by Vicki Tharp
Quinn pulled out another. While the horse worked on that one, he brought his other hand up and stroked the horse’s neck. Vader froze at the contact, but Quinn found the itchy spot at the base of Vader’s neck, and the horse melted against his hand.
Taking the end of the lead rope, Quinn placed it around Vader’s neck to hold him in place and slipped the halter on. Another crinkle of cellophane. Another treat. Vader sniffed Quinn’s face, blowing out a hot hay-and-peppermint breath.
Quinn led the horse back to his hay, and with the rope draped over the crook of his elbow, started running his hands down the horse’s neck, his withers, his back, not pushing his luck that early and trying to touch more sensitive areas like the flanks or legs. Right now, Quinn’s goal was to show Vader that a human’s touch wasn’t to be feared.
“You’re good with him.” Quinn had heard Jenna’s voice before she materialized out of the darkness.
There was a weird tingling in his chest that felt a whole lot like pride. It had been a long time since another’s opinion mattered. It wasn’t a bad feeling.
Strange.
Odd.
Unexpected.
“How’s Mac?”
There was no light in Jenna’s eyes, her shoulders slumped. Melancholy or madness or sadness. Quinn couldn’t tell. A wistful smile bumped a corner of her lips up, and then it was gone. “She’s gonna be all right.”
Before he could find out what was wrong with Mac, she asked, “So, did you guys fill Catherine in on the cartel?”
“As much as we know. She took the news better than I thought she might.”
“She’s a tough cookie.”
Quinn chuckled, and the rumble made Vader flinch. “She was Kurt’s mother. She had to be.”
“Do you think I can come in?”
“He’s calm. You can try.”
Jenna climbed over the rail and offered her hand to Vader to sniff. Quinn pulled out another mint and put it in her hand. “He likes these.”
“Good boy,” she praised as Vader gobbled the treat.
Quinn grabbed the arm of her sweatshirt and guided her in front of him, her back brushing against his chest. He took her hand in his, placing it on the thick slab of muscle in front of Vader’s shoulder blade. Together, they stroked down Vader’s neck. She relaxed as her fingers slid across the bulge of Vader’s strong shoulder.
“He’s so soft,” Jenna said, wonder in her voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt a horse this naturally silky. Amazing.”
“Not as amazing as you.”
Jenna stiffened and laughed. Ironic, and light on humor and heavy on condescension. A laugh that sounded like he wasn’t enough for her. Could never be enough for her. It landed like a roundhouse kick to the gut, shifting something inside. It hurt like hell, and he channeled that pain into anger.
“That the best line you got, Powell?”
He couldn’t read her dark mood, didn’t know what had gotten into her. “I was serious.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. Quinn stepped back, unbuckled Vader’s halter, and let it slide down the gelding’s long nose. If he didn’t leave now, he’d say something he’d regret. He turned and climbed over the round pen, Jenna right behind.
“You leaving? Is that your answer to everything?” Jenna said.
Seriously? Are we back to that? Already a few pissed-off strides ahead of her, Quinn stopped and turned, summoning superpowers he didn’t know he possessed to keep his tone even. “I’m going to bed. It’s late.”
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“We were talking.”
He pointed to where they’d been standing. “That wasn’t talking.” He stepped up into her personal space and lifted her chin with his finger. “You expecting me to invite you back to my cabin?” His tone, mocking’s close cousin. He couldn’t help it. Her laugh, her words, had burned him.
Coming back to the Lazy S had been a stupid, awful, terrible mistake. And the thought of getting involved with Jenna again made returning to the Lazy S look like the right decision.
He stepped closer, no longer caring whether the anger crept in. “You think we would go to my cabin. Get naked. Fu—”
She slapped him. His teeth sliced his sore tongue, and he tasted blood. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes sharpened enough to slice granite.
Funny, that slap almost made him feel better.
“Fuck you, Powell.”
Quinn, you stupid, stupid bastard. Quinn immediately regretted it. Regretted his words, regretted baiting her. She turned on her heel. He grabbed her elbow. “Jenna, wait.”
Her hand pulled out of her back pocket, and a palm-sized package fell from it. Quinn snatched it up before she could. “What’s this?”
She grabbed his hand, but his fingers held tight. “Give me the box, Quinn.”
What was she hiding? He wrestled his hand free, raising the box above his head. Out of reach.
She took a step back, and her hands dropped and slapped against her thighs. “You know what? Forget it. Take it. I won’t be needing it.”
Jenna turned toward the big house, a ground-eating stride he’d have to jog to keep up with.
“Jenna. Jenna, wait!”
She didn’t wait. She didn’t slow down.
Yeah, he had that coming.
He angled the box toward the moonlight and saw the logo of a Trojan warrior printed on the side.
* * * *
Jenna jumped into the shower, washing away smoke and horse and disillusion.
She should have known better.
She did know better.
She’d only seen in Quinn what she’d wanted to see. His drive. His determination. His loyalty—to Kurt and to his country.
