She remembered the day Brad had proposed, and the three days it had taken her to accept. How happy her parents had been when she’d told them. She swallowed. Actually her father had been silent about the matter. It was her mother who had been ecstatic. She supposed there lived a small part within all mothers that longed to see and manage their daughter’s wedding—that one day when her little girl would be a princess meeting her prince at the altar, then riding away on a gleaming black stallion. She glanced toward the window, recalling Quinn riding away alone.
She dropped into the chair and assured her mother that she was fine. Everything was fine. Then she listened as Catherine told her all that had been happening on her end of the line—from the travel arrangements of extended family arriving Thursday night for Saturday’s wedding to all the food she planned on catering to see them through the weekend.
“Mom?” Dulcy tried to interrupt.
“It’s been years since I’ve seen your father so excited.”
Her father excited? She couldn’t imagine that.
“Look, Mom—”
“I can’t tell you how happy you’re making us, Dulcy. You’re achieving everything and more than we ever dreamed for you.”
Dulcy rested her elbow on the desktop and planted her palm against her forehead. Obviously it hadn’t gotten out that Brad was missing. Which had been Beatrix’s intention all along, hadn’t it? Don’t go to the police for fear the media would get hold of the news. While Dulcy didn’t consider herself a news junkie, she was sure she would have heard something by now had Brad’s disappearance made the news. No news is good news definitely applied here, especially considering that she suspected Brad was behind his own little vanishing act.
“Mom,” Dulcy said a little more forcefully, her agitation level growing with every word her mother said.
“What is it, Dulcy?”
Now that there was silence, she felt as if her throat might close around what she had to say.
“Nothing,” she finally said, staring at the diamond ring one last time. She slipped it onto the finger of her right hand and twisted the diamond to the inside. “I…I have to go.”
She wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t said the words. They’d been right there, on the tip of her tongue. Mom, Brad’s gone. There isn’t going to be a wedding. But she couldn’t stomp all over her mother’s dream. Not just yet. There were three days to go until the wedding. Let Catherine Ferris bask for as long as she possibly could.
And what of her own dreams?
She gave her mother her cell phone number again, then disconnected the line. The phone lay lifeless in her hand.
Had she ever had a dream?
Her attention again wandered to the window and the ranch beyond. When she’d accepted Brad’s proposal, she’d done so with no visions of puffy white wedding gowns or doves or even children. Looking back, she saw the incident as a merger of sorts. Hey, don’t we get along well, and wouldn’t life be grand if we put our two households together and became a family, since that’s what every other normal person does?
She slumped down in the chair. She couldn’t blame herself. Not really. Because up until that point she’d experienced nothing to compare with her relationship to Brad.
And now that she had?
Now she saw how very shallow and selfish and compromising her engagement had been.
TWO THINGS MATTERED MOST to Quinn. His relationship to nature. And his connection to those he loved.
His black stallion Ewtoto snorted. The Arabian seemed to be telling him to make up his mind. Go home, or head back out into the wide-open nothing from which they’d just returned.
If only Quinn knew which was the right decision.
He squeezed his thighs to let Ewtoto know that he’d heard him, then looked back over the horizon. It wasn’t so long ago that the view could calm the worst of his disquiet. Provide him with the answers he sought. Now he couldn’t find a lick of peace in the view.
Ewtoto snorted again, living up to his namesake as the chief and spiritual leader of all katsinam. Quinn slowly climbed from the stallion’s back and draped his reins over a low branch of a cactus. Scooping a bowl into the hard earth, he poured water from his canteen, then sat down on a boulder and watched as Ewtoto drank. And tried like hell not to think of the woman back at the house waiting for him.
Brad’s woman.
He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, then squinted at the cloudless afternoon sky. He knew all too well that life made a habit of throwing you for a loop every now and again, letting you know how little control you had over it. But in the past few days he’d been knocked over so many times he’d lost count.
