by Ilsa Mayr
Dance of Life
Ilsa Mayr
''what? Would you read that again?" Aileen Bolton asked. "Please," she added, trying to moderate her tone, which had risen to a faint squeak.
The attorney, whose voice had faltered and then stopped, cleared his throat. He started to read the beginning of the document again.
"No, no. Just the last part," she said, fidgeting with impatience.
"All right. `To my natural son I leave my half of the Triangle B Ranch.'" He stopped and looked at the young woman.
"My father had an illegitimate son?"
"Seems that way."
The attorney glanced at the page again. "His name is Quinton Fernandez."
Aileen shook her head. "That can't be. Are you sure you have the right Jack Bolton?"
Wordlessly the attorney slid the document toward her.
Aileen pried her fingers from the straps of her purse. She picked up the last will and testament. It listed her father's name, address, and birth date. She stared at it for several seconds before she pushed the paper back across the desk. "Mr. Evans, did you know about this...this Quinton Fernandez?"
"No. Not until five days ago when Jack's Cheyenne attorney contacted me. I thought about calling you in Washington, but this isn't the sort of thing you spring on a person over the phone."
"Thank you. I appreciate your waiting." Puzzled, she looked at the attorney. "I don't understand why my father hired an outside attorney to draw up his will. Didn't you handle his legal affairs?"
"I did. My guess is he didn't want anyone to know about your half brother."
Aileen jumped up. "He's not my half brother. I'm adopted, remember?"
The attorney blinked. "I'd forgotten that. When Ruth and Jack brought you to the Triangle B, you were...what? Two days old?"
Aileen nodded.
"I've always thought of you as their own. Their only child."
"I did too. Until now." Aileen walked to the window and stared out. For a moment she leaned her forehead against the glass pane, which felt cool and soothing. She closed her eyes, trying to focus, trying to come to terms with what she had just learned.
"When? I mean, how old is this Quinton?"
"Twenty-eight."
Aileen stared at the attorney. "He's three years older than I am!" The implication made her reach for the chair and sit. Did her mother know about Quint? What had happened?
"Can I get you something? A glass of water?"
Then another realization hit her. "If he's twenty-eight, then my father," she paused, having a hard time getting the words out. "My father cheated on my mother." Aileen jumped up again. She paced the length of the office. "How could he? My mother was such a fine woman. A real lady. Tender. Gentle. Loving. Generous. Never said a mean thing to anyone or about anyone. Did she suspect? Oh my goodness. She would have been so hurt." Aileen's voice broke. She slumped into the chair again.
The attorney filled a glass of water from the carafe on his desk and handed it to her. "Drink this. Then take a couple of deep breaths."
Aileen took the glass. She pressed it against her left temple, where the first throbs of pain hinted at the beginning of a migraine. She reached for her purse. If she took two pills now, perhaps she could head off a full-blown attack.
"I'm all right," she told the attorney, who was hovering over her. She handed him the empty glass.
"If you're sure-"
"Please go on, Mr. Evans."
"There isn't much more. I can paraphrase it. Bob Williams, the foreman, and his wife, Martha, are given the right to stay rent-free at the ranch for as long as they want. Jack also set up a retirement plan for them. We all knew that. Jack just added it to make it legal and binding."
Aileen nodded. "Good. They're nice people who have been at the ranch for as long as I can remember."
"That's it. And, of course, you keep the half of the ranch your mother left you when she passed away."
"Does this Quinton Fernandez know about his inheritance?" Aileen asked.
"Yes. The Cheyenne attorney contacted him."
"So, my adoptive father knew all along where his illegitimate son was?"
"I don't think so. He asked the other attorney to locate him when he made out this will."
"When was that?"
"A year ago."
"When he learned his cancer had spread." Aileen thought for a moment. "All those years, did he know he had a son?"
The attorney lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I have no idea."
"Mr. Evans, will you answer a question truthfully?"
"I'll try."
