Wiping under her eyes, Rainie asked, “So what is the solution?”
Loni met Ceara’s gaze. “I completely understand that you were raised with strict rules to govern your every word and action. None of us are faulting you. Please know that. But you must find a way, while remaining true to your own code as a lady, to tell Quincy that you enjoyed being with him and want to be with him again.”
Ceara truly did want to be with Quincy that way again, but she wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be with her. “’Tis possible that me husband finds me unattractive in that way. I am reluctant to press him fer attention if he isna so inclined.”
“That’s just plain silly,” Rainie inserted. “That day when we were shopping, he could barely take his eyes off you. He doesn’t find you unattractive, I promise.”
“It’s just that he isn’t certain you find him attractive,” Loni pointed out. “In this day and age, men are accustomed to women who have no problem speaking their minds about sex or telling a man what they like or don’t like. From Quincy’s point of view, he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to press you into making love with him again unless he’s positive you really want to. Do you?”
With a swift mental apology to her mother, Ceara took the plunge. “I really want to. But all the ways I have tried to let him know have failed to work.” She leaned toward Loni. “What words must I say to him?”
Loni lifted her goblet and drank the rest of her wine in three big swallows. “I think the thing you will feel most comfortable with is to slightly change your ladylike response to Quincy. Instead of telling him you will not object to his advances, can you be so bold as to say that you will welcome them? It’s a matter of changing only a couple of words.”
Ceara considered that suggestion and finally nodded. “’Tis not strictly ladylike to tell a man ye will welcome his advances, but it isna completely brazen to do so, either. I think I can say that.”
“Problem solved,” Mandy inserted.
“Not completely,” Rainie corrected. She settled a solemn gaze on Ceara. “No more mentioning pigs, okay? Leave all the barnyard animals out of it.”
Ceara felt that was unfair. “When I told him I felt it was much nicer than what happens between pigs, I meant it as a grand compliment.”
Everyone at the table except Ceara went limp with laughter again.
Rainie suddenly shot up her arm, reminding Ceara of her childhood when she’d been tutored with her older brothers and had waved her hand high to garner the attention of their teacher. Everyone at the table stopped laughing and talking.
Rainie fixed a questioning gaze on Ceara. “When I took you shopping, I didn’t think to buy any lingerie. You’re not still wearing that flannel granny nightgown to bed, are you?”
Ceara shifted uncomfortably on her chair, sensing that she’d made a huge mistake by wearing the garment. “’Tis a verra comfortable and warm gown. I quite like it.”
At least no one laughed this time. Dee Dee looked solemn and said, “Oh, you sweet dear.” Loni shook her head and said, “Well, that won’t do.” Rainie covered her face with her palms and said, “Well, shit.” Mandy was the last to comment, with a question directed to Rainie. “You bought a bride a granny gown? What on earth were you thinking?”
The next thing Ceara knew she was being ushered upstairs to Loni and Clint’s bedchamber, with Dee Dee supporting their weak hostess as they made the climb. Once they were all inside the room with the door closed, Rainie said, “Which is your lingerie drawer, Lonikins?”
Loni, now lying on her bed with her shoulders propped up against fluffed pillows, directed her sister-in-law to the proper drawer of her walk-in closet, and moments later Ceara’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head when she saw the skimpy bits of lace that these women expected her to wear in order to entice her husband.
“I canna,” was all Ceara could think to say. “There is no cloth. I canna possibly.”
“Honey, you don’t buy lingerie for what there is,” Dee Dee assured her. “You buy it for what there isn’t.”
Loni silenced the feminine chatter with, “Ceara’s right. We have to find something that’s sexy but also concealing enough that she’ll feel comfortable in it. She won’t be very seductive if she’s so embarrassed she’s trying to hide herself.” Loni sat forward on the bed, bracing her elbows on her spread knees. “Dig deeper, Rainie. I have a beautiful black camisole slip in there. It reaches almost to my knees. She won’t feel as naked in that, and there’s also a black lace peignoir.”
The mentioned garments were finally unearthed, and Ceara’s heart started to beat double-time. “I canna,” she protested, but all the other women in the room said, “Oh, yes, you can.”
