Gift of Fortune

by Ilsa Mayr

  "It's easy," Quint said. "You can do it."

  Aileen looked at Quint, doubting that line dancing would be that simple. But his warm smile went a long way toward easing her reservations, if not her nervousness.

  "Give me your hand," Quint said firmly.

  "Why?" she asked, alarmed. "I thought that in line dancing you didn't touch."

  "You don't, except when you're learning."

  "Oh." Aileen held out her hand. She wondered if he noticed that it trembled, but she didn't look at it or at him.

  His large hand enfolded hers. He pressed it reassuringly. They repeated the sequence several times before Quint added the pivots and the quarter turns. The song ended.

  "There. Was that so bad?" he asked.

  "No, because you're a good teacher."

  "Of course I am. Didn't I tell you I'm good at a lot of things?" His cocky tone matched his cocky grin. "Just out of curiosity, what makes me a good teacher?"

  "You're patient, you reinforce what you've taught, and you're generous with praise."

  "Well, thank you, ma'am." He glanced at their joined hands. "Before? When I said I had to hold your hand to teach line dancing, I lied. It was just an excuse."

  It was on the tip of Aileen's tongue to say that he didn't need an excuse since he was her husband, but she stopped herself. Instead, she said, "You cowboys are a sneaky bunch."

  "We have to be, or we'd never get to hold hands. What with spending our days with cattle and horses-"

  "I get the picture. Any more line dancing tonight?"

  "Depends on the music. If this announcer ever stops jawing-"

  "He heard you," Aileen said, when the music started.

  "Yeah, and he's playing a nice, slow two-step." Quint put his arms around Aileen and drew her close. "I have a confession to make."

  "Oh no! Not another one. Are you going to confess you like holding hands ... um ... hooves-"

  "No, smartie. I'm confessing that I'm not all that crazy about line dancing."

  "Really? I wouldn't have guessed that. Why not?"

  "No touching. Dancing without holding your partner goes against the spirit of dancing." He frowned. "There's probably a word for what I mean."

  "Contrary. Or, if you want to be pedantic, dancing without touching `contravenes the essence of "dancing.'

  Quint grinned. "You're so good with words."

  "And you're so good with moves."

  "Yeah? And you haven't seen anywhere near all of my moves yet," he murmured against her hair, his voice husky.

  The promise inherent in those words caused a shiver of anticipation to shimmy down Aileen's spine.

  Quint's arms tightened around Aileen. He felt her back go rigid. "It's okay. Just relax." He moved his hand slowly, soothingly along her spine.

  Suddenly, his thoughts wandered dangerously. Would she allow herself to wear lingerie with bits of lace and satin to make up for the modest clothes, or would her underthings be plain and functional as well? But even wearing unadorned cotton lingerie Aileen would be woman enough to make him incredibly happy he was a man. He had no doubts about that.

  The song ended, plunging Quint back into reality. He held her a few seconds longer, willing his body to relax, his pulse to return to normal. If that was possible with Aileen still in his arms. He would have to let her go. Reluctantly he did so when the radio announcer's voice slid into an advertising spiel.

  "It's getting late," Aileen said quietly.

  "Tired?" Quint asked.

  She shrugged. "Not particularly, but you get up early, even on Saturdays. And I plan to spend the day attacking those pesky weeds that are threatening my plants."

  "If you don't watch those weeds closely all the time, they'll take over," Quint warned jokingly.

  "I've noticed that," she said with a smile. Aileen turned off the kitchen light. Side by side they walked toward the stairs.

  Though Quint slowed their pace, they quickly reached the foot of the stairs-his nightly battleground between desire and decency. Every night he was tempted to make a move on Aileen, but hadn't he promised her that he wouldn't drag her to the nearest bed? His bed, he estimated once again, was a scant and scary fifteen feet from where they stood. Way too close.

  Aileen raised her face to look at him. He steeled himself against the pull of blue eyes and red-gold hair, the scent of spring flowers and sweet caramel, the taste of soft lips and sweet kisses which were relatively unpracticed and thus triply dangerous and seductive.

