by Ilsa Mayr
"Your hair. What color do you call it?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Red-blond, I suppose. Some describe it as strawberry blond. Why?"
"Just wondering." He grinned at her. "I bet you have the same suspicious expression on your face when you're trying to find out if a student is lying about the dog eating his homework."
She couldn't help but smile back at him. "In high school they come up with a lot more sophisticated excuses."
"Like they were changing the oil in their car and it got on the homework, and they didn't bring it because you'd get your hands all gunky? Or there was a burglary at their house and the rotten thief took it?" Quint suggested.
"Those are good, but not for a school in the middle of Wyoming. Here it's more often something like a horse stepping on it, or the wind tearing it out of their eager hands, or their little brother or sister throwing it in the fireplace."
"Not bad," Quint said admiringly.
"I bet you came up with some winning excuses in your day."
He grinned. "I'm not telling."
They finished the dishes.
Aileen dried her hands. She squirted a little hand lotion into her palm and rubbed it into the skin. Then she nudged the dispenser toward Quint, who quirked a dark eyebrow at her.
"What? Not a macho thing to do?" she asked.
"When you get to know me better, you'll realize that I never worry about being macho."
"Why? You're that sure of yourself?"
"You got it, darlin'." Quint smiled at her until he saw her expression. "Sorry, I forgot that you don't like being called darlin'," he added.
He wasn't in the least bit sorry, Aileen thought. "I don't mind the endearment in the right situation and with the right person."
"There you go, tossing your hair again."
Aileen opened her mouth to refute his claim but shut it again. She was no longer sure whether this gesture was habitual with her or not. She'd have to ask Jennifer, whom she had known since fifth grade.
She watched Quint rub lotion into his hands.
When he caught her glance, he said, "It feels good, and I like all things that feel good."
"A hedonist, huh?"
"If that means I appreciate pleasure, then I am a devout hedonist," he said, his voice suddenly soft.
Was he flirting with her? Aileen risked a quick glance at his handsome face. When she met his green-eyed gaze, she knew what the phrase "smiling eyes" meant. He was definitely teasing her, maybe even flirting with her. Quint was undoubtedly better at this flirting thing that she was. She felt heat rise into her face again, knew her pulse was beating faster, while he seemed calm. Drat. She took a deep breath.
"I have to grade some papers," Aileen finally said, her voice faint.
Clearly she was waiting for him to leave. The time had come. "Well, if you show me to my bedroom, I'll retire and leave you to your grading."
Quint watched her reaction closely. She stood as if turned into a pillar of salt. Her eyes widened in shock. Then she shook her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she had heard. Aileen started to speak, but her voice failed her. She swallowed visibly.
"What did you just say?" she managed to ask.
"I said, I needed a place to sleep. I didn't see a bunkhouse. I double-checked all the buildings."
"We don't have a bunkhouse anymore. It burned down about five years ago. We didn't rebuild it. The hands live in trailers down the road."
"Is there an empty trailer?"
Aileen shook her head.
"Well, it's too cold to pitch my tent. And I'm too old to sleep in the barn. That was okay when I was fourteen and fifteen, but not now." He hitched his left shoulder, feeling the slight ache that had plagued him since he took a hard spill off the back of that rodeo bull.
"How about a motel?" she asked.
"I've stayed in a motel while waiting for you to return from your trip. That gets expensive fast. Maybe you can afford it, but I can't." Still she didn't say anything. She wasn't making this easy for him.
Quint walked to the hall and glanced around. Turning back to face her, he said, "Judging by the downstairs, this house must have three or four bedrooms." He saw the color drain from her face.
"You want to sleep in this house?" Aileen asked and reached for the table to steady herself.
"Seems the logical and practical thing to do."
"You can't! This is my house. My home," she cried out.
"Wrong. This is our house. Our home. Remember?"
Aileen's knees grew weak. She sank into the nearest kitchen chair.
