by Unknown
“All it says is that he was keeping up the image of the Kincaid name. My mother wanted me to be safe, and he saw to it that I was taken care of properly. When the hospital was ready to release me, he paid the bill and sent the limo to pick me up and bring me home.”
“And that bothers you, his paying the bill.”
“No, it took every penny I’d saved, but I paid him back.”
“What were you saving for?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh.” But it did matter. He’d spent every penny he’d saved repaying his adoptive father. She didn’t know what he’d planned to do with his savings, but that explained why he wanted the prize money. Fortune digested the information and felt a chill ripple over her, a chill that had nothing to do with the rain.
Rain? She sat up. The rain had stopped.
“Hunter, the rain has stopped. The sky is clearing. We can go.”
Everything was becoming clearer, she decided, everything but the reason why he wanted the prize money. And she’d been trying to find a way to claim all of it.
“Well, wild woman, which will it be first, the bear or the hat?”
Fortune thought for a long minute. “The bear. There’s something about that clue that intrigues me. If we don’t get to the Opry, we’ll find another way to reach Minnie.”
The Bear Trap was busy, very busy. Fortune and Hunter looked at each other with surprise until they went into the shop and heard the sound of music. At the back of the store was a small stage where a band was playing. The man sitting on a stool was singing about the streets of Baltimore, and the crowd of onlookers were listening with rapt attention.
“Bobby’s singing,” the clerk said, “if you’d like to listen for a while before you look around.”
“Uh, no thanks,” Fortune said quickly. “We’re looking for a postman bear. Would you have one in stock?”
The clerk smiled and nodded. “Sure do, right this way. There was a shelf of furry bears of all occupations—postmen, firemen, policemen. But the clerk went to the end of the counter, where there was a section of bears beneath a glass shelf. “Which one you want, hon?”
Fortune looked at Hunter, who nodded for her to choose. She picked a small tan bear with bright button eyes and a summer postman’s uniform with short pants. She quickly turned him around and examined his mailbag. Sure enough, in his mailbag there was a letter, a real letter addressed “To any person who has an imagination.”
“Do they all have letters?” Hunter asked.
“The ones in this case do,” the clerk answered. “They’re special stock, not to be sold unless a person specifically asked for a postman bear.”
“Open it, wild woman.”
“Wait a minute, sir, you have to buy the bear first.”
Hunter took a clip of money from his pocket and paid the woman as Fortune tore into the envelope.
“We’re invited to a ball, Hunter, a charity ball for the children’s hospital. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. Let’s have another one of those bears,” he said to the clerk.
“I’ll sell you one,” she agreed, “but they all say the same thing. I know. I put the notes and the ticket in the envelope and into the bear’s mail pouch. I’m supposed to give you this too.” She handed Hunter a second envelope.
Inside was money, a great deal of money, and a business card. “ ‘Western Wear for all occasions,’ the card says.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Hunter followed the clerk back to the cash register, where she handed him his change. “Do you know anything about this ball we’re invited to?”
“Only that everybody in Nashville will be there. It’s a western affair, a real high-class gala. They auction off objects donated by the stars.”
“Like hats?” Fortune asked. “Like Minnie Pearl’s hat?”
“Probably.”
“And when is the ball, cowboy?”
“When else, tonight.”
“Uh-oh, and what time is it now?”
Hunter looked at his watch. “Four o’clock. We’d better hurry. If we’re going to spend this money for clothes to wear to a ball, we need to get moving.”
“But if we spend the money on clothes, we might not have enough to bid on Minnie’s hat.”
“So we won’t buy clothes, we’ll rent some. Have you got a telephone directory we can use, ma’am?”
The Yellow Pages listed several stores where formal western attire could be rented. In less than thirty minutes they’d found one and explained to the clerk where they were going. He knew about the event, and after directing them to the dressing rooms began to bring out possible outfits.
