by Zuri Day
“No. She ran into me during the Days of Paradise weekend. Literally.”
“This is the woman who smashed your beloved Ferrari? And she gets invited to the family barbecue?” Jackson slowly nodded as he looked at Quinn with understanding. “I’m impressed, Quinn. You must be one heck of a negotiator. What was your major, prelaw?”
“No, my dad is the legal eagle of the family. I have MBAs in business administration and international relations.”
“Nice,” Atka responded. “Perfect for someone dating this workaholic.”
Quinn waited for Ike to correct his brother-in-law. He remained silent, causing Quinn to wonder. Are we dating now?
“You’re one to talk, Sinclair. Until you met my sister, you lived at the job.”
“Pretty much,” Atka agreed without hesitation. “Now my job is Teresa.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” Ike replied as they laughed. “Come on, Quinn. Let’s go find his job and I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
They made the rounds, starting at the table with Ike Sr., Jennifer, Quinn’s grandmother and Charli’s family, her uncle, Griff, and his lady friend, Alice. Next was Jackson’s wife, Diamond, whom Quinn liked right away. She imagined they were about the same age, but Diamond was so put together, effortlessly pretty, refined. Less than five minutes in her presence caused Quinn to ask herself, What the heck am I going to do with my life? She was sitting with two other women Ike had introduced.
“You haven’t met my brother Niko yet, but this is his wife, Monique.”
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Last but not least—” he motioned toward Teresa “—is Atka’s job.”
The three women traded confused expressions.
“What does that mean?” Teresa asked.
“Atka made the comment that before getting married, he used to be a workaholic who rarely left work. He said that now you’re his job.”
Teresa smirked. “Oh, he did, did he?”
Ike asked Quinn, “Did he say that?”
“Yes.” Quinn’s reply to Ike was directed at Teresa. “And Ike told your husband he’d pass the message along.”
“He’d better be glad we have a new guest,” Teresa said, getting up from the table and coming their way. “Or I’d give you a message to send back to him that would burn his ears. Hi, Quinn. It’s nice to meet you. I apologize in advance for anything you might hear or see—”
The sound of pounding horses’ hooves interrupted all conversation. Quinn turned toward the noise. Two expert horsemen raced across a clear and vast expanse of land. Their bodies were in sync with the animals’ graceful movements, like a choreographed ballet dancing across the fields. Quinn, who fell in love with horses at boarding school, was in awe.
Just when it appeared that the four-legged friends were going to literally crash the party, a subtle body shift from the riders stopped the horses mere inches from the fence.
“Dammit, Charli! One day I’m going to beat you if it kills me!”
Those who heard chuckled as the rider who’d made the comment dismounted his horse, snatched the well-worn Stetson from his head and popped Charli on the leg as he passed. If Charli reacted, Quinn couldn’t tell. His face was covered with a tan-colored kerchief. He effortlessly swung down from the horse, pulled the kerchief to his neck and took off...her hat?
Quinn was floored. She turned to Ike, gaping. A woman was handling a horse like that?
“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “That’s how we all felt the first time we saw her ride. Charli!” He waved her over. She strolled past her family, enduring the ribbing and congratulations with the muted reaction her competitor had received.
“Hey, brother,” she said when she reached him. Sweat dotted her forehead. She untied the hankie and wiped it. “I’d hug you, but right now you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“Probably not,” Ike replied. “Looks like you’ve been riding all over the valley.”
“Just down to the fork, around the pond and back. Butterscotch has been restless all day. Had to go wear him out a little.” She looked at Quinn. “Hi, I’m Charli.”
“And an amazing rider,” Quinn said, shaking the outstretched hand. “I’m Quinn. He’s a beautiful palomino,” she continued, nodding toward the horse now being brushed down by one of the farmhands. “I could tell the two of you have been together for a long time.”
“Looks like you got a good one, Ike. Anybody who can spot a fine horse can spot a good man.”
Ike’s gaze was on Quinn as he responded, “Looks like it. I had no idea.”
“Do you ride?” Charli asked.
“Yes. I love horseback riding. Owned a horse named Gaiter years ago, when I lived in Switzerland.”
“Would you like to go riding right now?” Charli asked.
“Sure! But...” Quinn looked at her feet.
“You’re wearing city duds,” Charli said. After giving Quinn a quick once-over, she said, “We can take care of that. Come with me.” And over her shoulder as they walked toward the house, she called, “I’ll get her ranched up in no time, Ike. You need some jeans, too. Hey, Henry!” A red-haired cowboy looked up. “Saddle up Rosie. I think she’ll be a good one for Quinn to ride.”
“What about you, Ike?”
“Give me Danger.”
“Aw, hell, no!” Warren shouted from the other side of the yard. “You’ll not blame me for getting bucked, big brother. You know that horse doesn’t ride anyone but me.”
Ike came back first. When Quinn and Charli reentered the backyard, conversation all but stopped. Quinn became self-conscious. Why was everyone staring? Quinn had been satisfied with how she looked in the mirror but had told Charli the hat was a bad idea. With two words—the sun—she’d insisted.
