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 said 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.”
The auctioneer looked startled for a moment; then, after speaking to Minnie, nodded enthusiastically.
Hunter sat down to the scattered applause of an audience that had no idea what he was really doing.
“You did it, cowboy,” Fortune said, her voice filled with pride. “Five down and two to go, and we still have six days.”
“And tonight, we still have tonight, my wild woman.”
The rest of the auction passed in a blur of bidding. Fortune didn’t know how much money was raised, but she knew that it had been a great sum. Enough to build a proper shelter for her runaways, enough to take in more. But she refused to think about that. This evening she was all dressed up.
This evening she had a ball to attend.
A side wall was removed, revealing an area for dancing. The guests were pushing back from their tables and making their way to the floor.
“Oh, Hunter, I don’t know whether I can even walk in these heels.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll hold you up.”
He put his arm around her waist and held her so tightly that she couldn’t have slipped if she’d tried. They circled the speakers’ table as the orchestra began to play. Fortune stopped, listening to the tune. She’d heard it before, earlier in the day, at the Bear Trap.
There were no words, but the song was clearly “Streets of Baltimore.”
Hunter gathered Fortune in his arms. “Come here, wild woman, I’ve wanted to put my arms around you all night.”
They danced. No, Fortune decided quickly, they simply held each other and the music caught them in its lovely sound and kept the rhythm of their hearts with its beat. Nobody attempted to cut in. Hunter would have swept anyone who tried away with a glance.
Only once did they part: she to go the ladies’ room and Hunter to pay their bid. As she left the parlor, she had to wait for Hunter, who came hurriedly from the hallway, gliding to her side with such a look of longing that she sighed and leaned against him as if she were out of breath and needed to rest.
“It’s almost twelve,” he said, his blue eyes stormy with unspoken passion.
“And we’ve danced the whole night through.”
“Not yet, wild woman, not yet.”
He kissed her in the elevator, and again a moment later in the corridor outside their suite, pressing her against the wall. And then they were inside the foyer, still kissing, bodies shimmering with energy, faces flushed, eyes filled with yearning.
“Are you sure, wild woman?”
“Absolutely, cowboy.”
His arms were around her back, clasping her loosely at her waist. Their breathing was quick and shallow, a vain attempt to bring cool air into lungs steamy with need.
Her hands were unbuttoning his shirt, sliding his jacket from his shoulders and pushing it behind to the floor. His shirt followed, and Fortune was able to lay her cheek against the golden hair on his chest.
“I’ve wanted to touch you here with my face since that first day. I love the feel of the hair on your chest, tingling like fire against me.”
“Not fair,” he said with a groan, “I don’t have that advantage.” He searched for the back zipper.
“No! Not yet.” Fortune twisted away. She turned her face toward Hunter. “Kiss me again.”
She stroked his face, reveling in the feel of him beneath her touch. His face was strong; his nose, his ears, all perfectly carved to match the stern look of him. This kind of touching was utterly new to Fortune. She’d never allowed herself to reach out to a man, not the way she was to him.
Hunter Kincaid, the loner, the rich boy who raced demon machines in obscure little places where screaming fans knew him as the Bounty Hunter, was very still.
His eyes were searching hers, searching as if he wasn’t sure that he believed what was happening. There were questions. There was uncertainty. And she knew he wasn’t a man who was ever uncertain about anything. Then he groaned and lowered his head.
He captured her lips gently at first, then more urgently, allowing his hands to caress her back, her shoulders, her breasts. The beads on the fabric pressed against her skin like hundreds of little fingers of heat. She moaned, giving herself up completely to the taste of his mouth, the bold intrusion of his tongue, the promise of wild, hot passion banked but blazing in the body of Hunter Kincaid.
Her hands left his face and sculpted the shape of his rib cage. Down through the downy chest hair they moved. She unfastened the cummerbund and his trousers, and pushed them to the floor, freeing the hard male part of him.
Fortune groaned. She was too short, far too short to match her need with his. Desperately, she slid her leg outside of his, taking his knee against the hottest part of her. When Hunter felt her arching to him, he pried his feet from his shoes, stepped out of the trousers puddled around his ankles, and backed to the wall, leaning against it.
