by Ilsa Mayr
"It did not! And there's no such word as `teachery.'
He grinned at her. "I was bracing myself for lunch detention," he murmured into her ear.
"I bet you served plenty of those."
Quint chuckled. He bet most of her male students didn't much mind serving lunch detention in her classroom. He certainly wouldn't. Given the choice between feasting his eyes on her or his stomach on school cafeteria food, he'd choose Aileen every time. She had shifted her position slightly, bringing her closer to him. By leaning forward just a little, his lips brushed against her hair, which smelled of sunlight and spring air.
Aileen closed her eyes. Quint had been right. The pain had passed into something resembling pleasure. She gripped the counter harder and bit her lower lip to keep from purring with delight.
Somehow she must have communicated her pleasure, for suddenly she felt Quint's body touching hers. The temptation to lean against him was immense. With a last clutch at reality, Aileen took a couple of steps away from him.
"Thanks, but I better go and stand under a hot shower. I'll see you in the morning." Aileen left quickly.
Quint leaned against the counter. Was one of them always destined to flee from this kitchen?
Aileen gathered her hair into her right hand, attempted to smooth it with her left prior to coiling it, and, failing to do so, finally let it fall with a frustrated grimace.
She must have successfully swept up her hair hundreds of times in her life, so why was she having so much trouble tonight? Bracing her hands against the top of her dressing table, she stared at herself in the mirror.
This was her third time attending the National Honor Society dinner. Actually, her fourth, if she counted her own induction. She didn't have to do anything but read the students' names as they came forward to be recognized, so why did her stomach feel as if it had been invaded by a swarm of high-strung butterflies?
"Aileen? I don't mean to rush you, but shouldn't we be leaving soon?" Quint called from the bottom of the stairs.
She opened her bedroom door. "I'll be down in five minutes."
"Okay. Want me to drive?"
"Sure."
"My pickup or your car?" Quint asked.
"My car gets better gas mileage. The keys are on the hall table."
Having promised to be ready in five minutes, Aileen sprang into action. Miraculously, her hair coiled neatly on the next attempt and her fingers were steady while applying eyeliner and lip gloss. She made it downstairs in four minutes.
Quint was waiting for her in the hall. Aileen didn't know if the sight of him or her mad rush down the stairs had made her breathless. Wearing gray slacks, a navy jacket, and a white shirt with a discreetly patterned tie, he wouldn't be out of place in any social situation in the county. Or the state, or-
"Will I do?" he asked with an amused expression.
He had caught her staring! She was glad she had been only staring rather than drooling. He certainly looked good enough to be gazed at covetously, breathlessly, adoringly. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to trace those high cheekbones, to kiss that smiling mouth, to.... Aileen felt heat rise all the way to her coiled hair. Reining in her wayward thoughts, she murmured, "You were right. You clean up nicely."
"Well, thank you, ma'am," he drawled. "You don't look half bad yourself. This...color looks terrific on you."
Picking up on his brief hesitation, she asked, "This... color? I always tell my students to be precise. What would you call the color of my dress?" She softened the challenge in her voice with a smile.
Quint took the opportunity to let his eyes travel lazily from her high-heel-clad feet to the top of her hair. He tried to keep his gaze from lingering too long on her dress. Not that it was too low cut. But ordinarily she wore such buttoned-up, schoolmarmish clothes that this dress took his breath away. It showed off her slender, creamy neck. He swallowed a couple of times.
"The color of my dress?" she prompted.
He rubbed his freshly shaved chin. "You got me. Well, it's obviously blue, but beyond that, I don't know what to call the color. Except..."
"Except? Go on."
"As I think back, almost every Madonna in every Mexican church I've been in wore a mantle of that color."
"Very good! Madonna blue is descriptive and evocative," she told him, her voice delighted.
"Yeah? Do I get an A?" he asked with a grin.
His sexy grin definitely merited an A. Quint took a step closer and righted the pendant on her chain. Those pesky butterflies picked up the tempo of the dance.
"Do I get an A?" he repeated softly.
