Search Me(36)

I cocked my head at him. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get in there with all the testosterone floating around.”

“This is a real man’s truck, babe. Don’t let it scare you.”

“Hmm. What about that old saying about guys needing big trucks to compensate for their lack of manhood?”

He laughed. “Just get your ass in here, Squirt.”

I opened the door and eyed a leather strap hanging from the ceiling. “What’s that?”

“It’s to help you get in. You know, because it’s so far off the ground.”

“Oh, I see.” I grabbed hold of the strap and then hoisted myself into the cab.

“Hold on tight. I’m going to show you what this baby can do.”

He gunned the engine, sending me catapulting back against the seat. “Umph,” I muttered. We careened out of the parking lot and onto the four-lane. “Is all this really necessary?” I called over the roar of the engine.

“Oh hell yeah,” Maddox replied. With a flick of the wrist, he turned on the radio. An AC/DC tune blared out of the speakers and hurt my ears.

“Don’t I get a say in what we listen to?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

I leaned over and smacked his arm playfully. “That’s not fair.”

“All right, all right. Find a station you want. But nothing too girlie and none of that boy-band shit.”

With a giggle, I turned the knob until I found a station playing some 80’s music. “How’s this?” I questioned over Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name.

“Fine with me,” he replied, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

With Maddox’s lead foot on the accelerator, we made pretty good time. A lot of the trip was across two-lane roads and through rural areas. Realizing we were almost there, I pulled my make-up bag out of my purse. I hated the thought of meeting the Cherokee etymologist looking like something the cat dragged in, and after running like crazy to escape from Eddie and Barbie’s, I imagined I was pretty close. I brought the visor down and gazed in the mirror. Eesh, I was right. I desperately needed some help.

As I started rubbing on foundation, Maddox glanced over at me. “What are you doing?”

“Duh, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Why do you need make-up anyway?”

I shrugged. “I wanted to freshen up a little. You know, not scare everyone at New Echota looking like my pale ghostly self.”

“You’re too beautiful to scare anyone, Lane.” I stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed to which he grinned.

“Um, thanks.” I then tried to ignore the fluttering of my heart along with the butterflies in my stomach. Darn him. How was he always able to do that to me after everything that had happened between us? Was he serious or just seriously leading me on?

He remained silent after that, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I finished with the powder, blush, and eye shadow. I had just finished applying lip gloss when I saw the sign for New Echota. “Hey, we’re here,” I cried.

“No shit,” Maddox replied, turning on the blinker.

Driving along through the park felt like being transported to another place and time. Rolling green hills stretched as far as you could see along with an old Tavern and the Council House. “Where are the teepees?” Maddox asked.

“They didn’t live in teepees in later years. They lived in cabins like those.” I pointed to one of the few remaining ones still standing.

We pulled into a parking space in front of the Visitor’s Center that also doubled as a museum. I glanced over at Maddox. “Here goes nothing.”

We got out of the truck and were overtaken by a sea of middle-school kids who were clearly on a field trip. Before we could get inside the door, a college-aged tour guide bounded up to us. “Hi. Do you chaperones need your badges?”

“Actually, we’re looking for someone who can read and translate the Cherokee language,” I replied.

The girl’s brows furrowed like I’d been smoking on a peace pipe and wanted to see human scalps on a stick. “Oh, um, I guess you need to ask inside about that.”

“Thanks,” Maddox said.

We were met with an icy blast of air when we stepped in the building. Native American flutes and drums played softly over the speaker system. We glanced around the lobby before walking up to the front desk.

“How many tickets?” a man asked.

“Actually we need to speak with someone who can translate Cherokee,” I replied.

“That would be Dr. Bretsky. His office is at the back of the exhibition hall.” When we started to turn away, he said, “Excuse me, but you need tickets to go through there.”

Maddox frowned. ‘But we’re not here for all the museum stuff. We told you—”

“Yes, I know, and like I said before, you’ll need two tickets.”

With a growl of frustration, Maddox dug out his wallet. He tossed a ten at the man who gave a tight smile in return before handing us two tickets. “Everything has to be a pain in the ass!”

I couldn’t help giggling. “I think it’s safe to say that nothing else is going to be easy for us.”

We wove our way through a maze of Cherokee artifacts preserved behind glass cases until we reached a long hallway. I read the gold-plated nameplates before stopping at the one that read, “Dr. Paul Bretsky”.