by Ilsa Mayr
Raised in a house where raw emotions were always held in genteel control, the memory of her tearful outbursts in front of Quint was unsettling-as was her subsequent weeping in the pantry. Aileen couldn't remember ever letting go of her feelings like that before.
In the bright light of morning, she was certain that Quint had kissed her neck. And not just once. Several times. Soft kisses whose power had flashed like hot light to the very ends of her extremities, even as she was reeling from shock. How was that possible? He had destroyed the image of her father she had carried in her heart, had smashed the past as she had known it, while at the same time making her aware that she was a woman and he a man. This was insane.
Aileen groaned in dismay. Maybe Quint was mistaken. Maybe he didn't know the whole truth about what had hap pened between his mother and Jack. Maybe...Aileen shook her head. Quint was living proof that Jack Bolton had cheated on his wife. Had fathered a son for whom he had taken no responsibility. There was no denying that Quint was her adoptive father's son. Even if Jack had not acknowledged him, the resemblance was too strong to ignore. True, Quint's hair and skin were darker, but his features bore a striking resemblance to Jack. And then there were those unmistakable, brilliant green eyes. How many people had eyes like that?
Aileen pressed her fists against her temples. It seemed that since Quint's arrival, she was perpetually hovering on the edge of getting a migraine. A migraine she could handle, but how on earth was she going to deal with last night's disclosures?
She brooded about this for long minutes. No matter how disappointing, how disillusioning, how bitter, she would have to learn to live with the new image of her father. Grit her teeth and accept it. What about the other? About Quint holding her? Murmuring comforting sounds and kissing her neck? The longer Aileen thought about it, the more she convinced herself that a few kisses on her neck were nothing to get unhinged about. Maybe if it had been a long, passionate kiss on the lips, she might have something to worry about. Such a kiss would undoubtedly indicate a physical attraction on Quint's part, but kisses on the neck were more...comforting? Yes, he had only meant to comfort a weeping woman.
Somewhat reassured, Aileen bathed her eyes repeatedly in cold water until the puffiness induced by her marathon crying jag was reduced. She planned to visit her friend and mentor, Dora, on her way to school. Aileen dressed carefully, knowing that even though her mentor was ill, her instincts were as sharp as ever. Dora Callahan could detect the slightest variation in mood and emotion with one glance from her perceptive eyes.
In the kitchen, Aileen cut the coconut cake she had baked in half and placed one portion in a bakery box. Then she put two blueberry muffins in a bag and filled a basket with meal-sized portions of chicken, ham, and beef. If her mentor would allow it, Aileen would gladly fix all her dinners, but Dora was a proud woman, fiercely clinging to her conviction that she could take care of herself.
Aileen left a half hour early. She caught a glimpse of Quint and the hands as she left the ranch, but didn't think he had seen her. She was relieved, for she didn't know if she should have waved, nodded her head, or what. She hated feeling unsure of herself.
Quint heard Aileen's car start. Though he was listening intently to Bob's comments about the south range, he was sharply aware of her car moving down the driveway. When she didn't stop, he felt the tension ease from his stiff shoulders.
He knew the reprieve was only temporary, and that he would have to face her in the evening. Maybe by then he would know what to say, how to explain his unexplainable behavior of the night before. Just now he had no idea why he had kissed her.
That was not entirely true. He had kissed Aileen because she was crying, because she needed to be held, because she smelled so sweet, because she had a lovely, elegant neck that begged to be kissed-and because he had succumbed to impulse.
Every single one of the many caseworkers and counselors who had supervised his long trek through foster homes and the child welfare system had urged him to fight his risk-taking impulses, to think before he acted, and to con sider the consequences. After some hard knocks and disappointments, he had finally seen the wisdom of their advice. He tried hard to curb his impulses, and usually he succeeded. Last night he had not.
Why had he failed? Aileen wasn't his type. Quint ruminated over this all the way to the south range. Even though he had told Aileen that he preferred blonds and brunettes, that wasn't strictly true. Physical appearance had never, or rarely ever, been the deciding factor in choosing his female companions. Rather, it was the women's willingness to keep the relationship lighthearted, with no promises, with no expectations of anything more than mutual pleasure and fun.
