by Caro Carson
The door opened again—the dogs kept up their cacophony—and more people entered, Austin hipsters by the look of them. Diana had warned him that Saturday was their busiest day. The men in this new group also did a double take at Diana. Quinn kept his stance, acting like her bodyguard.
He wasn’t really irritated with other men looking. It was impossible not to look at someone as pretty as Diana. But judging from her insecurity this morning, men had obviously made comments in the past, comments that embarrassed her, and that would not happen while Quinn was around.
She seemed oblivious to her appeal. Quinn watched her give instructions to the man who’d arrived alone, who was yet another volunteer. Diana was surprisingly organized, or perhaps it was only that she was experienced. Either way, she displayed a competence he hadn’t expected with her party-loving persona. In fact, for the past two hours, she’d seemed like the only competent worker here. Her patience with the other volunteers amazed him, although he found that less surprising. After all, she’d been amazingly patient with him as he’d glowered at the gala.
“Now that Bill is here, would you like to walk the dogs with me?” she asked Quinn. “We could get them all done at once. The sooner they’re walked, the sooner I’ll be done for the day.”
Quinn began leashing up barking dogs.
They only walked about fifty yards to a fenced area where the dogs were to run free. Some valiant, heat-defying cedar elm trees provided shade. At the park, Quinn hated to unleash the dogs after the amount of time they’d spent getting them on the leashes, but he did.
Diana took the leashes from his hand and hung them on the gate. Her whiskey-colored hair looked more red today, perhaps because of the cherries and the red sunglasses. Perhaps it was an effect of the June sunlight. Quinn had a sudden desire to make love to her while the sun was high in the sky, just to experience her at her most vibrant color.
“I didn’t realize you weren’t a dog person,” she said. The way she studied the leashes, refusing to make eye contact, belied her casual tone. She was frowning. Quinn realized that while he’d kept his mind firmly on their physical compatibility, she’d been thinking about something else completely.
He should have realized what was at stake here. Dogs were important to her. Hating what a woman loved was not the way to convince someone to get naked under a hot summer sun.
“I don’t hate dogs,” he said automatically. He wished the words back immediately. They were so obviously a knee-jerk response, and they were in contrast to the way he’d been acting for the past two hours.
She made a sound, a tch of disappointment, or disapproval, or even anger, that made Quinn feel cold. Had he just lied to her? He wasn’t the kind of desperate guy that would say anything to get a woman into bed. He wasn’t.
He watched the pack of ecstatic mutts. They looked like they were in a normal environment, running free like this. More like the dogs he’d grown up with. He needed to dig a little deeper, if he wanted Diana to believe him.
“I’ve always had dogs, but they’re free to roam the ranch.”
“Like a pack of wild animals?”
“No. Like ranch dogs.” Quinn didn’t want her to think so poorly of him. He reached for some details, the kind of details a dog lover would care about. “You almost can’t have a ranch without some good dogs. One or two always choose to live in the barn. They keep the horses calm. Sometimes, a particular horse and dog will get on so well, they become a constant pair. The dog comes along every time you take the horse out.”
“Like animal best friends? That’s adorable.”
Quinn didn’t think any cowboy had thought of a barn-dwelling dog in those terms. Still, Diana wasn’t frowning any longer. He kept talking.
“We had one dog we called the porch dog. He decided that was where he belonged. Mom liked him, because he kept the armadillos out of her flower beds. Most of the dogs are self-appointed patrolmen, though. They almost never barked, so when they did, you took notice. It meant a stranger was coming—or once, we went to see what they were barking at, and found a horse had broken his leg in the pasture and was struggling like mad. My dad had to put him down.” Jeez, he hadn’t thought about that in years. It had been a hard day in his boyhood.
She squeezed his arm, a little hug. “You do like dogs. It’s the barking that gets to you. The kennels must have been hard today.”
“Of course that noise was irritating. I couldn’t make any calls. I got zero work done.”
“My guess is that somewhere inside you is a boy who was raised to know that barking meant danger. It must have driven you crazy to hear dogs bark for two hours. I’m so sorry to have put you through that.”
He’d never dated a woman so soft, so sympathetic. It was sweet, but once more, she was apologizing for something that wasn’t her fault. It bothered him now as it had last night. “I would have left and come back later if it really was that bad. The truth is, no matter how annoying that barking was, I wanted to stay with you.”
“Really?”
She seemed very happy with him now, and Quinn felt good, too. Damned good. Being around Diana could get addicting.
“I’m flattered that you and the little boy you once were wanted to be with me that much.” She kissed him then, sweetly, but with her pinup-girl body pressed against the arm she was hugging.
Quinn broke off the kiss first. “I have to warn you, there’s nothing boyish about what I want to do with you, but if flattery gets me anywhere, by all means, be flattered.” He took the red glasses off her face and angled in for a better, closer kiss. Harder. One with more passion, one that led him to press her back to the fence.
Her passionate response blinded him, all heat, all sunshine, until a dog jumped on her, dirty paws on her white cherry blouse. Quinn had him off in a second with a snap of his fingers and a sharp verbal command.
