Long, Tall Texans--Quinn--A Single Dad Western Romance

by Diana Palmer

  The next few days went by in a haze. The snow began to melt and the skies cleared as the long-awaited chinook blew in. In no time at all it was Friday night and Amanda was getting into what Elliot would recognize as her stage costume. She’d brought it, with her other things, from the Durning cabin. She put it on, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung long and loose, in soft waves below her waist, in the beige leather dress with the buckskin boots that matched, she was the very picture of a sensuous woman. She left off the headband. There would be time for that if she could summon enough courage to get onstage. She still hadn’t told Quinn. She hadn’t had the heart to destroy the dream she’d been living. But tonight he’d know. And she’d know if they had a future. She took a deep breath and went downstairs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Amanda sat in the audience with Quinn and Elliot at a far table while the crowded hall rang with excited whispers. Elliot was tense, like Amanda, his eyes darting around nervously. Quinn was frowning. He hadn’t been quite himself since Amanda came down the staircase in her leather dress and boots, looking expensive and faintly alien. He hadn’t asked any questions, but he seemed as uptight as she felt.

  Her eyes slid over him lovingly, taking in his dark suit. He looked out of place in fancy clothes. She missed the sight of him in denim and his old shepherd’s coat, and wondered fleetingly if she’d ever get to see him that way again after tonight—if she’d ever lie in his arms on the big sofa and warm to his kisses while the fire burned in the stove. She almost groaned. Oh, Quinn, she thought, I love you.

  Elliot looked uncomfortable in his blue suit. He was watching for the rest of Desperado while a well-known Las Vegas entertainer warmed up the crowd and sang his own famous theme song.

  “What are you looking for, son?” Quinn asked.

  Elliot shifted. “Nothing. I’m just seeing who I know.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows arched. “How would you know anybody in this crowd?” he muttered, glancing around. “My God, these are show people. Entertainers. Not people from our world.”

  That was a fact. But hearing it made Amanda heartsick. She reached out and put her hand over Quinn’s.

  “Your fingers are like ice,” he said softly. He searched her worried eyes. “Are you okay, honey?”

  The endearment made her warm all over. She smiled sadly and slid her fingers into his, looking down at the contrast between his callused, work-hardened hand and her soft, pale one. His was a strong hand, hers was artistic. But despite the differences, they fit together perfectly. She squeezed her fingers. “I’m fine,” she said. “Quinn…”

  “And now I want to introduce a familiar face,” the Las Vegas performer’s voice boomed. “Most of you know the genius of Desperado. The group has won countless awards for its topical, hard-hitting songs. Last year, Desperado was given a Grammy for ‘Changes in the Wind,’ and Hank Shoeman’s song ‘Outlaw Love’ won him a country music award and a gold record. But their fame isn’t the reason we’re honoring them tonight.”

  To Amanda’s surprise, he produced a gold plaque. “As some of you may remember, a little over a month ago, a teenage girl died at a Desperado concert. The group’s lead singer leaped into the crowd, disregarding her own safety, and was very nearly trampled trying to protect the fan. Because of that tragedy, Desperado went into seclusion. We’re proud to tell you tonight that they’re back and they’re in better form than ever. This plaque is a token of respect from the rest of us in the performing arts to a very special young woman whose compassion and selflessness have won the respect of all.”

  He looked out toward the audience where Amanda sat frozen. “This is for you—Amanda Corrie Callaway. Will you come up and join the group, please? Come on, Mandy!”

  She bit her lower lip. The plaque was a shock. The boys seemed to know about it, too, because they went to their instruments grinning and began to play the downbeat that Desperado was known for, the deep throbbing counter rhythm that was their trademark.

  “Come on, babe!” Hank called out in his booming voice, he and Johnson and Deke and Jack looking much more like backwoods robbers than musicians with their huge bulk and outlaw gear.

