Shadow of Regret (Shadow #3)

by Barbara Goss

  “The name’s Quinn, if you’re interested,” he said, leaning casually against the wall.

  She eyed him up and down. “I’m not.” She turned back to the piano man.

  “Let me buy you a drink. Maybe I can change your opinion,” he said with a wink.

  “Go ahead, but I doubt it’ll make a difference,” she said.

  To Quinn, she sounded more intelligent than many of the other saloon women. He bought her a drink, and carried it over to her.

  “So,” he said, drawing out the word, “what is it about me that you find unappealing?”

  She sipped the drink. “How about everything?”

  “C’mon. You know I’m fair to look at, I own a business, and I’m attracted to you,” he said. “What’s not to like?”

  “Your ego, mainly.”

  “I see. Well, since I bought you a drink, I think you owe me a bit of friendly companionship while I drink mine. Isn’t that what you get paid to do here?” he said.

  “It is. Sometimes the job is hard to fulfill,” she said, and she followed him to a table.

  He signaled the barman for another round. He planned to keep her there with him for a while.

  “I’m Quinn Iverson, and I run the Big I Livery. Tell me about yourself, starting with your name?”

  “My name is whatever you want it to be,” she said. “If it’s companionship while you drink that you want, you have it. My job doesn’t call for much more.”

  Ouch. He liked this woman.

  “All right.” He leaned back in his chair and said. “I bet I can guess your name.”

  “You won’t.”

  He studied her face. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t think of who. If I guess your name, will you spend the night with me?”

  “Sure,” she said, “because you’ll never guess it.”

  “Ivy?” he said.

  “No, but…” she started to say more, and then stopped. “No, not Ivy.”

  He felt that she might have been about to tell him that he was close. “Iona, Irene, Isabelle?”

  “No, no, and no.”

  If Ivy was close, and it didn’t start with an ‘I,’ then it must be a flower. “Rose? Petunia, Pansy?”

  She shook her head. She showed him a clever smile that he wanted to change to a friendly one. What he wanted even more was for him to win their little game. What a prize!

  “Garnet? Violet? Lily or Iris?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “You might as well give up. You aren’t even close.”

  “Daisy?” he asked. And when he said it, there was a slight reaction in her expression. It was brief, but he spotted it. As a good card player, he could spot reactions keenly.

  “I guessed it, didn’t I?”

  “I’m not spending the night with you,” she said. “We didn’t shake on the bet.”

  “I did guess it!” he smacked the table with his hand.

  “Yes, it’s Daisy, but, I am not spending the night with you.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll compromise. How about one really good kiss? Outside, where no one will see us.”

  She laughed. “Maybe—but I’ll need a few more drinks first.”

  Quinn threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “As you please.” He sat back with a smile.

  “Are you having another?” she asked.

  “Oh, no!” he exclaimed. “I want to be fully aware for this.”

  Daisy waved the twenty at the barman, and he came over to their table. “Give us as many drinks as this will pay for,” she said.

  Quinn sat up quickly, and pulled the twenty from her hand. “No, you don’t. On second thought, I don’t want to kiss a sloppy, drunken woman.” He pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her instead.

  She drank several drinks, and then stood. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “An enthusiastic woman, after my own heart,” he said with sarcasm.

  He followed her outside, and she leaned against the saloon wall. He rested both arms on the building, one on either side of her head.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  He looked her up and down slowly, and then said, “I want to see your worth, so I know how much to put into this kiss.”

  He could see her struggling not to laugh or smile, but she couldn’t hide the sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

  He bent down and kissed her like he kissed all of his saloon women—hard and passionate. She didn’t reciprocate at all, but he wasn’t deterred in the least. He was an expert at eliciting a response. He fluttered his tongue on her lips until she opened them just a tiny bit, then he slid his tongue inside. After a few seconds, she began to respond. Before the kiss broke, she was returning his kiss passionately and pressing body against his.

