On the other, he wanted to protect her and keep her around as long as he could.
The effort to hold back her fierce urge to touch him, console him, almost overwhelmed her. She supposed she shouldn't find it so surprising. She was a nurturer, which was why she went into nursing in the first place, long before she ever knew that Scott's accident would test her caregiving skills and instincts to the limit.
"You don't have to take her, though, especially if you don't feel it's the right thing for her. I'll see if I can talk her out of it," she offered. She took a step toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped her.
"Wait."
She turned back to find him pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose.
"You're right," he said after a long moment, dropping his hand. "It's her choice. She's a grown woman, not a child. I can't treat her like one, even if I do want to protect her from…the inevitable. If she wants this, I'll find a way to make it happen."
The determination in his voice arrowed right to her heart and she smiled. "You're a good son, Quinn. You're just what Jo needs right now."
"You're coming with us, to make sure she's not overdoing things."
"Me?"
"The only way I can agree to this insanity is if we have a medical expert close at hand, just in case."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? Can't your other patients spare you?"
That would have been a convenient excuse, but unfortunately in this case, she faced a slow night, with only Tess and two other patients, one who only required one quick check in the night, several hours away.
"That's not the issue," she admitted.
"What is it, then? Don't you think she would be better off to have a nurse along?"
"Maybe. Probably. But not necessarily this particular nurse."
"Why not?"
"I'm not really much of a rider," she confessed, with the same sense of shame as if she were admitting stealing heart medicine from little old ladies. Around Pine Gulch, she supposed the two crimes were roughly parallel in magnitude.
"Really?"
"My family lived in town and we never had horses," she said, despising the defensive note in her voice. "I haven't had a lot of experience."
She didn't add that she had an irrational fear of them after being bucked off at a cousin's house when she was seven, then later that summer she had seen a cowboy badly injured in a fall at an Independence Day rodeo. Since then, she had done her best to avoid equines whenever possible.
"This is a pretty easy trail that takes less than an hour. You should be okay, don't you think?"
How could she possibly tell him she was terrified, especially after she had worked to persuade him it would be all right for Jo? She couldn't, she decided. Better to take one for the team, for Jo's sake.
"Fine. You saddle the horses and I'll get Jo ready."
Heaven help them all.
Chapter Six
"Let me know if you need me to slow down," Quinn said half an hour later to the frail woman who sat in front of him astride one of the biggest horses in the pasture, a rawboned roan gelding named Russ.
She felt angular and thin in his arms, all pointed elbows and bony shoulders. But Tess had been right, she was ecstatic about being on horseback again, about being outside in the cold October night under the pines. Jo practically quivered with excitement, more alive and joyful than he had seen her since his return to Cold Creek.
It smelled of fall in the mountains, of sun-warmed dirt, of smoke from a distant neighbor's fire, of layers of fallen leaves from the scrub oak and aspens that dotted the mountainside.
The moon hung heavy and full overhead, huge and glowing in the night and Suzy and Jack, Easton's younger cow dogs, raced ahead of them. Chester probably would have enjoyed the adventure but Quinn had worried that, just like Jo, his old bones weren't quite up to the journey.
"This is perfect. Oh, Quinn, thank you, my dear. You have no idea the gift you've given me."
"You're welcome," he said gruffly, warmed despite his lingering worry.
In truth, he didn't know who was receiving the greater gift. This seemed a rare and precious time with Jo and he was certain he would remember forever the scents and the sounds of the night—of tack jingling on the horses and a great northern owl hooting somewhere in the forest and the night creatures that peeped and chattered around them.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Tess rode behind them.
Among the three of them, she seemed to be the one least enjoying the ride. She bounced along on one of the ranch's most placid mares. Every once in a while, he looked back and the moonlight would illuminate a look of grave discomfort on her features. If he could see her hands in the darkness, he was quite certain they would be white-knuckled on the reins.
He should be enjoying her misery, given his general dislike for the woman. Mostly he just felt guilty for dragging her along, though he had to admit to a small measure of glee to discover something she hadn't completely mastered.
In school, Tess had been the consummate perfectionist. She always had to be the first one finished with tests and assignments, she hated showing up anywhere with a hair out of place and she delighted in being the kind of annoying classmate who tended to screw up the curve for everybody else.
Knowing she wasn't an expert at everything made her seem a little more human, a little more approachable.
He glanced back again and saw her shifting in the saddle, her body tight and uncomfortable.
"How are you doing back there?" he asked.
In the pale glow of the full moon, he could just make out the slit of her eyes as she glared. "Fine. Swell. If I break my neck and die, I'm blaming you."
He laughed out loud, which earned him a frown from Jo.
"You didn't need to drag poor Tess up here with us," she reprimanded in the same tone of voice she had used when he was fifteen and she caught him teasing Easton for something or other. He could still vividly remember the figurative welts on his hide as she had verbally taken a strip off him.
"She's a big girl," Quinn said in a voice too low for Tess to overhear. "She didn't have to come."