  Amanda glanced at Elliot’s rapt, adoring face, and then looked at Quinn. He was frowning, his dark eyes searching the crowd. She said a silent goodbye as she got to her feet. She reached into her pocket for her headband and put it on her head. She couldn’t look at him, but she felt his shocked stare as she walked down the room toward the stage, her steps bouncing as the rhythm got into her feet and her blood.

  “Thank you,” she said huskily, kissing the entertainer’s cheek as she accepted the plaque. She moved in between Johnson and Deke, taking the microphone. She looked past Elliot’s proud, adoring face to Quinn’s. He seemed to be in a state of dark shock. “Thank you all. I’ve had a hard few weeks. But I’m okay now, and I’m looking forward to better times. God bless, people. This one is for a special man and a special boy, with all my love.” She turned to Hank, nodded, and he began the throbbing drumbeat of “Love Singer.”

  It was a song that touched the heart, for all its mad beat. The words, in her soft, sultry, clear voice caught every ear in the room. She sang from the heart, with the heart, the words fierce with meaning as she sang them to Quinn. “Love you, never loved anybody but you, never leave me lonely, love…singer.”

  But Quinn didn’t seem to be listening to the words. He got to his feet and jerked Elliot to his. He walked out in the middle of the song and never looked back once.

  Amanda managed to finish, with every ounce of willpower she had keeping her onstage. She let the last few notes hang in the air and then she bowed to a standing ovation. By the time she and the band did an encore and she got out of the hall, the truck they’d come in was long gone. There was no note, no message. Quinn had said it all with his eloquent back when he walked out of the hall. He knew who she was now, and he wanted no part of her. He couldn’t have said it more clearly if he’d written it in blood.

  She kept hoping that he might reconsider. Even after she went backstage with the boys, she kept hoping for a phone call or a glimpse of Quinn. But nothing happened.

  “I guess I’m going to need a place to stay,” Amanda said with a rueful smile, her expression telling her group all they needed to know.

  “He couldn’t handle it, huh?” Hank asked quietly. “I’m sorry, babe. We’ve got a suite, there’s plenty of room for one more. I’ll go up and get your gear tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Hank.” She took a deep breath and clutched the plaque to her chest. “Where’s the next gig?”

  “That’s my girl,” he said gently, sliding a protective arm around her. “San Francisco’s our next stop. The boys and I are taking a late bus tomorrow.” He grimaced at her knowing smile. “Well, you know how I feel about airplanes.”

  “Chicken Little,” she accused. “Well, I’m not going to sit on a bus all day. I’ll take the first charter out and meet you guys at the hotel.”

  “Whatever turns you on,” Hank chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and get some rest.”

  “You did good, Amanda,” Johnson said from behind her. “We were proud.”

  “You bet,” Deke and Jack seconded.

  She smiled at them all. “Thanks, group. I shocked myself, but at least I didn’t go dry the way I did last time.” Her heart was breaking in two, but she managed to hide it. Quinn, she moaned inwardly. Oh, Quinn, was I just an interlude, an infatuation?

  She didn’t sleep very much. The next morning Amanda watched Hank start out for Ricochet then went down to a breakfast that she didn’t even eat while she waited for him to return.

  He came back three hours later, looking ruffled.

  “Did you get my things?” she asked when he came into the suite.

  “I got them.” He put her suitcase down on the floor. “Part at Sutton’s place, part at the Durning cabin. Elliot sent you a note.” He produced it.

  “And…Quinn?”

  �
��I never saw him,” he replied tersely. “The boy and the old man were there. They didn’t mention Sutton and I didn’t ask. I wasn’t feeling too keen on him at the time.”

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  He shrugged. “That’s the breaks, kid. It would have been a rough combination at best. You’re a bright-lights girl.”

  “Am I?” she asked, thinking how easily she’d fit into Quinn’s world. But she didn’t push it. She sat down on the couch and opened Elliot’s scribbled note.

  Amanda,

  I thought you were great. Dad didn’t say anything all the way home and last night he went into his study and didn’t come out until this morning. He went hunting, he said, but he didn’t take any bullets. I hope you are okay. Write me when you can. I love you.

