The Count From Wisconsin Read online

  The feeling that meeting him and becoming involved in his life was somehow fate had been dissolving steadily as they drove; now it disappeared completely. This wasn't her life; it was a missing episode of The Katzenjammer Kids.

  "I'm from Wisconsin," he said flatly, giving an unconcerned shrug. "If you want to know how to get from Waukesha to Sheboygan, I'm your man. This place could be on Mars and I wouldn't know the difference."

  Wisconsin. He had told her the night before he wasn't Belgian and his accent had told her he was American, but it was only now sinking in just how strange that was.

  He had told her nothing of his background. How did a man who was as American as football get to be a Belgian count? As far as she knew, titles were always inherited. Evan had told her Alex was new on the Monte Carlo scene. Did that mean that he had only recently become a count, or did it simply mean he was just now getting around to visiting the playground of the rich and the famous?

  "Does Wisconsin grow many counts?" she asked, giving him an inquisitive glance. "I mean, is it the state crop or something, like Idaho potatoes?"

  When his only response was that brown velvet chuckle that somehow had the ability to invade her nervous system, she swallowed roughly and gave up her imitation of the loyal BuHwinkle.

  "Alex," she said slowly, "I really don't want to pry, but could you tell me why we're chasing after that car? Does he owe you money . . . or are you simply personally offended by red Jaguars?"

  "I need to talk to him. A little matter of extortion," he said. His voice was bland and casual, but she could sense he was waiting for her reaction.

  "Oh, that explains it," she said, nodding as though she encountered extortion on a daily basis. Leaning forward, she got the map from the glove compartment and spread it out, beginning to examine it closely.

  He laughed. "You're adorable, aren't you?"

  "I've always thought so," she said modestly, then followed a line on the map with her index finger. "It looks like we're on this thin red line that goes to Digne. You know, Alex, I think I much prefer the big orange double line. It somehow looks more . . . more stable. This one seems to be taking us through a lot of wavy green stuff."

  "That wavy green stuff is mountain." His words confirmed the fear she hadn't wanted to voice.

  "I think I saw this scene in a movie once," Kate said under her breath as they began to climb a steep, winding road.

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah, Fred Flintstone and Barney were—" She broke off and caught her breath as he accelerated.

  The scenery began to whiz past in a dark green blur. Kate remained cool and calm for at least three seconds, then, as she slumped back in the seat, the wide brim of her hat slid down on her forehead while she squeezed her eyes shut and held on for dear life.

  We're going over the edge now, she assured herself, giving a fatalistic nod. Any minute our path will be vertical instead of horizontal.

  Broken bones were painful. Hadn't she always heard that? Hadn't everyone always told her, "Kate, broken bones are not nice things." She was very much afraid that any minute she was going to find out firsthand. Come to think of it, forcefully intruding on a glass windshield wouldn't exactly be a maypole dance.

  Opening one eye cautiously, she peeked out the side window. Objects she assumed were trees and rocks flew past at a dizzying speed, melting into each other on a blue background in a crazy gray-green, tie-dyed mural.

  Dropping her gaze, she stared down at a sheer plunge which seemed to be directly beneath her, as though the tires on her side of the car were supported by nothing more than her desperate grip on the armrest.

  If Kate had looked more closely, she would have seen that there were a good three feet between her and the cliff edge, but somehow it didn't, seem the time for objective observations and she squeezed her eyes shut once more.

  God, can we talk? Kate moaned silently. I've never asked you for much, have I? You have to understand that I still have things to do. She drew in a shaky breath.I/ have two books overdue at the library and You'll remember I always promised myself that I would run in the Boston marathon . . . just as soon as I got in shape.

  Alex gave Kate a quick glance from the corner of his eye. She has guts, he thought with a grin. The speed that was necessary to keep up with Alvarez obviously scared her silly, but she wasn't going to show it.

  Courage and beauty, he thought with delight, a terrific combination. It was no wonder he had been intrigued from the first moment he had seen her.