Aileen didn't know how long it took for the room to stop swaying. She was holding onto the edge of the kitchen table for dear life.
"Look, I'm sorry I sprang this on you so bluntly," Quint said, "but I thought it had to have occurred to you that I needed a place to sleep."
"Well, it hadn't! Until a few hours ago I didn't even know that you existed, much less that you'd be invading my home. And needing a place to sleep." Aileen pressed her hand against her temple.
"Darlin', if my sleeping in the same house is what's bothering you, it shouldn't. I like tall, pale blondes or tiny, fiery brunettes. You're neither, so you're safe from me."
Aileen knew her mouth dropped open but she couldn't help it. The man's arrogant assumptions were as astonishing as they were disturbing and insufferable. And then he had the audacity to level one of his killer smiles at her. Gathering her dignity around her and lifting her chin, she said, "It's reassuring to know that I'm not your type, and since you are not my type either, you'll be perfectly safe from me as well." She thought she saw his smile falter for a second.
"Now that we got it settled that we're not going to tear each other's clothes off, I'd like to turn in. I've had a long day. Where do I sleep?"
That was a good question. There was no way she could give him one of the upstairs bedrooms. The idea of his sleeping down the hall from her was just too.... Aileen couldn't think what it was that disturbed her so about it, and she didn't have the time to figure it out. Ruling out the upstairs, that left the first floor.
"If you don't mind a room that's not completely redecorated, you can have the small parlor. There's a bathroom across the hall from it."
"I'm not fussy."
"That's good, because this house has no maid service. I'll do most of the cooking, but you do your own personal laundry. The washer and dryer are in the utility room, which is next to the kitchen."
"That's acceptable," Quint said.
That was big of him, she groused silently. "The ironing board is in there too."
"Ironing board?" he asked, puzzled.
"Don't you iron your shirts?"
"No. I have my dress shirts done, and the work shirts? The cattle don't care if they're ironed or not."
"You have a point," Aileen conceded. "Just to clarify things," she added, "You can use any room on the first floor, but the upstairs is mine."
Quint lifted an eyebrow, but then inclined his head in agreement.
"Follow me." Aileen led the way. She opened the door and turned on the light. "Oh. I'd forgotten that we had left the stepladder and the worktable in here." Aileen picked up the ladder.
"Here, let me." Quint wrested the ladder from her. "Where do you want it?"
"Just put it in the hall."
When he returned, she said, "Jennifer, she's my best friend, and I were putting up new wallpaper. Her baby came down with a cold, and then I had to go to D.C., so we didn't have a chance to finish. I'll call her and ask if she can help me this weekend. I can't hang wallpaper by myself."
"No hurry," Quint said. He pulled the dustcover from a piece of furniture. A loveseat. Did Aileen think he could sleep on this midget couch?
She lifted the dust sheet from a single bed next to the window. "I'll get a pillow and some sheets."
He watched her leave. She was quick and graceful. Probably had taken dancing lessons as a girl. And studied the piano, and...Quint dismissed t
hese thoughts. It wasn't her fault she had enjoyed privileges. She'd been lucky, and he hadn't. That was life.
Quint sat on the bed to test the mattress. Not too soft. A man could get a good night's rest in this bed. With a sigh of relief, he pulled his boots off.
When Aileen returned, she handed him a thick, fluffy pillow. "Can you put the pillowcase on it?"
"Sure." The pillowcase had yellow stripes woven into the white fabric. The yellow matched the sheet Aileen tucked over the mattress. The cover of the comforter she spread over the bed matched the pillow. "I can't remember if I ever slept in such a color-coordinated bed."
Was there a mocking undertone in his voice? His face gave her no clue. "You don't like it? My mother didn't like plain linens. She said that if you could have glorious color, why settle for white. I'm pretty sure we don't have any white sheets. Maybe Martha has-"
"This is fine," he reassured her. "It looks pretty and inviting. I'm sure I'll sleep just fine in this bed. Relax, Aileen."