  Your friend,

  Elliot.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying. Dear Elliot. At least he still cared about her. But her fall from grace in Quinn’s eyes had been final, she thought bitterly. He’d never forgive her for deceiving him. Or maybe it was just that he’d gotten over his brief infatuation with her when he found out who she really was. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so miserable. To have discovered something that precious, only to lose it forever. She folded Elliot’s letter and put it into her purse. At least it would be something to remember from her brief taste of heaven.

  For the rest of the day, the band and Jerry, the road manager, got the arrangements made for the San Francisco concert, and final travel plans were laid. The boys were to board the San Francisco bus the next morning. Amanda was to fly out on a special air charter that specialized in flights for business executives. They’d managed to fit her in at the last minute when a computer-company executive had canceled his flight.

  “I wish you’d come with us,” Hank said hesitantly. “I guess I’m overreacting and all, but I hate airplanes.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him firmly. “You and the boys have a nice trip and stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so,” Hank mumbled.

  “I do say so.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Trust me.”

  He shrugged and left, but he didn’t look any less worried. Amanda, who’d gotten used to his morose predictions, didn’t pay them any mind.

  She went to the suite and into her bedroom early that night. Her fingers dialed the number at Ricochet. She had to try one last time, she told herself. There was at least the hope that Quinn might care enough to listen to her explanation. She had to try.

  The phone rang once, twice, and she held her breath, but on the third ring the receiver was lifted.

  “Sutton,” came a deep weary-sounding voice.

  Her heart lifted. “Oh, Quinn,” she burst out. “Quinn, please let me try to explain—”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Amanda,” he said stiffly. “I saw it all on the stage.”

  “I know it looks bad,” she began.

  “You lied to me,” he said. “You let me think you were just a shy little innocent who played a keyboard, when you were some fancy big-time entertainer with a countrywide following.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t want me if you knew who I was,” she said miserably.

  “You knew I’d see right through you if I knew,” he corrected, his voice growing angrier. “You played me for a fool.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “All of it was a lie. Nothing but a lie! Well, you can go back to your public, Miss Callaway, and your outlaw buddies, and make some more records or tapes or whatever the hell they are. I never wanted you in the first place except in bed, so it’s no great loss to me.” He was grimacing, and she couldn’t see the agony in his eyes as he forced the words out. Now that he knew who and what she was, he didn’t dare let himself weaken. He had to make her go back to her own life, and stay out of his. He had nothing to give her, nothing that could take the place of fame and fortune and the world at her feet. He’d never been more aware of his own inadequacies as he had been when he’d seen Amanda on that stage and heard the applause of the audience. It ranked as the worst waking nightmare of his life, putting her forever out of his reach.

  “Quinn!” she moaned. “Quinn, you don’t mean that!”

  “I mean it,” he said through his teeth. He closed his eyes. “Every word. Don’t call here again, don’t come by, don’t write. You’re a bad influence on Elliot now that he knows who you are. I don’t want you. You’ve worn out your welcome at Ricochet.” He hung up without another word.

  Amanda stared at the telephone receiver as if it had sprouted wings. Slowly she put it back in the cradle just as the room splintered into wet crystal around her.

  She put on her gown mechanically and got into bed, turning out the bedside light. She lay in the dark and Quinn’s words echoed in her head with merciless coolness. Bad influence. Don’t want you. Worn out your welcome. Never wanted you anyway except in bed.

  She moaned and buried her face in her pillow. She didn’t know how she was going to go on, with Quinn’s cold contempt dogging her footsteps. He hated her now. He thought she’d been playing a game, enjoying herself while she made a fool out of him. The tears burned her eyes. How quickly it had all ended, how finally. She’d hoped to keep in touch with Elliot, but that wouldn’t be possible anymore. She was a bad influence on Elliot, so he wouldn’t be allowed to contact her. She sobbed her hurt into the cool linen. Somehow, being denied contact with Elliot was the last straw. She’d grown so fond of the boy during those days she’d spent at Ricochet, and he cared about her, too. Quinn was being unnecessarily harsh. But perhaps he was right, and it was for the best. Maybe she could learn to think that way eventually. Right now she had a concert to get to, a sold-out one from what the boys and Jerry had said. She couldn’t let the fans down.

