by Diana Palmer
“Here goes,” he murmured curtly. He reached under the calf’s chin and pulled its mouth up to slide the nipple in. The calf could barely nurse, but after a minute it seemed to rally and then it fed hungrily.
“Thank goodness,” Amanda murmured. She smiled at Quinn, and his eyes flashed as they met hers, searching, dark, full of secrets. They narrowed and then abruptly fell to her soft mouth, where they lingered with a kind of questioning irritation, as if he wanted very much to kiss her and hated himself for it. Her heart leaped at the knowledge. She seemed to have a new, built-in insight about this stand~ offish man, and she didn’t understand either it or her attitude toward him. He was domineering and hardheaded and unpredictable and she should have disliked him. But she sensed a sensitivity in him that touched her heart. She wanted to get to know him.
“I can do this,” he said curtly. “Why don’t you go inside?”
She was getting to him, she thought with fascination. He was interested in her, but he didn’t want to be. She watched the way he avoided looking directly at her again, the angry glance of his eyes.
Well, it certainly wouldn’t do any good to make him furious at her, especially when she was going to be his unwanted houseguest for several more days, from the look of the weather.
“Okay,” she said, giving in. She got to her feet slowly. “I’ll see if I can find something to do.”
“Harry might like some company while he works in the kitchen. Wouldn’t you, Harry?” he added, giving the older man a look that said he’d damned sure better like some company.
“Of course I would, boss,” Harry agreed instantly.
Amanda pushed her hands into her pockets with a last glance at the calves. She smiled down at them. “Can I help feed them while I’m here?” she asked gently.
“If you want to,” Quinn said readily, but without looking up.
“Thanks.” She hesitated, but he made her feel shy and tongue-tied. She turned away nervously and walked back to the house.
Since Harry had the kitchen well in hand, she volunteered to iron some of Quinn’s cotton shirts. Harry had the ironing board set up, but not the iron, so she went into the closet and produced one. It looked old, but maybe it would do, except that it seemed to have a lot of something caked on it.
She’d just started to plug it in when Harry came into the room and gasped.
“Not that one!” he exclaimed, gently taking it away from her. “That’s Quinn’s!”
She opened her mouth to make a remark, when Harry started chuckling.
“It’s for his skis,” he explained patiently.
She nodded. “Right. He irons his skis. I can see that.”
“He does. Don’t you know anything about skiing?”
“Well, you get behind a speedboat with them on…”
“Not waterskiing. Snow skiing,” he emphasized.
She shrugged. “I come from southern Mississippi.” She grinned at him. “We don’t do much business in snow, you see.”
“Sorry. Well, Quinn was an Olympic contender in giant slalom when he was in his late teens and early twenties. He would have made the team, but he got married and Elliot was on the way, so he gave it up. He still gets in plenty of practice,” he added, shuddering. “On old Ironside peak, too. Nobody, but nobody, skis it except Quinn and a couple of other experts from Larry’s Lodge over in Jackson Hole.”
“I haven’t seen that one on a map…” she began, because she’d done plenty of map reading before she came here.
“Oh, that isn’t its official name, it’s what Quinn calls it.” He grinned. “Anyway, Quinn uses this iron to put wax on the bottom of his skis. Don’t feel bad, I didn’t know any better, either, at first, and I waxed a couple of shirts. Here’s the right iron.”
He handed it to her, and she plugged it in and got started. The elusive Mr. Sutton had hidden qualities, it seemed. She’d watched the winter Olympics every four years on television, and downhill skiing fascinated her. But it seemed to Amanda that giant slalom called for a kind of reckless skill and speed that would require ruthlessness and single-minded determination. Considering that, it wasn’t at all surprising to her that Quinn Sutton had been good at it.
Chapter Three
Amanda helped Harry do dishes and start a load of clothes in the washer. But when she took them out of the dryer, she discovered that several of Quinn’s shirts were missing buttons and had loose seams.
Harry produced a needle and some thread, and Amanda set to work mending them. It gave her something to do while she watched a years-old police drama on television.
Quinn came in with Elliot a few hours later.
“Boy, the snow’s bad,” Elliot remarked as he rubbed his hands in front of the fire Harry had lit in the big stone fireplace. “Dad had to bring the sled out to get me, because the bus couldn’t get off the main highway.”
“Speaking of the sled,” Amanda said, glancing at Quinn, “I’ve got to have a few things from the cabin. I’m really sorry, but I’m limited to what I’m wearing….”
“I’ll run you down right now, before I go out again.”
She put the mending aside. “I’ll get my coat.”
“Elliot, you can come, too. Put your coat back on,” Quinn said unexpectedly, ignoring his son’s surprised glance.
Amanda didn’t look at him, but she understood why he wanted Elliot along. She made Quinn nervous. He was attracted to her and he was going to fight it to the bitter end. She wondered why he considered her such a threat.
He paused to pick up the shirt she’d been working on, and his expression got even harder as he glared at her. “You don’t need to do that kind of thing,” he said curtly.
“I’ve got to earn my keep somehow.” She sighed. “I can feed the calves and help with the housework, at least. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing,” she added. “It makes me nervous.”