Fortune felt herself begin to explode. Soon it would be too late to turn back. Maybe it already was.
“Fortune.” Hunter pulled his mouth away. His voice was as ragged as his breathing. “Fortune, if you don’t let me take off that dress, I’m going to rip it off, and that will cost us the prize.”
“I’ll do it.” She gasped, flinging her head back so that she could see him. “Oh, cowboy, its … It’s—I can’t even describe what I feel. Is it always like this, Hunter, between a man and a woman?”
“No, I don’t think so. At least …” His voice trailed off as he looked at the woman he was holding. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her hair was tousled and shining like black coal in the firelight. She was riding him like the vixen in a man’s most erotic fantasy, and she was openly acknowledging her desire.
He was on fire and he wasn’t even inside her yet.
“No,” he whispered, “it isn’t always like this, at least it never has been for me.”
“Hunter—”
The sharp knock on the door beside them seemed foreign. It came, stopped, and came again. “Bell captain.”
Hunter cursed under his breath and straightened his leg, letting Fortune slide to the floor. “You’d better take care of it, I don’t think I’m dressed for guests.”
Fortune stared at his nude body and shivered.
Then there was a click.
Someone was opening the door.
Fortune straightened her dress and stepped around the door to meet whoever was entering.
“Oh, sorry, ma’am. I was told that you were at the ball. I was instructed to bring this hat to your suite.”
The bellman was standing in the light spilling inside from the doorway holding Minnie Pearl’s hat. The ever-present price tag dangled from the brim.
“Thank you,” Fortune managed to say. “I’m afraid I don’t have a tip for you, but—” She knew she was stammering foolishly, but the thought of an aroused Hunter standing behind the door waiting had turned her stupid.
“No problem, it’s been taken care of.” The hotel employee held out the hat. Fortune took it and watched him back out the door and close it behind him.
“Lock the damned thing!” Hunter growled. He came out into the light, picked up his clothes, and pitched them across the sofa.
But the moment was shattered. Fortune’s heart pounded in her throat. She couldn’t believe her actions of a moment ago. She’d practically raped the man.
Hunter turned around, stared at her for a moment, and blushed.
Fortune had the absurd thought that he was providing a place to hang Minnie’s hat. Then her eyes moved lower. His long, muscular legs were encased with very long, ribbed silk black socks. There was something incongruous about this nude man, this very hard nude man, wearing nothing but his socks. She began to smile.
“You think this is funny?” he asked. “You abuse me, arouse me, and stand there laughing at my poor hurting body while you’re fully clothed?”
“Hurting body? Oh, I’m sorry, cowboy, I didn’t think. I let you hold me up without realizing how painful that must be.”
“My back would have to be riddled with knives to hurt badly enough to override what you’ve done to the rest of my body. Do something with that hat, wild woman, and heal me.”
He stood before her, peeling his socks off and waiting, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
She floundered, unable to answer or move.
“Fortune, you did this to me. I’ve been like this almost since the first time you crawled on that bike behind me. I want you. I need you.”
She couldn’t speak. The sheer magnificence of him overwhelmed her. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as if she were shimmering. There were invisible waves emanating from her body, covering the space between them like a heated coil.
All she could hear was the sound of their breathing. The ever-present tingling of her body was protesting in cadence with the throbbing of Hunter’s proud signal of desire. Her breasts ached. There was a tender torture somewhere between her legs, and her pulse was racing through her body like a flood spilling over its banks.
“Please, my darling Fortune?”
She’d never know whether it was her own desire, or his calling her “darling,” or maybe it was the “please” that did it. But just as she’d known earlier, there was no turning back. They were meant to be partners, and they were meant to be lovers. Fortune had always lived by her instincts, just as Hunter had. Now they’d found each other.
Reaching behind her, Fortune caught the zipper of the dress and lowered it, her eyes focused on Hunter with every ounce of her being. If this man was destined as her first lover, then so be it. The sequined dress slid from her body and made a splash of shimmering red around her satin shoes.
Hunter’s breath quickened as the dress fell. Beneath it, Fortune’s perfect breasts were free and standing out in passionate response to what was raging between them. She was wearing pantyhose, see-through hose.
