by Ilsa Mayr
"Why would he?" she asked.
"Sounds to me like the actions of a man in trouble."
Aileen continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I always thought Dad was honest and honorable. But apparently I didn't know him at all. First you and now this. We lived in the same house for a quarter of a century, and I have no idea who he was!"
Quint laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. When she raised her face to look at him, he saw tears glisten in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I know it's tough when somebody disappoints us. Especially if we care about that person."
"I should have guessed that something was wrong."
"How?"
"By lots of small things. Like when I first got my job, we split payments of the household expenses. Then I noticed that he was no longer depositing money into that account, so I started to pay everything." Aileen shook her head. "Even before that, there were plenty of signs, but I didn't interpret them correctly."
"What signs?"
"When I started college, he gave me spending money. The summer after my freshman year I took part in a special research project that paid a very nice stipend. After that, he no longer offered spending money. That was okay. I got a part-time job in the library."
"What else? You said there were plenty of signs."
"Halfway through my sophomore year, he asked me to live at home and commute. That surprised me because the campus wasn't all that close. He claimed that the cleaning woman wasn't doing a good job anymore."
"Now you think these things were signs that the ranch wasn't doing well?"
"I'm not sure, but what else could they mean?"
"Maybe he was lonely and missed you and wanted you back home," Quint suggested.
"I wish!"
"Explain that."
"Looking back over the years, he never seemed to want my company. When Dad came to my school functions, which wasn't often, I'm pretty sure it was because Mom absolutely insisted. After her death we hardly spent any time together, even after I moved back home."
"Maybe he thought you needed the time to study."
"I did, but every single evening? In retrospect, the only reason for his asking me to live at home had to be financial." Aileen frowned. "Are you defending him?"
Quint chuckled without humor. "The sun won't rise on the day I defend Jack Bolton. Trust me on that."
"Then why are you trying to make me think better about him? Make me think he cared about me?"
"Because I cannot imagine that he couldn't care about you. Me, he didn't know, so it was easy not to care about me, but you?" Quint shook his head.
"You're trying to make me feel better. Thanks, but it isn't necessary," she claimed, knowing that this wasn't true. Deep down she still yearned for her father's love, just as she had always yearned for his approval.
"So, what are we going to do about this IRS bill?" she asked, needing to change the subject. "Idon't have twentyfive thousand dollars lying around."
"I don't either."
"Which means we have to borrow the money. You agree?"
"I hate to borrow money, but I don't see what other choice we have."
"I'll make an appointment with the banker."
After school on Monday, Aileen met Quint at the bank.
Greetings and pleasantries exchanged, the vice president asked, "What can I do for you?"
Aileen explained their tax situation.
"Are you requesting a second mortgage on the ranch?" the bank officer asked.
Aileen stared at the man for several heartbeats before she was able to process this devastating statement. "What do you mean, a second mortgage? There hasn't been a mortgage on the Triangle B in...I don't know how long."
"Actually, never. Not until Jack Bolton mortgaged the place four years ago," the vice president said. "I'd advise against taking on a second mortgage. If you can manage to pay the IRS any other way, do it."
"Why on earth did he take out a mortgage?" Aileen asked, her voice shaky, her expression bewildered.
"He told me he'd started to play the stock market and didn't do so well."
Aileen barely repressed a despairing moan.
"How big is the mortgage?" Quint asked.
She heard the sum and swayed as if poleaxed. Aileen suspected that only Quint's steadying hand on her arm kept her from sliding out of her chair in a dead faint. In a daze she heard the men discuss the mortgage, refinancing, interest rates, and other options, such as drilling for oil.
Drilling for oil? The words penetrated Aileen's numb mind. "That's not an option," she said. "Absolutely not. Mom always opposed the idea of despoiling the land. I do too."
"And I'm not in favor of a second mortgage," Quint said. "How about you, Aileen?"
She shook her head. "Only as a last resort."