"Did my adoptive father have a reputation for philandering? Did he have other women besides Quinton's mother?"
"Not that I know of. Until I read this will, I'd have sworn that Jack Bolton had led a blameless life. As you know, he was a member of the county commission, the Cattle Breeders' Association, an elder in the church, a-"
"A pillar of the community."
The attorney sighed. "I know the young can be so unforgiving, but try not to be too hard on him. One youthful indiscretion-"
"I know. If there's nothing else, I need to go." Her hand touched her left temple again.
"Shall I have someone drive you to the ranch?"
"No, thanks. I can manage."
When Aileen reached the ranch, she hardly remembered anything of the trip. She had maneuvered the miles on autopilot. She did, however, notice the blue pickup with the horse trailer attached to it parked in front of the barn. Did she have an appointment with a horse buyer? She hoped Bob remembered and took care of it. The afternoon's shocking disclosure had erased everything else from her mind.
Entering the house, she heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen. Not a horse buyer, she decided. Bob would have taken him into the den. Aileen hung her coat in the hall closet before hurrying to the back of the house.
Martha, coffeepot in hand, greeted Aileen.
"Hi, honey. This gentleman has business with you," Martha said, gesturing toward the man who was rising politely from his chair. "And since it's such a cold, drizzly day, I asked him in. You want some coffee? I just made it."
"Yes, I'd love a cup. Thanks." Aileen tossed another glance at the stranger. Her first quick, assessing look had given her an impression of broad shoulders, a slim waist, and dark hair, all handsomely packaged. Her impression had been right. This time their eyes met. His were green, and when his lips curved into a smile, she knew without a doubt that a woman's toes could actually curl inside her shoes.
"I made the coffee good and strong, just the way you like it," Martha said. "It'll warm you up."
"Thanks." Aileen was glad to be distracted from that green-eyed gaze.
"Well, I'll leave you two to discuss business. If you need anything, I'll be in our quarters. Nice to have met you, Quint," Martha said. "Oh, where are my manners? Aileen, this is Quint. I didn't catch your last name, Quint."
"It's Fernandez."
"I better go," Martha said.
Aileen steadied herself by holding onto the back of the nearest chair. To make sure her ears weren't playing tricks on her, she asked, "You're Quinton Fernandez?"
"Yes. And you're Aileen Bolton."
"You didn't waste any time getting here, did you?" Aileen saw his smile fade, saw the jade-green eyes narrow, and felt her face grow warm. She was rarely, if ever, rude, so why now with this man?
"Wrong. I wasted a whole week, waiting for you to get back from your vacation."
"It wasn't a vacation. Two colleagues and I took a group of juniors to Washington, D.C., over spring break. We do this every year so the kids get a better idea about our national government."
"What are you? A teacher?"
"Yes. I teach English at Abraham Lincoln Hi
gh School."
"Well, what do you know. A schoolmarm."
His voice had assumed a soft drawl. Studying his face and that lazy smile that curved his finely drawn mouth, Aileen couldn't tell for sure if he was being sarcastic, but she refused to be baited.
"I never dreamed that I'd end up with a pretty half sister who's a schoolteacher."
"Your relationship with teachers wasn't that great?" she asked, her voice subtly ironic.
His smile broadened. "That's putting it mildly. But then I never had an English teacher who looked like you."
"Let's get something straight," Aileen said. "We're not related. Jack and Ruth Bolton adopted me when I was a baby." His smile didn't seem to falter, but she had the distinct impression that the warm gleam in his eyes had grown cold. She wondered how much it bothered him that she, an adopted child, had enjoyed the comforts and advantages offered by the Triangle B, while he had been denied them.
"That's too bad. I'd looked forward to having a family."
Slowly his gaze wandered over her in that typical male fashion that Adam had probably used with Eve. Aileen managed to stand without fidgeting.
"Then again, maybe it's better that we're not related," he said softly. He picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee.
