As Frank drew back, he thrust the envelope at her. “Your identification papers, darlin’. You’re all nice and legal now. My contact had a devil of a time finding a shady enough expert to get the job done, but apparently he chose well, because the fella even managed to use your real name. I ain’t sure how he pulled that off. I’m told that most times they have to borrow the identity of somebody deceased, and I don’t reckon there’s too many women in the States, livin’ or dead, with a name similar to yours.”
“Oh!” Ceara cried, her voice shrill with delight as she drew out the paperwork. “’Tis perfect! I wouldna have liked using a different name.” She peered at the birth certificate. “Even me age is correct.” She thanked Frank with a warm smile. “Now I can get a driver’s license!”
Frank’s dark brows snapped together. “Ah, well, now. Let’s not rush into that. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
Just then Quincy’s voice rang out from behind her. “A driver’s license?”
Ceara turned and flapped the documents at him. “’Tis a real person I am now, Quincy. Yer da got me identification! Now I can begin learning all the things ye’ve promised to teach me.”
The men exchanged a long, charged look over the top of her head. Quincy said, “That’s true, but let’s not jump the gun.”
Ceara’s heart sank. “But ye said ye’d start giving me driving lessons. Did ye not?”
Quincy rubbed a hand over his hair, which was still damp from his shower. “I did, yes, and I’m a man of my word. But let’s not rush into it.”
Ceara could barely wait to drive his truck. “No rush, but ’twould be lovely to get my first lesson today.”
“That’s a rush.” Quincy sighed, but his frown softened when she assumed the crestfallen expression that had always worked well on her father. “Okay, I guess we can probably fit in a short one.”
Ceara didn’t think he looked very happy about it. Personally, she couldn’t see what the big deal was. She’d watched him drive many times now, and in her opinion, it didn’t look that difficult.
“Loni is plannin’ a hen party,” Frank informed them. “She’s still too weak to leave the house, but she’s gettin’ a bad case of cabin fever and feelin’ a little lonesome. Dee Dee is goin’ over to fix a nice lunch, topped off with her apple pie for dessert. Maybe after Ceara’s drivin’ lesson, you can take her over to Clint’s so she can get to know the girls better.”
Quincy nodded. “If Dee Dee’s apple pie is on the menu, I’ll make a point of it.”
Frank grinned. “Men ain’t invited. Maybe you and me can help Clint out in his arena. He’s been playin’ catch-up all week. Tucker is on duty this weekend at the clinic. Parker and Zach are over at Parker’s place, mendin’ some fences. It’ll only be us three not gettin’ fed.”
“Why aren’t the men invited?” Quincy demanded.
“Hen party,” Frank expounded. “You know, cluck, cluck. Maybe, if we’re lucky, Dee Dee will send us out some food and save us some pie.”
Ceara had never attended a hen party, but it sounded delightful. She hadn’t seen Loni since that awful first night when she had been hovering near death. If the woman was feeling strong enough to have callers now, Ceara desperately wanted to go.
* * *
Driving didn’t prove to be as simple as Quincy had made it look. Ceara got the truck started without a problem, but managing the gearshift baffled her. Every time she tried to move the conveyance forward, it belched like a fat man who’d gulped too much ale, and then the engine died. Either she forgot to step on the rectangular pedal protruding from the floor that Quincy called a clutch, or she didn’t maneuver the shift properly, or both. Quincy told her she was making his truck buck worse than a bronc.
“It’s all in the clutch and acceleration,” Quincy explained.
“What is acceleration?”
“It’s pressing your right foot down on the gas pedal.”
Ceara knew where the gas pedal was, but managing to accelerate as she let out the clutch was tricky.
“Timing,” Quincy explained. “You need to feel when the gear grabs. You’ll know when it happens after you’ve practiced. It takes a while to get it down.”
What Ceara lacked in experience she made up for with determination. Soon, even though the truck continued to belch and jerk, she got it to move forward in fits and starts. Quincy directed her to drive through the ranch proper, warning her to stay well away from other trucks, the tractor, and what he called ATVs, which were squat things with four huge wheels that the hired hands often used to get around out in the fields.