"Then we'll have to come up with other options."
Before they left, the vice president assured them that if he could be of service, they should call him.
Aileen seemed to be in a state of near shock. Without hesitation, Quint led her to Ruby's Cafe down the street. He steered her to a table by the window.
The waitress set down two glasses of water. "You folks want coffee?"
"Yes, and bring us two pieces of apple pie with ice cream," Quint said.
He studied Aileen's face. It seemed drained of all color.
"How could he do that? Mortgage the ranch? After Mom repeatedly told about how several local ranchers during the Depression lost their land because they'd mortgaged it? She would sooner have sold herself on the streets of Cheyenne than have taken out a mortgage."
The waitress brought their order. As soon as she left, Aileen continued in the same tortured, stunned tone. "What possessed him to play the stock market? He knew nothing about it. Dad was a rancher, for heaven's sake. Though I'm beginning to think he wasn't a good one."
"Seems to me Jack was a desperate man. He hadn't done well with the ranch, so he thought he'd recoup his losses by playing the stock market," Quint said.
"Then why not go to a reputable stockbroker?"
"That would be like admitting that he wasn't...perfect?" Quint shrugged. "I didn't know him, so that's only a guess."
"It's a fairly accurate guess. He liked everything to be perfect." She pressed the palms of her hands against her forehead. "I don't believe any of this!"
"Aileen, eat your pie."
"I don't think I can."
"Yes, you can. I'm not having you pass out on me." Quint picked up her fork, scooped up some pie and ice cream, and held it out to her. "Eat."
"I'm not going to faint."
"I'll believe that when you get some color in your face. Now eat. This is first-class pie." He kept holding the fork until, with a sigh, she let him place the food into her mouth. "Good girl. Just a few more bites."
Aileen rolled her eyes. "Give me that fork," she said, half amused, half ticked-off.
"Not until you promise to eat."
"How can I, with the IRS breathing down our neck? You know they take people's property in payment for back taxes? We could lose the ranch!"
"We won't."
"And you know exactly how we're going to prevent that?"
"Maybe. With your help, we can figure this out. Look at the last form in the envelope the IRS sent."
"Why?" Aileen asked, even as she was taking the envelope from her handbag.
"I think there was a section asking how much the initial payment was going to be and how much we could pay monthly."
"The Internal Revenue Service has an installment plan?" Aileen asked, her voice disbelieving. She flipped to the section Quint had mentioned. "I can't believe this! You were right!" Aileen rooted through her bag until she found a pen. On the back of the envelope she feverishly wrote columns of numbers.
"What are you doing?"
"Listing our monthly living expenses to see how much we need and how much we could pay out of my salary."
"Aileen, I can't let you do
this alone."
"You're not. The profit from the ranch, which will largely depend on you, will be responsible for the mortgage payments, the salaries and insurance premiums for the hands, property taxes, etcetera, etcetera. So you see, you'll contribute more than your share."
"Well, if you put it that way-"
"I do put it that way because that's the way it is." Aileen pushed the envelope toward him. "The circled figure is the amount we can send the IRS every month. Below that is how much I can take from my savings account for the initial payment."
Aileen picked up her fork and started to eat. Surprised, she said, "This is excellent pie and ice cream."
"I told you it was." Quint studied the figures. "I can match the amount for the first payment."
"Are you sure? I don't want you to be caught short."
"I can get by with very little, as long as you feed me."
"No problem." Aileen scraped up the last bit of pie. Then she stopped, dismayed. "Oh no! I've eaten the whole thing! First I skipped aerobics because of the bank appointment, and now I consumed hundreds of extra calories. My hips will spread and spread, and it's all your fault."
"And I have the perfect solution."
"What?" she asked, seeing the sparkling light in his green eyes. He leveled one of his sexy grins at her. Aileen could feel her toes curl. "What's your solution?"