“Wow, you did that like a pro,” Diana said, taking her sunglasses back from his hand.
Quinn snapped a leash on the dog, then whistled to see which others would respond. It was all coming back to him. He hid a smile as two more dogs ran up, tails wagging as he leashed them. “I told you, I don’t hate dogs. I’ve got lots on my ranch.”
Diana made little kissing noises to get a few more dogs to come her way for their leashes. “It sounds wonderful. A real ranch, then.”
“As opposed to what kind?”
“Some people say they live on a ranch, but what they mean is they live in a ranch-style house on a two-acre lot.”
“This is a real ranch. The dogs there all have a purpose. I think that makes them content.”
“You’re so, so right. Even city dogs need a purpose. These guys might not have ranching skills, but they’d love the job of being a companion. They just need the right person to make them happy.”
All the dogs had been leashed but one. Quinn could tell that mischief-maker wasn’t going to come, no matter how much he whistled or Diana smooched. Quinn knew what was coming next. “I suppose I’m supposed to chase him down like I’m in a greased pig contest?”
Diana laughed at that. “We can just wait. He’ll wear himself out sooner or later, the way he’s running around.”
“How long does that usually take?”
“Half an hour or so.”
Quinn suspected she winked at him when she said that, but she’d put her sunglasses on. Visions of making love in the sun flashed through his rather one-track mind. He had to get to the ranch soon, but if the dog didn’t waste half an hour, maybe he could put that time to good use first.
“I’ll catch him,” he said, properly motivated by the possibilities.
What ensued, however, was the rather humbling adventure of trying to corner a smart dog who thought this was all a grand game. It would have been hellish, except for the fact that Quinn had the sexiest cheerleader in cherries roo
ting for him.
“Hypotenuse, Quinn!” she shouted. “Take the hypotenuse!”
He laughed as he slipped and slid, changing directions until he actually cornered the beast—who proceeded to slobber affection all over him.
Diana could dish out the sarcasm as well as his brothers could. She’d love his brothers. Or rather, she’d love Jamie, the one she hadn’t met yet. Braden already thought she was something special. Diana would go crazy for the ranch dogs. She’d love his mom’s sweet tea. She’d love his ranch.
As his innocent pinup girl laughed at him under a clear blue sky, nothing seemed more reasonable than sticking to his original plan of spending the whole day with her. Diana would love the ranch. Why not take her there?
It would be no big deal to bring his first girl home to the River Mack Ranch—and to Mom.
Chapter Eight
“This is such a big deal,” Quinn’s mother whispered fiercely. “If I’d known you were bringing a girl home, I would have made a cake, at least.”
“This isn’t a big deal, Mom.” But Quinn had been delusional to think otherwise. “I just wanted Diana to meet the dogs. Maybe the horses. I don’t know if she likes horses.”
“Go ask her. Show her the barn. You have plenty of time before we eat.”
Despite the fact that he’d given his mother no warning about bringing a guest, she was delighted with him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her, once more, that this was just a date, not a commitment of any kind, in any form.
Diana, at least, was taking it all in stride. She’d been happy to see Lana and Braden, pleased to meet Kendry and Jamie. Quinn walked her through the stables and out the far side, and then he kept walking with her, because they were talking and there didn’t seem to be any reason to stop. Diana had liked the horses, but she’d made a bigger fuss over Jamie’s baby, Sam. It was Quinn’s mother, however, that seemed to have made the biggest impression on her.
“She’s so very pretty at her age, don’t you think? Of course you must think so. But your mom really is. I love her apron, and the sweet tea. You’re so lucky, having a good cook for a mom. Do you come out here every weekend? I would, just for the food.”
They walked on, staying along the fence line and the hundred-year-old live oaks. It was hot, but not stifling, and Quinn found himself seeing the ranch through her eyes, really looking at it for the first time in years. In a decade. The house was behind them, easy to spot where it stood on its slight elevation, a beacon of white symmetry with a wraparound porch. The stable was aged wood, almost as large as the house. The pastures were green, but they’d turn brown when they baked all summer long in the ovenlike heat of Central Texas.
This was his heritage, this ground they strolled over. The ranch dogs served as a distant escort, running away to check on some smell, returning to see how far the humans had progressed. It had always been so, Quinn realized. He’d never walked the ranch alone, but always had dogs nearby. He’d taken that canine company for granted.
He could have a dog in his condo. There was plenty of room for one of Diana’s strays, and he had no doubt she’d match him up with a dog of the right temperament. As soon as he thought it, cool logic countered the thought. He had room, yes, but he had a doctor’s unpredictable schedule. As the owner of a private practice, he worked far more than a forty-hour workweek. Between office hours and hospital rounds, between board meetings and cardiac caths, he worked closer to seventy hours, on average.
He could not have a dog, even if he wanted one. He wouldn’t be so inconsiderate, to have another life depending on him for companionship he couldn’t give on a daily basis.
