The Count From Wisconsin

by Billie Green

  She shook her head. There was nothing she could do except wait and trust him. He was an intelligent man, a strong man, and she would trust him with her life. Now she would simply have to learn to trust him with his own.

  As she rubbed her fingers across her brow in thought, something vague began to nip at-the edges of her mind. It concerned Alex and the way he was taking over her every thought. But before she could grasp it, he was back.

  He slid behind the wheel and shrugged at her expectant look. "He's ordering lunch . . . alone," he said, his voice showing his disappointment.

  "Alex," she began hesitantly. "Couldn't he simply be on his way to see his parents or a girlfriend?"

  "I've considered that possibility," he admitted slowly. "Not that I think he would be visiting his parents; he's not the sentimental type. But he could be on business that has nothing to do with Tony." He shrugged. "I just couldn't take the chance. For weeks now Paul has been following him around in Monte Carlo during the days, while I wined and dined the bastard at night. And neither of us has come up with one solid fact. He doesn't seem to have met secretly with anyone." He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. "It has to be now or we're down to beating the truth out of him."

  She reached over to cover one of his large hands with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll work out. You'll see."

  "Sure it will." He grinned, his grim expression disappearing. "Now let's go have lunch." He started the car. "There's a little cafe across the street from his restaurant. This time we can watch him in comfort."

  Alex parked the Mercedes behind the small frame building and they entered through a side door. It was a charming place. Its small wooden tables were covered with bright yellow oilcloth, a bouquet of wild flowers in the center of each, and the most wonderful smells emanated from its back room. A lively trio of elderly musicians stood in the corner of the room, smiling happily as they filled the room with slightly off-key but enthusiastic music.

  A few seconds after they had seated themselves at a window table a young, smiling waiter came over to take their order. He had the dark good looks that make the French so appealing, and while he waited for them to decide, he occupied himself by examining Kate's tight jeans with wide-eyed appreciation. There wasn't anything furtive about his observation and he showed such open, naive pleasure in her natural endowments that Kate couldn't possibly feel offended.

  She noticed, however, that Alex wasn't quite so complacent about accepting his admiration. He frowned and glared up at the young man and when he began to order his voice was stiff.

  Glancing back to the menu, Kate tried to decipher the list. Then gradually she realized that Alex was talking too long to be ordering a meal. She raised her eyes as she caught a word or two of the rapid French Alex was using in his conversation with the waiter.

  "Epouse?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm. "Doesn't that mean wife?" He smiled in satisfaction and she gasped. "Alex! Did you tell him we were married?"

  There was no way she could let him get away with such a blatant lie. Kate caught the waiter's arm as he began to turn away and she started to stumble through a denial in her awful high school French.

  The man gazed down at her, his eyes widening as she spoke, then he began to back away, shaking his head nervously as though she had threatened his life. She gazed after him for a moment, then turned her eyes to Alex in bewilderment. "What was that all about? Why—"

  She broke off, growing even more confused when she took in his strangely mottled face.

  "What were you trying to say?" Alex asked, his voice sounding choked.

  "I wanted to say that you were telling him a big, fat lie." She stared at him, then asked warily, "Why? Isn't canard a lie?"

  He shook his head abruptly, his large body shaking with laughter. He glanced at her to speak, then closed his mouth helplessly and shook his head again.

  "What did I say?" Kate asked, sighing in resignation.

  Alex visibly struggled to bring himself under control and said weakly, "You told him I was a giant duck."

  "I—" She gasped, then remembered the look on the waiter's face. "He must think I'm crazy," she murmured.

  She tried very hard to hold on to whatever remaining dignity she possessed, but she kept thinking of telling the man in very bad French that Alex was not only a duck but a giant duck. She did manage to moan in embarrassment as she began to laugh uncontrollably.

  "It's all right, Duchess," he said, still chuckling. "Right now he's thanking the Lord that he didn't get saddled with a crazy wife."