Loni laughed weakly. “Clint detested my Winnie the Pooh pajamas when we first hooked up. The first thing he did after we got married was give me fifteen hundred dollars to buy sexy lingerie. He goes wild over red lace, but that might not work with Ceara’s coloring.”
Rainie groaned. “Like Quincy will notice a clash with her hair if she’s in lace and nothing else?”
Ceara was herded to the bathroom to try on the black ensemble. She was pleased with what they called “the camisole slip.” It was loose. ’Twas not see-through. Though it was low-cut with tiny strings for shoulder straps, at least she didn’t feel completely exposed in it. And the black lace peignoir was lovely, giving her the sensation that she was wearing layers.
When she stepped from the bathroom, Dee Dee and Sam clapped their hands. Rainie pointed a thumb toward the ceiling and nodded. Loni sank back against the pillows and smiled her approval. Mandy giggled and said, “Poor Quincy, he’s a goner and doesn’t even know it.”
Ceara glanced down at herself. Then she fixed a bewildered gaze on the women, who’d somehow come to feel like her best friends during the “hen party.” Throat as dry as parchment, she swallowed hard and said, “So if I wear this, the words Quincy needs to hear from me will be unnecessary?”
Dee Dee’s plump face cracked in a huge grin. “Honey, a getup like that speaks its own language. If Quincy doesn’t take the bait, you come see me tomorrow. I’ll have his father take him to the woodshed for a man-to-man talk.”
Chapter Ten
As Quincy walked from Clint’s arena back toward the house with his father and brother, he slapped his leather gloves on his jeans to rid them of dust and straw before tucking them over his belt. Clint hit the front veranda steps first, bending to pat Bubba and Billy Bob on their heads as he gained the porch. Frank followed second, and Quincy took the rear, his nostrils already catching the faint but delicious aroma of freshly baked apple pie. His mouth started to water. And wasn’t that a hell of a note? He’d been married to Ceara only a little over a week, and already his taste buds were staging a full-blown rebellion for high-fat foods and sweets.
He stopped to give each of his dogs a good scratch behind the ears. “Followed your lady over here, did you?” Bubba lolled his tongue, his long-nosed face flashing what could only be a blissful grin. Sparing a hand for the other Aussie, Quincy asked, “How’s it going, Billy Bob? You in love with her, too, or just riding shotgun to keep your brother out of trouble?”
Quincy heard Clint open the door that led into the kitchen, the trudge of boots crossing the threshold. He straightened and caught the screen to slip inside right behind his dad. The Harrigan women—all six of them—were a glorious sight gathered around the table, each of them beautiful in her own way. They were giggling like schoolgirls, heads angled forward, voices pitched low, so intent on the exchange that it took them a moment to realize that men had entered the room.
When realization struck, instant silence descended. Shoulders snapped straight, and suspiciously innocent-looking smiles replaced the laughter. As Quincy doffed his hat, he noticed two wine bottles on the table, one already a dead soldier, the other only half-full. Apparently the hen party hadn’t quite ended. He stepped to the coat tree with his brother and dad to hang his Stetson, hoping
Ceara would be willing to leave soon. He was hungry for some lunch.
As Quincy turned back toward the table, he got the uncomfortable sense that he had been the main topic of the women’s conversation. A blush rode high on Ceara’s cheeks. His sister Sam’s eyes danced with mischief, and she avoided meeting his gaze. Mandy looked as happy as a barn cat that had just lapped up a whole bowl of cream.
“There they are, our hungry men!” Dee Dee vacated her chair to descend on the refrigerator. “Squeeze over, ladies. I made a second platter of sandwiches and an extra apple pie.”
“Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit,” Frank said with a laugh. “I told the boys we wasn’t invited and would be lucky if you even saved us some pie.”
Dee Dee rolled her eyes. “You weren’t invited, but that doesn’t mean I intended to let you starve.” She jerked her head toward the downstairs bath. “Go wash up. Coffee’s fresh. We can crack open another bottle of wine if you’re in the mood, or you can swipe one of Clint’s beers.”