He dug his boot heel into the dry earth and gazed out at the ranch house. He had thought he knew Brad like the back of his hand. But every piece of information he and Dulcy uncovered made him wonder if he’d really known his friend at all.
Ewtoto finished with his water, then slid his cold snout against Quinn’s forearm. He absently stroked the horse.
Of course, knowing—as he now did—that Wheeler Industries was virtually broke, facing bankruptcy, wasn’t helping his mind-set, either.
He really wished he hadn’t stumbled across that scrap of information. But he couldn’t exactly do a thorough search for Brad if he didn’t examine all possibilities. So he’d placed a call to a buddy he’d gone through Desert Storm with, asked him to get what he could on the company and get back to him. Four hours later, the guy had told him that in the past six months Wheeler Industries had suffered a serious blow to their stock worth. A couple of bad managerial moves—for which Brad had been directly responsible—had placed the company in danger of being taken over by a bigger company. Or worse, closing down.
Quinn didn’t know how Bugler—ironically nicknamed such because of his silence—had gotten the information. But he knew he didn’t have to question it. If Bugler said the company was in trouble, then it was in trouble.
And it was likely the motivation behind the crumpled ransom note in Brad’s garbage can. A discarded, half-baked plan Brad had come up with to get the needed funds from his mother, who it was rumored had her king-size mattress stuffed with all the money Wheeler Industries had made over the years.
Ewtoto thrust his nose against Quinn’s shoulder. “What would you tell me if you could speak, Toto?”
Ewtoto neighed, causing Quinn to smile.
“Sorry, buddy, but I didn’t quite catch that.”
The horse caught his reins between his teeth and gave a tug, shuffling his hooves as if ready to head home.
Quinn squinted at the house again. Yes. Maybe the horse was right. Maybe it was time for him to stop running and head back to face the music. Lord knew, sitting out here wasn’t doing him a damn bit of good.
AT SOME POINT Dulcy felt her head would explode with all the thoughts swirling around in it, so she’d made her way to Quinn’s bedroom and stretched across the mattress, intending only to lie down for a little while. Two hours later she opened her eyes to find the sun low in the sky and her business suit and blouse neatly laid out next to her.
She pushed up onto her elbows and glanced around nervously. The thought of Esmerelda anywhere near her while she was asleep was frightening. She could only imagine what the odd, wrinkled old woman had been up to while she wasn’t looking. Had she gauged her snores? Graded her on her prone position? Measured her fat-to-muscle ratio? Taken a blood sample?
Sighing, she gathered her clothes together and went into the connecting bathroom, careful to lock the door behind her. She washed her face and attempted to run a comb through her hair. Without all her hair products, the blond curls were combative and refused to give in to her attempts to tame them. So she gave up and changed into her skirt and blouse, then eyed the jacket she’d hung on the back of the door. The silk blend was marked Dry Clean Only, as was her blouse. And since she hadn’t spotted any one-hour cleaners on the drive out, she could only wonder how Quinn’s housekeeper had manag
ed to clean them.
Leaving the jacket where it was, she quietly left the bedroom. The house was silent, but the smell of something cooking beckoned her to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, staring at Esmerelda’s stooped back where she sat on a stool, doing something on the cooking island. A gnarled hand patted the stool beside her. Dulcy swallowed and walked to the stool, then cautiously climbed up on it.
Esmerelda was sorting through beans. All sorts of beans. Black-speckled ones, brown ones, green ones. Fingering them like discs on an abacus, she kept a few, then pushed a couple of shriveled ones off to the side to join the small pile of others that hadn’t made the grade.
Dulcy’s immediate desire was to ask if she could help, but she was afraid to make a mistake in front of the curious woman. She jumped when Esmerelda elbowed the huge bowl of mixed beans in front of her and nodded her head, indicating Dulcy should sort, too.
Following her lead, Dulcy poured out a portion of the beans and slowly began sorting through them, keeping like-size beans and pushing aside the small ones and particles that could have been stones.