"You're a hard man to say no to."
"If anyone could do it, Tess would find a way. Anyway, we'll be there in a few more moments."
Jo looked over his shoulder at Tess, then shook her head. "Poor thing. She obviously hasn't had as much experience riding as you and Easton and the boys. She's a good sport to come anyway."
He risked another look behind him and thought he heard her mumbling something under her breath involving creative ways she intended to make him pay for this.
Despite the lingering sadness in knowing he was fulfilling a last wish for someone he loved so dearly, Quinn couldn't help his smile.
He definitely wouldn't forget this night anytime soon.
"She's doing all right," he said to Jo.
"You're a rascal, Quinn Southerland," she chided. "You always have been."
He couldn't disagree. He couldn't have been an easy kid to love when he had been so belligerent and angry, lashing out at everyone in his pain. He hugged Jo a little more tightly for just a moment until they reached the trailhead for Windy Lake, really just a clearing where they could leave the horses before taking the narrow twenty-yard trail to the lakeshore.
"This might get a little bit tricky," he said. "Let me dismount first and then I'll help you down."
"I can still get down from a horse by myself," she protested. "I'm not a complete invalid."
He just shook his head in exasperation and slid off the horse. He grabbed the extra rolled blankets tied to the saddle and slung them over his shoulder, then reached up to lift her from the horse.
He didn't set her on her feet, though. "I'll carry you to Guff's bench," he said, without giving her an opportunity to argue.
She pursed her lips but didn't complain, which made him suspect she was probably more tired than she wanted to let on.
"O
kay, but then you'd better come back here to help Tess."
He glanced over and saw that Tess's horse had stopped alongside his big gelding but Tess made no move to climb out of the saddle; she just gazed down at the ground with a nervous kind of look.
"Hang on a minute," he told her. "Just wait there in the saddle while I settle Jo on the bench and then I'll come back to help you down."
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding more disgruntled than apologetic.
"No problem."
He carried Jo along the trail, grateful again for the pale moonlight that filtered through the fringy pines and the bare branches of the aspens.
Windy Lake was a small stream-fed lake, probably no more than two hundred yards across. As a convenient watering hole, it attracted moose and mule deer and even the occasional elk. The water was always ice cold, as he and the others could all attest. That didn't stop him and Brant and Cisco—and Easton, when she could manage to get away—from sneaking out to come up here on summer nights.
Guff always used to keep a small canoe on the shore and they loved any chance to paddle out in the moonlight on July nights and fish for the native rainbow trout and arctic grayling that inhabited it.
Some of his most treasured memories of his teen years centered around trips to this very place.
The trail ended at the lakeshore. He carried Jo to the bench Guff built here, which had been situated in the perfect place to take in the pristine, shimmering lake and the granite mountains surrounding it.
He set Jo on her feet for just a moment so he could brush pine needles and twigs off the bench. Contrary to what he expected, the bench didn't have months worth of debris covering it, which made him think Easton probably found the occasional chance to make good use of it.
He covered the seat with a plastic garbage bag he had shoved into his pocket earlier in case the bench was damp.
"There you go. Your throne awaits."
She shook her head at his silliness but sat down gingerly, as if the movement pained her. He unrolled one of the blankets and spread it around her shoulders then tucked the other across her lap.
In the moonlight, he saw lines of pain bracketing her mouth and he worried again that this ride into the mountains had been too much for her. Along with the pain, though, he could see undeniable delight at being in this place she loved, one last time.
He supposed sometimes a little pain might be worthwhile in the short-term if it yielded such joy.
As he fussed over the blankets, she reached a thin hand to cover his. "Thank you, my dear. I'm fine now, I promise. Go rescue poor Tess and let me sit here for a moment with my memories."
"Call out if you need help. We won't be far."
"Don't fuss over me," she ordered. "Go help Tess."
Though he was reluctant to leave her here alone, he decided she was safe with the dogs who sat by her side, their ears cocked forward as if listening for any threat.
Back at the trailhead, he found Tess exactly where he had left her, still astride the mare, who was placidly grazing on the last of the autumn grasses.
"I tried to get down," she told him when he emerged from the trees. "Honestly, I did. But my blasted shoe is caught in the stirrups and I couldn't work it loose, no matter how hard I tried. This is so embarrassing."
"I guess that's the price you pay when you go horseback riding in comfortable nurse's shoes instead of boots."
"If I had known I was going to be roped into this, I would have pulled out my only pair of Tony Lamas for the occasion."
Despite her attempt at a light tone, he caught something in her stiff posture, in the rigid set of her jaw.
This was more than inexperience with horses, he realized as he worked her shoe free of the tight stirrup. Had he really been so overbearing and arrogant in insisting she come along that he refused to see she had a deep aversion to horses?
"I'm sorry I dragged you along."
"It's not all bad." She gazed up at the stars. "It's a lovely night."