Quincy got first dibs on the washbasin, which Clint had special-ordered to be extra-wide and nearly deep enough to double as a toddler’s wading pool. Quincy had liked it so well that he’d gotten one similar to it for his own downstairs bath. When a rancher came in after a hard day, a simple wash of the hands didn’t cut it. He needed to push back his shirtsleeves and scrub to the elbows, plus stick his head under the faucet. Loni kept a large basket of bath towels beside the sink, which not only served a man well for drying off, but were great for wiping water off the counters after a good splash and shake.
Gazing at himself in the mirror, Quincy slipped a comb from his back pocket to restore order to his damp hair. Sex. The women had been talking about sex. He felt certain of it. No other topic could incite that much tittering and blushing. Quincy didn’t mind that females whispered among themselves about such things, but he had a really bad feeling that today’s exchange had been centered on him and what had or hadn’t happened between him and his wife since their wedding night. Shit. What had Ceara told everyone about their one-and-only time together? That it had been awful, good, spectacular, or somewhere in between? He wished he could have been a fly on the wall to listen in on that conversation. Then again, maybe his dad had it right, and nobody who eavesdropped ever heard anything good about themselves.
After Quincy reentered the kitchen, his dad and brother took their turns washing up, and then the women made room for the three men at the table. Ceara patted the chair to her right and dimpled a cheek at Quincy in invitation. Once he was settled beside her, she rested her hand on his thigh. Quincy angled a thoughtful glance at her. Then Dee Dee distracted him with the platter of itty-bitty sandwiches, and his growling stomach shoved all thoughts but hunger from his mind.
Clint opened the fridge and asked over his shoulder, “Who’s up for a beer?”
“Count me in,” Quincy said. Everyone at the table settled a startled gaze on him. “Hey,” he said. “The rest of the family indulges. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Hallelujah!” Mandy laughed and leveled a finger at Ceara. “You’re good for him, girlfriend. He’s finally coming down off his health-nut pedestal and eating normally, like the rest of us.”
Quincy almost shot back that healthful eating was not abnormal, but after living with Ceara for more than a week, he was coming to realize that maybe—just maybe—he had carried his strict dietary guidelines a little too far. Out of sheer boredom, possibly. When a man had no wife or family, he had to fill up his life with something. Quincy had chosen to fixate on green smoothies, kale wraps, Swiss chard stir-fries, and grueling nightly workouts at the gym.
Dee Dee’s finger sandwiches were melt-in-the-mouth good, rich with butter, mayonnaise, and layered deli-cut meats. “These are wonderful,” Quincy told her. “I’d forgotten just how good stuff like this tastes.” He accepted the long-neck that Clint handed him. Before taking a slug, Quincy lifted the bottle to Mandy in a mock toast. “To unhealthy eating. It may be a fast track to the cemetery, but at least we’ll enjoy the ride.”
“Enjoying the ride is very important.” Mandy grinned and chinked her nearly empty wineglass against his beer bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Oh, yes, Quincy. It is,” Rainie put in, slanting her eyes at him in a wicked glance.
“Be careful with my crystal,” Loni complained at the head of the table. “That’s Waterford, I’ll have you know. Clint bought me eight goblets and a punchbowl set for Christmas.”
Sam gasped. “No!” She looked over at Quincy. “Please tell me that isn’t the punchbowl you got out for Aliza’s birthday party.”
“I’ll buy her another one if it was damaged,” Quincy offered.
Clint sat at the corner of the table beside his wife. After gently kissing her cheek, he said, “Speaking of Aliza, when’re your folks and Aislinn bringing the kids back?”
“Five-ish,” Loni answered. “They’re visiting the High Desert Museum just south of Bend. Apparently there’s a special raptor exhibition, and Aliza wanted to see all the outdoor stuff as well. Trev is excited about seeing the sawmill. On certain days, it’s in operation. He’ll be thrilled if they hit it lucky.”
“Your folks and grandmother will be beat.” Clint filled his plate with sandwiches. “It was nice of them to take the kids for the day and give you some quiet time.”
