by Laura Moore
“Oh yeah. They’ve been coming here forever. They’re friends—they live in the same neighborhood in L.A.”
“Pete told me one of them’s a movie director.” He pronounced “movie director” with the same awe a six-year-old said “Santa Claus.”
“Yeah. Campbell Watt. He directs action films. His wife, Patricia, works in TV. Josh, I wanted to talk about us. I like you—”
His face blocked out her thoughts once again as he swooped in for another kiss, this one mercifully briefer than the last. But when he raised his head and whispered, “Damn, Quinn,” his voice had a husky rasp. “I sure do like the way you taste. Sweet and salty at the same time.”
“Peanuts.”
At his blank look, she explained, “I was in a rush and grabbed a handful of peanuts as I went out the door.” She hadn’t expected to be sharing them.
“Best nuts I’ve ever had.” He grinned and traced a finger down her cheek. But then something must have caught his eye, for he abruptly looked up and past her. “Awesome dog, Ethan,” he called. “Where’d he come from?”
She spun around. Even from this distance the fierce disapproval in Ethan’s glare reached her, answering the question she hadn’t yet formulated. Yes, he’d seen her and Josh kissing. Again. She went cold and then blushed fiery hot with embarrassment as without a word—not a “Good morning, Quinn” or even a “Hey, this dog snores like a truck driver”—he turned and stalked off in the direction of the barns, Bowie’s silky coat rippling as he trotted alongside.
“So I’ll catch you later, okay, Quinn?” Josh was already moving past her.
“No, wait.” She caught his shirtsleeve. Determined to get the words out before he hurried off, lured by the glitz of showbiz people, she spoke in a rush. “It’s about us, Josh. I’m sorry, but it’s not going to work.” She paused, casting about for something more intelligent and original to say than It’s not you, it’s me, since she’d already uttered that tired phrase to a half dozen or so guys, but her brain came up empty.
Josh must’ve thought she’d finished. “Oh.”
For a second his face looked blank. She steeled herself, ready for his disappointment, perhaps even an argument. What she wasn’t prepared for was his casual shrug and even more careless response.
“Well, okay, if that’s what you want. Listen, I really gotta run. The horses should be spotless for the VIPs. See you around.” With a quick smile he was off, jogging toward the barns.
She stared at his retreating figure in astonishment. Well, this was a first in the chronicles of her disasters with men. What had just happened? Josh had been the one to kiss her in the first place, right? He’d been the one to say he wanted to see how things went between them. Shouldn’t he have shown a smidgen of disappointment at hearing that she didn’t want to go out with him?
It was perverse, she knew, to be miffed that he’d taken the news so well. She should be doing cartwheels that his ego wasn’t bruised, that he hadn’t vented or, worse, decided she needed persuading.
At least it was done. Now all she had to do was clear the air with Ethan, and suddenly that struck her as a much more daunting task. Even if she had the time to run after him and explain, what would she say precisely? That she hadn’t actually been kissing Josh but trying to break things off with him? How would she broach the topic? She couldn’t think of a single opening that wouldn’t result in a garbled mess of awkwardness and embarrassment. And how vain of her to think that he’d care what she said.
But there was no time to run after Ethan. She’d used up all her spare minutes with Josh. She had to go up to the lodge and serve the hungry guests.
Why did her relations with the opposite sex often feel like for every step forward, she took two steps back? Was it any wonder that she avoided anything deeper than casual friendships, let alone sexual relationships, when she was lousy at every aspect of them?
—
Ethan had learned from his time in Afghanistan that few things cut a situation down to essentials like military jargon. His present state definitely qualified as FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition.
Last night Quinn, with just five strokes down the length of his back, had given him his first hard-on in months. When a guy hadn’t achieved an erection in that long a time it was kind of a big deal. A big fucking deal.
