“Fortunately followed by Saturday night.” He leaned forward and nibbled on her earlobe. “Another opportunity to treat my potentially fatal problem.” He ran his tongue around the pink inner shell of her ear.
She moaned. “The point is—”
“Yes?” He loved the way she turned into a rag doll in his arms, so supple, so willing. He considered scooping her up and carrying her into the barn, except that Benny and Fred might still be in there, and what he had in mind required privacy.
She took a deep breath and attempted to push him away, but it was only a halfhearted effort. Her words came out in a determined rush. “The point is that Saturday’s your big coming-out party, which means it would be very advisable for you to leave on Sunday, before people get suspicious.”
He had no wish to think about the leaving-on-Sunday part. “Tonight could be the granddaddy of all coming-out parties, with your participation.”
“Quinn, will you stop thinking about your…problem and listen?”
“It’s hard.” He lifted his head and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Very hard.”
Breathless laughter trembled on her lips. “Honestly, you act as if you’d never been sexually frustrated before in your life. Has every woman except me tumbled directly into your bed?”
“Not by a long shot. But this is not mere sexual frustration. This is sexual torture. To be more specific, I could represent my previous sexual frustrations by, say, a gnat, and my present one by, say, a wolf spider.”
“Really?” She looked sort of pleased with the news.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing, Josephine. I don’t know. All I know is that if I’m forced to drive away from here on Sunday without ever making love to you, I might have to throw myself off the top of the Empire State Building.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes sparkled. “How you exaggerate. Besides, they’ve put up barriers so people can’t throw themselves off the Empire State Building.”
“Then I’d have to tie a cement block to my feet and jump off the George Washington Bridge. And I’d probably land on a garbage scow and sink over my head into the muck, like Luke Skywalker in Star Wars, only I wouldn’t ever come up again. I’ll die covered in slime.” He kneaded her firm bottom with his gloved hand. “I’m sure you don’t want that on your conscience.”
“You sure know how to treat a girl, Quinn.” Her chin had a saucy tilt, but her bedroom eyes gave her away.
“First you rope her and then you whisper sweet nothings about garbage scows and slime.”
“It’s a gift.” He smiled. “Take pity on me, Jo. I’m a desperate man.”
“But this is all we’d ever have.”
“I know.” His smile faded. “And I know that’s a problem for you. It could be a problem for me. If I could find the off switch on this obsession I’d use it. That was my plan, to shut down that part of me. Turns out I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”
“I need some time to think.”
Quinn glanced around. Dusk was upon them. After dusk came night, and it might be the longest, most frustrating one of his life if Jo shut him down. She thought he was kidding about the Empire State Building and the George Washington Bridge. And he was, sort of. But he’d never wanted any woman like this, and he wasn’t sure life would be worth living if he’d never know the ecstasy of holding Jo’s warm, responsive and totally naked body in his arms.
“How much time?”
“You can see my bedroom window from the bunkhouse.”
“I guess. I never checked.”
“Well, take my word for it. You can. By eleven tonight everyone will be asleep.”
“Not everyone.”
“Everyone else, then. I’ll turn my light out at ten-thirty. If I flash it twice at eleven, meet me at the barn. I’ll bring a blanket.”
“We’re doing this outside?” Quinn got a quick picture of all sorts of creatures slithering around and decided he’d have to deal with it. “Hey, outside’s fine. Outside’s terrific. I love outside.”
“I was thinking the hayloft.”
That was only marginally better in Quinn’s estimation, but he smiled, trying to demonstrate extreme confidence.
“Fine. The hayloft it is. Sounds great. A roll in the hay. I’m there. I’m—”
“But if I don’t flash my light twice, then that means I think it would be better if we stay with our original plan and not make love while you’re here.”
Quinn had temporarily forgotten that she hadn’t committed to the plan. The realization hit him like a medicine ball in the gut. “Oh.” He was afraid he looked like an abandoned cocker spaniel as he gazed at her. This craving was turning him into a pathetic shadow of his former self. “Please flash.”
“I still think we’d be making a terrible mistake, Quinn. You’re thinking short-term.”
“Very short. Like from now until eleven tonight. What if you fall asleep and forget?”
“No chance.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. “Watch my window,” she whispered. Then she eased out of his arms, retrieved her hat and headed in the direction of the house.
Quinn stood in the shadows and knew exactly how Samson must have felt when bewitched by Delilah. Marc Anthony when captivated by Cleopatra. A woman had never wielded this much power over him, had never turned him into a beggar.
He picked up the rope and walked away from the post. He could barely see it in the darkness, but that made his new technique easier. He hardly had to squint to mentally turn the post into Jo. Rope me, and I’m yours for the night, cowboy. He twirled the rope, let it sail and neatly roped the post.
SITTING ACROSS the table from Quinn and contemplating her decision regarding the evening ahead, Jo could barely eat Emmy Lou’s delicious pot roast. Quinn appeared to have no trouble, though.
“You sure seem to be enjoying your meal,” Jo commented with some irritation as he forked up a second helping of meat. She thought it was highly unfair that nothing ever seemed to take away a man’s appetite, while women’s stomachs were affected by every little bit of stress.