"Tell me, how many moonlit rides have you been on into the mountains around Pine Gulch?"
She summoned a smile. "Counting tonight? Exactly one."
He finally worked her shoe free. "Let me help you down," he said.
She released the reins and swiveled her left leg over the saddle horn so she could dismount. The mare moved at just that moment and suddenly his arms were full of warm, delicious curves.
She smelled of vanilla and peaches and much to his dismay, his recalcitrant body stirred to life.
He released her abruptly and she wobbled a little when her feet met solid ground. Out of instinct, he reached to steady her and his hand brushed the curve of her breast when he grabbed her arm. Her gaze flashed to his and in the moonlight, he thought he felt the silky cord of sexual awareness tug between them.
"Okay now?"
"I…think so."
That low, breathy note in her voice had to be his imagination. He was almost certain of it.
He couldn't possibly be attracted to her. Sure, she was still a beautiful woman on the outside, but she was still Tess Claybourne, for heaven's sake.
He noticed she moved a considerable distance away but he wasn't sure if she was avoiding him or the horses. Probably both.
"I'm sorry I dragged you up here," he said again. "I didn't realize how uncomfortable riding would be for you."
She made a face. "It shouldn't be. I'm embarrassed that it is. I grew up around horses—how could I help it in Pine Gulch? Though my family never had them, all my friends did, but I've had an…irrational fear of them since breaking my arm after being bucked off when I was seven."
"And I made you come anyway."
She mustered a smile. "I survived this far. We're halfway done now."
He remembered Jo's words suddenly. You'll never find a happier soul in all your days. Why, what she's been through would have crushed most women. Not our Tess.
Jo thought Tess was a survivor. If she weren't, could she be looking at this trip with such calm acceptance, even when she was obviously terrified?
"That's one way of looking at it, I guess."
She didn't meet his gaze. "It's not so bad. After the way I treated you in high school, I guess I'm surprised you didn't tie me onto the back of your horse and drag me behind you for a few miles."
His gaze narrowed. What game was this? He never, in a million years, would have expected her to refer to her behavior in their shared past, especially when she struck exactly the right note of self-deprecation.
For several awkward seconds, he couldn't think how to respond. Did he shrug it off? Act like he didn't know what she was talking about? Tell her she ought to have bitch tattooed across her forehead and he would be happy to pay for it?
"High school seems a long time ago right now," he finally said.
"Surely not so long that you've forgotten."
He couldn't lie to her. "You always made an impression."
Her laughter was short and unamused. "That's one way of phrasing it, I suppose."
"What would you call it?"
"Unconscionable."
At that single, low-voiced word, he studied her in the moonlight—her long-lashed green eyes contrite, that mouth set in a frown, the auburn curls that were a little disheveled from the ride.
How the hell did she do it? Lord knew, he didn't want to be. But against his will, Quinn found himself drawn to this woman who was willing to confront her fears for his aunt's sake, who could make fun of herself, who seemed genuinely contrite about past bad behavior.
He liked her and, worse, was uncomfortably aware of a fierce physical attraction to her soft curves and classical features that seemed so serene and lovely in the moonlight.
He pushed away the insane attraction, just as he pushed away the compelling urge to ask her what he had ever done back then to make her hate him so much. Instead, he did his best to turn the subject away.
"Easton told me about Scott. About the accident."
She shoved he
r hands in the pocket of her jacket and looked off through the darkened trees toward the direction of the lake. "Did she?"
"She said you had only been married a few months at the time, so most of your marriage you were more of a caregiver than a wife."
"Everybody says that like I made some grand, noble sacrifice."
He didn't want to think so. He much preferred thinking of her as the self-absorbed teenage girl trying to ruin his life.
"What would you consider it?"
"I didn't do anything unusual. He was my husband," she said simply. "I loved him and I took vows. I couldn't just abandon him to some impersonal care center for the rest of his life and blithely go on with my own as if he didn't exist."
Many people he knew wouldn't have blinked twice at responding exactly that way to the situation. Hell, the Tess he thought she had been would have done exactly that.
"Do you regret those years?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide with surprise, as if no one had ever asked her that before.
"Sometimes," she admitted, her voice so low he could barely hear it. "I don't regret that I had that extra time with him. I could never regret that. By all rights, he should have died in that accident. A weaker man probably would have. Scott didn't and I have to think God had some purpose in that, something larger than my understanding."
She paused, her expression pensive. "I do regret that we never had the chance to build the life we talked about those first few months of our marriage. Children, a mortgage, a couple of dogs. We missed all that."
Not much of a sacrifice, he thought. He would be quite happy not to have that sort of trouble in his life.
"I'll probably always regret that," she went on. "Unfortunately, I can't change the past. I can only look forward and try to make the best of everything that comes next."
They lapsed into a silence broken only by the horses stamping and snorting behind them and the distant lapping of the water.
She was the first to break the temporary peace. "We'd better go check on Jo, don't you think?"
A Cold Creek Homecoming Page 6