He strongly suspected-no, he knew-that Aileen wouldn't be interested in that kind of relationship, but increasingly, he wasn't either. Now he wanted more.
The problem was that logic told him that the only relationship he ought to have with Aileen was a business partnership. No messy emotions. No long kisses. The thought startled him. Why did he think she would be passionate? On the surface, Aileen was lady-like almost to the point of uptightness, and he sensed strongly that she was somewhat inexperienced. Yet something about her suggested hidden fires, barely acknowledged hungers, and slumbering passions.
Quint's throat suddenly felt dry. He had to stop speculating about Aileen. That was none of his business. It couldn't be. Folk wisdom said that nothing ended a friendship faster than lending or borrowing money. From his own observations he had learned that nothing ended any kind of business partnership faster than emotional involvement. Telling himself to remember that, he turned his attention to the south range.
They had eaten their muffins and enjoyed the Earl Grey tea, made small talk about school events, the weather, and how soon the tulips might bloom when Dora, without missing a beat, said, "Now tell me, Aileen. What's really on your mind."
"Why do you-"
"The truth, please. I'm recovering from quadruple bypass surgery and can't waste my strength on evasions and equivocations. What's going on?" Dora refilled their cups and then leaned back in her chair with an expectant expression on her face.
Aileen took a deep breath and told Dora about the will and Quint. Her mentor listened attentively, but Aileen could tell that even the unflappable Dora was stunned. She downed her tea as if to gain strength, or time, or both, before she spoke.
"This story contains all the ingredients of a Greek tragedy, or a Restoration comedy, or an afternoon soap opera, depending on how you look at it," Dora said.
Agitated, Aileen cried out, "This is not a story. This is my life!"
"I'm sorry, dear. I know this isn't a story. It's just that it is so hard to believe that Jack Bolton..." Dora's voice trailed off. She stared into space. Then she nodded. "On second thought, it isn't so unbelievable. Remembering his hands, I'm not surprised to learn that Jack had a streak of ruthlessness in him."
"I don't understand. What about his hands?"
"They were almost square. See how our four fingers are of unequal length? How there's roughly a half-inch difference in length between them?" Dora held up her hand to illustrate. "The three middle fingers on Jack's hands were almost the same length. And his fingers were broad, blunt, brutal-looking. If I had been here the summer your mother married him, I would have tried very hard to keep her from doing so. She was my friend, the younger sister I never had."
Although Aileen was used to her mentor's odd beliefs, which she had acquired from a lifelong study of history and world cultures and their more bizarre facts, this time Dora seemed to have gone too far. "On the basis of Jack's hands you would have advised my mother against marrying him?"
"You sound shocked, but physiological manifestations of a person are most often a good indication of character. But in this case, I had other reasons."
"Such as?"
"They don't matter anymore," Dora said. "Both Jack and Ruth are dead." Dora refilled her cup. Then she added, "Your grandmother opposed the marriage. She never like
d Jack. Never thought he was good enough for her daughter. And she let Jack know exactly how she felt about him. Those first years of their marriage while she was alive and living at the ranch with them couldn't have been easy for him."
Aileen sipped her tea, thinking. After a lengthy silence she spoke. "You were my mother's best friend. Do you think she knew about Jack cheating on her with Quint's mother?"
"Yes. Ruth never said anything specific, but I'm quite sure she knew."
"Oh, gosh. How awful for her," Aileen whispered.
"I'm sure it was devastating at first, but in some ways it made the marriage stronger. Jack stopped running around and became a serious rancher."
"He ran around?" Aileen whispered, stunned.
"What I meant was, he'd drive to the roadhouses on the highway. I'm not sure he necessarily did anything more than have a few beers, play poker, and shoot pool."
"What caused him to reform?" Aileen asked.
