by Ilsa Mayr
By Friday there wasn't a corner of the house she hadn't scrubbed, shined, or straightened out.
Unexpectedly, that morning, Quint joined her in the kitchen. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he looked around. "Everything in the house sparkles. Any special reason for your cleaning frenzy?"
"Cleaning frenzy? Is that what it looked like to you?"
"Yes. I've never seen anyone clean like that."
Aileen shrugged. "Just spring cleaning. I usually do it just before summer school."
Quint frowned. "I thought you said you were done going to summer school?"
"I am. I'm talking about teaching summer school."
"Oh? You haven't mentioned teaching summer school."
Quint had crossed his arms across his chest. His green eyes were cool, guarded. Patiently she said, "I didn't mention it because I only received the call on Wednesday telling me I got the summer school assignment."
"That was two days ago."
His accusatory attitude annoyed Aileen. "I can count. I know it was two days ago."
"You didn't think it was important to tell your husband that you're planning to teach summer school? That this wouldn't affect me?"
"Don't worry. You'll get your meals on time."
"I'm not worried about my meals. I managed to get myself fed for quite a few years without your help. What I am worried about is your failure to tell me what you're doing. You act as if you lived in this house alone."
Aileen gulped before her voice could squeak past the anger that tightened her throat. "I act as if I lived in this house alone? When am I supposed to tell you anything? You're hardly in the house long enough to gobble down your food. Am I supposed to chase you down on the range? That is if I could even find you, since you don't bother to tell me what section you're working. You act as if the ranch belonged only to you!"
Quint's eyes narrowed. "I'm aware that I only own half the ranch. You don't need to remind me of that."
Aileen ignored his comment. "But even if I'd told you about summer school, you probably wouldn't have heard me."
"When haven't I listened to you?" he demanded.
"I invited you to attend the graduation ceremony with me. It was last Sunday afternoon. You said you would come. You didn't. I thought you could spare a couple of hours. Obviously I was wrong. Everything else is more important."
Quint smacked his forehead. "Aileen, I forgot. One of the tractors broke down and I just forgot. I am sorry."
"Sometimes sorry isn't enough."
"I know that, but you're wrong about everything else being more important."
"Really? You could have fooled me."
"Being sarcastic isn't going to help anything."
"Wrong. It helps me feel a little better." She walked towards the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To pull some weeds before they take over the garden." And vent her anger. Looking at him, she asked, "Is there anything else?"
"Don't be so darned polite. It drives me up the wall."
"I'm glad something makes you notice me, even it it's in a negative way."
"Oh, I notice you, believe me," Quint said.
"Really?"
"Really. Now, spit it out."
"Spit what out?"
"Whatever is making you so hopping mad at me. I didn't realize it before, but you are nail-spitting furious with me." Quint shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He waited, his temper carefully leashed.
"Really?"
"Aileen, nobody can invest more ladylike sarcasm in the word `really' than you can. I told you I was sorry I forgot about the graduation ceremony." His eyes narrowed. "But I've a hunch this is about something else. What? And if you say `really' again, I swear I'll let loose with a streak of words that'll blister your schoolmarm ears."
"All right, you asked for it. We've been married for a month, and in these four weeks we've been together less than in any one week before then. What kind of life is that?"
"There's just so much darn work that needs to be done right now," he said. That was true, but it was also easier to be out on the range than in the house near her where he could be tempted to grab her and kiss her senseless. All these weeks he'd been waiting for some sign from Aileen that she was ready to be his wife, but so far she'd remained as unapproachable as ever. In the meantime, he'd worked as hard as he could to prove himself to her. "There's a lot of work," he repeated.
Aileen tossed her hair. "Tell me something I don't know. But the work isn't going to slow down until November, if then. So, in the meantime, what do we do? Nod to each other as we pass in the hall? Grunt a good morning-"
"No, we don't. You want to live like that?"
"If I did, I wouldn't have brought up the subject."
This could be the sign he'd been waiting for. Quint was sure his palms were sweating. He felt his heart pound in his chest. Very casually he said, "We need to take some time off from work."
A voice outside called Quint's name. "The hands are waiting for me, but we'll go to a movie or do something else this weekend." When she didn't respond, Quint said, "Aileen, I'm asking you for a date."
Somewhat taken aback, she asked, "Really?"
"It may be a little unusual for a man to ask his wife for a date, but that's what I'm doing. How about going to a movie tomorrow night?"
