Tarotica Page 7

  Ruby laughed and her jewelry jiggled. “I wonder how those ETs do it.”

  “Maybe they don’t. Maybe they’re reproduced in petri dishes or stamped out like widgets on an assembly line.”

  “I’m glad I’m an Earthling.”

  By the time they reached Fredericksburg, dusk had settled over the quaint town with its wide main street and century-old stone buildings.

  “Where do you want me to let you off?” she asked.

  “The Comfort Inn. Do you know where it is?”

  She nodded. “It’s just up ahead.”

  Eli grabbed his backpack as they pulled into the parking lot. “Thanks again for the ride. It was interesting, to say the least.”

  “Good luck solving your mystery. Take care of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  They shook hands and Ruby said, “I want to leave you with one last bit of Lone Star wisdom. What do you call a Texas woman who can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Darlin’.”

  Card 8: Strength

  Coyote Fortuna had built a replica of a French chateau near the entrance to his vineyard, and it was there he served his Texas wine to visitors. Most of the year, tourists and locals lounged on limestone terraces overlooking Fortuna Vineyard’s seventy-two acres of Vinifera vines while listening to local bands play country-western music. During cold weather, they drank beside a fireplace large enough to roast a wild boar in, or at the antique bar rescued from a Dallas saloon.

  A large man in his mid-forties, with a thick shock of silver-threaded hair, Coyote had a slender feral face that fit his name but seemed incongruous on someone his size. He raised his glass of Malbec and scrutinized its rich purple color. He and Eli had already sampled Fortuna’s Sauvignon Blanc, Zinfandel, and Merlot, and were leisurely working their way through the vineyard’s repertoire.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked Eli.

  “Not bad, actually. A little thin, but better than I’d expected.”

  Coyote snorted. “Napa snob.”

  “You want me to kiss your ass or be honest?”

  “Kiss my ass, of course.” Coyote laughed. “Okay, I know Texas winemakers still have some catching up to do. We’ll get there. As you say, though, this 2005 isn’t bad. Not bad at all.”

  The afternoon sun scorched the fields and burned the back of Eli’s neck. He slid his chair over a couple of feet, into the shade. He understood why the cold-sensitive Vinifera vines grew well in this climate. Coyote had intermingled them with the hardy, native V. berlandieri, which resisted the deadly root disease Phylloxera. Both appeared to be thriving.

  Eli was about to bring up the subject of vine diseases when a petite young woman, whose erect posture and air of purpose made her seem bigger than she was, joined them on the terrace. She wore tight black slacks and a white blouse with enough buttons undone that he could see the swell of her breasts. A sprig of lavender was clipped in her dark hair.

  “Do you remember Giselle Constant?” Coyote said.

  Giselle had worked at Meditrina only briefly, until Coyote lured her away with promises of money and success. Although Eli had never really gotten to know her, she wasn’t the sort of woman men forgot. He stood and extended his hand. “Nice to see you again.”

  When her eyes met his, he felt an instant sense of connection that went all the way down to his balls. She reached for his hand, but instead of shaking it she turned it up and studied the tattoo on his palm.

  “What’s this? A lucky charm?” she asked, a trace of Cajun music in her voice.

  “I guess you could call it that. It represents my link to Mother Earth and her abundance.”

  “Has it helped you make your mark in the world?”

  “The wine business has been good to me,” he acknowledged, trying to keep his eyes from straying to her cleavage. “Not as good as it’s been to Coyote, though.”

  “You think you’d like to have your own vineyard?”

  “Well, sure. But that’s way out of my league.” I’ll be lucky if I can continue working in the industry.

  “Has Coyote given you a tour of the operation?”

  “He showed me the fermentation room, the cellar, and the tasting room. We haven’t made it out into the vineyard yet.”

  “You’ll have to let me show you the reception hall and function rooms.”