“I love pot roast.” He gave her a dazzling smile before tucking into the meal once again.
Emmy Lou beamed from the end of the table. “It’s a pleasure to watch you eat, Quinn.”
Fred snorted. “Why, I’m covered with goose bumps at the sight, myself.”
“You are?” Benny stared at him. “I don’t see nothin’.”
“Oh, Fred, you’re just jealous,” Emmy Lou said, “because you can’t put away food the way you used to when you were younger.”
“Who says I can’t?” Fred held out his plate. “I’ll take another helping of that pot roast.”
“I’m not serving you seconds.” Emmy Lou pushed his plate aside. “You’ll be up all night with heartburn and you know it.”
Quinn glanced up in alarm. “Yeah, and the rodeo and dance are tomorrow. I’m sure we all need a good night’s rest.”
“Oh, we certainly do,” Jo said, covering a smile with her hand.
“I damn well know what’s happening tomorrow, and I’ll have another helping, Emmy Lou.” Fred thrust his plate in her direction again.
Emmy Lou rolled her eyes. “Okay, you stubborn old goat.” She placed more meat and vegetables on his plate. “Don’t blame me when you’re walking the floor at three in the morning.”
Quinn gripped Fred’s arm. “You know, Fred, I’ll bet that would taste even better for lunch.”
Fred glared at him. “Listen here, greenhorn. I was eating Emmy Lou’s pot roast while you were still in diapers, so don’t be telling me the time of day when I can enjoy it. Now take your mitts off my arm.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Quinn pushed his plate away. “I’m stuffed. Couldn’t eat another bite. Just one more mouthful and I’d have heartburn for sure. I’m saving this for lunch. And you know,
Fred, if we put cellophane over our plates, we could heat them in the microwave and save Emmy Lou the trouble of making us lunch tomorrow before we leave for the rodeo. What do you think of that?”
Fred shrugged. “Suit yourself. Emmy Lou knows she don’t have to bother about my lunch if she’s too tired. I’m capable of building a sandwich.”
“Is that a fact?” Emmy Lou gazed at him. “I’m glad you told me, Fred. And when was the last time you built yourself a sandwich? When Nixon was president?”
Fred looked down the table and winked at her. “I do believe Johnson was in the White House at the time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meal to eat.”
Now that she understood the true nature of it, Jo was fascinated by Fred and Emmy Lou’s relationship, which could turn from gruff to lighthearted in a split second. She assumed that was the mark of an enduring partnership, but she’d never been around a couple who’d had such a long and apparently loving association. She hadn’t known either set of grandparents well, and Aunt Josephine had stayed single all her life.
How sweet it would be to know someone that well, she thought with a pang of longing. Irrationally she thought of Quinn, the man she was destined to know for less than a week. Funny, but he was exactly the sort of man she could imagine creating a long-term partnership with. She could picture them thirty or forty years from now, sparring with each other the way Emmy Lou and Fred did, with a deep respect and love underlying every teasing word.
Love. Oh, my God. Jo glanced quickly at Quinn, as if he might have been able to read her thoughts. She couldn’t love him. She hadn’t known him long enough. She’d never met his family, his friends. She didn’t know if he had a dog, or maybe a cat, or precisely what he did for a living, except that it had to do with money, a subject that had always confused her.
Of course she hadn’t been thinking that she did love him, only that she could love him, in some other circumstance, after they’d become friends and spent lots of time in each other’s company—years, maybe. Love was a tricky emotion. She’d talked herself into loving Dick, and that hadn’t worked at all.
Now it seemed she was talking herself out of loving Quinn. She hoped that worked a little better. Quinn was definitely the wrong man for her to fall in love with, unless she wanted to give up her ranch and send Emmy Lou, Fred and Benny into the street. Good thing she’d had this little mental chat with herself, so she didn’t allow her heart to do something really, really stupid.
“Who wants dessert?” Emmy Lou asked.
Quinn patted his flat stomach. “Couldn’t possibly.”
“What is it?” Benny asked.
“Cherry cobbler.”
“I’ll have some,” Fred said, finishing the last of his pot roast. “Warm, with ice cream on top.”
Emmy Lou shook her head. “Frederick, I do hope you have a good book to read, because you aren’t going to be doing any sleeping tonight.”
“Ah, I’ll sleep like a baby,” Fred said.
“Babies wake up constantly,” Emmy Lou replied.
“I could run into town for some sleeping pills,” Quinn said. “Or those tablets that fizz, or maybe that pink stuff that coats your stomach, or maybe it’s white. I don’t know. I’ll buy it all. Whatever you need. I think sleep is important. Very important.”
Fred gazed at him. “You seem mighty interested in getting me to sleep tonight. Any particular reason?”
Quinn reddened. “Just looking after your health, Fred.”
Fred nodded, but there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
11
AFTER DINNER Jo excused herself from the table and headed for her study to figure out which bills she should pay and which ones she could stuff back in the shoe box. She’d never completely understood Josephine’s bookkeeping system, so she’d come up with one of her own, but even she had to admit it wasn’t adequate. She should have stuck with those accounting classes, but it was a little late to worry about that now.