They gawked because the cosmopolitan chick who’d arrived in three-inch wedges, a black denim pencil skirt and fringed suede jacket had been transformed into a modern-day Annie Oakley. Snug-fitting Levi’s, leather cowboy boots and a red-and-blue flannel shirt with a matching hankie, all topped off with a suede and straw cowboy hat.
She looked at Maggie. “Do I look weird as a cowboy, Grandmother?”
Jennifer spoke up. “You look fine, dear. As though you may have roped a steer just this morning.”
The group around them laughed. Ike said nothing. Just drank her in like a glass of cold tea in a sultry desert. “We’ll be back,” he managed as they headed through the fence.
“What do you think, Ike? Could I be the June Carter to your Johnny Cash?”
The question was a brow raiser. “How do you know about them?”
“Um, let’s see. How about because they’re probably one of the most famous couples in country music?”
“What do you know about country music?”
“Ike Drake, you have no idea what I know.”
They reached the barn and walked inside. “I’m ready to see how well you can sit a horse.”
“Those two right there, Mr. Drake. All saddled up and ready to ride.”
“Thanks, Henry.”
Henry stopped in front of Quinn, reached into the stained suede jacket that hid a paunch belly and pulled out an apple. “Rosie loves these and likes her nose rubbed, too. You won’t have to shout at her, and you don’t want to. It might spook her. We got her when she was two years old and think something bad happened with noises when she was a colt.”
Quinn took the apple. “Thanks, Henry.”
Looking directly into Rosie’s eyes, Quinn slowly approached the stall. “Hello, Miss Rosie,” she said, her voice soft and friendly. “You’re a pretty horse. You’re really pretty.”
She stopped in front of the stall and rubbed Rosie’s nose. She could tell that the horse was intrigued but a little nervous.
“I know you
don’t know me, but there’s no need to be scared. I love horses. My name is Quinn. Would you like an apple?”
She lifted it to the horse’s mouth. Rosie thanked her by using her teeth to pick it up and wolfing it down in two bites.
Quinn laughed. “Good girl.” She rubbed the horse’s nose and continued talking to her as she entered the stall, placed a foot in the stirrup and easily swung herself up on the saddle.
“I’m impressed,” Ike said. After he mounted a majestic-looking black mustang, the two set out across the plains, settling into a comfortable trot for the first part of the ride.
Quinn raised her head to the sun. This experience took her back to when she was sixteen years old. She used to spend all day outside, playing sports and riding Gaiter. Only now did she realize just how much she missed it.
“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
“So that’s your question? Earlier, when I asked how I looked, you didn’t answer.”
“That’s because I was in shock, wondering how someone in jeans and flannel could still look so fine.”
The comment made Quinn feel all girly and warm. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done this in a while. Forgot how relaxing and therapeutic it could be.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“About your horse? What was his name?”
“Gaiter.”
“I would never have guessed you‘d know about horses or anything to do with land and nature.”
“That’s because you just met me. I used to be a tomboy—” Quinn glanced at Ike “—and a bit of a geek.”
He made a sound of disbelief. “I doubt that.”
“It’s true. Remember, I was raised by a man and grew up knowing more about football stats and the stock exchange than I did about the latest fashion. While Grandmother made sure I was well-rounded with lessons in violin and ballet, Dad and I were more likely to spend the weekends on the golf course, riding bikes or playing some type of ball. I played sports in high school.”
“Which ones?”
“Soccer and track. And I rode Gaiter, a lot.”
“What happened to that girl and when did the woman I met come along?”
“Just before I turned seventeen, when I met my best friend, Trent.”
“A dude helped you become a woman?”
Quinn laughed. “No, but he probably could. He used to model—which is how I met London, by the way—and was super conscious about appearance. Not to the point of being conceited, although many may have seen it that way, but more because of how he wanted to be viewed in the world. Anyway, he invited me to a really upscale party. It was after some awards show, I don’t remember which one. But what I do remember is his expression when he came to get me and saw what I had on.”
She laughed at the memory.
“That bad, huh? What were you wearing?”
“Something I thought made me look super hot! It was a floral-print dress with these two-inch granny-like navy heels. I was a mess!” Her laughter turned into an all-out guffaw. “What was I thinking?” she yelled, as if the sky had answers.
And off she went. First Rosie, bolting forward at the loud noise. Then Quinn, falling backward off the horse. “Ow!”
Ike jumped down and rushed over to where Quinn lay in a heap. He dropped to his knees.
“Are you okay?”
Quinn moaned as she tried to sit up.
“No, wait. Don’t move yet. Let me see if anything’s broken.”
He placed a hand beneath her knee, and with gentle squeezes examined her leg from ankle to thigh.
“Where does it hurt?”
“My head. I think I hit a rock or something.”
He carefully raised Quinn’s head and felt beneath it. There was a rock. Not that big, about the size of a golf ball, but with an ugly ridge that, hit just right, could do damage. He turned her head to the side, threaded his fingers through her hair to her scalp, and used his fingertips to check for bruises.