"Possibly. If the rest of the writing measured up."
"I knew it. You're a tough grader."
"Have to be. Otherwise the kids get lazy." Just like her voice, which had sunk to a low murmur.
"Lazy?" Quint asked, his voice husky. He was still touching the pendant.
"Lazy, as in they don't bother to think, and I get a lot of blah words like nice, cute, okay, cool." She felt that if he didn't move his finger, she might do something fatally unwise, like melting against him and begging him to kiss her or just grabbing him and kissing him with shameless abandon.
Quint stepped back. "I think we better go."
They arrived at the school at the last moment, escaping the obligatory mingling that preceded the dinner. Small talk never counting among her favorite pastimes, Aileen was glad to have been spared the pre-dinner chatter.
The committee in charge of the event had made an attempt to turn the functional cafeteria festive, with white paper tablecloths and pots of red and white geraniums. A sophomore, acting as usher, led them to one of the front tables. Aileen felt as if every eye in the place watched them walk across the cafeteria.
Aileen introduced Quint to Dora and the rest of the people at their table: Sam Jensen, chairman of the school board and feed-store owner, his wife, Myrtle, and two sets of proud parents and their inductees.
The ladies of the cafeteria served the meal family-style, and although talk was general while they passed the various bowls and platters, Aileen steeled herself for the inevitable question about Quint. When it came, its lack of subtlety surprised her.
"So, Quint, what line of work are you in?" Sam Jensen asked.
Everyone at the table stopped chewing, or so it appeared to Aileen. Before Quint could respond, she said, "Quint is the new half owner of the Triangle B."
Sam Jensen's mouth hung open for a second before the usually smooth-talking board member recovered from his surprise. "Well, I'll be. Jack Bolton would have sooner parted with his right hand than an inch of that land. He must be rolling over in his grave."
"I doubt that," Aileen said. "It was his idea."
Sam's deep-set eyes studied Quint. "You knew Jack?"
"In a manner of speaking. He was my father."
The absolute silence that followed Quint's announcement hung heavily over the table.
"Then you and Aileen are brother and sister?" Myrtle Jensen asked.
"No, Mrs. Jensen, Quint and I are not related at all. The Boltons adopted me," Aileen explained.
"Oh."
Myrtle Jensen's mouth formed a perfect circle. Her small nose twitched like a rabbit's having caught an interesting scent. Aileen prepared herself to be interrogated.
"And you're living at the ranch?" Myrtle asked Quint.
"Of course he lives at the ranch," Dora interjected in her best teacher's voice. "You can't run a ranch from town. Even you, Myrtle, ought to know that."
Aileen didn't miss the narrowed eyes and the pursed mouth. The school board member's wife suspected that she and Quint were sleeping together. Remembering the charged scene before they left for the dinner, Aileen had to admit that Myrtle's intuition wasn't that far off the mark. If Quint hadn't kept his head.... Aileen trembled to think of what might have happened.
"Looks like the program is about to begin," Dora said, effectively cutting off whatever else Myrtle had planned to ask.
<
br /> When the ceremony ended and Aileen had congratulated the inductees and their parents, she went into the gym.
The junior class had decorated the gym with paper flowers, streamers, and balloons. They had even swathed the bright ceiling lights with white gauze, bathing the huge room in a gentle, diffused light.
The DJ's music made conversation difficult. Quint bent down to ask Aileen, "Can we dance?"
She shook her head. She cupped her hand around her mouth and spoke into his ear. "Not yet. We are chaperones for the first hour." Aileen hadn't noticed how shapely his ear was. She felt the crazy desire to nibble on his earlobe. And then trail kisses along his throat-
"What exactly are we looking for as chaperones?" he asked.
"Somebody spiking the punch. Incipient arguments. Couples smooching in the shadowy corners."
"Seems a shame to interfere with young love."
"Might be more a case of raging hormones," she replied.
Quint could identify with those. It took considerable willpower not to drag Aileen into one of those shadowy corners and steal a few kisses. Ever since he'd seen the undisguised admiration in her eyes when she'd come down the stairs, he'd had to concentrate hard on not staring at her with eyes that revealed his attraction.