“Those outdoor walkways may be icy at this time of year,” Sam interjected. “I know they’re shoveled, but that doesn’t make the slopes safe. I hope Aislinn doesn’t slip and break a hip or something.”
Quincy pictured Aislinn and chuckled. “It’ll take more than a slippery slope to get the better of that old gal.”
Just then, Zach and Parker stepped inside, Mojo, Parker’s rottweiler, rushing in ahead of them to dance in circles with Bubba and Billy Bob, who’d also darted in from the porch. Nana and Hannah, who’d been snoozing in the corner of the kitchen, jumped up to greet their furry friends. The two men grabbed chairs, waited for people to make room, and then sat beside their wives.
Hunger appeased, Quincy relaxed on his chair to enjoy the rest of his beer. Aside from the kids and Loni’s parents, only Tucker, Sam’s husband, was missing to make this a full-fledged family gathering. Quincy hadn’t planned to stay after helping Clint catch up in his stables, but Ceara seemed to be enjoying herself, and when Quincy considered the alternatives, he honestly couldn’t think of anyplace he’d rather be.
Unless, of course, it was at home, making passionate love to his wife. Yeah, right. Quincy didn’t figure that was going to happen anytime soon, so he got up to get another beer.
* * *
Ceara couldn’t stop looking at the paper sack on Loni’s kitchen counter. It held the black camisole slip and lace peignoir, which Rainie had christened “Ceara’s seduction outfit.” To Ceara, the bag stood out like a sore thumb, and she fretted that Quincy might notice it and, even worse, ask what was in it. He would definitely be curious when she collected the sack before they left for home. Ceara didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want the surprise to be ruined, either. Dee Dee and all her sisters-in-law insisted that Ceara needed to set the right mood tonight—candlelight, champagne, romantic music on the iPad-controlled stereo. Ceara still couldn’t work the stereo, but she had high hopes of convincing Quincy to turn it on for her—somehow. Maybe she could say she wished to listen to music while they cooked dinner.
Clint glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we all have dinner here,” he suggested. “Make a family night of it. I can thaw some steaks, crank up the barbecue. It’ll be fun.”
“I’m in,” Frank said.
“Me, too,” Zach seconded.
Dee Dee lifted a red eyebrow at her husband. “We have other plans, dear.”
Frank frowned. “We do?” When Dee Dee returned his scowl, he quickly added, “That’s right. We got plans. You kids go ahead without us.”
“Count me and Zach out,” Mandy inserted quickly. “We have plans, too.” When Zac
h started to speak, Mandy laid a finger against his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. Remember our special date?”
With a befuddled expression, Zach nipped at his wife’s fingernail. “Me, forget a special date? You gotta be kidding.”
“Tucker’s on call all weekend,” Sam said. “We’ve learned never to make commitments. Sure as the world, an emergency comes up. Maybe next weekend.”
Loni smiled. “Next weekend would be much better for me.” She settled a smiling blue gaze on Ceara. “It’s been a fun day, but I’m fading fast.”
Clint switched instantly into concerned husband mode. “Oh, honey, you should have said something. Let me carry you upstairs. You probably need a nap.”
“I can walk, Clint. Otherwise I’ll never get my strength back.”
“To hell with that,” he said, sweeping his frail wife up into his arms.
Quincy took that as his cue to start clearing the table, and everyone else jumped up to help. Family members visited one another’s homes so often that nobody but Ceara had a problem finding the trash bin, plastic wrap, or dishwasher soap. Soon the machine was humming, and the kitchen was spotless—except for a lone paper sack on the counter. Quincy was just reaching for it when Ceara snatched it from under his hand.
“’Tis mine.”
“Really?” Quincy studied her upturned face. Flags of deep pink slashed her cheeks. Her gaze jerked nervously from his when he tried to look her in the eye. Red alert. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” The flush of her cheeks deepened to a rosy red. “’Tis a small gift from Loni. As ye say, no big deal.”
Quincy guessed that a little secret here and there was probably healthy for a marital relationship. Not that he and Ceara actually had one yet. And he was starting to worry that they never would.
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