But Quinn’s gift tortured, filling him with conflicting impulses. As he felt his cock thicken and swell, pressing against the fly of his jeans, a part of him wanted to throw his head back and shout in triumph. And had the woman who’d performed this minor miracle been anyone but Quinn Knowles, he would have done his damnedest to get her naked, beneath him, and wet for him before seeing to it that he gave her as much pleasure as one body could give another. But it was Quinn whose touch was magic, and he’d declared her off-limits. Sweet-talking her into letting him put his hard-on to work was out of the question. She deserved better than to have someone as damaged and messed up as him inside her. Yes, he might bring her pleasure; it was guaranteed he would ultimately bring her pain.
Yet he wanted her, ached to bury himself so deep he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. That sweet, slick warmth sheathing him the closest to heaven that he would ever come.
Almost any guy on the face of the earth would rejoice at recovering the ability to use his penis for anything besides putting out campfires. Not him. For him it raised some difficult and uncomfortable truths that were as impossible to ignore as the wood he’d sported inside his jeans.
He didn’t like that Quinn was able to make him feel things no one else could. He’d gotten so good at shutting himself off. Damned if he wanted her to wield that kind of power over him.
There was another, deeper explanation why he wasn’t doing backflips and yelling hallelujah now that his cock was rising to the occasion. He didn’t deserve an erection. A person didn’t have to be Sigmund Fucking Freud to recognize that it was a symbol of life, the promise of a future, the tool of creation—and why should he get one when he’d deprived others of ever experiencing anything again?
That should have made his penis go as soft and wrinkled as a three-day-old balloon, but no. He’d remained hard and aching for her.
If that weren’t enough to make him curse the capricious fates, this morning he’d taken the dog Quinn had maneuvered him into pet-sitting out for a morning pee and nearly bowled into her and Josh. From the kiss she was giving him, Ethan bet she’d given him a boner, too.
Unlike the first time he’d caught them in a lip-lock, the dawn’s light allowed him to see everything all too clearly. An hour later he was still choking on the wave of jealousy that had swamped him.
Damn it, if he’d been the one kissing her, his hand wouldn’t have rested limply on her shoulder. He’d have had his fingers twined deep in her long braid, holding her still so his mouth could devour hers with long, deep kisses, feeding the pent-up hunger consuming him.
There’d be no daylight between their bodies. He’d have Quinn up against the cabin’s wood siding, his chest plastered against the soft mounds of her breasts, his free hand cupping her sweetly rounded ass, his cock probing the welcoming cradle of her thighs. His need for her would be hot enough to melt the layers of denim separating them. Then there she’d be, open and wet for him. With one hard thrust he’d be inside her.
He could spin enough fantasies around her to last a year of nights. They all boiled down to this: he wanted to know her taste, to memorize the feel of her every curve, of her every scented hollow, and fill himself with it.
And he couldn’t have any of her.
Given the way his luck was running, it came as no surprise that the first person he spotted after leaving the goats milked and fed would be good old Josh. But there was no opportunity to compound his jealousy with colossal stupidity by going over and trying to rearrange the Texan’s pretty face. Since Josh was astride his horse, Waylon, a roan that shone like blue steel, Ethan wouldn’t have been able to reach it in any case. Four other rider
s were with him. From their relaxed but alert postures, he guessed they were advanced and about to enjoy a good, hard ride.
When a second wave of jealousy hit him, he shook his head in disgust. Damn it all, what was happening? Why was everything making him want?
Daniel Knowles came out of the horse barn and approached the group of riders. From the laughter and banter, Ethan guessed they must be regular guests at the ranch. Daniel stepped back, allowing the riders to fall in line behind Josh as they moved out. Spying Ethan, he gave a wave and began walking toward him.
Just then, a voice addressed him. “Good morning, Ethan.”
He turned and was greeted by Adele Knowles’s warm smile. Her eyes were so similar to Quinn’s that it was hard to meet them.
“So this is the new dog?”
“Yeah, this is Bowie.”
Adele extended her hand so Bowie could sniff it. “Pretty boy. I saw Quinn up at the lodge. She’s still serving a few guests who came down late to breakfast. She was worried about Bowie making things difficult for you around the horses. I’d be happy to take him for you—”
His fingers tightened around the leash. “He’ll be fine with me. I’m taking him to clear brush. He can fetch sticks.”