"Let's circulate," she said.
Quint stayed by her side as they moved around the gym for the next hour.
When they were relieved by the gym teacher and his wife, Quint made a quick grab for Aileen's hand and led her onto the dance floor. Even if she had wanted to pull away, she doubted that Quint would have let her. And she did want to dance with him.
The first two dances were fast. Aileen felt as if her pulse echoed the throbbing thump of the drums. Her senses hummed, her body felt light-almost liquid-as she moved to the seductive cadence of the music. They didn't touch each other except with their eyes.
The third number was a slow, soft ballad of yearning and love. Even though Aileen knew it would be prudent to leave the dance floor, she hesitated, and, hesitating, she found herself promptly wrapped in Quint's arms. She had noticed earlier how tightly the couples held each other during the slow dances. Almost as if their bodies were fused together.
"Quint," she said. "Quint? Don't you think you're holding me too close?"
"No. This is the perfect music for slow dancing, and you can't dance to this beat if you're a foot apart."
"I wasn't talking about a foot, but how about a couple of inches? I am a teacher, and I don't think-"
"You think too much. I believe I've mentioned that before? Relax, Aileen. Listen to the rhythm of the music and go with it. Enjoy it."
If anything, Quint held her even tighter. Aileen knew she couldn't win this argument short of making a scene. She didn't want to make a scene. Actually, if he'd given her the space she asked for, she probably would have been a little disappointed. And she was enjoying herself.
She'd never known that something as simple as dancing could be so pleasurable, so sensuous. Except dancing wasn't really simple. Hadn't she read somewhere that it was originally a part of the mating ritual? Best not to think about that. Aileen closed her eyes, but that only made her other senses more receptive. She felt Quint's breath feather against her temple. She inhaled his scent, which wove itself around her like a magic circle.
When the music stopped, she murmured an excuse and hastened to the ladies' room. She needed to douse her face with cold water.
The two girls drying their hands apparently hadn't noticed Aileen's entrance.
"I had no idea Ms. Bolton could dance like that," the brunette said. "So sexy!"
"Speaking of sexy. Did you get a good look at her date?" the redhead asked.
"Oh yeah. Isn't he to die for? I could hardly keep my eyes off him," the brunette said, her expression dreamy. "Especially when they were dancing."
"He looks a little like Antonio Banderas, only even more handsome. Where did she find him? Think we could ask Ms. Bolton if he has any brothers?" the redhead asked. "There sure is nobody like him at school. He's so hot!"
"I quite agree with you," Aileen said with a smile when the girls became aware of her. "And he doesn't have a brother. Sorry." Both girls blushed crimson, stammered several embarrassed excuses, and sidled out past Aileen.
Aileen washed her hands and dabbed her hot face with a wet paper towel. Then she rejoined Dora and Quint.
Taking one look at Aileen, Dora asked, "What's the matter?"
"I just realized that by tomorrow, Quint's ownership of half the ranch will be all over town," Aileen said with a sigh.
"Wrong," Dora said and grimaced. "Knowing Myrtle Jensen the way I do, it'll be all over the county before midnight."
"Great," Aileen murmured.
"She's one of my failures. She was in my homeroom for four years. I tried to instill a little tact in her and develop some character, but here clearly nature triumphed over nurture. Her mother was a brainless chatterbox and gossip too, may she rest in peace. Well, we can't win them all," Dora said, patting Aileen's shoulder. "Here's my ride."
They said their good nights in the parking lot. Hugging Aileen, Dora whispered, "Your description of Quint didn't do him justice. He's not only handsome, he's intelligent and, I suspect, passionate and caring. He just might be a keeper."
On the way back to the ranch, Aileen was silent. Quint stole glances at her, trying to gauge her mood. Finally he asked, "Did I do something wrong? Disgrace you in some way?"
"No, of course, not. What makes you ask that?"
"Your silence. You seem to be fretting about something."
"Not fretting, exactly."
"Then what, exactly?"