Fortune couldn’t believe the kind of clothing he was showing her. She’d never imagined owning such dresses. Finally, she settled on a copy of a slinky red sequined Barbara Mandrell dress with long sleeves and a high neckline trimmed with black fringe. It fitted her like a glove, and every bead moved as she breathed. The costumer added a pair of red satin evening shoes and glittery dangling earrings.
Hunter didn’t comment on his choice when they met back at the cash register. When the clerk found out that his customers couldn’t provide a permanent address, he lost his helpful manner.
“Sorry, the only way I’m allowed to rent our garments to people without a permanent address is with a deposit equal to the amount of the replacement cost.”
“All right, how much?”
“A thousand dollars ought to cover it.”
Fortune groaned. They were lost. If they left the deposit, they couldn’t be sure they could bid on the hat. “Hunter?”
Hunter thought for a minute, then reached inside his wallet. “Maybe this will do it.”
The clerk looked at the card and swallowed hard. “Er, yes, certainly, Mr. Kincaid, shall I have these delivered to your hotel, or will you want to carry them with you?”
“Send them,” he said gruffly. “And they’d better be there in an hour.” He took Fortune’s arm and practically dragged her out the door.
“What was that all about?”
“Let’s just say that part of Hale’s determination is paying off. A long time ago he had business cards made up for me, showing that I’m an employee of the Kincaid Hotel chain. I’ve fought my name long enough, I guess I might as well use it. Buckle up.”
“Where are we going, cowboy?”
“Where else, to the Kincaid Hotel.”
“We are? Why?”
“Because that’s where they’re holding the ball.”
Wisely, Fortune didn’t asked any more questions. She knew that Hunter was in a rage. It was obvious that he resented having to use his name, but he’d done it. The question was why? It certainly wasn’t to impress her. There were other ways to get to the ball, to get one of Minnie’s hats. It had to be because he wanted to win.
And Fortune was beginning to think they might.
After all, they had six more days before the deadline, and only two clues left to solve. They already knew that the next location they were searching for was Lithia Springs. But the last clue, the mysterious reference to direction and a creature’s tears, was still a mystery. Nothing in any of the books had offered an answer.
Maybe she’d call Lucy. Lucy might have an idea. Fortune wanted to check on the children anyway.
As soon as they walked up to the registration desk and Hunter identified himself, she knew what it meant to be with a Kincaid. In spite of the odd looks she received, the clerk fell all over himself to help Hunter.
It took some arguing from Hunter to make the clerk understand that they wouldn’t accept free lodging and that they couldn’t afford the presidential suite. Hunter finally settled on regular adjoining rooms, connected by a small foyer. The rooms proved to be so luxurious that Fortune wondered why on earth Hunter Kincaid hated the man who’d given him his name so much, he’d turn his back on all his wealth.
“The evening begins with a banquet at seven, followed by the auction and a dance,” H
unter was saying.
“That’s nice,” Fortune said, still standing in the middle of her room.
“It’s after six now. I suppose we’d better start getting ready. Do you have everything you need?”
“I think so, but then I’ve never been to an affair like this, so how can I be sure?”
There was a knock on the door. “Bell captain.”
Hunter opened the door and let the hotel employee enter the room. He was carrying the costumes from the rental shop.
“Where shall I put these, sir?”
“In here,” both Hunter and Fortune said, pointing at different bedrooms.
“Just lay them across the chair,” Hunter said, “well sort them out. I guess you’re nervous,” he said to Fortune, closing the foyer door behind the bellman.
“I guess I am.”
“Which bedroom would you like?”
“Either one.”
Hunter took the bag containing Fortune’s dress, and the accompanying boxes, into the room on the right. “If there’s anything you need, we can have it sent up.”
Like what? she wanted to ask. Nerve pills, a hairdresser, and a makeup artist. Maybe a maid to help her dress. Hunter wouldn’t need help. She could tell from the ease with which he moved about the suite that he was far more used to living in luxury than she. She’d thought they were alike, birds of a feather. She’d been wrong. Every flower in the vase on her dressing table pointed out the difference between them.