After nearly completing one pass, Ceara decided she quite liked driving. As she had suspected, ’twas simple enough to do. She needed only to work on the belching to have it down pat.
Ahead of them loomed an outdoor holding shed for horses. Ceara eyed it nervously, looking frantically for somewhere else to go, but a white fence blocked her way.
“Brake!” Quincy cried.
Brake? She felt around the seat, groping for the handle that should be there but wasn’t.
“Brake!” Quincy yelled the word this time. “Now! Slam on the—”
The truck gave a final belch, hopped forward, and smashed into the corner of the holding shed. A piece of roofing came loose and smacked the windshield. Ceara jerked with a start, her only comforting thought that at least the beast of a vehicle had finally stopped.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Quincy said softly. He glanced over at her with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you hit the brake?”
Despite being appalled at the harm she’d done, Ceara wasn’t about to let Quincy blame her for the missing brake. “If ye’d inspect yer truck before starting it, ye’d know there is no brake.” She leaned forward, looking all around her legs to check. “If there’s a brake, where is it? Me father’s wagon has one near the driver’s left leg, as does every one I’ve ever ridden in. ’Tis not here.”
He snorted. She considered telling him he sounded like an outraged horse, but thought better of it. “This is a truck, not a wagon,” he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed out and circled the vehicle. Ceara heard him curse. She had a bad feeling that she’d brought disaster to the front of his truck. “My God, in one fell swoop, you’ve taken out the corner of a building and messed up my Dodge.”
Ceara couldn’t blame him for being angry, but tears stung her eyes all the same. She climbed out to assess the damage. The big silver bars at the front of the truck were all bent at the center, and the huge rectangular spool he called a winch sat crooked. “Oh, Quincy, ’tis so sorry I am.”
He planted his hands on his hips and released a taut breath. “It’s not your fault, honey. I should have thought to show you the brake pedal.” His mouth twitched at the corners. “For some reason, it never occurred to me you’d look for a wagon brake, but in retrospect, it makes perfect sense.” He shook his head. Waving a hand toward the front of the vehicle, he said, “I spent a small fortune on that cattle guard. What a piece of shit. If it folds from hitting the corner of a building, it’d crumple clear into my radiator if I actually hit a cow.”
Ceara studied the thick bars. “Do ye run into cows often? I dinna see any around.”
He chuckled. “No, never have, but with you driving, it might become a common occurrence.”
Ceara had been so excited to try driving. Now, looking at the poor shed and the truck, she wished she’d never attempted it. “’Tis me guess that ye willna be letting me drive again anytime soon.”
His chuckle became a deep, full-blown bark of laughter. He curled an arm around her shoulders to jostle her close against his chest. “Let’s just say I don’t think you’re road-ready yet. With practice, you’ll get there.”
* * *
Ceara had no idea what to expect at a hen party, except that she felt sure no chickens were involved. Ten minutes into it, she was enjoying herself immensely. Perched on a comfortable chair, she sipped wine from a glass in one hand and nibbl
ed what Dee Dee called a finger sandwich from the other. The finger sandwich was triangular rather than finger-shaped, but ’twas delicious nonetheless, and had ample butter. Loni held court at the head of her kitchen table, her face still pale but notably sporting more color. Her lovely eyes shone with a gentle glow. She had a soft, easy smile that made Ceara feel warm and happy all over.
Dee Dee filled in as lady of the house, serving the simple lunch and getting up often from her seat to refill glasses. Ceara fleetingly wondered whether it might be the wine that was making her feel so nice, but it was berry-sweet, and so delicious that she couldn’t resist drinking more.
“Hear, hear!” Rainie said, lifting her goblet high. “To Ceara and Quincy for breaking that horrible curse, and to the good health of everyone at this table.”
Sam grinned. “I’ll drink to that.” She winked at Ceara. “Next week, Tucker and I are going to start trying for a baby again. This will probably be my last hurrah for quite some time. I don’t want to drink when I might be pregnant.”
Mandy giggled. She’d pulled her whiskey-colored hair up into a knot at the back of her head and secured it with what looked like a stick. She wore a lovely green top that skimmed her figure, and Ceara secretly admired how it looked, wishing she were brave enough to let Quincy buy her something like it.