He took her hand and entwined their fingers. "Tonight I'll waltz you around the kitchen. Dancing burns lots of calories. When we get tired of waltzing, I'll teach you to rumba, mamba, and samba. Maybe even to polka."
"You know how to polka?" she asked, suppressing a grin.
"Don't laugh. The polka is a lot of fun."
"If you say so," she said, smiling at him. With her peripheral vision she saw someone stop at their table.
"Sam, look who's here."
It couldn't be Myrtle Jensen, Aileen thought, but it was. Guiltily she tried to tug her hand from Quint's. He wouldn't let her.
"Good evening, Mrs. Jensen, Mr. Jensen. How are you?" Quint asked in a calm, conversational tone. "We'd ask you to join us, but we were just leaving." He let go of Aileen's hand to reach for the check. "Excuse us."
"Nice to see both of you," Aileen murmured and followed Quint to the cashier's station by the door. She felt Myrtle's speculative, triumphant, malevolent glance follow her all the way.
"Ididn't think the day could get any worse, but I was wrong," Aileen said when she arrived at the ranch right after Quint. She dumped her briefcase and purse on the hall table and slumped against it dejectedly.
"Are you referring to Myrtle Jensen?" he asked.
"Who else? Did you see that `Aha! I got you' expression on her face? She caught us holding hands in public and, for her, that's proof of her basest suspicions about us."
"I'm not thrilled about her seeing us holding hands, but it's no big deal." Quint shrugged. "Aileen, aren't you overreacting?"
"Ordinarily it wouldn't be a big deal, but we live in the same house! That colors everything."
"I suppose it does," Quint said, his expression thoughtful. "But what can she do? Spread gossip? Don't you think people around here know what she's like?"
"Yes, but there will be talk. And then the whole `where there's smoke, there's fire' mentality will take over. This is a small, rural community."
"Ignore the talk. It's the best approach. Believe me. Don't get involved in defending or denying anything. If you do that, people will wonder if there's truth to the rumors."
"Maybe you're right," Aileen murmured.
"What do you want to do now? Dance naked around the kitchen?" Quint asked with a mischievous expression.
Aileen rolled her eyes.
"I was only kidding. We need a little humor. How about me saddling up a couple of horses and we go for a ride?"
"No, thanks. What I want to do is go into the den and fill out the forms for the IRS. And go over our finances. Maybe later you can teach me to polka. With our clothes on.,,
"Darn. You know how to take the fun out of the polka." Quint retreated to the den before she could say anything else.
Aileen made a pot of coffee, filled two mugs, and carried them into the den.
"I haven't gone through all the desk drawers yet. Maybe I can find some of Dad's tax stuff." In the bottom drawer she found a yellowed envelope. She opened it and took out a photo.
"What's that?" Quint asked.
Aileen looked at the back of the photo. "It's labeled, `Mom, Jack, and Linda.' "She held out the photo for Quint to see. "This could be your grandmother. And Linda could be your aunt. Isn't this exciting?" She watched him shrug and turn his attention back to the papers. "There's no address, so we can't trace them. That's too bad."
Quint ignored her comment, concentrating on last year's monthly reports posted by the accountant. He frowned.
"That bad?" she asked, putting the photo away.
"That puzzling. Run right, the Triangle B should not only break even, but show a decent profit."
"It obviously was profitable while Mom was alive."
Quint leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what it was like back then. Close your eyes and picture the ranch."
Aileen closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she said, "We had chickens. I remember I liked feeding them. And we had two or three milk cows. Even a bunch of pigs. And Mom and Martha put in the biggest vegetable garden you can imagine. All summer long, we canned, froze, dried, and `put up' food, as Martha called it, to last all winter."
"You already mentioned that you used to plant alfalfa and clover for hay. Bob told me you even grew your own oats for the horses. The ranch was practically selfsufficient."
Aileen nodded. "After Mom died, I remember Dad standing on the porch, giving orders to the men. Before her death, he used to ride out with them. At least most of the time."