His ass.
Stop that.
In truth, she was disappointed. Disappointed with herself. Disappointed that she still wanted him. Disappointed that she still loved him.
The sooner Kurt’s death got straightened out, the sooner Quinn could leave, and the sooner everything would be better.
Jenna threw on an oversized T-shirt and padded down the hallway to her room, Dink on her heels and a towel turban on top of her head. She closed the door and turned out the overhead light. The bedside lamp cast an inviting glow over her bed. The room was stuffy, so she opened the window and let the cool breeze wash over her skin.
“I owe you an apology.”
Jenna slapped a hand against her chest and stifled most of her scream. “Quinn? What are you doing up here?”
“I need to talk to you,” came the disembodied voice.
Jenna pulled the screen clear of her window in a well-practiced move from her younger days. Quinn sat on a limb of a tree that arched over the roofline in front of her window.
“We’re not kids anymore. You could have used the front door.”
“I didn’t want to wake your grandparents or Catherine.”
Jenna leaned out the window. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I’m here to apologize.”
“Great. Apology accepted.” Sincerity would cost extra, and she wasn’t ready to spend the effort on him. She reached for the window sash and had the window almost closed before his hand caught the bottom.
“Would you give me a minute?”
Jenna didn’t release the window.
“Let go.”
She crossed her arms and took a step back. He raised the window and held his hand out.
“What?” she said.
“Come out here with me.”
“It’s the roof.”
“You used to love it out here.” He waggled his fingers. “Come on, Jenn.”
She took his hand and let him help her out the window. They closed the window behind them and sat next to each other, the glass cool again
st her back. It wasn’t cold out, but it wasn’t warm, either. She tucked her knees to her chest and pulled her shirt down over them until she was covered to her ankles.
“What am I doing out here, Quinn?”
“Look, Jenn…” He wrinkled his nose, and his smile wavered. Jenna thought about making it easier for him. Decided against it. If he had something to say, she’d sit there until he said it. “Where did you get the condoms?”
“Seriously? You climbed up the tree to my second-story window, give me a heart attack, and convince me to climb out the window, all to ask me where I got a box of freaking condoms?” Her voice raced up the octave ladder, skipping rungs on the scramble up.
A grin slid over his face, and he bumped his shoulder against hers. “You haven’t left the ranch. Come on. Where?”
This is so embarrassing. She tucked her head into her knees and mumbled, “From the foreman’s house.”
Quinn huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You stole them from your father?”
“I didn’t steal them. Mac gave them to me.”
He chuckled again, and she couldn’t help laughing with him. “Stop. It isn’t funny.”
“Isn’t funny?” He raised her chin and made her look at him. “You’re right. It’s not funny. It’s hilarious. If your dad only knew.”
“I don’t think that would be quite so funny.” She eased her chin away. “Besides, I meant what I said. I won’t be needing them.”
“Don’t be making promises you can’t keep.” His cocky grin seemed forced around the edges. Like he was afraid she’d meant it—and not just because he wanted to get into her pants.
“If that’s all you came here to say, then I’m going to bed.”
He caught her arm. “Shit. No. Jenn, I…I came here because I was a complete ass.”
“No.” She stared out through the thick canopy of leaves to the sparkle of the stars beyond. The light coming through the bedroom window highlighted the red palm print on Quinn’s cheek. She brushed her fingertip across it. “Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not.” She got some teeth with Quinn’s smile.
“Okay, then I’m sorry I’m not sorry. How’s that for an apology?”
“I’ll take it.”
The breeze kicked up a notch, and goose bumps swept over her skin. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her shirt until only her hands were sticking out. They sat there in silence on the roof. Something skittered along the branch. An owl hooted.
Quinn put his arm around her shoulders. Jenna wanted to pull away, to push him off the roof, to tell him to go to California and not come back.
But mostly she wanted to sink into him and wish for a time when life was simple, when what mattered most was that they’d loved each other.
She settled for resting her head on his shoulder.
“I meant what I said,” Quinn started. “About how amazing you were. Are. And when you laughed me off”—he shrugged, his focus on a bent shingle on the roof—“it hit a raw nerve. Truth is, I haven’t been the most balanced since Kurt. Not that his death is any kind of excuse. That’s why I needed to apologize. Tonight.”
“Not my proudest moment, either.” She was as much to blame as him. She hadn’t been looking for a fight, but after leaving Mac’s with that undercurrent of jealousy fouling her mood, she’d been ready for one. His thumb traced tiny circles along her arm, seemingly unaware he was doing it. “I’m still not going to sleep with you.”
“Probably for the best.” He pulled the box of condoms out of his pocket and placed it in her hands, closing her fingers around it. “But I’ll tell you what. You keep them. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Is this some kind of game with you?” She wasn’t mad. She was asking.
“Isn’t love a game? Winners. Losers. Your lover’s heart the ultimate prize?”
