smoked. I remember sitting with him on the porch, smelling his cigar, and I knew things were all right.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know, about five or six.”
In the water a fish jumped, breaking the surface with a whack that sent quick little waves slapping the earth at the water’s edge. Then the lake settled back down to a gentle undulation. A fat buttery moon rose over the water in the distance, lighting the area so that Fortune and Hunter could see each other without a fire.
Fortune would have liked to ask more, but she didn’t. Hunter would just clam up, and she wouldn’t learn anything else. When he was ready, he’d tell her—just as Mickey and Joe had.
“This is peaceful, isn’t it?” she said softly.
“Yes.”
But Hunter’s voice wasn’t relaxed. He shifted often, changing his position and stretching his legs. Fortune knew that he was in pain.
“What happened to your back, cowboy?”
“An accident.”
“What kind of accident? No, don’t tell me. It happened on a motorcycle?”
“Yes, but don’t panic. Normally, I’m a very careful street driver. I was on a racetrack, in the lead, when I crashed. My bike wanted to go straight, and I didn’t.”
Fortune turned toward Hunter. “You were racing, on a motorcycle?”
“That’s what I do, or rather what the Bounty Hunter did.”
“You were badly hurt, weren’t you?”
“Let’s just say that my spine isn’t laid out like it was before the doctors got hold of me.”
“Doctors? You’ve had surgery? When?”
“Twelve weeks ago.”
“Hellfire, cowboy. And you’re out here riding that—that thing?”
“Yep.”
Fortune wanted to rail at him about taking care of himself. She wanted to tell him to go home and take it easy, but she couldn’t. The man was a daredevil. She’d tried to ignore his reason for entering the contest, charging it off to a lark, but nobody was that much of a fool. Nobody chose to hurt, not without good reason.
“Didn’t they give you something to take?”
“Oh, yeah, liniment and pain pills. But the pills make me too sleepy to drive.”
Back surgery. Liniment. Massage. Fortune began to smile. One of her many temporary jobs had been as a masseuse. She’d been trained by one of the best. Hunter didn’t know it yet, but he’d hit the jackpot.
“Did you bring your prescriptions with you?”
“Yes. I’ll probably take a pain pill before I go to sleep.” He tossed the stump of a cigar into the lake. “At least part of my instructions fit right in with camping out. I’m supposed to sleep on a hard surface.”
“Not yet, cowboy. Before you go to sleep, I have a little something for you.” She got up and stood over him.
Hunter glanced at her suspiciously. “What?”
“First, take off your clothes.” She turned toward the bike, ignoring Hunter’s gasp as she began to paw through the section of the storage area where his things were packed. The first container was shaving cream. The second container was an aspirin-based lotion, liniment.
Take off his clothes? He’d known she was a flake. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him—but it did. It took Hunter a moment to find his voice. “What are you doing, wild woman?”
“Something I excel in, cowboy, something that is going to make you feel very good. I promise. Why are you still dressed?”
“Fortune, I don’t think that it would be a good idea for us to—I mean, we’re going to be together for seven more days, but as you said, we don’t really know each other.”
Hunter knew that he was fumbling badly, but he’d been surprised. He’d never had a woman direct him to take off his clothes, not without some kind of foreplay or hint of her interest.
Fortune began to grin. The cowboy thought she wanted his body. Well, that might not be an unpleasant idea under normal circumstances, but he was right in his refusal. Making love to her partner would definitely be a bad move. Her mind agreed, though her hormones seemed ready to debate the issue.
“Relax, cowboy.
This is not what you think. I’m going to give you a body massage.”
He still didn’t believe her.
“I’m serious. I spent six months once working with a master masseuse. I never got a license, but I can do wonderful things to your body with my hands. Take off your shirt and turn over on your stomach.”
“Why would you want to do that? I mean, why the massage?”
“Because you’re in pain and I can help.”
Hunter simply stared at her.
Fortune wasn’t sure he’d give in. But physical discomfort eventually won out over his resistance to taking orders. That he pull his T-shirt over his head was proof enough of the degree of his pain. Fortune sat back on her heels studying his strong body until he was ready.
Uncapping the liquid, she moved over to his bedroll and knelt beside him. She poured a dollop of the liniment still warm from the sun, into her palm and began with the muscles in Hunter’s neck.
He was tense, very tense, and Fortune had to work slowly at first. With firm motions she kneaded out the knots of tension and resistance. Without speaking, she performed her magic, refilling her palm with liniment and working out across his shoulders and down each arm. His fingers came next before she moved back to the massive muscles that bunched in his shoulders. Carefully, with a lighter touch, she gave her attention to his backbone, following the lines of the surgery scars, watching for a wince or other reaction that told her she was causing him pain.
None came. Instead a kind of warmth began to steal across his body, radiating out from her fingertips like those waves from the disturbance in the lake’s surface. Little by little she worked down his back, along the waistline of his shorts and white knit briefs, sliding her fingers in a downward motion beneath the band. She felt him stiffen suddenly.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, it isn’t that.” There was an intimacy about her movements, an intimacy he didn’t welcome yet couldn’t quite bring himself to end.
“Then what?” Her hands were resting on the lower part of his back.
His body began to undergo a subtle change that overrode his casual, “Nothing, Fortune. Aren’t you about done?”