  But last night, as he watched her through the window, he had merely thought her attractive . . . and sexy as hell. She had observed the scene around her, completely unimpressed by the people who were so terribly impressed with themselves. That had interested him, but he had been interested by many women only to find later that some flaw in their personality would put him off completely.

  It was when he had seen the laughter in Kate's eyes and had recognized unashamed honesty in her reactions to him and the world that he had felt her touch a part of him that ached to be touched. The deepest part, the part that remained lonely even when he was with someone physically.

  She had walked into his life and, seemingly without effort, had made him feel more alive than he had felt in years. There was something special about this woman Kate, and he was determined not to let her go until he had discovered what it was that made him feel the way he did.

  He chuckled softly when he saw her slide lower in the seat. First, he thought, he would have to find a place that didn't terrify her.

  "How're you doing, Katy?" Alex asked, breaking in on her frantic thoughts.

  "Fine," she squeaked, the word barely audible. "Fine and dandy." Her last word slid away on a low moan and she resumed her silent conversation with that all-important Someone.

  Dying is for Monday mornings in Plum, God, not for expensive vacations in France. I promise ... I promise I'll never let crazy men pick me up again if You'll just prevent me from being swept up by a broom.

  At last Kate knew how the word "bloodcurdling" originated. She could actually feel the blood flowing through her veins as if it were solid instead of liquid. Perhaps if she watched, she would be able to see it moving in lumps beneath her skin, But she would never know because it would have taken a crowbar to pry her eyes—

  "There he is," Alex said, once again interrupting her wild thoughts.

  He sounded calm and sane, but she could hear the tension underlying his words. And with murder in her heart, she also recognized excitement. The big oaf was actually enjoying himself.

  The idea of throttling him was discarded when she remembered he was driving, and she opened her eyes to see the red sports car ahead. Only a van and a small Saab wagon separated the Jaguar from the Mercedes. She inhaled in relief as he reduced their speed and began to maintain a careful distance from the sports car.

  Straightening from her slumped position, Kate picked up the hat that had somehow landed on the floor and gave it a sorrowful glance. It was pitifully crushed and bedraggled. Another score she owed Alex, she thought as she tossed the hat in the backseat.

  "You weren't scared, were you?" How could he sound concerned and amused at the same time?

  "Me?" she scoffed weakly. "Of course not. I have absolute confidence in your driving."

  "I see." He nodded slowly in agreement. "That's why you ripped off the armrest and wore a hole in the carpet trying to put on the brake."

  She gave an airy wave of her slim fingers, "You know how it is. My mind has confidence in you, but my body's main concern is self-preservation." She lifted an almost steady hand to smooth her tousled blond hair. "It always takes over when I'm that near death."

  He laughed, then she caught her breath as the gleam of excitement returned to his eyes and he said, "Hold on, Katy love. He's picking up speed again."

  "Ohhh, day-um," she wailed, at last seeing the logic in Heather's drawn-out expressions.

  Actually, my life wasn't that dull, she thought as she was once again pre
ssed back in the leather seat by the force of their speed. And anyway, is dull really that bad? I can live with dull. That is, if I live, I can live with dull.

  She cut off the giggle that was rising in her throat. I will not become hysterical, she told herself slowly and carefully, but when he passed the ancient Saab on a blind curve, she knew she had lied. Clearing her throat, she tested her vocal chords for the protest whose time had finally come.

  "Alex," she said, unable to recognize as her own the thin voice coming from her throat. "Alex, I'm not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I'm really not."

  "We're going to be friends, aren't we?" He didn't fool her for a minute with his sincere, kind tone. "Friends share experiences."

  "Couldn't we share a glass of wine instead?" Then as they burst through a pass and were once again riding on the edge of a cliff, she gulped and added weakly, "On second thought, make that a double vodka."

  This time when he laughed she wasn't so

  complacent about accepting his amusement, not even when he said bracingly, "You're doing fine;**

  "Compared to what—cardiac arrest?" she asked dryly, then slid liquidly lower as he swerved slightly to miss a rabbit.