  Kate gave him a squelching stare and opened her mouth to let him know that the whole thing was his fault, but he stopped her before she got a word out.

  "Our food," he said, indicating the nervous waiter who was returning to their table with a tray of appetizers.

  Kate was hungry enough to let it go for the moment and she happily settled down to eat. After the appetizer, they feasted on a delicious lamb stew, thick with mushrooms and potatoes, accompanied by large, crusty rolls. The strawberry tarts they were served for dessert were topped with thick, fresh cream and absolutely melted in the mouth.

  Every time the waiter brought another course they would end up red-faced as they tried to hide the laughter the wary teenager caused afresh. Once Kate had to kick Alex under the table when he very softly began to make a quacking sound.

  She was mooning over espresso when Alex covered her hand with his.

  "Listen," he said, smiling sweetly. "They're playing our song."

  "We don't have a song," she grumbled, then turned her head toward the squeaky sound. The odd-looking trio had begun carrying their instruments—a tuba, an accordian, and a violin—from table to table, taking requests. Kate watched the bulging cheeks of the short, bald tuba player for a moment, then said, "What on earth are they playing anyway? I don't think I've ever heard it."

  He turned toward them, his head cocked as he listened, then he nodded slowly in recognition. "It's 'Play That Funky Music,' " he said blandly.

  Kate gave a shout of startled laughter, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from spraying him with wine. He was crazy! Wonderfully, wonderfully crazy, she thought as he picked up both her hands and his laughing eyes met hers. The kind of crazy she was beginning to feel it would be hard to live without.

  Seven

  After finishing their meal, Kate and Alex waited in the Mercedes for Alvarez to leave, then took up the chase once again. The road they now traveled was relatively flat, if a little rough, and the countryside was much greener than what they had left behind.

  As they sped along, Kate watched sheep grazing in brilliant green meadows and occasionally she even got a glimpse of a shepherd, which thrilled her. Cowboys and ranch hands were familiar to her, but a real shepherd was a novelty and she regretted that she didn't have her camera. Of course, she thought with a wry smile, at the time she'd left Heather's house she'd thought the Oceanographic Museum would be the extent of her sightseeing. She hadn't exactly been prepared for a tour of the back roads of France.

  "I've got it," Alex said suddenly, breaking into her reverie. "We haven't done 'Monster Mash' yet."

  She smiled. Since lunch they had covered every song that existed in their combined repertoires, singing with exuberance if not total accuracy.

  "There's a reason for that," she said, giving him a guileless look.

  He stared straight ahead for a moment, his brow creased in thought. "I'm trying to decide if you're leading up to another insult," he said finally, then shrugged. "What the hell. I'm tough. Give it your best shot."

  She gave him a "who me" look, hiding her smile. "We are not going to sing 'Monster Mash' because every imitation you do sounds the same . . . and it's impossible to harmonize with Willy Nelson doing Boris Karloff."

  "Oh, yeah?" he said, darting an offended glance in her direction.

  "I knew you'd respond with something pithy and to the point," she said, giving him an admiring glance. "Maybe I should writ
e that down. How did you put that again? 'Oh, yeah'?"

  "Oh, yeah?" he repeated with a chuckle. "And I suppose you think your Barbra Streisand was wonderful?"

  "My—my Barbra—" she sputtered indignantly. "I'll have you know people come from all over Plum just to hear me sing 'Second Hand Rose.' "

  "They're obviously Ethel Merman fans," he said, grinning broadly.

  "You—you . . . Oh, yeah?" she got out finally as she turned sideways in her seat, preparing to carry the debate to the bitter end. Suddenly, though, she saw his facial muscles tense and glanced ahead in time to catch sight of a small goat darting into the road . . . and behind a boy giving chase.

  Kate's breath caught In her throat as Alex jerked on the steering wheel and the car veered sharply to the left. She kept her terrified eyes open long enough to see that they had missed the boy and the goat, but they were closed when she heard the final, sickening crunch.