Put a leather jacket on him, a motorcycle beside him, take ten years off him, and he could be the poster boy for the original teenage rebel without a cause: irreverent, charming, good-looking, wild and...dangerous. She quickly dismissed the last adjective. She was a grown woman, immune to the charms of the bad boy. She'd come across too many of them in her teaching career to be fascinated by them.
"So, what happens now?" Quint asked.
"Pardon?" Had he somehow guessed where her thoughts had wandered?
"You obviously know about the will. Are you going to contest it?"
"No. That never even occurred to me. If my adoptive father wanted you to have his half of the ranch, so be it."
"If?" he demanded with a raised eyebrow.
"I mean, he obviously wanted you to have it."
"Which half is mine?"
"Pardon?"
"The will said that Jack Bolton's half of the Triangle B was mine. Which half?"
"I don't know. Nobody ever drew a line across the land. I'm sure we aren't supposed to interpret that literally."
"No, I don't suppose so. I'm curious. How did it get to be his half to begin with?"
"I'm not sure, but I think it happened when he married my mother. The ranch was hers."
"That explains a lot," Quint murmured.
"Explains what?"
"Nothing." He took a sip of coffee. "The B in Triangle B doesn't stand for Bolton?"
"No. It stands for Bristow, my mother's maiden name." She watched him nod slightly, as if confirming something in his mind. What was he thinking? Whatever it was, he dismissed it. He fixed her with his intense green-eyed stare.
"So, what do you want to do?" Quint asked.
Aileen blinked. "About what?"
"The ranch. Want to sell it?"
"No! The land's been in my mother's family for over a hundred years." Aileen took a couple of steps toward him, her hands raised as if in supplication. When she realized what she was doing, she dropped them. She squared her shoulders. "This is my home. I'd rather die than leave it."
"You really mean that," he observed. "Do you want to buy my half?"
For a second, joy flooded through her. Then she realized what that meant. Sadly she shook her head. "I can't. I don't have the money."
"Okay. You don't want to sell the ranch or buy my half," Quint said, as if restating her position.
Aileen nodded. "You don't sound disappointed."
"I'm not. Land is a good investment. I just wanted to find out where you stood."
Relief made her knees weak. She sat down. The idea that she would have to leave the ranch hadn't even occurred to her. It should have, and it would have, if she hadn't been so shocked by the will. Aileen drank some coffee. She needed time to think. Also, coffee usually helped her headache, which was showing no signs of going away. She rubbed her temple.
"You have a headache?" Quinton asked.
"Yes."
"Migraine?"
She nodded.
"Ever tried applying pressure?"
"No.'
"Here, let me show you." Quint stood behind her chair. Placing two fingers against her left temple, he pressed gently. "I used to do this for my mom when she got migraines."
Aileen closed her eyes. The skin of his fingers felt rough. Obviously he was a man who worked with his hands. What did he do for a living? She'd ask him, but not now. The pressure against her temple felt too good, and magically, the pounding pain dulled.
"Better?" Quint asked, leaning toward her.
He was so close that Aileen felt his breath against her forehead. She merely nodded, as her mouth was suddenly dry. His breath was warm and smelled of coffee. She also caught the faint, cool scent of his aftershave and the familiar smell of leather and horse. It reminded her of her father. She felt the sharp pain of loss, until she remembered that he had kept a stunning secret from her. She could understand his silence while her mother was alive, but why hadn't he confided in her later? That's what hurt the mosthis lack of trust.
"Do you get these headaches often?" Quint asked.
"Not really. Mostly they hit me when I'm stressed out." She hadn't meant to admit this.
"My existence stresses you? Well, darlin', I suppose anyone learning that they'd just lost half their inheritance would feel stress."
"Don't call me darlin'. It's condescending," she said, moving away from him. "Thanks for the headache treatment."
"Any time. So, how do you want to arrange this division of property?" Quint asked.
"I thought you didn't want to divide it."