The process of bill paying always left her stomach in knots, but it was her responsibility. After an hour of figuring and refiguring, she kept coming to the same conclusion. She needed some quick cash, and one of her best mares had produced an outstanding foal. She had to sell Clarise and Stud-muffin.
She wrote down the decision so it felt irreversible. Sherry, the vet who was coming out early the next morning to inseminate the mares with Sir Lust-a-Lot’s sperm, had mentioned she had a buyer for Clarise once she’d foaled successfully. Sherry knew Jo’s financial problems well—the vet had let bills slide many times in the past. Keeping Clarise and Stud-muffin was selfish and financially irresponsible, Jo decided, and she couldn’t afford either behavior.
With the decision made she got up from her desk and paced the small room while she tried to come to grips with losing one of her favorite mares. Aunt Josephine had taught her not to get sentimentally attached to the cattle, but even tough-minded Josephine had hated selling a horse, including the ones who misbehaved or who were too old and swaybacked to carry a rider.
Someone tapped on her study door. Drawing an unsteady breath, she walked over and opened it.
Quinn took one look at her and reached out a hand to cup her cheek. “What is it?”
She forced a smile. “Nothing. Ranch business.”
He combed her hair over her ear. “I thought you were probably in here wrestling with your finances. I wish you’d be willing to discuss the situation with me.”
“I did.” Her emotions lay close to the surface, and his gentle touch threatened to bring tears. She stepped out of reach. “I told you I needed to stall Doobie until September, when I could make another payment on my loan.”
He allowed his hand to fall to his side, and there was a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sure there’s more to the problem than that.” His glance flicked to the shoe box. “If you’d tell me what’s going on, I might be able to help you work through it.”
“Quinn, you can’t be my financial adviser, even if I wanted you to, which I don’t. You’re leaving on Sunday.”
“So what?” He motioned toward the telephone sitting on her desk. “That’s the connection I have with my clients, for the most part.”
She stared at him for several seconds. Then she lowered her voice. “Quinn, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t beg me to make love to you one minute and offer to provide long-distance financial counseling the next. The two just don’t go together.”
He studied her. Finally he shook his head. “You’re right, dammit. If we make love tonight—”
“Shh.” Jo glanced into the hall before pulling him inside the room and closing the door. “For heaven’s sake. It’s an old house. The walls have ears.”
“Then let’s stop talking.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. “Mmm. That’s better,” he said, lifting his head.
Well, at least he’d taken her mind off her troubles, she thought as warmth surged through her. “Are you…” She stopped to catch her breath. His kisses packed a wallop. “Are you trying to influence my eleven o’clock decision?”
He studied her face for several long seconds. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I came in here to see if I could help you with your books.”
She wound her arms around his waist and fit herself against the jut of his obvious erection. “Uh-huh.”
“Honest. And now you tell me the only way I can possibly help is if we don’t make love tonight.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “You sure know how to hurt a guy.”
“I don’t want you to help me with the books.” But he could help her forget that she’d soon be selling Clarise and Stud-muffin.
“You should want me to. I’m very good at it.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m more interested in finding out what else you’re very good at.” She rubbed sensuously against him and kissed the hollow of his throat. What she’d never admit to him w
as that she was embarrassed to have him look at her books and discover they were in total disarray. A professional like Quinn would probably go into shock if he could see the mess she’d made. She’d rather shock a stranger, if it came to that.
No, she didn’t want Quinn’s financial advice, but if she’d allow him to, Quinn could certainly get her through this rough patch. By impersonating Hastings, he was postponing her financial crisis, and by making wonderful love to her he could make her forget her worries, at least for a little while, and that was worth quite a bit.
Quinn groaned. “Damn, but you make it tough to be noble.” He took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. “But I’m going to give it a shot. Show me your ledgers.”
She couldn’t admit that she wasn’t sure what ledgers were, exactly, so she reached for the top button of her blouse. “I’d much rather show you my—”
“No.” He gripped her hand and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m stopping you from unbuttoning your blouse. I must be out of my mind.” He held her hand tighter and opened his eyes to gaze at her intently. “Jo, this is for your own good. Forget sex.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Not yet. I may start on Fred’s rotgut after this conversation. Listen, forget everything I said to you out in the corral. Think about your commitment to the ranch. I can help you keep that commitment. Use my services. Please.” He released her hand and stepped away from her. Although a muscle in his jaw twitched as if the effort was costing him, he kept his arms at his sides.
He was magnificent, she thought. As much as he wanted her, he’d deny himself in order to help her achieve her goals. “Why are you doing this?” she murmured.
For a moment he looked confused. “Because I—because that’s the best thing for you.”
“But not for you,” she said softly.
“My needs aren’t as important as yours right now.”
She wondered if he knew he was falling in love with her. Just as she was falling in love with him. Their relationship would be short and intense, but at least it would exist. She wasn’t going to squander this chance at a moment of happiness for the possibility of straightening out some dry old ledgers, if she even had ledgers, which she doubted.
With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet Page 12