  "You okay, Katy?" he asked as she eased her eyes open.

  She nodded, exhaling slowly. "How about you?"

  He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm all right, but I'm afraid the car is not."

  The crunch she had heard. "What did we hit?"

  "A boulder roughly the size of Mount Rushmore." He sighed and opened his door. "I guess I'd better stop putting it off and see what the damage is."

  She got out of the car and joined him as he hunkered down beside the damaged fender. "Is it bad?"

  "Bad enough, I'm afraid." He stood up, wiping his hands on his handkerchief. 'The fender is buckled against the tire and the wheel is leaning at an odd angle."

  "I guess we'll lose track of Alvarez now," she said, unaware of how regretful she sounded.

  He leaned against the car and put his arm around her, pulling her against his side. "This means it's going to be tough even getting back to Monte Carlo. You've heard of the long walk? We may be making it together."

  "Isn't there anything we can do?" she asked. "After all, we've trailed him for two days. It seems a shame just to give up now."

  He studied her indignant face, a smile growing, then squeezed her tightly as though she had pleased him. "Ill walk back to those houses we passed a minute ago and see if I can get someone out here to tow the car in and take us home."

  "Couldn't we get someone to bring us another car so we could go on?" she asked hopefully.

  "By the time I get someone out here, our man will be long gone, I'm afraid." His hand pressed into her waist appreciatively. "But we gave it a good try, Katy." He kissed her on the forehead and began walking back the way they had come.

  Kate watched him until he was out of sight, then sat down on a rock near the Mercedes. With her elbows propped on her knees, she thought about how she had fought him all the way, and now when she was going back she didn't want to. It felt unfinished. Not just Alvarez, but what was between them.

  Thirty minutes later, she was beginning to get worried. It shouldn't have taken him this long just to make a phone call. Maybe the people living in the houses they had passed didn't own phones.

  She stood and began to pace worriedly, then heard a muffled roar in the distance. The closer it drew, the more wary she became. When an ancient motorcycle pulled off the road and stopped beside her, she closed her eyes tightly, hoping against hope that it would go away.

  But when she opened them again, it was still there and the driver now had the helmet under his arm and a wide grin on his face.

  "Oh, no, Alex," she began, backing away. "Alex, I won't... I won't—"

  "Come on, Duchess." He laughed, grabbing her arm to pull her forward. He placed a second helmet on her head and strapped it under the chin before she could stop him. "We'll lose him if we hang around any longer."

  "What about the car?" she asked stubbornly. "We can't just leave it here."

  "Paul's taking care of having the car towed back to a garage in that last village we passed." He climbed off to get her purse and his jacket from the backseat?of the car. As he stowed them in a small compartment on the motorcycle, he said, "I thought we would be going back with him, but just as I was about to hang up the phone the son of the couple who own that little gray house pulled up. He was glad to sell this to me."

  "Weren't we lucky," she muttered sarcastically. "Alex, I can't—I've never . . . and I'm not going to now," she added emphatically, but merely gave a low moan when he helped her climb on behind him.

  "Why me?" she shrieked as the motor revved loudly and they pulled back onto the road. "When did I change lives with Penelope Pitstop? It's him," she said, tapping her helmet against his back. "He started it. . . and he's determined not to let it end until I'm dead or at least mangled beyond recognition."

  "Did you say something?" he yelled over his shoulder.

  "I was merely saying what a lovely day it was for being hit by a Mack truck."

  He laughed and put on the speed. She hugged him tightly and suddenly found that it wasn't so bad. With her arms wrapped around his waist, she could feel the hard muscles of his back and stomach. The entire length of her body was pressed against his, letting his warmth invade her flesh in a way that was unbelievably erotic. When they left the quiet country road for the crowded freeway, the erotic warmth between them helped to keep her mind off the way the other drivers seemed to be bent on murder.

  "Will we be able to catch him?" she shouted, raising herself slightly so her mouth was closer to his ear.