  He looked at her after the kiss, saw the expression of wanting on her face, and felt confident.

  “So,” he said slowly, “what time can I expect you at my place?”

  “As soon as I’m off duty,” she said breathlessly. She turned and sashayed back into the saloon.

  Though shocked by the scene Dora had made at the livery, Rose refused to give up on Quinn. The situation only served to make her more persistent in finding a way to reach him. Rose hadn't realized how deeply Quinn was involved with the saloon women. Dora had lived with him? She closed her eyes and reenacted the scene in her mind--Dora with her breasts half covered, makeup an inch thick, storming into Quinn’s office. She doubted Dora would be with Quinn much longer. She’d never seen him so angry.

  How could she maneuver talking to him about God and death? At least he hadn’t shut her off like he had Jonas and her father. That’s saying something, she thought. That gave her a threshold of hope.

  Her sister, Violet, was betrothed to a man named Miles Croft. Violet had received her teaching license and applied for a job in Salina, Kansas. She was in the process of discussing how they would solve the dilemma of their imminent separation, if she got the position, which meant that Violet had her own problems, and she didn’t feel like she could go to her for advice.

  Rose was awaiting her teaching license too, and she would, then, probably have to travel elsewhere to teach since there were no job openings in Abilene. Yet, she prayed that something would open up, as she didn’t think she could bear leaving her parents, family, and, yes, even Quinn. How could she ever face never again looking into the big blue eyes of his? He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. How her fingers itched to run her fingers through his long, curly, blond hair. Those saloon women had no idea how fortunate they were—she almost wished she could get a job in a saloon, just to be part of his life.

  Chapter 4

  Daisy proved to be the best so far of the saloon women Quinn had “courted”. She was intelligent, and she kept him on his toes. Her verbal sparring tickled his wit, and he almost had genuine feelings for her. Yet, there was still something missing. She kissed well, and she was exciting, owing to her wit. Quinn never knew what quip she’d come up with next. He had to sharpen his repertoire of witty remarks and sarcastic responses to keep up with her.

  His mother had once told him that the way to tell if you were in love with someone was to imagine how you'd feel if you never saw that person again. He had loved Martha as a person and fellow human being, but he was never in love with her. He’d known that when he’d married her and had promised himself to accept it, and make the best of it. Martha had made that easy because she was so affable and eager to please. He was devastated when she’d died because she was his best friend, and an amazing person. He also felt responsible for her demise. If he’d only had more will power, and not succumbed to passion with her—he doubted he would have married her, and he knew she’d probably be alive—at least until she’d had her first baby, if that was her destiny.

  How would he feel if he never saw Daisy again? He’d probably simply look for another witty, sarcastic woman as a companion and bedmate.

  Quinn locked up h
is office for the day, gave final instructions to the night crew, and prepared to leave for the day. He looked forward to his beer and Daisy, or maybe he’d switch his luck and go to the Old Corral Saloon to check out the newest saloon woman he’d heard about. As he approached his horse, his path was blocked by no other than Jonas Armstrong.

  “Jonas,” Quinn said with a nod. He felt trapped. If Jonas started preaching to him again where would he go? He looked left and right for an escape route.

  Jonas grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not here to lecture you. “I’ve come with sad news that I thought you should know about.”

  Quinn’s heart raced. “My father?”

  “No, Reverend Hiram Jeffries. He passed away in his sleep, some time last night or early this morning. The doctor thinks it was a cerebral hemorrhage,” Jonas sadly announced.

  Quinn’s whole body filled with relief, and sadness simultaneously—relief that it wasn’t his father, but sad that it was Jeffries. He’d always loved and respected Reverend Jeffries. He felt riddled with regret that his last conversation with him was not a cordial one.

  “How are Ivy, Violet, and Rose coping?” Quinn asked.

  “They’re broken up.”

  “And Mrs. Jeffries?”