  "I had fun," she said with a smile. "Good night." Quickly, she ran up the stairs.

  At school Aileen stared happily out the window. All she saw was the parking lot, half-empty during the summer session. Or rather, she didn't really see it. What she saw instead, in her mind's eye, was Quint smiling at her. Quint telling her about his day. Quint looking at her with a teasing grin in those green eyes.

  A sneeze in the classroom plunged her back into reality. Embarrassed, she glanced at the sixteen incoming freshmen who had signed up for her study skills class. Their heads were bent over their work. Thank heaven, they hadn't seen their teacher's smile, which doubtlessly had been dreamy, if not downright fatuous.

  Time to get back to work. Aileen rose from her chair. "Class, as I told you, taking notes does not mean copying word for word. What did I say I would do if I saw a single complete sentence on your index card?"

  She glanced at her seating chart before calling on the boy in the second row who had raised his hand. "Yes, Jason?"

  "You said you were the card cop and you'd tear up any note card that had a stolen sentence on it."

  "That's correct. Thank you, Jason." Aileen walked around the classroom. She stopped to look at the cards of a girl chewing gum vigorously. "Brittany, what is the exception to copying word for word?"

  "Putting quotation marks around the sentence," Brittany said and popped her gum.

  "That's right. What else do you have to do?"

  "Write down the book and the page you got it from."

  "Correct. Now get rid of your gum, Brittany. In the trash can, please."

  "Aw, Mrs. Fernandez-"

  "Now, Brittany. I loathe finding gum stuck under a table or on a chair."

  Aileen tore up cards from all but five students. The eleven offenders looked unhappy, but it was the fastest way to break them of the habit of copying without properly citing the source.

  Aileen stopped at the last desk. She frowned at the card and picked it up. Finally she handed it back to the student. "What does this mean? Walls & gerfedy? she asked, intrigued.

  The boy squinted at the words. "You know, walls and the stuff written on them."

  "Oh. Graffiti." Aileen bit her lower lip to keep from smiling, which would have embarrassed the boy even more. She turned to face the students. "In this class, spelling counts. I take points off for misspelled words, so use your dictionaries."

  Glancing at the clock, she said, "Please hand in your work. Since this is Friday, there's no homework. Enjoy the weekend."

  The students cheered.

  In the hall she ran into Steve. They walked to the parking lot together.

  "So, how's married life?" he asked.

  "Fine. I can recommend it. You should try it."

  "Not me!" he protested. "I'm too young to be tied down. I'm like a busy bee: too many flowers out there that need servicing. Know what I mean?" he asked with a wink.

  "Yes, and your simile is trite."

  "I bet you'd flunk me if I were in your class."

  "I wouldn't doubt it," Aileen said.

  "It amazes me how a woman as attractive as you can be so tough."

  Aileen stopped walking to look at him with a frown. "What does one thing have to do with the other? Are you saying that only unattractive female teachers should have high expectations and demand quality work?"

  Steve ignored her question. "You know what I always expected to happen? You and me becoming an item."

  Aileen just shook her head. "I'm parked over t
here. Have a nice weekend, Steve."

  When she approached her car, she stopped, surprised. Quint seemed at ease, leaning against the trunk, and yet she sensed an aura of tension around him. He wore sunglasses and, though she couldn't see his eyes, she was certain they'd assumed the hard glitter of emeralds. "What's wrong? What happened? What are you doing here, Quint?"

  "Nothing's wrong. I had to pick up some calf medicine. Thought I'd stop by to see you. Maybe take my wife to lunch. That is, if you aren't going to lunch with that... Steve."

  "Why would I go to lunch with him?"

  "Maybe because he has the hots for you? Has he made a move on you?" Quint demanded, uncoiling his body, ready to spring into action.

  Aileen blinked. She had never seen Quint like this. So ...belligerent. "Steve hasn't made advances," she said, not entirely sure if that were true or not. "In any event, I can handle Steve. Puleese, as the kids say."

  Quint seemed to relax a little. Suddenly it hit Aileen: Wasn't Quint acting like a man who was just a tad jealous? Oh, if only it were so!