Hunter might have run away from home when he was sixteen, but this was the kind of home he’d run from. She’d run from a house with no paint on the walls and dirt-filled automobile tires used as flowerpots along the driveway. Now he expected her to dress up in spangles and go to a fancy ball. She wasn’t Cinderella.
Fortune nodded and walked quickly into her bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Ten of her precious minutes evaporated before she was able to stop shaking long enough to turn on the shower. In the bathroom she found a shower cap, shampoo, and fancy soap.
Feeling slightly decadent, she stepped into the marble shower stall and adjusted the water controls. The shampoo was sweet-scented, as was the body gel. Even the towels smelled of cologne. By the time she discovered the hair dryer and container of makeup, she decided that there were advantages to being wealthy.
Fortune’s usual sunny nature eventually took over. After a few giggles at her ineptness, she finally managed to pull on the pantyhose, the only article of clothing that the costumer clerk hadn’t provided. Fortune sorted through the makeup and considered her objective. She might look like a street child normally, but it was by choice. One of her temporary jobs had been as a makeup artist for a burlesque house. She knew how to create beauty, and tonight she wanted to be beautiful.
By the time Hunter knocked on her door, she was wearing the red sequined dress, the satin high heels, and her most elegant uptown face. She picked up her black beaded evening bag, took a deep breath, and turned around.
The door opened, and Hunter was ready to chide Fortune about the lateness of the hour. He started to speak, but his throat closed over and caught his words behind a mountain of tightness. This time he didn’t even try to hide his surprise. This time his laid-back air of acceptance whooshed away, leaving him absolutely stunned.
Fortune Dagosta was a vision.
Fortune Dagosta was beyond a doubt the most beautiful, alluring, sensual woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. And she was holding her breath in abject fear.
“Wild woman,” he whispered throatily, “if you so much as look at another man tonight, I’ll kill him.”
“I shan’t,” she replied, drinking in the sight of her golden cowboy in a black tux, with a matching red cummerbund and bow tie, black boots with silver trim on the toes, and silver buttons on his shirt. “I promise. I won’t even see another man.”
For one long moment time quite simply stood still, then both Hunter and Fortune began to grin. “Damned if we aren’t the best-looking couple I’ve ever seen. What do you say, Ms. Dagosta?”
“I say that I’m hungry, cowboy.” Lordy, was she hungry. But food was the last thing on her mind.
“Yeah, but knowing you, I’d better order something from room service for later. These shindigs aren’t known for good food.”
“I think I like the idea of later,” she whispered.
Hunter crooked his arm. “Then the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back. Shall we go, madam?”
“Indeed, Mr. Kincaid. Do you have our ticket and our money?”
“Indeed, wild woman, tonight I’m totally prepared, for anything.”
Six
Fortune took one look at the banquet hall and changed her mind. She was Cinderella, and she’d come to the ball. Nobody knew who she was, and she doubted that any of the guests knew Hunter, but nobody ignored them.
A doorman in a tux took their invitation and motioned them inside. After a glance around the room Fortune decided her slinky red dress no longer seemed too extreme. She felt all eyes following them as she and Hunter found two empty seats at a table near the front.
Fortune remembered to pause to allow Hunter to seat her. Though she had about as much in common with these people as a hobo in Buckingham Palace, she felt pretty, and those staring people didn’t know that she normally shopped at Goodwill.
“Close your mouth, darling,” Hunter whispered in her ear as he pushed the chair beneath her. “Let them do the drooling.”
Fortune turned her best uptown smile on Hunter as he sat beside her. She’d seen the country singers at the awards ceremonies on television and wondered at the blue jeans with holes in the knees, but there was none of that here. Sequins, satin, and elegance were the rule.