"Guilt, probably, and Ruth gave him-" Dora stopped abruptly and busied herself refilling their cups.
"What?" Aileen asked.
"I've already said too much."
"No. You've come this far; go on. I'd like to know the truth," Aileen urged her.
"The truth about relationships is often overrated and disillusioning."
What could her mother have given Jack Bolton that changed him? Or seemingly changed him. Then it hit Aileen. She felt the blood rush to her face. "Ruth gave him half the ranch, didn't she?" From Dora's expression, she knew she had guessed right. "She bought him with thousands of acres of land."
"That's a little harsh, don't you think? The man worked the land. Giving him half the ranch probably made him feel less like an outsider. And Ruth loved him."
"And love makes everything right?" Aileen demanded.
"No. Love has nothing to do with something being right. It's a powerful force that isn't subject to reason or logic or even ethics. It's a law unto itself." Dora studied Aileen. "You obviously have not been in love."
"Have you?" Aileen asked forcefully. She regretted the impertinent question as soon as the words left her mouth. "I'm sorry. I had no right to ask that."
"It's all right. Just because I'm a spinster doesn't mean I never loved a man."
Aileen looked at Dora speculatively. During the school year her mentor led the quintessential spinster's life-living alone in her little house with only her cat for company, her garden as a hobby, her charitable works to fill the winter months.
Yet every summer she traveled. What she did during those worldwide odysseys, as she called them, nobody knew. She could have had wild flings all over the globe, or a longtime married lover with whom she spent the halcyon days of summer. More and more Aileen was convinced that it was impossible to know anyone completely.
"How about you? Are you seriously dating anyone? Steve Sanders, now that he broke up with his girlfriend?" Dora asked.
"Why does everyone assume that?" Aileen demanded.
"Maybe based on the way Steve looks at you when he thinks nobody's watching?"
Aileen stared at her mentor. "I never noticed him doing that."
"You wouldn't. Are you interested in him?"
"No!"
"That was a strong, unhesitating answer," Dora said, pleased.
Aileen herself was surprised by the emphatic no she had uttered. Even as recently as spring break she would have gone out with Steve. What had changed? Then it hit her: Quint. Aileen's heart skipped a beat. No sooner did that green-eyed cowboy move into her house and she was ready to dismiss one of the most sought-after bachelors in the county. What was wrong with her?
"I was afraid you might be interested in Steve."
"Afraid? Why afraid? What's wrong with Steve? There's hardly a single woman around who doesn't give him a second look."
"No doubt. He is nice-looking, and has that boyish charm that attracts a lot of women, but have you studied his mouth? The way it often droops?"
First a man's hands and now another's mouth. Was Dora losing it? A quick glance at her mentor showed her to be alert and bright-eyed.
"No, I can't say that I've noticed Steve's mouth." But Aileen was quite sure that if Dora had handed her a piece of paper and a pencil, she would have been able to sketch an accurate image of Quint's mouth. This was not good.
"Well, I have yet to meet a man whose lips have that downward slant who wasn't given to fits of petulance and whining," Dora said with authority. "And those are not appealing qualities in a man. Or in a woman."
"No, they are not," Aileen agreed. What would Dora say about Quint? He didn't have a droopy mouth, and his hands, though strong and rough from work, were not brutallooking.
"Tell me about Quint," Dora requested.
"He doesn't look anything like Steve."
Dora leaned forward. "Does he have those sexy, dark, smoldering Latino looks?"
"His eyes are green. Like his father's." Aileen wasn't ready to talk about Quint. She took a last sip of tea and rose. "I must go or I'll be late for homeroom. Call me if you need anything." Aileen rushed from the room, but not quick enough to miss Dora's final question.
"When are you going to bring Quint to meet me?"
Aileen stopped in her tracks. She knew she couldn't keep him a secret forever. It was amazing that not more people had found out about him already.
"I'll bring him soon," she promised.
Quint curried Sweepstake until the stallion's coat gleamed. Then he looked around the stable, but there was nothing else for him to do. He could no longer put off going to the house.