“As I recall,” Mandy said to Sam, “you dearly loved that whole process last time. Watching the calendar, taking your temperature, and then calling Tucker home in the middle of the day to screw his brains out until both of you were so exhausted you couldn’t wiggle.” She sipped her wine. “Zach and I have decided we shouldn’t get pregnant until I finish getting my degree in horticulture, so I’m doing just the opposite right now, practicing the ovulation method as a form of birth control.” She wagged a scolding finger at no one in particular. “No more birth control pills for me! I’m a faithful little Catholic girl these days. But I have to say I sure do miss having sex whenever we want.”
Dee Dee released a blissful sigh. “Thank God I’m postmenopausal. Frank and I don’t have to worry about any of that.” Her plump cheeks went pink. “He is something, let me tell you. After we got married, I figured he’d dwindle off to maybe once every couple of weeks, but except when he puts in an extra hard day, he’s an every-night man.” She giggled. “A few months ago, I even tossed my electronic boyfriend in the trash.”
Rainie gasped. “You threw away a perfectly good vibrator? What if Frank’s gone to a horse auction, and you get to feeling horny?”
Dee Dee smiled dreamily. “I’d rather do without until the real thing gets home, so Mr. Purple had to go.”
Ceara was fascinated by the exchange, even though she understood little of what was being said. What was the ovulation method? What were birth control pills? And most curious of all, what was an electronic boyfriend, and did Quincy’s father know about Mr. Purple?
Rainie giggled after sipping more wine. “You’re missing the boat, Dee Dee. Parker really gets turned on if I fool around with Mr. Purple during foreplay.” Ceara’s eyes widened at the second mention of Mr. Purple. Rainie shivered her shoulders. “God, he gets so hot he turns into a wild man.” She took another sip of wine and directed a glance at Loni. “I am so glad you’re starting to feel better. It’s been way too long since we’ve done this. I’ve really missed our girl talks.”
“Me, too.” Loni was still nursing her first glass of wine, which she’d said earlier would help replenish her iron counts. “Clint and I . . . well, he’s still in careful mode.” She shrugged. “I suppose that’s a good thing. I’m much better, but I’m a long way from completely recovered yet.” A wistful look came into her eyes. “We’ve done it once. Milquetoast all the way. He acted like I might break.”
Dee Dee reached over to pat Loni’s hand. “He almost lost you, dear heart. Once he starts to feel certain you’re well, he’ll be less careful, and the sex will be fabulous again.”
Loni smiled, but Ceara could tell by the way her lips only faintly curved that she was growing weary. She set aside her wine and relaxed back on her chair, her gentle gaze turning to Ceara. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve gotten a sex report from everyone but you, sister, dear. How’s married life treating you?”
Ceara would have preferred to tell them about mowing down Quincy’s shed during her driving lesson. In her time, women didn’t discuss the private things that happened between man and wife. Or did they? Her mum had always shooed her and Brigid from the room when her married lady friends came to call. Ceara wasn’t sure how she should respond, even if her tongue hadn’t been stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Come on,” Rainie urged. “Quincy’s a Harrigan. He’s got to be phenomenal in the sack.” A flush inched up her neck. “Not that I’ve ever looked at him that way. Parker is my one and only.”
“I must ask ye, then,” blurted Ceara. “Who is Mr. Purple, and does Parker know about the man?”
There was an instant of dead silence and then the women exploded with laughter. Rainie choked violently on her finger sandwich and had to be pounded on the back by Dee Dee. As soon as she could speak, Dee Dee put a reassuring hand on Ceara’s arm. “Dear, we’re not laughing at you. It’s just that we never thought about your not understanding. A vibrator is something people use to stimulate themselves sexually. They come in different colors. Rainie and I both happen to have purple ones.”
Rainie, still red in the face, cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Ceara. We should have realized. But getting back on subject, how are you and Quincy doing in that department?”
“I . . . um.” Ceara felt like a fly stuck to a strip of cloth slathered with tacky honey. “We are . . . doing well. He’s teaching me how to cook.” She told them about trying to build a fire in Quincy’s oven, and everyone laughed until they got tears in their eyes. They succumbed to mirth again when Ceara shared her trials in learning how to program the MasterChef functions.