Relax? He had to be joking. She might never relax again. She straightened the edge of the comforter one more time. "If you don't need anything else, I'll say good night."
"What time do you get up in the morning?"
"Six. Earlier if I don't get all the papers graded."
"In that case, I'll start the coffee. And I'll make it good and strong. Just the way you like it," he said, repeating Martha's words.
"Thanks."
"Good night," Quint said.
Aileen hurried into the kitchen. She put the teakettle on. If ever she needed a calming cup of herb tea, it was now. She retrieved her briefcase from the hall and stacked the spelling work sheets on the table.
Ordinarily, she graded papers wearing her comfortable robe and fuzzy slippers, but with Quint in the house, that didn't seem such a good idea. Briefly she debated running upstairs to change into jeans and a T-shirt and get out of the pantyhose she'd been wearing all day, but that would only waste time.
She poured a cup of tea and picked up the first sheet. Would Quint be warm enough with just the comforter? The nights still got awfully cold.
Aileen went to the linen closet for a blanket. She paused in front of his closed door to take a deep breath. She knocked. When he opened it, she forgot momentarily what she was going to say. He had taken his shirt off. Mutely she stared at his wide shoulders and broad chest. That glo rious expanse of skin and muscle seemed to be all her eyes could look at.
"Yes?" Quint asked.
"Um. I brought you a blanket. I remembered that the heat register is closed in this room. You should open it. The nights are still cold."
"Thanks. I will."
Then, remembering why she had knocked on his door, Aileen thrust the blanket at his chest. "Here, you'll need this." When he took the blanket, his fingers brushed against her hand. She jerked back as if scalded and, for the second time that evening, covered the short distance to the kitchen in record time. This could become a habit-her hasty retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen.
Aileen sat down. She sipped some tea. Then she picked up the top sheet. She blinked when she read the first word. What on earth was gerrenty? Then she remembered that guarantee was a word in the short story her freshmen class was reading. With a sigh she picked up her red pen. She had a feeling she'd be using it a lot.
She had graded about half the quizzes when she heard the shower start. Oh, great. Now she had a naked man taking a shower in her house. Noting the absurdity of her thought, she shook her head. Of course Quint was naked. People didn't take showers with their clothes on.
Unbidden, the image of his bare chest flashed into her consciousness. She pictured water sluicing over his handsome face, over his strong shoulders, down his chest, matting the fine, dark hair.
"That does it," she muttered. "I'm going upstairs."
The first thing Quint became aware of the next morning was the seductive aroma of coffee. Aileen must not have finished grading those papers last night. He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. He had overslept, but that was not surprising. He hadn't slept well the whole week while waiting for her to get back to the ranch.
When he had finished getting ready, he joined her. "I see you're still at it," he said, nodding toward the stack of papers.
"Sometimes it's easier to face these atrociously spelled words in the morning." Aileen hoped Quint would buy her explanation. "How did you sleep?"
"Like a baby."
Lucky him. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, and then her sleep had been plagued by bizarre dreams in which he and his sexy smile had played a leading role.
"Looks like the coffee is ready. Want me to pour you a cup?" he asked.
"Yes, please."
Quint studied the mugs hanging from a rack. With a grin he picked the one with a big, red apple on it. He read the inscription. "From a fan?"
"Last year's senior class. I was their advisor. It's customary to say stuff like that about the class advisor."
Quint doubted that, but let it pass. He filled the mug and handed it to her. Then he filled one for himself. Sipping the fragrant brew, he studied Aileen. Her hair hung in shiny reddish-golden waves to below her shoulders. She looked very pretty and very young in her quilted satin robe that she had buttoned all the way to her chin. He wouldn't have thought that pink was a good color for fair skin and caramel-colored freckles, but this particular shade looked great on her.
"What are you going to do today?" she asked.