She felt the old woman’s gaze on her. She lifted her chin and found Esmerelda smiling. Her mouth was closed, and she didn’t say a word. But that one gesture was enough to make Dulcy grin stupidly.
Finally the bowl was empty, the hill of keepers large, and Esmerelda pushed from the stool and carried the beans to a large pan. Dulcy combined the two small piles of discarded beans and threw them away in a nearby trash container.
“Quinn is a good man.”
Dulcy slowed her movements where she was washing her hands at the sink. She looked at Esmerelda, startled she had said anything. “Yes. Yes, he is.” She cleared her throat. “So is Brad.”
The old woman made a disgruntled sound.
Dulcy decided not to pursue that line of conversation. She didn’t think she was up to defending Brad’s qualities right about now.
“How long have you worked for Quinn?” she asked instead.
“I don’t work for Quinn.”
Dulcy frowned at her. “I don’t understand. Are you family?”
“Not by blood.”
Dulcy lifted the lid on a boiling pot and was immediately shooed away.
“Do you live here?” she asked, finding conversation with the woman like pulling teeth.
“No.”
Dulcy crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “So let me get this straight. You’re not related to Quinn. You don’t get a paycheck. You just come by and cook for him—”
“And clean.”
“And clean for him, out of the goodness of your heart.”
Esmerelda shook a finger at Dulcy even as her attention was on her cooking. “Because of the goodness of his heart.”
Dulcy made her way around the cooking island and settled back onto her stool. The view outside the window over the sink was breath-stealing. The deep blue of the sky clashed with the dusty horizon, jagged, flat-topped mesas breaking the monotony.
“Our Quinn hasn’t always had what he has now,” Esmerelda said quietly, as if to herself. “His father ran out before Quinn even got a chance to know him. His mother…well, love she’s always had. Money she hasn’t.”
Dulcy shivered. “How did she raise Quinn, then?”
Esmerelda looked at her over her shoulder. “We raised him. All of us. The community.” She returned her attention to her cooking. “Not that any of us could do any better money-wise. But we managed.” She paused as she stirred the contents of a pot. “This ranch belonged to Quinn’s uncle. Stubborn old mule, he was. Never paid a man his worth. Worked young Quinn’s hands to the bone and sent him off with pocket change.”
She shook her head. “But even pennies add up. That’s what he used to tell his mother every night when he got home.” She pointed at a spot outside the window. “They lived in a small house out there. One room. Dirt floor.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Don’t know why Quinn keeps it up. Should have been torn down years ago when he and his mother moved out.”
“How…how did Quinn come by all of this? Did his uncle leave it to him?”
“His uncle wouldn’t have given a dying man a drink of water. Before he died, he sold Quinn the ranch at an inflated price.”
Dulcy opened her mouth to ask how he possibly could have afforded it, but didn’t dare.
“Those pennies,” Esmerelda said as if she had asked, a twinkle in her eyes. “Started working when he was twelve.”
Dulcy sat up straighter. “And his education?”
She shook her head. “Did you see any schools on your way out?”
No, she hadn’t.
“We all taught him what we could.” She turned to face Dulcy. “It was very satisfying when he got his GED, then went into the Marines. After his discharge, he attended university. Graduated top of his class and opened his own computer company.” She waved a hand. “Service provider or something along those lines. Sold the place a few years back when he bought the ranch.”
Dulcy fidgeted. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know this. Her body already yearned for Quinn in a way she couldn’t control. To allow Esmerelda to open up a spot for him in her heart was inviting trouble.
“Women?” she asked quietly.
Esmerelda made a sound. “There was one. About a year ago. Brought her out here, he did. Not that it mattered. I knew from the instant I saw her she wasn’t going to stay.”
“Why?”
“Because she was taking inventory of Quinn’s belongings even as she cradled him between her legs.”
Dulcy winced, at both the imagery and the thought that someone had tried to take advantage of Quinn’s generosity and all he had worked so hard for.