Ike did this because he was a kind, compassionate man genuinely concerned about her health. Had he been a doctor, he might have known that the scalp was an erogenous zone covered with nerves extremely sensitive to the touch. Or considered that massaging her scalp released serotonin and oxytocin, feel-good hormones. It might have crossed his mind that the brain was the body’s biggest sex organ. But Ike wasn’t a doctor, and he had no idea how much he was turning Quinn on.
Rearing back so he could see her face, he delivered his report. “You might end up with a bump, but there’s no bleeding. I think you’ll live.”
“Me, too,” Quinn lazily responded as she reached a hand behind Ike’s neck and pulled his face forward.
He didn’t resist but was taken aback. “What are you doing?”
Quinn didn’t answer, figuring he’d know soon enough.
His lips were as soft and cushiony as she remembered. She brushed hers back and forth across them, as he’d done before, swiped her tongue along his lips’ seam. They parted. He moaned, as if his tongue had accepted the invitation to tangle without its owner’s consent. He was hot and wet, the subtle scents of his cologne—bergamot, cedarwood, saffron, sage—wrapped around her like a hug. Good idea. She lifted her other arm and pulled Ike’s body on top of hers. The warmth of his body chased away the autumn chill. The goose bumps stayed, though, brought on by the slow and thorough way Ike plundered her mouth, her nipples pebbling against his hard chest.
The kiss deepened, their bodies shifted. Soon Ike’s hand had slid from her neck to her denims. He squeezed her soft cheeks. His manhood hardened. Quinn shivered as she felt the bulge grow. She swirled her hips beneath him, encouraging, welcoming. Her fingers raked his back. She wanted him now, here, in the middle of the field. She didn’t care who might see them.
Ike did. He sat up abruptly, then staggered to his feet. His breath came in quick, short spurts. The front of his pants resembled a bronzed codpiece. She sat up, the fall all but forgotten, and began to stand. Two steps and he was there, helping her up.
“What was that?” he asked, still shaken.
Using her fingers, Quinn swept her hair into a ponytail, then retrieved the hat on the ground and put it on. Then she stepped toward him, defiantly. “A kiss. Ike Drake style. Because I like how you do it. And I might do it again.”
His deep brown eyes seared into her. He took a step as well. Quinn held her ground. Men like Ike probably resented women who took the lead. Too bad. There was no way she’d apologize for a kiss as good as that.
The attraction was like an electrical charge crackling between them. Ike’s eyes sank down to Quinn’s lips, then he asked her, “What are you waiting for?”
The second kiss was better than the first.
“We’d better stop now,” he said once he released her. “While we still can. Plus, dinner’s probably ready. We should get back.”
Quinn shielded her eyes and looked around her. “I wonder where Rosie went.”
“Probably home. Come on. We’ll ride together.”
As they mounted his horse and headed back to the ranch, Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about how many ways she wanted to ride this man.
Chapter 17
He needed all the sleep he could get. Yet an hour after showering and crawling into his custom-made California king bed, Ike was wide-awake. Thinking about Quinn. Having someone occupy almost every free moment he had to think was a new experience. Something about her had caused Ike to look differently at every area of his life.
He punched and repositioned the pillow. Maybe the sleep evading him while on his left side would find him on his right. Quinn, the social butterfly turned country cowgirl. That startling transformation had blown his mind. She was a perfect fit into his family. It took a special kind of person to
navigate the Drakes. Quinn had done so effortlessly. In less than fifteen minutes, she’d won over everyone at the ranch. She’d even gotten Warren’s neighbor Griff to laugh out loud, something Warren said hadn’t happened since cars had eight-track tapes.
Then there was Quinn, the horseback rider. Seeing her with her jeans-clad round booty astride Rosie, feet clad in a pair of Charli’s cowboy boots, hair stuffed under a cowboy hat that had never looked so sexy, stirred a part of his soul that hadn’t been touched since summers on his grandpa’s farm. Back then he’d envisioned a life like his grandfather’s—a large farm with acres of land, lots of animals and a fully stocked pond. A wife like his grandmother, who could sew a suit in the morning, catch a bucket of fish in the afternoon and then cook them up for dinner along with biscuits and gravy and peach cobbler from scratch. All while being a lady, her hair always coiffed, her voice kind and gentle.
That all changed when he turned sixteen. That summer, instead of going to the farm, he accepted an invitation to attend a two-week symposium for college-bound students with a high aptitude for business. Ike had originally declined the offer. Everything he wanted to know about business was as close as a chat with his dad. Ike Sr. had expressed his desire for Ike to join the company but had also encouraged him to follow his heart, which was on the farm with his grandpa. He’d told his math teacher as much when he declined the offer.
But Mr. Anderson was an excellent teacher who knew how to motivate. He told Ike that not attending was probably best. That the workshops would be strenuous and even though the symposium was only for the best students across the country, and Ike was the smartest guy in his small-town class, this level of learning would probably be too much for him. When Ike left the classroom, the application for the conference was in his book bag. His love of land and knack for numbers were gently guided into the decision that led to an MS in business with an emphasis in real estate and sustainability. That Quinn also had a master’s in business had totally surprised him. That she loved horses and could sit one well was unexpected, too. He imagined she was full of surprises. And was even more alarmed that he wanted to know them all.