  "I hope so, Duchess," he yelled back. "I certainly hope so."

  For a while it looked as though they had lost him. Then, about thirty minutes after they had pulled onto the highway, they spotted the red Jaguar in the distance.

  Once they had him In sight, Kate pressed her face tightly against Alex's back and kept her eyes closed to the cars and trucks that passed them at amazing speeds. She only opened them again when, quite a while later, Alvarez turned off the main highway. Staying a careful distance away, they followed him into Dijon. The stop-and-go city traffic was almost as bad as what they had left behind, but at least they were keeping a less exciting pace.

  When they stopped for a traffic signal, another, newer motorcycle pulled up beside them on the street. Kate loosened her grip on Alex and glanced over inquisitively. She almost did a double take, but luckily remembered her manners in time. However, she couldn't keep her eyes from widening as she gazed at them in awe.

  "Alex," she hissed, reaching up to get dose to his ear. "The most amazing people ride motorcycles. They keep staring at us ... do you think they want us to join their gang?"

  He chuckled and she saw him glance over at the couple beside them. The girl's hair was styled in a sort of long, spiky butch cut and she wore what looked like a mangled, thigh-length sweatshirt and high, tight leather boots . . . and apparently nothing else. Beautiful in spite of her strange haircut, with her large almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones, she could have been a model.

  After studying the girl's legs for an inordinate length of time, Alex turned away and murmured, "Nice bike."

  Kate almost humphed in his ear, then, hearing his low chuckle, she poked him in the ribs instead and turned back to find herself the object of the unique girl's interest.

  She was staring at them both with undisguised curiosity, her dark eyes drooping sensually. After a moment, she jerked her head toward Alex and asked in French, "Yours?"

  Kate hesitated, then when she saw the way the girl was eyeing Alex, she shrugged and said, "Out"

  The girl said something Kate couldn't interpret literally, but she didn't realty need a translation. "What a hunk" was universal.

  Kate grinned, then glanced at the boy that the girl was glued to. His head was shaved smooth except for one thin, looped braid over his ear and his sweatshirt was similar to the girl's, except that perhaps it covered more of him.

  "Yours?" Kate asked, also in French.

  The girl laughed gaily, made a face as if to say "he's not much, but he's mine," then replied, "Out"

  When the
light changed, both cycles began to pull away. Kate sent the dark-eyed beauty a farewell thumbs-up sign and they both laughed, understanding each other completely.

  After Dijon, their course became more complicated. They followed one winding country road after another. Although there was not as much traffic, the road was rougher and Kate felt every bump on her derriere. The countryside continued to hold her interest. It was not something the average tourist would see on a trip to France and, although she was fully aware of the privilege, after a while she began to fear her legs would be permanently bowed.

  I'm probably the only person in the world who'll go home from France with calluses on the Inside of her thighs, she thought in resignation.

  Kate began to laugh at the thought, then stopped abruptly as she looked up. One minute they were in the middle of nowhere, then suddenly they topped a hill and they landed directly in the center of a small country village. Alex slowed and began to maneuver the bike through the street crowded with vans and wagons.

  "It must be market day," he called over his shoulder.

  To avoid the crowd he pulled between two temporary produce stands that blocked the entrance to a side street. At the end of the small street, he slowed to turn east once again and all at once they were surrounded by a street full of costumed, laughing people.

  "What's happening?" she asked in bewilderment, staring with wide-eyed amazement at the gaily decorated donkey directly in front of them.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with laughter. "Unless I'm mistaken, we're trapped in a parade."

  Kate glanced anxiously around at the crowd. Immediately behind them was what could only have been the high-school band. In front of the donkey was a horse-drawn wagon filled with waving children.

  "You really know how to impress a girl, don't you?" she said loudly. "Do you often join parades?"

  His laughter blended with the general merriment, and after a moment, Kate shrugged, then^ began to wave and throw kisses to the enthusiastic cheers of the spectators gathered at the side of the street.