  "You want to get some lunch?" he asked.

  "Sure," she agreed with a smile. "You know what I haven't had yet this summer? One of those big ice cream sundaes with strawberries and chocolate sauce and nuts on top. Doesn't that sound good on a hot day like today?"

  "Darlin', you're a cheap date," Quint drawled.

  "I know. Simple tastes and frugal habits. Can't help it." She sighed dramatically.

  A car horn honked at them. Steve passing by. Quint placed one arm possessively around Aileen while he raised the other in a casual wave.

  in the weeks that followed, Aileen was busy with school, with her garden, and with surreptitiously watching her handsome husband. Watching and waiting for some sign from him that he considered her as more than a partner and friend. But since the incident with Steve and the flash of jealousy, nothing else had happened. Maybe she'd been wrong about Quint being jealous.

  Aileen sighed, something she was doing a lot of lately.

  She poured the green beans into the bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process. She had blanched them in preparation for freezing them.

  "Hey, Aileen, are you in the kitchen?"

  "Jennifer? Come on in. I didn't hear your car drive up."

  "I'm not surprised. All these fans make a lot of noise."

  "You brought the baby. Hi there, sweetie. I'd take you, but my blouse is all damp and sweaty." Aileen patted the baby's cheek.

  "It's like a steam bath in here," Jennifer said. "What are you doing?"

  "Getting green beans ready for the freezer."

  "Isn't that what you did last week too?"

  "Well, yes. I staggered the plantings so the vegetables wouldn't all ripen at the same time."

  "I can't believe you're doing all this. Not even your mother did this much."

  "She did, but she had Martha to help her," Aileen said.

  "So where's Martha?"

  "Her married daughter is having a rough pregnancy, so Martha flew to Ohio to be with her."

  "Tough break," Jennifer said. "Can I help?"

  "Thanks, but freezing and canning is an almost daily chore now. I got carried away when I was planting. Want some green beans?"

  "No, thanks. I'm perfectly happy buying them from the store, already in a can or a frozen package. Do you have to harvest all of them?"

  "I'm letting some of them dry on the plants."

  "But don't you have to pick those and shell them?"

  "Yes, but not until the fall."

  "When school's in session you'll have even less time for housework." Jennifer studied her friend. "Whatever happened to you and Quint going out with us on Saturday nights?"

  "We did go."

  "Once. I thought you two enjoyed the evening."

  "We did. It was fun."

  "Then why haven't you joined us again?" Jennifer demanded.

  Aileen sighed. "There's just so much work right now. The hay was ready to be mowed, the oats will be ripe next, there are always vegetables that need to be picked or weeds to be pulled. And there's summer school-"

  "And you're dead tired. Aileen, watch it or you'll turn into a drudge. You know, one of those ranch women who are faded and worn-out by the time they're forty and look like they're sixty. And all the time their husbands look years younger and develop a roving eye for every young waitress, barmaid, or what have you in the county."

  Aileen paused in the act of wiping down the counter. Before she could say anything, Quint entered the kitchen. Dismayed, Aileen wondered how much he'd overheard. She couldn't tell from his expression, which was cordial and polite as he greeted Jennifer and patted the baby's hair.

  "Want a glass of iced tea?" Aileen asked Jennifer.

  "No, thanks. I gotta be going. I just came by to remind you about the special band that'll be at The Black Hat on Saturday. Hope you guys can come."

  Quint held the door open for her and escorted her out.

  Aileen braced her hands on the edge of the kitchen sink. Jennifer's words had hit her hard. Was she turning into a drudge? She hadn't ironed, much less starched, the blouse she wore. No wonder it hung damply, limply from her shoulders. And her hair? She'd pulled it into a ponytail when she'd come home from school. But that was hours ago. By now, rebellious strands had escaped the rubber band and drooped around her face. She felt hot, untidy, unattractive. And Quint had seen her like that. Worse, he'd undoubtedly heard Jennifer's words. He would now carry the image of her as a future drudge. Great. Just great.