  After that she felt not the slightest urge to open her eyes again or even to voice a protest. For what seemed like hours she avoided thinking about the way the car seemed occasionally to slide sideways by reciting the racier bits of Robert Burns poetry that she and Heather had memorized as teenagers.

  Kate had gone past racy and was well into bawdy by the time she felt the car slow down. " 'The wildbirds sang, the echoes rang, while Damon's arse beat time, Sir,' " she finished, opening her eyes cautiously.

  She glanced first at Alex, unwilling to look out the side window again, and saw that his large frame was shaking with silent laughter.

  "I've—" he began in a choked voice. "I've never met anyone who had all of Robby Burns memorized."

  "Not all. Just the parts that would interest a randy teenager arid the one where he plows up a mouse's house." She chanced a peek out the windshield and saw below them a small valley, dotted with houses. "Is that Shangri-La?"

  "You know," he said, smiling, "that may have felt like the Himalayas, but, comparatively speaking, they were very small mountains."

  "I rarely speak comparatively," she said with acerbity. "So please just tell me straight-out—are we through with that crazy roller-coaster ride and can you find a nice flat way to get me home?"

  "Home?"

  He said the word reflectively, his voice quiet and casual. So why did she feel uneasy about that one word?

  "Yes, home," she repeated. "My temporary home with my friends in Monte Carlo."

  "Actually, Kate—" he began, then his eyes narrowed as he stared down below them into the green valley. "He's stopped. Close your eyes one more time, Katy. I want to see what he's doing."

  Perhaps it was his automatic acceptance of her cowardice or perhaps she was getting used to terror, for, whatever the cause, the fast trip down the last incline leading to the small valley didn't even cause her heart to start pumping.

  She was quite proud of herself when they passed the empty sports car slowly and pulled over to the side of the road beneath a stand of trees.

  "He must be stopping for lunch," Alex said, almost to himself.

  "Lunch?" Kate said hopefully. She had missed her lunch. Heavens, that seemed days ago. Glancing down at her watch, she found to her amazement that only two hours had passed since she had left Evan at the restaurant.

  "Did you miss lunch too?" Alex asked with a wistful sigh. "I'm starving. And I have a feeling he's at the only tavern for miles around." He glanced back toward the village. "Why don't we go back and see what we can find?"

  The tiny village consisted of an inn, an automobile garage with a lean-to-type structure attached to it that reminded Kate of a blacksmith's shop, a beautiful little church made of white stone, and a general store.

  And the store was definitely general. It carried everything from freshly baked loaves of French bread and postcards to hammers and lipstick.

  While Alex shopped, Kate used the store's phone to put through an overdue call to Heather.

  The receiver was picked up on the first ring. "Heather?" Kate said, wondering for the first time just exactly how she would explain to her friend.

  "Kate!" came Heather's frantic screech. "Katy Sullivan, where in hell are you? Why did you leave the restaurant like that? Evan said Alex Delanore followed you out. Kate, what on earth is going on?"

  "Heather," Kate said, holding back her laughter with difficulty. "I'm fine. Evan was right. Alex followed me out and . . . and invited me to take a ride in the country with him. I just wanted to call and let you know the white slavers didn't get me."

  "Alex Delanore," Heather gasped weakly. "How do you know— No, never mind that now; you can explain it all later. Just tell me when you're coming home."

  Kate glanced over her shoulder and saw Alex at the counter, paying for his purchases. "I don't know, but don't worry about me; I'm fine. I just never imagined the second act would be quite so exciting."

  "The second act? Have you been drinking?" Her voice became suspicious. "Kate, we don't know Alex Delanore very well; are you sure you can trust him?"

  Kate didn't answer for a moment. She had known Alex for two days. Did she trust him? Across the room Alex smiled at her and began to walk toward her with his purchases.