Hunching his shoulders against the rain, he sprinted across the yard. He didn't see Aileen's briefcase and purse in their usual place and felt relieved. She wasn't home yet. Quint wasn't sure, though, whether he was more relieved or disappointed. At least he had time to clean up. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he hurried to the kitchen.
Aileen arrived just as he was adjusting the seasoning of the chili. "Here, taste this and tell me what you think." Quint dipped a spoon into the chili and handed it to Aileen. "Careful, it's hot." He would hate to see her sweet mouth get burned. He watched her blow on the chili.
"How is it? Too spicy?"
"I like spicy. It's good." She licked the spoon. "Actually, it's very good."
"Or maybe you're just hungry."
"Both," she admitted with a smile. "It's been a long day and our aerobics instructor really worked us hard." Aileen took her raincoat off. Though Quint hadn't said anything, she sensed he was dying to do so. "What?"
"Men should erect a monument to the guy who invented spandex."
"How do you know it wasn't a woman?" she demanded.
"Let me restate this. Men should erect a monument to whoever invented spandex."
Aileen pretended to be indifferent to his implied compliment, but inwardly she was smiling. "Do I have time to look through the mail before we eat?"
"You have until the noodles are cooked. We're having chili mac. You want chopped onions and cheese on top of yours?"
"Neither, thanks, but I will cut up carrots and celery so we have something crunchy on the side."
Quint grinned at her. "I wondered if you'd fix a salad."
Aileen raised an eyebrow. "When you live to a healthy, ripe old age with all your teeth in your mouth and all your hair on your head, you will thank me."
His grin widened.
"What?"
"You tossed your hair again. But I like it," he added hastily. And that was the problem. He liked the gesture too much. It made him want to reach out and stroke those silken tresses. Curl his fingers around them. Lift them off her delicate neck and.... Don't even go there, he warned himself. Some men went crazy over legs; some got turned on by bosoms. With him it was a lovely neck that made his blood hum.
Quint lifted the lid and stirred the noodles. Fortunately, Aileen was busy cutting carrots into sticks. She couldn't have sensed his hot preoccupation with her hair and her neck. Then he frowned. Somethi
ng in her comment had finally registered with him.
"Am I in danger of losing my hair and my teeth? Did my ... did Jack Bolton lose his?"
"No, but my mother always served a balanced meal."
"Mine was glad when she could put enough tortillas and beans on the table." Though he had his back to her, he sensed her shocked expression. "I didn't mind. I thought everybody ate beans instead of meat."
As proud as he was, she guessed that Quint hadn't meant to tell her that sometimes he'd gone hungry. Quickly she said, "According to research, beans are better for you than red meat." She smiled ruefully. "Oops. I suppose as the half owner of a ranch, I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you shouldn't have. It's bad for business."
Aileen paused, a celery stalk in her hand. "It just occurred to me that you might not know what your...what Jack Bolton looked like."
She rushed into the den. Moments later she returned with two photos in her hand. She placed them on the counter next to Quint. "This one was taken three years ago at a horse show." Aileen looked at the back of the other photo. "In this one he was about your age. You look a lot like him. And it's not just the green eyes."
Quint didn't say anything, but she saw his lips tighten. Aileen resumed preparing the relish tray. From the corner of her eye, she thought she caught him stealing glances at the photographs.
Aileen set the tray on the table. Then she sorted through the junk mail and disposed of it. The rest she set aside when Quint brought their filled bowls to the table. She ate a third of her chili before she spoke.
"This is really good. I appreciate your having dinner ready. It's nice to come home and not have to rush into the kitchen to cook."
"When it looked like it would rain hard all day, I decided that we would work around the place and fix things. That gave me a chance to start dinner. I'm glad you like the chili."
When Quint realized how much her compliment, her smile, warmed him, his mood sobered. It didn't pay to get too attached to anyone or anything. Every time he did, something happened and he had to move on. Except not this time. Now he was no longer a nobody. If he was tenacious enough, he could grab a foothold and put down roots. Deep roots.
