Tarotica

“I’ll do my best. When it’s all over, maybe you can come to Napa.”

“Or you can come to Salem.”

“Or we could do both.”

* * *

While Eli sat at the airport gate waiting to board his plane, his cell phone rang.

The screen displayed Giselle Constant’s name and number.

“Hey there,” she greeted him cheerfully. “How’s everything?”

“Hi, Giselle. Okay, I guess. I’m on my way back to Napa.”

“Really? I thought you’d left Napa because it was too dangerous.”

“Well, it turns out danger lurks in other places, too.” He told her about the men who’d tried to nab him in New Orleans. “Guess I’m not very good at hiding.”

“Cute guys can’t hide. That’s why CIA agents are nondescript.”

Eli chuckled. “So what are you up to?”

“Coincidentally, I’m heading to Napa myself soon.” Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper, rich with possibilities. “Maybe we can hook up while I’m there.”

Memories of their nights together at Fortuna Vineyards played in his mind like an X-rated movie. Heat flared in his groin. “Sounds good to me. Let’s plan on it.”

“Definitely. I’ll call and let you know when to expect me.”

“Okay, great.”

“Don’t get yourself killed before I arrive,” she teased.

“I have no intention of getting killed before or after you arrive. Say hi to Coyote for me.”

“I will. Say hi to Troy for me.”

“Sure. Thanks for calling, Giselle. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“And I’m looking forward to seeing you,” she said in a low growl. “Every inch of you.”

By the time he clicked off, Eli was halfway hard. He wondered what Miranda would do if she knew about Giselle. We don’t have any kind of agreement between us, he told himself. I’m free to do whatever and whomever I please.

An attendant announced his flight. Eli picked up his backpack and held it in front of him to conceal the swelling in his jeans. He tried to push thoughts of Giselle out of his head for the moment. This isn’t the time or place to get horny.

He found his seat and stowed his backpack. As he buckled up and pretended to listen to the flight attendant’s air safety speech, he contemplated his relationship with Miranda. I guess if we don’t have a commitment, she can do anything she likes, too. He imagined her in bed with another man, envisioned that man fondling her gorgeous breasts, eating her pussy, fucking her until she moaned with pleasure. He didn’t like the idea at all.

Eli rarely felt jealous. If a woman wasn’t available or preferred somebody else, he could always find plenty more to pick from. He’d never had to look far for female companionship. Like a bee flitting from flower to flower, he drank his fill and moved on.

For some reason, Miranda’s different. What am I going to do about her?

* * *

After dropping Eli at the airport, Miranda drove north through Mississippi.

This has to be the most boring state I’ve seen yet, she thought. I wish Eli were here to make the drive more fun. Western Tennessee held little appeal either.

If I liked country music, I might consider heading over to Nashville, but I can easily pass on The Grand Ole Opry. I think I’ll skip Graceland, too.

She spent the night near the intersection of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, and in the morning followed the Ohio east, hoping to find someplace that piqued her interest.

Finally she acknowledged that she wasn’t bored; she was lonely. When she delved a little deeper, she discovered sadness and apprehension just below the surface. What if Eli eases back into his old life in Napa and forgets all about me? Or worse, what if those French guys get him? He might not be so lucky next time.

A sign for Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area caught her eye.

Maybe communing with nature will improve my mood. She turned south and soon came to the inland peninsula sandwiched between Kentucky Lake and Lake Barkley. After renting a cabin for the night and picking up a site map at the visitors’ center, she set out to explore as much of the park’s 170,000 acres as possible.

First she drove through a grassy prairie where bison and long-horned elk roamed freely, much as they had before white men settled Kentucky. Next she hiked along one of the park’s less strenuous trails, part of an intricate network that crisscrossed the peninsula. Herons, egrets, Canadian geese, and other waterfowl populated the marshes.

Deer grazed along the shores. A pair of otters cavorted in a stream.

She recalled what Freeman had told her over tea in his tree house near the Atchafalaya swamp: “When an animal or bird appears to us, it could be bringing a message.” Everywhere she looked ,she saw wildlife of one sort or another. Surely they couldn’t all be messengers, could they? And if they were, how could she possibly decipher their language? Maybe they showed her the way to simply be, to live in the moment, trusting her instincts to guide and provide for her, instead of worrying about the future or analyzing the past. A hawk soaring overhead reminded her of the magician Lancelot Lucas.

What a strange assortment of people I’ve met on this journey.

In the afternoon, Miranda decided to join a trail ride. It sounded like a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours, but once she’d mounted the palomino gelding, she had second thoughts. I haven’t ridden a horse since high school. I hope I can keep from falling off. She gripped the reins with sweaty hands. I’ve heard horses can sense your fear.

As the group of horses and riders loped along the peaceful waterfront, she began to relax. The sun warmed her back and made the green lake sparkle like an emerald. To the west stretched rolling hills dappled with wildflowers.

They’d nearly reached an old iron furnace, abandoned now for more than a century, when she saw the snake coiled at the side of the trail. Her horse stopped short, reared, and bolted. Miranda let out a startled shriek and gripped the saddle horn, clenching the gelding’s sides with her legs. She yanked on the reins, but the horse kept running. Panic surged in her chest.

With her heart pounding hard and fast like the horse’s hooves, she suddenly recalled an incident years ago when a riptide swept her away while swimming in the icy waters off the Maine coast. Struggling against the powerful current only made things worse. When she relaxed, however, the ocean carried her back to shore. Go with the flow, don’t fight, a voice inside her advised. Miranda leaned forward, close to the palomino’s neck, and gave him his head. If I can just hang on, I’ll be okay. They galloped another half-mile before the horse seemed to decide he was out of harm’s way and slowed down.

The trail ride’s leader cantered up beside her. “Are you all right?”

Miranda nodded, trying to catch her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A snake… spooked him.”

He took the gelding’s reins from her, and led horse and rider back to the group. At the end of the trail Miranda slid down from the palomino, glad to be standing on firm ground again. Her legs felt sore and shaky. Her butt ached from bumping on the saddle.

A man with very broad shoulders and very narrow hips strolled over to her, his movements so fluid he seemed to be made of water. “You okay?” he asked. His Tennessee twang reminded her of a banjo. “That was quite a ride.”

“Seems like everything’s still in place,” she answered.

He looked her up and down, with deliberate slowness. “Seems like that to me, too.” He grinned, revealing a