  “Surprisingly good. She will see the girls through this, and then privately collapse, most likely. That’s Lavinia’s way,” Jonas said.

  “I’m truly sorry,” Quinn said.

  “I came to town to buy flowers, and thought I’d stop by to give you the news,” Jonas said. He held his hand up to stop the words Quinn was poised to say. “I’m not here to preach to you, but I do want to tell you—I miss you, Quinn.” He turned and walked down the boardwalk.

  Quinn watched his best friend walk away. He missed him more than he missed his parents, Peggy, and even Martha. Jonas and he had always been close, like brothers.

  His thoughts suddenly turned to Rose. Poor Rose. He had to somehow see her and comfort her, as she’d comforted him when he’d lost Martha. But how could he do that when he didn’t want to be seen by anyone he knew from church?

  Quinn didn’t go to the funeral, but his thoughts were with Hiram Jeffries and his family since hearing of his passing. He especially worried about Rose.

  He waited a week, bought a large spray of flowers, and slipped into the church cemetery just before sundown, and looked for a fresh grave. He walked down several aisles, trying to keep his eye from the direction of Martha’s grave. He finally found a fresh mound of dirt, the only fresh grave in the cemetery. He knelt down and placed the flowers on the grave. Ordinarily, he’d say a prayer, but he would never pray again. Prayers didn’t work. He whispered, “I’m sorry about our last meeting. You were the best reverend I’ve ever known. Goodbye, Hiram Jeffries.” He turned, and there she was, right behind him. Rose.

  “Rose!” he said. When he’d gotten over the surprise of seeing her standing right behind him, he took her hand. “I’m so, sorry.”

  Rose’s shoulders started to shake, then her cute little nose wrinkled up, and then the tears came. She grabbed Quinn by the shirtfront, pulled him close, and laid her head on his chest, and cried. His arms automatically wound around her. He held her, and a feeling he’d never felt before came over him, not passion, not lust, but a feeling of heartfelt caring. He continued to hold her, and try to soothe her by rubbing and patting her back as she cried.

  When her crying lightened somewhat he loosened his hold on her, and said, “There’s a bench over there. I think you need to sit down.” He led her to the bench. She still had a tight hold on his shirt. He wanted her to sit, but she looked up at him with her big blue eyes and said with a sobbing voice, “Now I know how you felt, Quinn.”

  Impulsively, he kissed the top of her head, and said, “And now I know how you felt when you came to comfort me.”

  She still didn’t sit, although they were standing next to the bench. She still held onto him tightly and she replaced her head on his chest.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I needed this…I needed you,” she said with a sob.

  As he rubbed her back some more, and let her weep. “I’m here for you Rose.” He stoked her blonde curls. They felt soft, and they were scented with a flowery aroma. He instinctively held her closer.

  What was happening to him? His body had begun to respond to Rose, even though he knew it was highly improper. He had no right to become impassioned by a young girl in the throes of grief, yet his body had reacted. He tried to push her away, but she gripped him even tighter, pressing her body as close to his as she could possibly get.

  “I need you, Quinn,” she said.

  Good grief! Did she realize how that statement could be taken, especially in his condition? He felt ashamed of his physical response to her, an innocent seventeen-year-old. He pushed her away with a bit of gentle force. “I really think you should sit down.” He steered her to the seat and gently pressed down on her shoulders to make her sit, sliding quickly down beside her. He put his arm around her and drew her close. He guided her head back to his chest. This position was a lot safer for an evil womanizer like him to cope with. Yet, he felt compelled to comfort her.

  Thoughts and feelings swirled around in Quinn’s head. Rose knew what type of man he’d become, why would she purposely throw herself at him? Didn’t she realize the danger?

  Rose knew she was playing with fire. She needed his comfort, for her grief was deep-seated. It felt so heavenly to be in his arms. It made the pain of her father’s passing ease a bit. With her head on his chest, she could hear his heart beating. She might be an innocent, but she knew the facts of life, and she knew she’d aroused Quinn’s passion and that he’d rejected it. She knew he’d never hurt her.