"I don't. Cattle ranching only has a chance of making a profit if there's enough land. I was thinking in terms of the house."
"The house?" Aileen noticed that her voice had risen again. She sounded like an alarmed mouse. Taking a breath, she asked, "What about the house? I've taken care of it since my mother's death seven years ago. You want to take over?"
"Depends on what kind of housekeeper you are."
She watched Quint run his finger along the top of the cabinets. Aileen stared at him, too stunned to say anything. He was actually checking for dust. The nerve of the man. Clamping her teeth together to keep from calling him a few of the choice words she'd heard her students use, she merely glowered at him.
Looking at the tips of his fingers, Quint said, "Not bad." He opened the refrigerator door and peered inside.
"What are you doing now?" she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.
"Checking to see if you're one of those women who keep only diet food in the fridge." He leaned back to give her a slow once-over. "You don't look like you're obsessed with dieting."
"Are you saying I'm fat?" she demanded.
He grinned at her. "Whoa. I'd never imply that, much less say it to a woman. I don't have a death wish." His gaze lingered on her. "I'd say you're just right. At least for a man who doesn't like squeezing mere skin and bones."
Aileen folded her arms across her chest until she realized that this could be viewed as a protective gesture. Quickly she uncrossed them and picked up her coffee cup. When Quint transferred his scrutinizing gaze to the contents of the refrigerator, she felt relieved.
"Doesn't look too bad," he said after a while. "There's beef, ham, cheese, and a lot of green stuff. But that's okay," he said, his voice magnanimous. "I like a salad with dinner. Are you a fair cook?"
"I can probably match your cooking skills. Unless you've worked as a chef?"
"Nope. Never did, but I've been fixing my own meals for a long time now."
"No wife?"
"No wife, no fiancee, no significant other, as they say. Just a horse." Quint glanced at his watch. "Speaking of horses, I need to feed and stable Sweepstake."
&
nbsp; "I'm sure there's room in the barn, but we better check with Bob. He's the foreman. Have you met him?"
"Yes, when I arrived."
"Did you tell him who you are?"
"No. I thought it best if you did that."
"All right. Follow me."
"I know you're not married. I asked the attorney. Are you engaged or seriously involved?" Quint asked as he followed Aileen across the side porch to the small house in which Bob and Martha lived.
For a moment she considered ignoring his question, but he had answered hers. "Neither," she said in a tone that discouraged further inquiries.
"But you have a horse."
"Not really. I teach full-time and keep house. I don't have many chances to gallivant over the range. When I do go for a ride, I use one of the horses from the remuda." Aileen knocked on the door facing them. After hearing Martha's invitation to enter, she opened the door. Bob was sitting in his easy chair, reading the newspaper.
"Good. You're both here, so I won't have to say this twice. You've met Quinton Fernandez. What you don't know is that he's the new half owner of the Triangle B. Jack left him his half of the ranch." Both Martha and Bob stared at Quint and then at her, clearly shocked as well as curious. She'd have to tell them the whole story. "Jack Bolton is, or rather was, Quint's father."
Martha and Bob exchanged a look.
"Quint has a horse that needs to be taken care of. Bob, can you show him where he can stable Sweepstake?"
"Sure thing. This way," Bob said, heading toward the side door.
As soon as the men were gone, Martha followed Aileen back to the kitchen.
"Land's sakes, girl! Isn't this enough to strike a person deaf and dumb? When did you find out about Quint?" Martha asked.
"Mr. Evans told me this afternoon. I didn't expect him to show up so soon, though." Aileen rubbed her temple where she could still feel the imprint of Quint's fingers. Briefly she debated with herself whether she should pump Martha for information or not. Her need to know was too strong to be discreet.
"I asked Mr. Evans this question, but I'm not sure he'd really know the answer, so I'm going to ask you." Aileen faced Martha squarely. "Did my father fool around?"
"Not that I know of." Narrowing her eyes in thought, Martha asked, "How old would you say Quint is?"