"In other words, Jack Bolton didn't like hard work," Quint concluded.
Aileen gasped and touched his hand. "Quint, I'm sorry. He was your biological father. I didn't mean to imply that-"
"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it. And I'm fairly sure I didn't inherit his gene for laziness."
"I'm positive you didn't!"
"Thanks." Quint smiled at her before turning his attention back to the reports. "What's `Racing, Inc.'?"
"Some horse racing scheme Dad was briefly involved in."
"Horse racing is very expensive and uncertain. It's lots safer to breed good-looking horses for people who want to ride. By the way, Sweepstake has been busy. We should get a nice crop of colts and fillies next spring which we can sell the spring after that."
"That's great. I hope you haven't overexerted him." Aileen felt herself color when she realized what she'd said.
"He loves his work. Hasn't complained once," Quint replied, his voice solemn, but there was a twinkle in his eyes and a quiver around his lips.
"I could say something about the similarities among all males across the species, but I won't." Aileen gestured, dismissing the subject. "Anyway, Racing, Inc. wasn't a total flop. We got several good mares out of the disaster."
Quint turned the page. "What was `Air Service'?"
"I remember that fiasco. It was a transportation scheme designed to service outlying ranches. It went bankrupt."
"That seems to be the pattern: Jack dreamed up or got sucked into get-rich-quick schemes, all of which lost money. Then he'd borrow more, trying to recoup what he'd lost. That's a sucker's strategy." Quint shook his head.
"At least we know what not to do."
Quint leaned forward. For emphasis he touched her hand. "Aileen, if we can hang on for the next two years, we'll survive and start making a profit. But these two years will be tough," he warned.
"I know that. You think I can't hack it, cowboy?"
"I know you can. You're an amazing woman. I just want to be sure that you really want to work that hard and live without frills and luxuries for that long. I need to know that now. Once we start, I don't want to have to quit
short of the goal."
"I'm not a quitter." Then, matching his tone in intensity and seriousness, she added, "This is my home. I've always lived here. I'll do anything to keep it." Aileen picked up her mug and raised it. "Here's to two years of simple living and hard work."
"I'll drink to that," Quint said and saluted her.
Before school Aileen thought that some of her colleagues were looking at her speculatively or slyly, but she couldn't be sure. When she entered the teachers' lounge during her prep period for a cup of coffee and all eyes zeroed in on her, she knew she hadn't imagined those glances.
"Wow. Talk of still waters running deep," Janice, the school nurse, said. "All this time I worried about you living like a nun and rapidly becoming a dried-up old maid, and it turns out you've got a hunk stashed away on that ranch of yours."
Maryann leaned forward, her expression eager. "Is he as hot as he looks? Come on, tell all."
Aileen's mouth nearly dropped open. How could Maryann, who had known her for years, assume she'd answer such a question? "On second thought, this coffee looks stale. I think I'll skip it. I've got some grading to do," she murmured and walked out of the lounge.
That afternoon she fled from school the moment the last bell stopped ringing.
As soon as Aileen got to the ranch, she changed clothes and hurried into her garden. One third of the vegetable plot had been roughly tilled. It now needed to be raked into fine soil. She picked up the rake. Nothing like pulverizing clumps of dirt to get over the embarrassing scene in the lounge.
Quint called Aileen's name as soon as he entered the house, but there was no response. Her car was parked in front of the house and her briefcase and purse were on the hall table. The kitchen was empty too. Whatever she had put into the crock pot that morning smelled delicious. His stomach growled in anticipation.
Where was she? Quint walked to the bottom of the stairs and called her name again. He had never been upstairs. Without ever having discussed it, he knew this was her domain. It would be prudent for him to stay out of it. But what if she was ill? Throwing caution aside, he climbed the stairs two at a time. Since it took her only moments to run down the stairs, he figured that hers had to be the first room off the landing. The door stood partially open. He knocked and called her name.