As they walked under the oaks, Quinn watched for roots that could trip them. Diana looked around, silent after singing his mother’s praises, with a bit of her ever-present smile on her lips. Her lips were made for kissing. He’d like to have her around for kissing on a daily basis.
Cool logic intruded once more. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend, either. It would be difficult to find time for Diana next weekend. He could visualize his calendar, remember the details. Two weeks from now, his Saturday was clear.
Two weeks without Diana sounded bleak. Gray.
He’d been right to worry that being with Diana was addicting. It would take some rescheduling, but they could see each other sooner than two weeks from now. If she was amenable, of course, to staying with him beyond tomorrow.
A firm date for the weekend after next would be best. Otherwise, she had a tendency to disappear when he turned his back. He’d had to track her down twice last night at the gala, and he’d had to catch her before she’d tiptoed out of his condo this morning. It would be good to know exactly when and where he’d see her again.
Diana bent to pick up a stick and flung it for the dog that had circled back to check on them. The sun that broke through the branches highlighted the red in her hair.
Quinn didn’t want her to disappear. Forget setting one date. He should formalize their relationship. He’d had that conversation often enough in the past ten or so years. Women liked the security they got from a frank discussion of their relationship. As always, he’d make it clear that they were to be exclusive for as long as they were together. That they’d be together on weekends, and on weeknights when schedules permitted. That she was always welcome to spend the entire night, or he’d drive her back to her place. Her choice. Women always found it very generous of him to let them store some cosmetics at his place.
Patricia Cargill had opined on the very subject last summer, when they’d been thrown together for days on end, working with Texas Rescue and Relief on the Oklahoma border. Without electricity and cell service, people tended to talk. A lot.
Bethany Valrez made a point of letting everyone know that she keeps her things at your place.
Why would that be a topic of conversation?
Don’t be obtuse. She’s merely boasting that she’s your girlfriend. I confess, I’m impressed that you let her keep a toothbrush at your place. For a commitment-phobic bachelor, it’s really very generous of you. As your friend, though, I advise you to be careful. It could give some women the wrong impression.
I’m obviously not commitment-phobic, not when I’ve got one and only one woman keeping a toothbrush at my place.
For how long?
For as long as it makes sense for us to be together.
You are as romantic as a computer, Quinn MacDowell. Don’t ever change.
He and Bethany had ended their relationship shortly after that, actually, although he couldn’t recall why. Then his commitment to the hospital and his new appointment to the board had led to his year-long hiatus from dating. From women. From sex.
Diana ran a little way ahead, chasing a dog. Quinn watched her with a definitely male feeling of satisfaction. He’d ended a year’s fast with a feast better than any he’d known. She would have been worth a five-year fast. Ten. She made him feel that good. He felt alive today, alive in every way.
The dog led Diana into the old graveyard. Quinn didn’t miss the irony.
Diana came to an abrupt halt. The dog—Quinn did not know this one’s name, although he was undoubtedly the descendent of an earlier blue heeler named Patch—barked at Diana, wanting her to play hide-and-seek among the tombstones. Quinn ruffled the top of the dog’s head, feeling nostalgic because he recognized the black patch of fur over the dog’s right eye and ear.
The memories came out of nowhere, crystal clear and bittersweet. Patch had been the ideal stable dog, herding the horses in from pasture at the same time every day, as if he’d had a perfectly working canine clock inside his brindled gray body. Quinn wanted to tell Diana about him, but when he looked at her face as she looked at the grave markers, he knew something was wrong.
“This is the ranch cemetery,” he said, just to have something to say. It was a nondescri
pt cluster of eight plain tombstones, none of them particularly old, only from the 1930s, and none of them particularly recent. The newest one, he remembered from his boyhood explorations, was from 1957.
Diana ran her fingertips slowly, reverently, over the top of one tombstone. “I didn’t know ranches had cemeteries.”
“A lot do.” He watched her run her fingers over a second tombstone as she walked in a slow grapevine between the graves. “If you worked and lived out here on all this land, it wouldn’t make sense to be carted into town and buried in the city. That’s what my dad told us.”
“Oh.” She lifted her finger immediately and turned to him. “Is your dad buried on your ranch?”
He shook his head. “No, he’s in a cemetery near the hospital. He didn’t want us to face the hassle of legal permits and bringing heavy equipment out here. That’s why you don’t see many graves on a ranch anymore.”
She began moving down the second row. “These are all men’s names. Only the years of their deaths.” Diana was clearly upset, and she’d resumed her methodical touching of each tombstone.
Quinn wasn’t sure what to say. Facts seemed safe. “They were ranch hands. Probably itinerant cowboys who would go from one ranch to another, looking for different kinds of work at different times of the year.”
“Did these men work for your family?”
“No, my parents bought this ranch in 1980.”
“So, no one knows anymore who Skip Laredo was? Where he was from?” She touched the marker, which bore only the date of death. “How old was he when he died?”
“I don’t know, Diana.”
Quinn had been around enough death to know that Diana was feeling that punch of grief. She’d gone from a sunny walk along a split-rail fence to grieving in a matter of minutes. It was the damnedest thing. It worried him.