She absently traced the stencil on the tiles in front of her. “I’m curious…you haven’t asked anything about me. Why is that?”
Esmerelda got that odd look on her face again. The same expression she’d had when she sized her up after the shower. “All I need to know I see in your eyes, and in Quinn’s.”
Dulcy quickly looked away. She’d never put much stock in what others saw. She told herself not to start now. Even if the idea that Quinn felt something more than desire for her appealed greatly.
Resisting the urge to question Esmerelda further on the subject, she said instead, “I’m engaged to Brad.”
“Are you?”
Dulcy followed the woman’s gaze to her naked ring finger and the light tan line there. She instantly covered the hand with her other one.
The thundering sound of an approaching horse made Dulcy’s stomach dip to her ankles. Before she could think of the wisdom of such an action, she got up from the stool and hurried to the back door. Pushing aside the curtain there, she watched Quinn pull his black stallion to a stop. It wasn’t possible: somehow their brief time apart made her even hungrier for him. He’d peeled off his white T-shirt and tucked it into his belt. Dark denim hugged his thighs. His black hair hung loose and tangled around his tanned, sculpted shoulders. He looked like a fierce Native warrior just back from battle, his expression intense and full of passion. Goose bumps covered every inch of Dulcy’s skin.
“Go,” Esmerelda said, touching her shoulder. “He waits for you.”
The old woman’s words shimmied straight down her spine.
“Dinner can wait.”
With trembling fingers, Dulcy reached for the door handle and was outside before the voice inside her head could tell her that what she was doing was wrong. She knew one awful second of hesitation. Then Quinn reached out one long, tanned, muscled arm for her. She took it. He hauled her up to sit behind him. She slid her hands around to rest against his washboard stomach—and then the horse was off again.
LIKE COMING HOME. That’s what it felt like to have Dulcy flush against his back, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. Quinn slid his hand on top of hers where they rested against his stomach, and tipped his face toward the sky. Ewtoto and his own land beneath him, Dulcy behind him, the limit
less sky above him and the magical New Mexican horizon in front of him…in that single moment, he had it all. No matter how fleeting that moment might be.
Dulcy shifted her head and pressed her lips to his bare skin. His grip on her hands tightened. “I want you,” she whispered, then took his earlobe between her teeth.
The hands beneath his moved, inching down to the crotch of his jeans. If she was surprised to find him fully aroused, she didn’t show it. Instead, she worked her fingers inside his waistband, stroking the tip of his erection almost reverently as Ewtoto slowly walked beneath them. Curiously, the stallion had balked at returning to the stables, but instead had led him to the ranch house. Quinn was glad.
Quinn removed Dulcy’s hand from his jeans, then grasped her bare knee, pulling her leg around him. He tugged her hand, indicating what he had in mind. With a few awkward moves, she was sitting in front of him, her legs hugging his hips, her skirt hiking up to show him a peek of plain white cotton panties.
He grinned. “Oh, no. We can’t have this.”
He slid his finger inside the damp crotch of the panties and pulled, taking great satisfaction in the ripping of material. She gasped and dug her fingers into his shoulders as he released the panties into the air, the dry desert wind catching them and carrying them away.
Then he looked at her—really looked at her for the first time since riding back to the ranch. The sight of her took his breath away. The setting sun set her blond hair aglow from behind, her hazel eyes were nearly black, her lips were smooth and parted, ready for whatever he choose to give to her.
He watched the expression on her face change. The waiting vanished, replaced by want. Her hands moved from his shoulders and into his hair, then she planted her mouth against his, slipping her tongue inside. Her breath fanned his cheeks as she restlessly moved from one side of his mouth to the other.
Quinn grasped her bare thighs and hauled her swollen flesh flush against the fly of his jeans. She moaned and broke contact with his mouth, but only briefly. When she returned, she was twice as hungry, her movements urgent. She fumbled for the button to his jeans. He caught her hands.
A Stranger's Touch Page 18