  "Yes, I do," she said softly, without reservation. "I trust him. I'd better go now, Heather. I'll see you . . . when I see you," she added vaguely, then replaced the receiver and turned to walk out of the store with Alex.

  ***

  "Okay, I'll accept that," Alex said, taking another bite of cheese. "But if Lillian Gish is the all-time best actress, who's your candidate for the best actor?"

  Kate took a sip of the wine they drank from brown pottery mugs and leaned her head back against the leather seat. They had returned to his car to eat their impromptu lunch in order to watch the road for the red Jaguar.

  "Best actor, huh? That's a lot tougher. I can be objective about women because I don't fall in love with them, but men are different. The ones I prefer may not be the best actors; they may simply appeal to something in me," She reached into a bag on the seat to secure another handful of grapes. "You would be a better judge of best actor."

  "Hmmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "We're talking about pure talent, right?"

  She merely nodded in affirmation because her mouth was full of grapes.

  "Then I guess I would have to say Lon Chaney."

  "Do you really think so? I'll grant you he was a master of what he did, but to me acting is the ability to change characters without the makeup and all the external devices he used," she explained as she stole a piece of his cheese and took a reflective bite. "Becoming the character on the inside rather than on the outside."

  He paused in tearing off another piece of bread. "Maybe," he conceded at last. "If that's so, then I guess my vote would have to go to Theodore Roosevelt."

  "Disqualified," she said, laughing and choking on her wine at the same time. "Politicians aren't allowed." She paused. "Can't you just see awards handed out every year for the politician who has fooled the most people into thinking he knew what he was doing?"

  "Are we going to talk politics?" he asked warily as he cleared away the remains of their meal and placed the bag in the backseat.

  She tapped the mug against her chin, considering the question. "No," she said at last. "We're not. The sun's shining, I'm in France, and I'm full of good food. If there ever was a day for not discussing politics, this is one."

  "Good," he said with a satisfied sigh as he leaned back in the seat. "Okay, tell me Elvis's all-time best record."

  She considered the question for a moment, then finished her wine and placed the cup in the backseat. "It's a toss-up," she said at last. "Between 'That's All Right, Mama' and 'I Want You, I Need You, I love You.' "

  "You're n
ot even considering 'Jailhouse Rock"?" he said in amazement.

  "Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "Maybe Teddy Bear,' but not 'Jailhouse Rock.' "

  "Philistine," he said in disgust. "You obviously have a tin ear."

  She laughed at his offended expression, then leaned back in the leather seat, drinking in the fresh country air.

  He looked around them at the countryside. "Doesn't the air feel different here, Kate?" he said, echoing her thoughts. "It's not just that the people speak a different language and the houses are different. There's a different feel to France than there is to the United States ... at least to my part of the United States."

  "Yes, it's different," Kate said. "But I've felt it before. In Texas. We don't get much in the way of a change in seasons so when we do it's something that sticks in your memory. The few days of spring and fall that we have always make me remember things that have happened in other springs, other falls." She smiled in reminiscence. "This reminds me of the first time I fell in love."

  "Painful or happy?" he asked, giving her an understanding glance.

  "Definitely happy. He had me totally captivated while it lasted, then let me down easy when it was over."

  "I can't imagine you being captivated," he said, and there was something close to envy in his expression. "How did this paragon of virtue manage it?"

  "He had blond curry hair, clear blue eyes, and lots of money for a start," she said, curling her legs up beside her and resting her chin on her hand. "But I think maybe the thing that really made me fall head over heels for Billy Wayne Turner was his ability to make the most remarkable noises simply by putting his hand under his arm."

  "He sounds like pretty tough competition," he said, chuckling. "I think I probably fell in love for the first time in grade school too."

  "Grade school?" she said, raising an arched brow. "It was last year."

  She loved to see him laugh. He did it with such enjoyment and the rich sound always spread through her blood like brandy, warming her completely. For a moment she felt that if she were suddenly given one wish it would be to spend the rest of her life listening to his laughter.