He hesitated. An odd look rippled over his face as he studied the neat stitches in his shirtsleeve where the rip had been. He held it for a minute before he laid it gently back on the sofa. He didn’t look at Amanda as he led the way out the door.
It didn’t take her long to get her things together. Elliot wandered around the cabin. “There are knives all over the counter,” he remarked. “Want me to put them in the sink?”
“Go ahead. I was using them for drumsticks,” she called as she closed her suitcase.
“They don’t look like they’d taste very good.” Elliot chuckled.
She came out of the bedroom and gave him an amused glance. “Not that kind of drumsticks, you turkey. Here.” She put down the suitcase and took the blunt stainless-steel knives from him. She glanced around to make sure Quinn hadn’t come into the house and then she broke into an impromptu drum routine that made Elliot grin even more.
“Say, you’re pretty good,” he said.
She bowed. “Just one of my minor talents,” she said. “But I’m better with a keyboard. Ready to go?”
“Whenever you are.”
She started to pick up her suitcase, but Elliot reached down and got it before she could, a big grin on his freckled face. She wondered again why he looked so little like his father. She knew that his mother had been a redhead, too, but it was odd that he didn’t resemble Quinn in any way at all.
Quinn was waiting on the sled, his expression unreadable, impatiently smoking his cigarette. He let them get on and turned the draft horse back toward his own house. It was snowing lightly and the wind was blowing, not fiercely but with a nip in it. Amanda sighed, lifting her face to the snow, not caring that her hood had fallen back to reveal the coiled softness of her blond hair. She felt alive out here as she never had in the city, or even back East. There was something about the wilderness that made her feel at peace with herself for the first time since the tragedy that had sent her retreating here.
“Enjoying yourself?” Quinn asked unexpectedly.
“More than I can tell you,” she replied. “It’s like no other place o
n earth.”
He nodded. His dark eyes slid over her face, her cheeks flushed with cold and excitement, and they lingered there for one long moment before he forced his gaze back to the trail. Amanda saw that look and it brought a sense of foreboding. He seemed almost angry.
In fact, he was. Before the day was out, it was pretty apparent that he’d withdrawn somewhere inside himself and had no intention of coming out again. He barely said two words to Amanda before bedtime.
“He’s gone broody,” Elliot mused before he and Amanda called it a night. “He doesn’t do it often, and not for a long time, but when he’s got something on his mind, it’s best not to get on his nerves.”
“Oh, I’ll do my best,” Amanda promised, and crossed her heart.
But that apparently didn’t do much good, in her case, because he glared at her over breakfast the next morning and over lunch, and by the time she finished mending a window curtain in the kitchen and helped Harry bake a cake for dessert, she was feeling like a very unwelcome guest.
She went out to feed the calves, the nicest of her daily chores, just before Quinn was due home for supper. Elliot had lessons and he was holed up in his room trying to get them done in time for a science-fiction movie he wanted to watch after supper. Quinn insisted that homework came first.
She fed two of the three calves and Harry volunteered to feed the third, the little one that Quinn had brought home with scours, while she cut the cake and laid the table. She was just finishing the place settings when she heard the sled draw up outside the door.
Her heart quickened at the sound of Quinn’s firm, measured stride on the porch. The door opened and he came in, along with a few snowflakes.
He stopped short at the sight of her in an old white apron with wisps of blond hair hanging around her flushed face, a bowl of whipped potatoes in her hands.
“Don’t you look domestic?” he asked with sudden, bitter sarcasm.
The attack was unexpected, although it shouldn’t have been. He’d been irritable ever since the day before, when he’d noticed her mending his shirt.
“I’m just helping Harry,” she said. “He’s feeding the calves while I do this.”
“So I noticed.”
She put down the potatoes, watching him hang up his hat and coat with eyes that approved his tall, fit physique, the way the red-checked flannel shirt clung to his muscular torso and long back. He was such a lonely man, she thought, watching him. So alone, even with Elliot and Harry here. He turned unexpectedly, catching her staring and his dark eyes glittered.
He went to the sink to wash his hands, almost vibrating with pent-up anger. She sensed it, but it only piqued her curiosity. He was reacting to her. She felt it, knew it, as she picked up a dish towel and went close to him to wrap it gently over his wet hands. Her big black eyes searched his, and she let her fingers linger on his while time seemed to end in the warm kitchen.
His dark eyes narrowed, and he seemed to have stopped breathing. He was aware of so many sensations. Hunger. Anger. Loneliness. Lust. His head spun with them, and the scent of her was pure, soft woman, drifting up into his nostrils, cocooning him in the smell of cologne and shampoo. His gaze fell helplessly to her soft bow of a mouth and he wondered how it would feel to bend those few inches and take it roughly under his own. It had been so long since he’d kissed a woman, held a woman. Amanda was particularly feminine, and she appealed to everything that was masculine in him. He almost vibrated with the need to reach out to her.