  “Giselle handles all our events—weddings, banquets, parties.” Coyote gazed at her with obvious affection, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Is their relationship more than professional? Eli wondered.

  She tilted her head to one side and smiled coyly at Eli. “I want you to see my beautiful pussy, too.”

  He almost dropped his wineglass. Did I hear her right?

  Coyote grinned and explained. “She means her pet mountain lion.”

  “You keep a mountain lion as a pet?”

  Giselle laughed lightly. “She’s quite tame, really. You’ll see. Now I must get back to work.” She started walking across the stone terrace, then stopped short and turned around. “Coyote, I hope you invited Eli to spend the night.”

  “We’ve got several guest cottages,” he said, picking up the ball. “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  She smiled her approval. “Good. I’ll take you there after I finish with my e-mail.”

  * * *

  Fortuna Vineyards’ guesthouses resembled pioneer log cabins. Giselle led Eli to the one furthest from the other facilities. She unlocked the door and opened it. Except for a modern bathroom and flat-screen TV, the rustic interior reminded him of an old Western movie set.

  Eli put his backpack down on a chair upholstered in Axis deer hide. He was about to bring up the subject of her relationship with Coyote, but she beat him to it.

  “We’re not lovers, in case you’re wondering,” she said. “He’d like us to be, but although I respect him, I don’t find him attractive. I have my own apartment above the reception hall.”

  Her directness surprised Eli, and pleased him. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She laid her hand lightly on his arm; her touch sent sparks shooting through his body. Her eyes held promises he hoped would materialize.

  “Let’s go meet Bast,” she said.

  “Bast?”

  “My lioness. She’s named for the Egyptian cat goddess.”

  Giselle led the way to a high-fenced arena where a half-grown mountain lion stretched out on the fallen trunk of a dead oak tree. As they approached, the cat climbed down and padded over to them. Giselle stuck her hand through the fence and stroked the animal’s forehead, murmuring softly to it. The lioness purred like a kitten in response.

  “She is beautiful,” Eli said. “Can I pet her?”

  “No, she only lets me.” Bast rubbed her face on the fence. “I saved her life. Someone had shot her. I nursed her back to health.”

  “Doesn’t she want to return to the wild?”

  “She doesn’t seem to. I take her out for a walk every day. If she wanted to get away, she could. Cats have good memories—she knows it’s dangerous out there.” Giselle scratched the lioness behind her ears. “Besides, she has a good life here. Plenty to eat, lots of love. Wild animals don’t get that.”

  Bast lay down and rolled around on the ground, dusting her tawny fur with red dirt. Eli mentally compared the delicate woman beside him to the powerful animal.

  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll turn on you one day?”

  “No,” Giselle answered. “We respect each other. And anyway, strength isn’t just brute force. Gandhi said ‘Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from indomitable will.’ I’d add to that knowledge, perseverance, and the ability to control your emotions rather than letting them control you.” She gave Eli a sagacious smile. “That’s what got me out of the Louisiana swamps and into a six-figure job.”

  * * *

  “Texas has more than two hundr
ed wineries,” Coyote told Eli as they strolled between the rows of grapevines. In the setting sun, the green-gold leaves glowed like bronze above the iron-red soil. “Our warm days, cool nights, and low humidity are perfect for growing grapes.”

  “You seem content here.”

  “It’s an easier life. Friendly people, relaxed pace. Sure, there’s competition between wineries, but it’s not like California.”

  Eli plucked a grape and squeezed it, letting the juice drip between his fingers.

  “What are the down sides?”

  “Water’s the biggest one. We have an irrigation system, but a little more rain would sure be welcome.”

  Easing into the subject foremost in his mind, Eli said, “You know about Meditrina’s problems with the Mort Jaune, I assume.”

  Coyote examined the leaves on a couple vines, as if checking for the telltale yellowing caused by the fungus. “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Your vines are of French origin. Any signs of it here?”