“I detest his ovens,” Rainie said. “Give me a plain old knob to turn any day.”
“I have MasterChef,” Loni inserted, “and I love both my ovens.” She winked at Ceara. “They aren’t straightforward, though. It may take you some time to figure them out.”
Ceara hoped to continue the conversation as she’d begun, sticking to impersonal topics, but this handful of women, who were so relaxed about sharing intimate secrets, made her feel as if she should do the same. Thinking carefully before she spoke, she finally added, “As for the marital bed, we’ve been together that way only once, on our marriage night, to break the curse.”
Stunned silence fell.
“Only once?” Rainie cried.
“Damn,” Mandy interjected.
Dee Dee followed with, “Oh, my, that doesn’t sound quite right. Is all well between you?”
Ceara had been feeling really happy from two full glasses of wine in her tummy, but suddenly she found herself looking at these other women with tears in her eyes. “Nay, na well.”
As if she were a bottle that had been uncorked, she blurted out the whole story.
Rainie propped her elbows on the table. “Let me get this straight. You made love to break the curse, and it was really nice for you. But the next morning, Quincy got a wild hair up his butt about needing to know that for sure?”
“Yes,” Ceara replied, pitching her voice to a whisper. “He wants words from me, so I gave him words, but me words were na what he wished to hear.”
Mandy took two big swallows of wine. “Quincy. Doesn’t it figure? The man’s so anal. What words did you say to let him know you enjoyed being with him?”
Ceara thought back, wanting to tell them exactly what she’d said. Only she couldn’t quite recall. “He wanted to know if ’twas good fer me,” she revealed, feeling scorching heat blaze to her cheeks. “And to say it in words isna ladylike. Me mum would have fits if I were so brazen. So I told him I wouldna object if he approached me again with thoughts like that in his mind.”
Rainie choked, this tim
e on her wine, and spewed liquid out her nose. She swatted at the tablecloth with her napkin, laughing and murmuring an apology, but she didn’t appear to be truly remorseful. “You told him you wouldn’t object?” She giggled again. “Oh, God, poor Quincy. He’s so country, that probably totally flummoxed him.”
Dee Dee joined in, mirthful and hugging her ribs. “You wouldn’t object?” She flapped her hand. “Oh, God, I think I’m having a heart attack.” When Mandy looked alarmed, Dee Dee waved her away. “Just a figure of speech. My heart is perfectly fine.”
Sam broke in. “You know, ladies, this is my brother we’re talking about. I know he’s a little weird about what he eats, but he’s otherwise a man to set the gold standard. This isn’t really funny. Think of it from his viewpoint. He and Ceara were forced into marriage. He had no choice but to consummate that very night. Ceara was a virgin. Cut him some slack. Of course he’s reluctant to go back for seconds. You can make fun of Quincy all you want, but he is first, last, and always a gentleman. He asked Ceara for a verbal go-ahead, and she didn’t really give him one.”
“Nay!” Ceara protested. “I gave him a fine one! I told him I wouldna object to future advances. ’Tis the way a proper lady conveys to a man that she will welcome his attention.”
More hysterical laughter broke out. Even Loni, weakened by her previous illness, giggled until tears came to her eyes. Finally, she commanded silence with an uplifted hand. “Ceara, did you enjoy sex with Quincy that first night?”
Ceara knotted the edge of the tablecloth in her fists. “’Twas pleasant.”
“Pleasant? Pleasant?” Rainie nearly choked on her wine again. “Is that what you told Quincy?”
Ceara let her mind drift back to that moment. “Yes, surprisingly pleasant, much better than the goings-on between pigs.”
Rainie chortled. Mandy followed Dee Dee’s example and hugged her ribs as fits of mirth overcame her. Loni finally called for order with another lift of her hand. “Okay, ladies, enough. What we have here is clearly simple miscommunication. Ceara speaks of these things as she was taught a proper lady should, and Quincy, being from this time, needs a lot more encouragement from her than that.”
Perfect Timing Page 19