  Quint returned. Aileen busied herself scrubbing the kitchen sink.

  "I'm glad Jennifer came by to remind us about Saturday. I hadn't realized how long it's been since we had a night out," Quint said. "Aileen? Is something wrong?"

  She shrugged.

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "It's about what Jennifer said, isn't it? Aileen, you'll never turn into a drudge. You're too intelligent for that. And you've got the kind of face that'll look good at any age." He traced her cheekbones. "About Jennifer's other claim? She's way off base. I won't develop a roving eye."

  Aileen couldn't look at him.

  "I'm not like Jack."

  "I hope not," she murmured. Her adoptive father had been a cold, reserved man who hadn't seemed to care about anyone. Well, maybe her mother. A little. Would Quint ever care about her, really care? Sometimes she thought he might, and at other times she despaired he ever would. She just didn't know. And she didn't know how to make him care.

  The blast of a truck horn startled her. "The men are waiting for you."

  "They can wait. I have the feeling that something's wrong. What is it? Do we need to talk?"

  She shrugged.

  A second and more insistent horn blast tore through the silence. "You better go," Aileen urged.

  She watched him leave, wondering if she should have taken him up on his offer to stay and talk. No, urging him to go had been the right decision. She knew how important the ranch was to him. They had to make it succeed.

  Would she ever be that important to him? He was to her. As much as she loved the Triangle B, she would sacrifice it for Quint in a heartbeat. Startled, she realized that she had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with her husband.

  "You know what today was?" Aileen asked Quint, who looked at her, alarmed.

  "Your birthday?"

  Aileen dumped a bucketful of tomatoes into the sink to wash them. "No. That's not until November."

  "That's what I thought you'd told me," Quint said, re lieved that he hadn't messed up. He couldn't think of any holiday that fell on August first. "I give up. Tell me."

  "Last day of summer school."

  "Well, hallelujah. You've been working way too hard. You've lost weight, and yesterday I found you sound sleep in that chair over there while you waited for me to come home for dinner."

  "Catnaps are good. Lots of people swear by them. And it's been too hot to eat a lot."

  "Don't get defens
ive. I didn't criticize you. How long before regular school starts?"

  "Four weeks."

  "That's not much time."

  She shrugged and concentrated on the tomatoes.

  "Why didn't you say something? We could have made plans to go out."

  Aileen bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him. They had gone out exactly that one time when Jennifer had practically dragged them to The Black Hat. He had talked about going out again but hadn't done anything about it.

  "Haven't you been putting up a lot of tomatoes?" Quint asked, finishing his coffee.

  "It's apparently a banner year for tomatoes. Everyone says so."

  "Why don't you give some of them away?"

  "I have. If I show up with any more at Jennifer's house, she'll lob them at me."

  "Okay. Why don't you just leave them on the vine?"

  Aileen didn't say anything, but the oblique look she slanted at Quint spoke volumes.

  "I better get back to work. Thanks for the coffee." Quint left the kitchen hurriedly.

  For an instant Aileen was tempted to pick up a tomato and hurl it after him. All he did was work. All he was interested in was work. Was that all there would ever be? The thought that this might be so nearly broke her heart. Aileen leaned over the sink and cried. She allowed herself to sob until there were no more feelings inside her, until she felt empty and spent.

  She splashed her face with cold water. Well, she'd entered into a marriage of convenience, so what did she expect? Rationally, she knew she couldn't expect love, and yet she did. She yearned for it, she hoped for it, she prayed for it.

  "Idiot," she muttered. How could she have let herself fall in love with a man who showed no sign that he would reciprocate the feeling?

  Aileen gritted her teeth, took two pills for the migraine that had taken hold of her, and finished the huge pot of marinara sauce she had started. She froze all of it except the amount she needed for the pasta dish she fixed for Quint's supper. Then she dragged herself upstairs, slipped into a freshly laundered cotton gown that still smelled of sunshine, and curled into a ball on the bed.

  That's how Quint found her, hours later.

  "Aileen, are you sick?"

  "My head hurts."

  "A migraine? You haven't had one in months."