"I'm not sure. I'm uneasy. I didn't like the way Myrtle Jensen kept looking at us," Aileen admitted.
"As if she wondered if we shared a bed?"
Aileen felt heat shoot into her face. "You had that feeling, too?"
"It was written all over her. I wondered if she was going to find a way to ask us straight out."
"If the program hadn't started when it did, she might have. I bet half of my students there tonight wondered the same thing."
"Only half?" Quint asked, trying to interject some humor into the situation. "I must be getting old." He studied her reaction. Aileen's face was grave. "Aileen, I was joking."
"I know."
"What else is making you so uneasy?" he asked.
"A guilty conscience, maybe?"
"You have nothing to feel guilty about. We've done nothing wrong," Quint insisted.
Not yet, that small voice in her mind whispered.
Quint watched her clench her hands. "But you don't like being gossiped about," he guessed shrewdly.
"I don't. Besides that, I'm a teacher. My behavior is supposed to be exemplary."
"From where I'm sitting, it is. And anybody who says differently will have to deal with me."
Judging by the set of his chin and mouth, Quint meant that. Aileen had never had a man offer to fight in her defense. "You make me feel like some noble lady whose honor has been maligned."
"You are a lady," he said softly. "And a lovely, intelligent woman."
Aileen leaned forward to see his expression.
"What?" he asked, meeting her gaze. "That wasn't a line, if that's what you're wondering about."
"It wasn't?"
"I'm not going to use lines on you."
"That's good." Then why did she feel just a twinge of disappointment? Because she suspected Quint might come up with some sweet nothings that could bewitch a woman? Since when did she yearn for honeyed little lies?
"We're partners. You deserve the truth," Quint said.
Partners. Of course. She couldn't keep forgetting that. What was it Dora had said about the truth? That it was overrated and disillusioning? Her mentor was a wise woman.
At the ranch, Aileen picked up the mail she hadn't had time to look at before the dinner. She sat at the kitchen table to read it.
Quint picked up the newspaper and jo
ined her.
"What on earth?" she exclaimed, frowning at a letter.
Hearing the alarm in her voice, Quint looked up from the paper. Aileen's face had lost its color. "What's the matter?"
"This is a letter from the Internal Revenue Service. It refers to the tax return filed last year." Wordlessly she handed it to him.
Quint read it. "How can the ranch owe this much money in taxes to the IRS? I don't understand."
"That makes two of us." She shook her head. "I do my own tax return, but that's straightforward and simple. I have no idea what all's involved in figuring taxes that include a payroll, retirement accounts, depreciation on equipment, and heaven knows what else. Do you?"
"Not really. My taxes are little more complicated because I itemize my rodeo expenses, but that's nothing like what you have to file for an outfit the size of the Triangle B. Did Jack do the taxes himself?"
"I'm sure he didn't. He disliked all paperwork." Aileen glanced at the clock before reaching for the telephone. "I'm calling the accountant's secretary. She gave me her home number in case we had any questions."
"And do we have questions," Quint muttered.
"This is Aileen Bolton. I hope I'm not calling too late, but we-" Aileen listened. "Thank you. I received a letter from the IRS. They claim that the Triangle B owes twentyfive thousand dollars more for last year."
Quint watched as Aileen listened to the secretary. At one point he saw her eyes widen and saw her slump against the counter. He took a couple of steps toward her.
"Thank you," Aileen said. "I'll get in touch with the firm that handled the taxes."
After she hung up, Quint said, "From your reaction, I take it that the news isn't good."
Aileen sighed. "Two years ago, Dad took all the paperwork to a firm that specializes in taxes. Mr. Holloway, according to his secretary, is conservative. The tax service, on the other hand, has a reputation for being creative. They always promise big savings in their ads."
Quint frowned. "Creative? What does that mean?"
"I suspect it means looking for loopholes that may or may not be legal. I can't believe Dad fell for their promises."
Aileen looked so bewildered, disappointed, and miserable that Quint wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. Stroke her bright hair. Inhale that caramel-sweet scent that made him hungry for things lost long ago or forever unattainable.