  “Nope. So far Meditrina’s the only place in this country that’s been hit. But it can take a few years to show up, so we might see more outbreaks in the future.”

  “Don’t you find it odd that Meditrina’s the only American vineyard with the disease?” Eli asked. He waited for his former colleague to answer, and when he didn’t, continued, “I think someone intentionally infected our vines.”

  “I know. I read your comments on the blogs.” The big man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Do you have any proof, or just suspicions?”

  “We both know the French are pissed off because California’s wineries are taking business and awards away from them.”

  “Hell, the French have been pissed off since the Americans sent them Phylloxera back in the mid-1800s.”

  Eli told Coyote about his apartment getting ransacked and the two Frenchmen who’d assaulted him in San Francisco. “They knew who I was. It wasn’t a random attack or a hold-up gone bad.”

  Coyote mulled it over for a few moments before asking, “If they wanted to make a statement, why target Meditrina instead of the big wineries?”

  “I’ve considered the same thing. Which makes me wonder if somebody has a particular grudge against Meditrina.”

  The sun slid below the horizon, splashing the sky with streaks of vivid pink and purple.

  Coyote paused to watch the spectacle. “One of the things I like best about Texas is the sky.” After a minute or so of silent observation, he said, “Maybe you’re making too much of this French connection thing. Could just be a coincidence. Or bad luck.”

  “Troy suggested that too, but I disagree. Whoever infected our vines had to have motive, means, and opportunity.”

  The brilliant colors faded as rapidly as they’d appeared. “Let’s head back,”

  Coyote said. “Giselle will be holding up dinner for us.”

  * * *

  After a Texas-style supper that included steaks so big they hung over the edges of the plates, pie made with fresh local peaches, and copious quantities of wine, Coyote stretched out on the huge leather sofa and promptly fell asleep. Eli helped Giselle carry their dishes into the kitchen.

  “Just leave the dishes,” she said. “I’ll walk to the guesthouse with you.”

  “Thanks for your hospitality,” Eli said as they stepped out into the peaceful night.

  She took his arm. “I’m glad you could come visit, even if it’s only for a few days. What’s next on your itinerary?”

  “I’m going to San Antonio, then New Orleans. After that, I don’t know. I’d like to go back to Napa, if that’s possible.”

  “Well, if you change your mind about Napa, I’m sure we could find a place for you here.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The air had cooled off considerably in the past few hours. Overhead, millions of stars glittered in the big, black sky.

  “I understand what Coyote meant,” he said. “The sky is amazing.”

  “After being here, I can’t imagine ever living in a city again.”

  “Cities aren’t my thing either,” he said, holding the cabin door for her.

  Inside, she lit a lamp beside the bed, then closed all the curtains. Without a word she began unbuttoning her blouse. Her bright red fingertips flicked down the starched white cotton like drops of blood. By the time she’d finished, revealing full breasts overflowing her underwire bra, Eli’s cock was as hard as a crowbar.

  Giselle unhooked her bra and cast it aside, baring a stunning pair of breasts.

  Cupping them in her hands, she offered them to him. “Rub my tits with your talisman. I want you to give me good luck.”

  Eagerly, he caressed her smooth flesh with his tattooed palm while he sucked her nipples until they were as dark and hard and big as purple grapes.

  “And now I’m going to show you my other beautiful pussy,” she said, her voice a low growl. Like a lioness, he thought, watching her strip off her slacks.

  Through her white lace bikinis he could see her black triangle. Kneeling before her, he pressed his face to her mound, inhaling her scent. Like warm earth and damp moss. He pulled the thin fabric aside to lick her wet slit. Then he ripped off her panties and pushed her onto the bed.

  She propped herself up on the pillows and spread her legs, knees bent. While he shed his clothing, she toyed with her pussy. The magenta lips peeking from her dark curls glistened with her juice. Eli’s cock aimed toward her, magnetized like the arrow on a compass.