"Look around. Meet the hands. Decide what's to be done first."
"Will you consult Bob? He's been the foreman for as long as I can remember."
"It would be dumb and shortsighted of me not to consult him."
She nodded, relieved.
"Did you think I'd throw my weight around? Give highhanded orders? Maybe fire someone?"
"I hoped you wouldn't, but since I don't know you-"
"You didn't know what to expect."
"Exactly."
"Aileen, I may not be as educated as you, but I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say, or even imply, that you were."
"My...what is the buzzword? People skills? They're good." They'd had to be for him to survive. "I can run this ranch, Aileen."
"Again, I didn't say that you couldn't. And for both our sakes, I sure hope you can."
"For the last year-and-a-half, I was the foreman on a ranch in the western part of the state." Quint took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. "You can call Mr. Vance and ask him for a reference. I-" A knock on the back door stopped him.
"Come in," Aileen said.
"Mornin', folks," Bob said. "Martha's fixin' a big breakfast. She hopes you can join us."
"I have to finish grading these papers, so I can't, but Quint, why don't you go? You can talk about the ranch while enjoying Martha's excellent cooking."
"Sounds good. Thanks for the invitation, Bob."
"Martha was takin' the biscuits out of the oven, so why don't we go. She gets cranky when her food gets cold."
"See you tonight," Quint said to Aileen.
She watched the men leave the room, glad to be alone. She had been acutely aware of Quint's silent study of her and had almost regretted her small act of defiance-if coming down to her kitchen wearing her robe rather than her school clothes could be called an act of defiance.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She didn't even have a chance to say "enter" before Martha swept in, carrying a plate.
"I brought you a couple of biscuits and some blackberry preserves that you can eat while reading your papers."
"Thanks."
"Quint sure got here early."
"He never left," Aileen said.
"What do you mean, he never left?"
"He slept here."
Martha's jaw dropped open. She perched on the nearest chair and leaned toward Aileen. "Say that again."
"Quint spent the night here."
"Saints above protect us from the demons below
," Martha murmured. "Why?"
"Because we don't have a bunkhouse, and he had nowhere else to go."
"How about a motel?"
"For one thing, the nearest motel is over forty miles away, and for another, neither of us could afford to pay for a motel night after night."
"But he can't stay here," Martha said emphatically.
"Why not? Half this house belongs to him. Remember?" Aileen straightened the stack of papers and slid them into her briefcase. "Martha, I said Quint spent the night in this house. I didn't say he spent it in my bed."
Martha gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Mercy, girl. I never suspected he did. Miss Ruth raised you better than that."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is that we don't know nothin' about him. The man could be a swindler or a convict or worse."
"The lawyers checked him out thoroughly to be certain that he's not a swindler or an impostor. And if he had a criminal record, they would have discovered that as well and told me."
"But you're both young and unmarried. It just isn't proper. And Quint's so good-looking." Martha's voice had risen into a wail.
"If Quint were ugly, would that make it less improper?" Aileen asked, her eyebrow raised.
"Oh, you know what I mean. People are going to talk! And you're a schoolteacher."
"Martha, we're now in the twenty-first century. Surely two people sharing a large house they both own isn't going to cause a major scandal."
"Maybe not in a big city, but here? I wouldn't be too sure. You be careful," Martha warned.
Martha twisted her wedding ring, a sign, Aileen knew, that she was uneasy. "What's the matter?"
Martha shrugged. "Oh, all right. Which room did you give Quint?"
"The small parlor."
"Downstairs? That's good."
"I'm glad you approve," Aileen said, her voice dry. "I hope you remember that this is an old house and that all the doors are sturdy and can be locked."
Martha looked a little sheepish. Then she rose. "I better go see how the men are doing. Eat your biscuits."
"I will. Thanks, Martha."
Jennifer arrived on Saturday morning, ready to work.
"Where's the baby?" Aileen asked, after greeting her friend.