“That’s very good of you.” Adele’s voice rang with approval.
It wasn’t good of him. He was simply a perverse bastard. Quinn had foisted Bowie on him. Now he didn’t want to give him up.
“Quinn said she talked to you about Thanksgiving the other day. We have such wonderful memories of the holiday with your parents when you were young. Do you remember them?”
He nodded. His favorite part of the day had been the long trail ride. Everyone saddled up—even Quinn, with a lead rope attached to her pony. After the ride there’d been a feast delicious and big enough to send them all into a semi-comatose state, perfect for watching the game on TV. Good times.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m so pleased you’ll be joining us.”
Had he said that to Quinn? He’d been out of his mind to agree to such a thing. Those Thanksgivings represented tradition. Laughter and warmth. Sharing. “Thanks, Adele, but I’m not really into social events these days.”
The look she gave him made him feel about two feet tall. “I spoke with Cheryl today. I told her you’d be with us. It made her so happy. She’s been terribly worried about you. Please do this for her. And for us.”
Two mothers ganging up on a body were impossible odds to beat. “Of course.”
She beamed infectiously. As annoyed as he was at being blatantly managed, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Quinn had learned her tricks from a master.
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Adele’s smile became even brighter when Daniel joined them.
After another round of human and canine introductions, Daniel said, “I didn’t realize Quinn was planning on getting another dog. She’s got her hands full with that bird. And now Tucker’s sick.”
“Love can change a person’s plans,” Adele said.
He offered Daniel the non-turtledove-and-sparkly-rainbow answer. “Bowie’s owner is in the military. She adopted him so he wouldn’t leave the area. It’ll make it easier to reunite them.”
“Quinn’s good when it comes to thinking about others,” Daniel said.
“Yes. Where she runs into difficulties is figuring out what she herself needs,” Adele said.
A hell of a conversation to be having with Quinn’s parents. He wondered how fast Adele’s smile would cool and how swiftly Daniel would boot him off the ranch if they knew that last night he’d been like some pimply adolescent with a rocket in his pocket for their only daughter, and a hair’s breadth from showing her what he needed.
As for Quinn, he didn’t see that she had any problem getting what she wanted and needed. As far as he could tell, she had everyone wrapped around her finger, and Josh right where she wanted him.
“Guess what, darling. Ethan’s joining us for Thanksgiving.”
“You’d best get some riding in before then, son. I heard Pete’s got you clearing the trails?”
“Yeah.”
“Your shoulder’s doing okay?”
“It’s still attached.” Though he was loath to admit it, the massage Quinn had given him hadn’t only worked a miracle on his lower half. This morning he could shift and rotate his shoulder without coloring the air blue with his curses.
He hated thinking how much Josh was enjoying those talented hands.
“That’s good. How about you take a break at around three o’clock and join me for a ride? I’m checking the water level in the ponds and tanks—the drought’s making that more important than ever. And there’s some land for sale that I want to look at, too. Adele and I have been talking with the owner about buying it. But I always say a person sees things differently from the back of a horse.”
“You sure you want the company?” Quinn was an impossible craving, a forbidden indulgence. He accepted that. But getting back in the saddle was something he could consider doing. He was fit enough now. Between the barn chores and the push-ups and planks he’d been doing in his cabin, a fair amount of his strength had returned. A ride on the trails crossing the ranch’s rolling hills would allow him to shake off his fixation with Quinn, leaving nothing but the horse moving beneath him, the cool air rushing against his face, the wash of browns and greens coloring the distant mountains.
“Why not? You don’t jabber.” A twinkle entered Daniel’s eyes. “To tell you the truth, the real bonus is that if I lend you my gelding, I’ll have an excuse to take Bilbao out. Ward gets to have way too much fun with him.”
This was a classic Knowles gesture of generosity, making it seem as if they were the ones receiving the kindness. Bilbao was a flashy three-year-old, but anyone who knew horses would give his eyeteeth to spend an afternoon on Kane’s back.