She peeled off the hose and stood before him, more perfect than he’d ever dreamed. Hunter couldn’t speak. His breath had left his body, and he was smothering in a wave of heat.
But it was her eyes that forced him to move. Black eyes that challenged, dared, lit up like those of a Spanish matador defying the mad bull in some fine old painting. He reached down to lift her.
“No!” she said vehemently. “We’ll go together.”
She took his arm, and they walked into his bedroom, where he pulled back the spread and pushed her down to the bed. He knelt on the floor between her legs and took her into his arms, whispering against her hair, “I want you to know that I understood what you were saying before, about not being protected.”
Fortune jerked.
“No, Fortune, this is no thoughtless seduction. You’re a woman who’s made her own way, and I’m a man who’s done the same. If we make love, it will be because you want it as much as I do. If that isn’t true, say so now, and we’ll stop.”
Arms looped around his neck, Fortune swore softly. “Holy hell, cowboy, do you have to talk so much?”
Her heart was thudding so, she could barely talk. Why was he making her talk about what was happening? All she wanted to do was melt against him and feel. The warmth of his breath against her cheek, the touching of her nipples against his chest, sent exquisite waves of pleasure through her, and she trembled involuntarily.
Hunter stopped talking. His lips found other things to do as they moved down her cheek, tasting her skin, fanning little hot whirlpools of sensation, then moving down.
Lower and lower. He captured her nipple. Fortune moaned and leaned back, resting her weight on her hands on the bed, offering herself to him. Her lips were parted, her breath quick and uneven. The beginning stubble of Hunter’s five o’clock shadow grated against the silkiness of her breast as he sucked her like a hungry babe.
And then she was falling across the bed, and he was falling over her, probing her, seeking entrance to that wild, hot part of her. He fumbled just for a second and raised himself over her, finding the place he sought, the place that seemed elusive, blocked.
He stopped, confusion stilling his movements. “What?”
Then Fortune arched herself against him and he was inside her, quivering on the edge of desire as she gave as much as he asked. No quiet, passive recipient of his passion, her hands and body were asking, demanding things of him that he couldn’t refuse. Fortune was thrashing beneath him, thrusting against him, asking for more and more until they both hung together in a scorching shudder of release.
Fortune knew she was smiling as she felt him tremble once more, then fall across her with a groan of pleasure. “Cowboy,” she began, searching for the words to express what she was feeling. “Was it, was I …”
“You were spectacular. But—why? Why didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?”
“I thought that you wouldn’t believe me—that you’d think I was weird. I want you to know that I take full responsibility for this—I know what you must think of me—”
“Wild woman.” He cut her off by turning over and pulling her into his arms and kissing her gently. “There are times, my darling wild woman, when we both talk too much.”
It was much later when Hunter was still dealing with the responsibility he felt for the woman. His Mary Poppins of the pink bicycle, the woman who took in stray children and fought the justice system to keep them, had never made love to a man before.
He couldn’t put that aside. He’d never experienced that phenomenon. Even his first time, when he’d been fourteen, hadn’t been the first time for the fifteen-year-old “older woman” who initiated him into the world of sensual pleasure.
But Fortune Dagosta had been a virgin. She’d healed his back with her touch and his soul with her body. They’d been connected from the first, and now their lovemaking had sealed it. He’d stopped believing in forever long ago, but until after they’d won the prize, they were together, and it was good—very good.
He claimed her breast in his large hand and began to caress it. Her nipple swelled appreciatively, filling his hand as if it were saying yes, yes. Fortune let out a soft sigh and found a place for her hand that Hunter approved of with a sigh of his own.
Later he carefully moved over her again and slid inside her. He knew he was a big man, and Fortune was so tiny. The first time, such a short time ago, had been shrouded in a haze of passion so intense that she wouldn’t have felt the pain. This time he wouldn’t take the chance that he’d hurt her. He supported himself on his elbows and looked down at her, half-asleep, flushed, and smiling.