Across the hall she caught sight of the woman who’d worn the original dress from which hers was copied, Barbara Mandrell. At the same table was a very tall cowboy wearing a white western tuxedo. She kept waiting for him to turn his head. He did, and she recognized him as the star who’d gone on to make a fortune in the breakfast-food business.
Everywhere there were stars. Everywhere there were glamorous people wearing beautiful clothes, but she knew soon enough that many pairs of eyes were turned toward her and Hunter.
“There she is,” Fortune said under her breath, “at the speakers’ table.”
Hunter followed her gaze. “Minnie Pearl, but she isn’t wearing her hat.”
“Tonight she isn’t Minnie Pearl, cowboy, she’s Mrs. Henry Cannon.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
Fortune saw the very distinguished man sitting beside the elegant woman wearing the soft pink chiffon gown. She wasn’t wearing her gingham dress and her hat with the price tag. Her face was both soft and beautiful, but even in this elegant setting, she was still Minnie Pearl.
A quick memory of her mother tugged at Fortune. She saw something of the same strength, the way she looked at night when they sat down to eat whatever food she’d managed to scavenge for her husband and child. But that was long ago, and the memory was gone and the woman she was watching was wearing pink chiffon instead of overalls.
The people sitting at their table introduced themselves, and waited expectantly for Hunter to identify himself and his date, but his only explanation was that he was Hunter and his lady was Fortune.
His lady.
Darling.
Loving words, lovingly uttered, and though she understood that Hunter was acting out a role, purely for effect, she wouldn’t let herself be concerned with pretense. This was her night of nights. This night she was the princess. All she had to do was hang on to the prince. The only difference was that the object of their search wasn’t a glass slipper but a hat.
The meal was served by black-aproned hotel employees who silently anticipated the diners’ needs. Just before dessert Fortune was startled to find Hunter nudging her beneath the table. He was opening the clasp and sliding the last dinner roll inside her purse.
“For later, darling,” he sai
d softly. “Sorry, I don’t think we can make away with any butter.”
Fortune smiled and slipped her fingers beneath his jacket, massaging his lower back through his shirt. “How’s the back, cowboy?”
“The back’s fine, but my other parts are feeling neglected.”
They weren’t in the parlor car tonight, but they might have been. The clothes, the evening, the open awareness and promise of more were singing through their fingertips: his kneading Fortune’s inner thigh; hers sliding down beneath the band of his briefs.
“Careful, wild woman,” he growled menacingly, “you’re about to start a range war, and this isn’t the time.”
Fortune felt her face flame as she placed her hand on the table. Hunter leaned forward and made some inane comment to the man sitting beside Fortune, then slipped his fingertips further between her legs.
“Hunter!” she said between smiling lips. “Stop that, right now!”
“All right, darling,” he replied with a bland expression as he moved back to his normal sitting position. “For now.”
They were saved from any further double-talk by the master of ceremonies, who stood and welcomed the guests. After introducing the sponsors of the event, he explained the purpose of the charity and brought on the guest auctioneer for the evening.
The first item was one of Clint Black’s famous black hats that was quickly claimed for an astounding five hundred dollars. In the next hour goods were auctioned at an astonishing rate. Fortune was beginning to be alarmed. Suppose Minnie hadn’t donated one of her hats, or even worse, suppose they didn’t have enough money to buy it?
Finally, Minnie’s hat was the next item up for bid. After a quick rush of offers there appeared to be only two people bidding seriously. The other man was across the room, and Fortune couldn’t decide who he was. When the bidding reached a thousand dollars, Fortune began to panic. “Maybe we could explain to Minnie what we’re doing, and she’d give us a hat,” she whispered to Hunter.
Hunter didn’t answer. Instead he stood. “Mr. Auctioneer,” he said smoothly. “I do believe that Miss Minnie’s hat is the prize of the night. In the interest of raising money for the children’s home, I wonder if we might not let the gentleman bidding against me have the hat for the last bid—then, if Mrs. Cannon is agreeable, I’ll match his bid for another hat.”