“Glad to help out,” he said.
“We’ll have to put Ethan on the payroll, Daniel.”
“Not necessary,” Ethan began, but Daniel spoke over him.
“Someone with your abilities would be a great addition to the ranch. But I expect you’ll soon be back to wandering the world and sharing what you’ve seen with the rest of us.”
No, those days were over. His body might have begun healing, but he knew instinctively that no matter where he aimed his camera lens, all he would see through the viewfinder would be the faces of the soldiers who’d lost their lives.
IT WAS THANKSGIVING Day and Quinn was not in a charitable mood. She was thankful, to be sure. Tucker had come home, his chestnut midsection bisected by a belly bandage that replaced the stent bandage he’d worn during his stay at the clinic to promote drainage and prevent infection, a common post-op danger. Not all vets would have gone to the trouble of inserting a stent, but Gary Cooney was the kind of vet who always went the extra mile for an animal, regardless of whether it was an expensive show horse or an old goat past breeding age. Thanks to his exceptional care, Tucker was doing as well as she could hope for a high-strung horse recovering from major abdominal surgery.
For years now Thanksgiving had been relegated to her least favorite holiday. Even Valentine’s Day was better because at least she got to laugh at the gag gifts she and her brothers exchanged. Reid usually came up with some doozies, like ridiculously girly underwear. But there was nothing funny about Thanksgiving. Couldn’t people find a way to give thanks without gorging themselves on gruesomely killed turkeys and geese?
To be honest, this year her sour mood wasn’t due exclusively to the holiday. It was also linked to Ethan and Josh. Since the morning she’d called it quits with Josh, she’d begun to feel like she was back in the fifth grade and contagious with the grossest case of cooties ever. Ethan certainly acted that way. He basically pulled a disappearing act whenever she approached, only deigning to exchange a few terse words when others were around or when he was handing Bowie over for playtime with Sooner and Pete’s cattle dogs.
His att
itude stung. She’d thought they were becoming friends. She supposed she must have freaked him out when she gave him a massage. Had it been obvious that she liked the feel of his body beneath her hands far too much, more than she’d ever enjoyed touching a man? If so, he couldn’t make it any clearer that the attraction was one-sided.
And Josh? Well, the weirdness continued there, too. He hadn’t bothered to talk to her once since their last conversation. Not that he’d really been around to see, let alone talk to. Where once it had seemed that Josh was everywhere she went, these days a Bigfoot sighting was more common.
If there was a glimmer of brightness in the holiday, it was the outing on horseback. The hour-plus trail ride was the only part of the day she truly enjoyed. All available staff was invited. She refused to let the fact that this year the ride included Josh and Ethan dim her enjoyment at being out for a pleasure ride with her family and friends.
It was certainly not the moment to ask one man what the hell was wrong with him or quiz the other as to why he was so darned happy to have no future anything with her.
Not that she’d have succeeded. Ethan, on board Kane, was trotting at the front of the group of sixteen riders with Pete, Ward, and Tess. Only the presence of her mom riding by Ethan’s side would have been a stronger deterrent. She felt self-conscious enough without having her family witness Ethan giving her the ice-cold shoulder.
Opting to ride along with Mel and Frank, a married couple who’d worked as ranch hands for years now, and just behind Jim and Josh, she at least solved the mystery of where Josh had been hieing off to. Anyone within earshot learned it. Not even the pounding of the horses’ hooves, the jangle of bits, or the creak of leather could muffle the enthusiasm in Josh’s voice.
“Those pancakes at the luncheonette? The finest, Jim. And they serve ’em right up until closing.”
“They do? Since when?” Jim asked.
“Well, let’s put it this way. They do for me.” Josh made it sound like he’d obtained a standing reservation at the French Laundry. “And the day before yesterday? Apple cider donuts. Maebeth packed a box for me. I brought it back for Campbell and Patricia as a going-away present. Know what? They’ve invited me to visit the set of Campbell’s next movie. Sweet, huh, Jimbo?”