The light in the entrance was still burning. In the half darkness he could view the dusky pink of her nipples, like ripe raspberries, the honey-color skin that made up the gentle curve of her small breasts as they peaked against his chest. Her nose was too thin, but it was impudent and matched her wide lips, which curved into an even wider satisfied smile. There was an errant strand of dark hair across her cheek that caught her long eyelash, giving her a seductive look.
Hunter felt himself throb impatiently as he tried to move slowly. She was still tight, though the ease with which she accommodated him freed his restraint, and he pushed himself deeper and deeper, slowly moving in and out until the sound of her breathing became as ragged and desperate as his.
She wanted him. Her body curved itself around him, demanding impatiently that he satisfy the need he’d aroused. Her lips were parted now, her legs spread wider as she lifted herself to meet him, writhing, bucking, her moans turning into little cries of need.
So sensitive to her body was he that he knew the moment it began, the rumbling, rolling announcement of her climax, overcoming her, drawing all tighter and tighter until she exploded, sensation rippling through her like a storm. And then he forgot everything but his own release, and they floated together in the afterglow of their loving. He rolled over, bringing her with him, as she continued to hold him inside.
Fortune lay, her face pressed against his chest, until he fell asleep. They remained joined, both physically and spiritually. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want the light of tomorrow to change what they’d shared.
But like Hunter, Fortune knew that nothing was forever.
And she didn’t want to lose the now.
The smell of coffee, and lips brushing hers, woke Fortune the next morning. She sighed and stretched, feeling the silky fabric of the sheets caress her naked body.
Naked!
Fortune sat up, winced, and grabbed at the covers.
“It’s a little late for such modesty,” said Hunter, making no effort to conceal his amusement.
“I know you’re right, but—but—” She opened her eyes and glared at him. He knew how embarrassed she was, and he had no intention of turning away.
“I even swiped an apple off somebody else’s breakfast tray,” Hunter said solemnly.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I’m …”
“What are you, then, my wild woman?”
“I think I’m sore, and I need a shower, and I need you to turn your back. You may be used to parading around nude before your paramours, but I’m not.”
“Fortune, look at me. You don’t have to worry. I’m not coming back to bed with you. We have to get moving. We still have the Lithia gold to locate, remember?”
“Yes, of course, and I have things to do. I’d like to call Lucy.” She knew she was babbling, but she’d never been in this situation before, and she was nervous.
“Of course you may. Why would you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about the rules of the contest. We aren’t supposed to be using our own money, or family freebies, are we? I mean, couldn’t our staying in your hotel be breaking the rules?”
“Not if we pay, and it isn’t my hotel.”
Hunter knew his voice was too sharp. But he wasn’t nearly as settled about their relationship as he was pretending to be. He’d awakened early and spent an uncomfortable half hour feeling her pressed against him. The longer he held her, the more obvious it became that the previous night had not been a passing fling.
Finally, he’d separated himself from her, closed his ears to her sigh of regret, and left the suite. The desk clerk seemed surprised when he asked for his bill. It had taken a sharp reprimand from Hunter to force him to accept money from a Kincaid.
“I’ve paid our bill, except for your call. I’ll get that on the way out.”
“Do we have any money left?” Fortune hadn’t thought about the cost of their night together. She wondered if it was too high.
“Enough to last the rest of the week, if we’re frugal and if we don’t have to attend any more balls. I’m going to return the rentals while you dress and eat,” he explained, and gathered up the zippered bags containing the clothing. “Then we’ll hit the road.”
Fortune nodded and watched him leave the suite. He was back in leather again, once more the wicked Bounty Hunter. Now she knew why he’d been given that nickname. He’d caught her without a fight. She’s surrendered herself willingly, wishing even as the door closed that he’d come back to bed and take her in his arms.
Lucy, she needed to talk to Lucy. Her explanation, that of asking Lucy if she could shed any light on the final clue on their list, was only an excuse. She wanted to hear from Joe. Fortune hoped that he’d come back.
Lucy and the children were still at Rachel and Tom’s. She hadn’t heard anything from Joe, though Rachel had put out a quiet inquiry among the places that teens often stayed. So far nothing had happened—except the health department had issued an injunction against Lucy staying in the house. It was unsafe.