But that way lay disaster, he told himself firmly. She was just another treacherous woman, probably bored with confinement, just keeping her hand in with attracting men. He probably seemed like a push-over, and she was going to use her charms to make a fool of him. He took a deep, slow breath and the glitter in his eyes became even more pronounced as he jerked the towel out of her hands and moved away.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. She felt her cheeks go hot, because there had been a cold kind of violence in the action that warned her his emotions weren’t quite under control. She moved away from him. Violence was the one thing she did expect from men. She’d lived with it for most of her life until she’d run away from home.
She went back to the stove, stirring the sauce she’d made to go with the boiled dumpling.
“Don’t get too comfortable in the kitchen,” he warned her. “This is Harry’s private domain and he doesn’t like trespassers. You’re just passing through.”
“I haven’t forgotten that, Mr. Sutton,” she replied, and her eyes kindled with dark fire as she looked at him. There was no reason to make her feel so unwelcome. “Just as soon as the thaw comes, I’ll be out of your way for good.”
“I can hardly wait,” he said, biting off the words.
Amanda sighed wearily. It wasn’t her idea of the perfect rest spot. She’d come away from the concert stage needing healing, and all she’d found was another battle to fight.
“You make me feel so at home, Mr. Sutton,” she said wistfully. “Like part of the family. Thanks so much for your gracious hospitality, and do you happen to have a jar of rat poison…?”
Quinn had to bite hard to keep from laughing. He turned and went out of the kitchen as if he were being chased.
After supper, Amanda volunteered to wash dishes, but Harry shooed her off. Quinn apparently did book work every night, because he went into his study and closed the door, leaving Elliot with Amanda for company. They’d watched the science-fiction movie Elliot had been so eager to see and now they were working on the keyboard.
“I think I’ve got the hang of C major,” Elliot announced, and ran the scale, complete with turned under thumb on the key of F.
“Very good,” she enthused. “Okay, let’s go on to G major.”
She taught him the scale and watched him play it, her mind on Quinn Sutton’s antagonism.
“Something bothering you?” Elliot asked suspiciously.
She shrugged. “Your dad doesn’t want me here.”
“He hates women,” he said. “You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But why?”
He shook his head. “It’s because of my mother. She did something really terrible to him, and he never talks about her. He never has. I’ve got one picture of her, in my room.”
“I guess you look like her,” she said speculatively.
He handed her the keyboard. “I’ve got red hair and freckles like she had,” he confessed. “I’m just sorry that I…well, that I don’t look anything like Dad. I’m glad he cares about me, though, in spite of everything. Isn’t it great that he likes me?”
What an odd way to talk about his father, Amanda thought as she studied him. She wanted to say something else, to ask about that wording, but it was too soon. She hid her curiosity in humor.
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” she intoned deeply.
He chuckled. “Hamlet,” he said. “Shakespeare. We did that in English class last month.”
“Culture in the high country.” She applauded. “Very good, Elliot.”
“I like rock culture best,” he said in a stage whisper. “Play something.”
She glanced toward Quinn’s closed study door with a grimace. “Something soft.”
“No!” he protested, and grinned. “Come on, give him hell.”
“Elliot!” she chided.
“He needs shaking up, I tell you, he’s going to die an old maid. He gets all funny and red when unmarried ladies talk to him at church, and just look at how grumpy he’s been since you’ve been around. We’ve got to save him, Amanda,” he said solemnly.
She sighed. “Okay. It’s your funeral.” She flicked switches, turning on the auto rhythm, the auto chords, and moved the volume to maximum. With a mischievous glance at Elliot, she swung into one of the newest rock songs, by a rival group, instantly recognizable by the reggae rhythm and sweet harmony.
“Good God!” came a muffled roar from the study.
“No!” Elliot gasped.
But it was too late. His father came out of the study and saw Elliot holding the keyboard and started smoldering.
“It was her!” Elliot accused, pointing his finger at her.
She peered at Quinn over her drawn-up knees. “Would I play a keyboard that loud in your house, after you warned me not to?” she asked in her best meek voice.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. They went back to Elliot.
“She’s lying,” Elliot said. “Just like the guy in those truck commercials on TV…!”
“Keep it down,” Quinn said without cracking a smile. “Or I’ll give that thing the decent burial it really needs. And no more damned rock music in my house! That thing has earphones. Use them!”
“Yes, sir,” Elliot groaned.
Amanda saluted him. “We hear and obey, excellency!” she said with a deplorable Spanish accent. “Your wish is our command. We live only to serve…!”
The slamming of the study door cut her off. She burst into laughter while Elliot hit her with a sofa cushion.
“You animal,” he accused mirthfully. “Lying to Dad, accusing me of doing something I never did! How could you?”
“Temporary insanity,” she gasped for breath. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“We’re both going to die,” he assured her. “He’ll lie awake all night thinking of ways to get even and when we least expect it, pow!”
“He’s welcome. Here. Run that G major scale again.”
He let her turn the keyboard back on, but he was careful to move the volume switch down as far as it would go.
It was almost nine when Quinn came out of the study and turned out the light.
“Time for bed,” he said.
Amanda had wanted to watch a movie that was coming on, but she knew better than to ask. Presumably they did occasionally watch television at night. She’d have to ask one of these days.
“Good night, Dad. Amanda,” Elliot said, grinning as he went upstairs with a bound.
“Did you do your homework?” Quinn called up after him.