  She opened her legs wider. “You like it, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “It’s magnificent.”

  She pinched her nipples and grinned at Eli. “Want to fuck my beautiful tits?”

  In an instant, he was on top of her, his cock pumping her cleavage, his tongue lapping her cunt, while she stroked his balls, his perineum, his ass.

  “It tastes better than any wine you’ve ever drunk, doesn’t it?” she purred as he sucked her clit.

  “Mmmmm.”

  Eli heard the nightstand drawer open, then the sound of foil tearing.

  “Turn around,” she ordered.

  He did, and Giselle fit a condom over the head of his swollen cock. Underneath him, she shifted her position, pushing herself up on all fours so he could mount her from behind. Like a lion, he thought again as he sank into her. Squeezing her tits, he thrust again and again, while she growled and snarled and yowled like a wildcat. He bit the back of her neck. She tightened around him and let out an inhuman shriek, her contractions milking his cock. Howling his own pleasure, he came with such force, he nearly passed out.

  Afterwards, as they lay together in the dark, she asked, “How’s Troy? All I know is what I read in industry publications.”

  “He’s okay.” Eli wondered how many people knew about Giselle’s affair with Meditrina’s CEO. Does Coyote?

  “Still married to his ice princess?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Giselle eased herself out of bed, switched on the lamp, and started dressing.

  “Can’t you stay?” he asked.

  “I have to get up early.” She shook out her shoes before putting them on. “Watch out for scorpions—don’t walk around barefoot.”

  “Will I see you in the morning?”

  She brushed a kiss on his forehead. “Most definitely.”

  As she closed the cabin door behind her, Eli noticed the sprig of lavender lying on the pillow.

  Card 9: The Hermit

  Centuries before whites settled in Arkansas, the native people considered the Ouachita Mountains sacred. Many different tribes came to the natural mineral springs in the “Valley of the Mists” to drink and bathe in the healing waters, putting aside their differences temporarily to enjoy this mystical spot in peace.

  Driving through the valley, Miranda could easily understand why her father’s older brother had made his home here. His real name was Bradaigh, which meant

  “spirited” in Gaelic
, but she’d always called him Uncle Bright because as a young child she’d seen a halo of light glowing around his head. People described Bradaigh Malone as an old hippie, a loner, a hermit. White hair hung below his shoulders and his beard cascaded down his chest. Beneath shaggy eyebrows, piercing blue eyes shone like beacons. He walked with a limp—the legacy of an injury sustained in Vietnam—and used a tall staff he’d carved from an ash branch to support himself.

  Miranda drove across a narrow bridge that arched over a stream, then climbed a dirt road up a seemingly endless hill to her uncle’s house. She hadn’t been here since before her father became ill, seven years ago; the road had deteriorated significantly since then. It must be impossible to get in or out during the winter, she thought. He probably likes it that way.

  Uncle Bright was weeding his vegetable garden when she pulled up in front of the house. He waved and stood up slowly. Omar, his mixed lab-golden retriever, raced to greet her by sticking his nose in her crotch.

  “How was your trip, Sunshine?” her uncle asked. He’d nicknamed her Sunshine because he said she lit up his life.

  “Long,” Miranda answered, hugging him with one arm while she tried unsuccessfully to fend off the friendly dog. “It’s still hard for this New England girl to get used to such big states.”

  “It still seems strange to me sometimes, too. But then, I hardly ever go anyplace.”

  He reached for his staff, which he’d propped against the garden fence. “Are you hungry?”

  “Very.”

  “C’mon in, then. I’ll get dinner together.”

  Miranda fetched her suitcase from the car and followed her uncle into the house.

  While he busied himself in the kitchen, she climbed up a ladder to a loft guestroom and unpacked a few things. The room looked the same as she remembered it: a double bed with pine cone finials and a patchwork quilt, a small dresser, a nightstand holding an old oil lamp that had been converted to electricity, and about a zillion crystals.