“You believe that, or are you trying to get laid?”
“Pretty cynical.”
“I want to know where you stand. You know, level the playing field.”
“I want you. I won’t deny it. But I want more than your body.” The words didn’t come out smooth, dripping with charm. In fact, by his twisted smile, to find that truth out about himself, wasn’t easy for him to digest. Like it complicated matters instead of making them better.
Her heart jumped up and gave her lungs a high five, but her brain said, I’m not sure I believe that.
An emotion flicked across his face. So dark, so fast, she couldn’t read it. “Can I kiss you?”
She leaned away, letting the light from the window shine on him. His face held a mixture of hope and reservation.
She had no desire to hurt him.
Quinn, the man, was not the same person as Quinn, the teenager. And the same went for her. He’d changed.
Maybe not all for the better.
But the younger Quinn never would have scaled the tree to apologize. The younger Quinn wouldn’t have been so open and honest. The younger Quinn wouldn’t have exposed the soft underbelly of his vulnerability.
And as much as she wanted to kiss him, to put the crappy evening behind them and move forward, that wasn’t the smartest move.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All the seats at the breakfast table the next morning were full, even though Alby and Santos had left early that morning to check out a cattle auction near Laramie.
The conversation limited itself to the important things like “pass the salt.” There were a bunch of chores to do, and Pepita to ship off to school, so everyone was too busy eating to talk.
In the near-silence, they heard a truck pull up, and Dale leaned back from the table and peeked around the curtain. “Sheriff’s here.”
Catherine pushed her plate away. “I hope he’s found something. Would he be here this early if he hadn’t?”
Lottie got up and met St. John with a cup of coffee as he let himself into the kitchen with a perfunctory knock.
He accepted the mug with a nod of thanks. “Morning,” he said to everyone.
“Morning,” everyone chorused.
Pepita grinned. “That sounded like school when the teacher comes in.”
“I’ve got news.” The sheriff scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “It’s not good.”
“El Verdugo?” Pepita asked, her tone so flat and lifeless the buzzards might start circling.
Sidney stood. “Come on, sweetheart, why don’t I drive you to school.”
“I want to hear.”
“You go to school.” Boomer reached into his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and gave it to her. “We’ll tell you about it later.”
She took the money. The kid wasn’t stupid. “What’s this for?”
“The cuss jar. By the look on the sheriff’s face, I think I’ll owe you.”
Pepita hugged him around the neck. “Promise you’ll tell me?”
“No.” Boomer glanced at his wife and added, “But I promise to tell you what I can.”
“Okay,” she said, finally.
After they’d left, the sheriff leaned against the kitchen bar and set his coffee down without taking a sip. “The ME’s report was on my desk this morning. The official cause of death was ruled a heroin overdose, the manner labeled ‘undetermined’.”
“What does that mean?” Catherine asked.
“It means that the ME couldn’t tell whether it was suicide, homicide, or accidental.”
“Where do we go from here?” Hank asked. He glanced over at Mac, who was pushing her food around on her plate, and frowned.
“We’re continuing the investigation. But it means we can release the body for cremation.”
“Oh Lord, thank you,” Catherine said.
Lottie patt
ed Catherine’s hand. “That sounds like good news.”
“What’s the bad?” Quinn asked.
The sheriff took a careful sip of his coffee. “I sent a few deputies to the AA and NA meetings in the area. Asked a couple of neighboring jurisdictions to do the same. Bottom line, there could be ten or more women missing, and that’s only in a few counties. Difficult to extrapolate real numbers on that, though. Many of those women have been marginalized. They could show up today, tomorrow, or—”
“Never,” Jenna said.
“Or never,” St. John agreed.
Dale blew out a breath. “Jesus.”
“Hard to believe we have to worry about human trafficking in the middle of the goddamn United States,” Hank said.
“It’s more widespread than you’d think.” St. John took another sip. “Big business at the larger conventions, sporting events. Draws pimps and traffickers from all over the world.”
Catherine’s face went the color of Lottie’s bleached cloth napkins. “So, you think my Kurt was involved in this? In human trafficking?”
“Possibly,” the sheriff allowed. “But the phone texts he had with Crystal make me wonder if he’d found out about it, and that someone else didn’t like that.”
They all sat there, a little stunned. Plates were pushed away and no one nibbled. Everyone had lost their appetite. Except for Mac, Quinn noticed. She hadn’t had an appetite to begin with.
But the sheriff had listened to them and was taking the investigation seriously, and for the first time since Jenna had called and told him Kurt was dead, some of the tension eased from around Quinn’s chest, and he was finally able to take a full breath.
Now all Quinn had to do was hang around for Kurt’s cremation and beat his ass back to California. Back to his workouts. Back to getting up in the air.
“That’s not the bad news.” The sheriff dropped that bomb, and the reverberations hit Quinn in the chest. Adrenaline seeped into his system, cautiously, sparingly, as if his body knew it might need to conserve the precious commodity for the near future.