  Amanda got up the next morning, looking and feeling as if it were the end of the world. The boys took her suitcase downstairs, not looking too closely at her face without makeup, her long hair arranged in a thick, haphazard bun. She was wearing a dark pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse, and she looked miserable.

  “We’ll see you in San Francisco,” Jerry told her with a smile. “I have to go nursemaid these big, tough guys, so you make sure the pilot of your plane has all his marbles, okay?”

  “I’ll check him out myself,” she promised. “Take care of yourselves, guys. I’ll see you in California.”

  “Okay. Be good, babe,” Hank called. He and the others filed into the bus Jerry had chartered and Jerry hugged her impulsively and went in behind them.

  She watched the bus pull away, feeling lost and alone, not for the first time. It was cold and snowy, but she hadn’t wanted her coat. It was packed in her suitcase, and had already been put on the light aircraft. With a long sigh, she went back to the cab and sat disinterestedly in it as it wound over the snowy roads to the airport.

  Fortunately the chinook had thawed the runways so that the planes were coming and going easily. She got out at the air charter service hangar and shook hands with the pilot.

  “Don’t worry, we’re in great shape,” he promised Amanda with a grin. “In fact, the mechanics just gave us another once-over to be sure. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried,” she said absently and allowed herself to be shepherded inside. She slid into an empty aisle seat on the right side and buckled up. Usually she preferred to sit by the window, but today she wasn’t in the mood for sight-seeing. One snow-covered mountain looked pretty much like another to her, and her heart wasn’t in this flight or the gig that would follow it. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  It seemed to take forever for all the businessmen to get aboard. Fortunately there had been one more cancellation, so she had her seat and the window seat as well. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and was hoping she wouldn’t have to sit by some chatterbox all the way to California.

  She listened to the engines rev up and made sure that her seat belt was properly fa
stened. They would be off as soon as the tower cleared them, the pilot announced. Amanda sighed. She called a silent goodbye to Quinn Sutton, and Elliot and Harry, knowing that once this plane lifted off, she’d never see any of them again. She winced at the thought. Oh, Quinn, she moaned inwardly, why wouldn’t you listen?

  The plane got clearance and a minute later, it shot down the runway and lifted off. But it seemed oddly sluggish. Amanda was used to air travel, even to charter flights, and she opened her eyes and peered forward worriedly as she listened to the whine become a roar.

  She was strapped in, but a groan from behind took her mind off the engine. The elderly man behind her was clutching his chest and groaning.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked the worried businessman in the seat beside the older man.

  “Heart attack, I think.” He grimaced. “What can we do?”

  “I know a little CPR,” she said. She unfastened her seat belt; so did the groaning man’s seat companion. But just as they started to lay him on the floor, someone shouted something. Smoke began to pour out of the cockpit, and the pilot called for everyone to assume crash positions. Amanda turned, almost in slow motion. She could feel the force of gravity increase as the plane started down. The floor went out from under her and her last conscious thought was that she’d never see Quinn again….

  Elliot was watching television without much interest, wishing that his father had listened when Amanda had phoned the night before. He couldn’t believe that he was going to be forbidden to even speak to her again, but Quinn had insisted, his cold voice giving nothing away as he’d made Elliot promise to make no attempt to contact her.

  It seemed so unfair, he thought. Amanda was no wild party girl, surely his father knew that? He sighed heavily and munched on another potato chip.

  The movie he was watching was suddenly interrupted as the local station broke in with a news bulletin. Elliot listened for a minute, gasped and jumped up to get his father.