The one bright piece of information that Fortune got from Lucy was that Panther, Inc., did not yet have a scavenger-hunt winner.
Fortune hung up, assuring her friend that although she and Hunter Kincaid were very close to solving most of the clues, the creature with tears in its eyes was still a complete mystery.
Lucy promised to do some research at the library. In the meantime Fortune could only hope the other teams had the same clue and were no closer to solving it than she and Hunter were.
Fortune was dressed and packed and waiting for Hunter to return. The ball gown and last night in Hunter’s arms were beautiful memories, to be stored away and brought out in the quiet moments of her life, but they were only memories and should be treated as such. Reality was winning the scavenger hunt.
She heard Hunter’s plastic card in the door.
“Ready, partner?”
“Ready,” she said, and hurried past him into the corridor.
“Just a minute, Ms. Dagosta. You’ve forgotten something.”
Fortune stopped and turned around. “What?”
“This.”
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d planned to gather her and her pack and get started without rekindling the fire. But she looked so distant, so stiff, as if she were wearing new shoes and they hurt her feet.
But he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back, as the pack dropped to the floor between them. The thoughts of winning a scavenger hunt were lost as their lips touched.
Finally, Hunter pulled back. “Don’t ignore what happened, wild woman. It’s never happened to me either, and I sure as hell don’t know what we’re going to do about it, but we aren’t going to ignore it.”
“What’s happened, cowboy?”
“I think we may have fallen in love, darling.”
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’d know, wouldn’t I? Falling in love is a forever-after kind of thing, and I don’t even know what tomorrow will bring. It’s not possible.”
“I know. It isn’t. Maybe I’m wrong.” He reached down, picked up her pack, and winced.
“Your back. Did we hurt it last night? I never even thought about it when …”
“My back is fine. My body is fine. It’s a beautiful day, darling. Let’s just go where the wind blows us.”
“So long as the wind blows us toward Lithia Springs.”
They mounted the bike and drove out of the Kincaid Hotel parking lot. Somewhere a church bell summoned early Sunday worshipers. As they rode out of town, the traffic thinned out. The sky was blue, the day was green, and the mountains were touched with pink. For two lovers it was spring, a lovely May morning. Suddenly, the day seemed fine.
Fortune slid her arms beneath Hunter’s vest and squeezed him, pressing her face against his back. She felt every ridge of his body, his buttons, the pockets, the small round foil packets inside.
She suddenly blanched. They’d been so carried away that she hadn’t even thought about protection. But Hunter had. Fortune felt her pulse flutter for a moment.
“What’s wrong?”
Hunter’s voice carried past the sound of the bike. He’d felt her body quiver. He’d felt her hands reach his pockets and stop. He’d meant to talk to Fortune about their being together, but everything was too new. He hadn’t know how. In the past he wouldn’t have been bothered, but this time he was.
Fortune merely shook her head and laid it against Hunter’s back. How could she explain what his actions meant to her? How could she tell him of the times her grandmother had warned her against doing just what she’d done, loving a man. She’d used her mother as an example of what happened when a woman was weak. Fortune had believed her, watching her mother struggle to help pick crops in the field, make their meager earnings stretch to buy clothes and food for a little girl and a man who drank away a good portion of his salary every week.
Yet, her mother had loved her father. Even when she didn’t have the strength to work anymore, she’d never refused him. Until the end when she’d finally had no more to give.
Fortune hadn’t known what poor was until she’d been forced to live with her grandmother, who’d taken Fortune in and never let her forget what an inconvenience she was.
Now Fortune had let Hunter make love to her. No, not let, she realized, she’d met him thrust for thrust, kiss for kiss. Even now her body was giving out subtle reminders that it recognized and welcomed the attention of the man she was touching so intimately.
Fortune shuddered. She was learning that people could truly care for each other, and that loving could be very right. A blue-eyed cowboy with sun in his hair and heat in his loins had taken away all her resolve and left her wanting more.
Run away, that’s what she ought to do. But she’d seen what happened to her children when they didn’t face their troubles. They didn’t run away from a problem, they simply carried it with them.
Truth was, she and Hunter were running together, through a spring day, toward a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the wonderful feelings rushing through her.