  She needed to get as close to him as she could get. If she could just get him to kiss her, she’d at least have that to cherish for the rest of her life. She’d already lost her dear father, and even though she knew she'd also lost Quinn, again, at least she'd have him for these few moments. She knew, as sure as she knew her name, that he’d not take advantage of her unless she made the first move. All she needed was one kiss to remember this moment forever.

  She looked up at him and made eye contact. His eyes were filled with sympathy and something else, something painfully sweet. They were also filled with pain, the kind of pain you have when you're fighting for something you badly wanted.

  That was her cue.

  “Kiss me, Quinn. I really need it,” she whispered, still gazing into his eyes.

  Quinn’s eyes widened, and she knew she’d shocked him. He hesitated for so long she felt he’d not oblige. Then, he lowered his mouth to hers for what she knew would be a chaste peck, because she knew him so well—but that wasn’t the memory she wanted to cherish.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck as quickly as she could, and returned his kiss with all the love she’d stored up for him over the years, before he could pull away. She encouraged him to return her kiss by pressing her full-bodied chest against him.

  He grabbed her, and before she knew it, she was on his lap. His kiss intensified sending quivers through her body in places she didn’t even know she had. She felt his tongue tapping her mouth, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do with it, so she reluctantly broke the kiss. No sooner had she broken the kiss than she regretted ending it. Her lips were still wet, and the light evening breeze cooled them. She imagined she could hear them sizzle.

  He held her briefly as they both fought to regain their normal breathing patterns.

  “Rose, I’m so sorry,” he said as he rested his forehead against hers. “You're grieving, and the last thing I wanted was to take advantage of that. Truly, I didn’t mean to. You were just too tempting for an evil sinner like me to resist.”

  She looked him square in the eyes and said, “I needed that more than you will ever know, Quinn. I initiated the kiss, and I purposely encouraged you into kissing me back, so you have nothing to be sorry for. Your kiss not only took away my grief f
or a time, but it gave me something to remember always. I wasn’t looking for anything more than a kiss to remember, and I knew I had nothing to fear from you—not ever. You do know I love you, don’t you?”

  “As a friend—”

  “No. I love you. I’ve lost my father to death, and I’ve lost you to saloons and hard women, but now I have something to remember you by. This memory will help me get over the grief of my father’s passing, because it will take my mind from it. I’ll remember this kiss whenever I become sad while missing my father. I’ll remember this kiss forever.”

  “Rose,” he said. “I enjoyed the kiss too, but now I’m filled with guilt. You’re only seventeen, and I’m twenty-five—”

  “Love has no age limit.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing: you are the sweetest thing I’ve ever held in my arms or kissed, and that’s the honest truth,” he said as he stroked her hair. “You’ve probably spoiled me for other women, now” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll remember our kiss forever, too. If things were different, it could make me change my life, but things aren’t different.”

  “Why? Why can’t we be together? Why won’t you allow me to change your life? I love you so much, Quinn, and I have for years already.”

  He pushed her away gently off his lap, and sat her back down on the bench. “Because I no longer have faith in God, because getting drunk helps me forget the painful guilt I have for what happened to Martha, and for the letdown of my unanswered prayers.” He sighed. “And finally, because you’re too young for me, too innocent, and I’m not a nice person anymore.” He kissed her forehead and stood.

  “I will tell you one thing before I leave you forever: I think I could love you, too, if I allowed myself, that is.” He walked swiftly out of the cemetery, leaving her sitting on the bench with her hands over her heart.

  Quinn entered his apartment and plopped down on his sofa. What had he done? Or rather, what had her grief made her do to him? He had to forget her, yet his insides were churning with feelings he’d never felt before. It seemed as though his body was working against this brain. It was trying to tell him he was finally in love—and just his luck, she was out of his reach, because she was too young, and he was too corrupt.