"I'll look in the paper to see what's playing," she said, trying not to sound overly eager.
Quint smiled at her over his shoulder before he left.
Aileen hummed and executed a little dance step. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. They were only going to a movie. That was no reason to be so happy. Yet she was.
She sighed. All it took was a smile from Quint and a promise to spend time with her, and she was willing to forget all her grievances. Worse, she was willing to overlook that Quint had already forgotten his promise to keep her up to date on what he was doing.
Aileen shook her head, bemused. Is this what happened to women when they were strongly attracted to a man? They turned into pathetic creatures who grew weak at the sight of their man?
«You're sure there's nothing playing you'd like to see?" Quint asked as they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.
"I'm positive. The choice is between one of those sickeningly sweet animated films and a slasher movie."
Quint grimaced. "I could sit through the animated movie if I were taking our children, but not otherwise."
Our children. Aileen's heart skipped a beat. They had not discussed having children. But then they hadn't discussed much of anything recently.
"What else is there to do? I'm trying to picture the buildings along Main Street. Wasn't there a pool hall a little south of Ruby's Cafe?"
Aileen nodded. "If you want to play pool, we don't have to go all the way into town. There's a pool table downstairs."
"Oh yeah? You play?"
"No. Jack thought that pool was strictly a man's game."
"Not very open-minded of Jack," Quint remarked.
"He had fairly immovable opinions on many subjects. Want to go downstairs and take a look?"
"Sure. Lead the way."
Aileen did. When she turned on the lights, Quint whistled.
"This is some game room," he said, looking around.
Aileen touched the bar. She looked at her hand and shook her head. "I don't get down here as often as I should." She grabbed a bar towel and started polishing the lovely wood.
"Stop that," Quint said. "You've cleaned enough."
"It is a good-looking bar, isn't it? I remember Mom saying that they got it from an old saloon and had it refinished. The wood's mahogany and the rail is brass. If we ever get desperate for cash, we could probably sell it for a nice chunk of change. The pool table too, though I'm no expert on its quality."
Quint examined the table. "It's solid and well-made. Definitely not cheap." He examined the cue sticks in the rack on the wall. When he saw the long, narrow case, he whistled again. "Jack's?"
he asked.
Aileen nodded. "He never let anyone touch it, or his sticks."
"He must have been a serious pool player." Quint ran his finger over the finely-grained leather case.
"He was. He used to invite a bunch of men. They'd smoke cigars, sip bourbon, and play."
Touching the initials on the case, Quint asked, "Who's MJB?"
"Martin Jack Bolton. Jack's father. Your grandfather," she added softly. He looked startled. And, for a moment, pleased. Then his green eyes studied the cue stick with far greater interest than it merited.
"Know anything about him?" he asked, his tone casual.
"Not really. When I asked about him, Jack's face assumed that stony expression that clearly cut off all discussion. Now I wish I'd pressed him to elaborate. I'm sorry, Quint."
"You have nothing to be sorry about." Quint tested one of Jack's cue sticks.
"Where did you learn to play?" she asked.
"At the Duggans. One of the foster homes I stayed in."
"How old were you at the time?"
"Thirteen, going on fourteen."
"Wasn't that a little young to teach someone how to shoot pool?"
Quint shrugged. "Mr. Duggan thought I was old enough. And that I was a natural." Quint paused for a moment. "Looking back, I realize that he was a hustler. Know what that is?"
Aileen nodded.
"He taught me to play over the loud objections of his wife. She maintained that pool was the devil's game. Worse, it was gambling, one of the cardinal sins in her opinion." Quint grinned. "Never mind that she played bingo twice a week. I guess if you did it at the parish hall, it wasn't gambling."
"You sound as if you liked the Duggans."
"They were okay."
"How long did you stay with them?"
"A little over a year. She got sick, so the child care people split the kids up and placed us in other foster homes. I've often wondered what happened to the others."
Aileen kept quiet, not wanting to break into his reminiscences. Quint was sharing his past with her, something he had never done before unless she questioned him.
"Even after I left the Duggans', I didn't stop playing pool. I played as often as I had the chance and the money, and the pool hall owner didn't chase me out because I was too young."
"I suspect you were a little pool shark."
Quint grinned. "How'd you guess? But only until I was old enough to hold down a job and earn money legitimately."
"But you didn't stop playing then either?"
"No. I enjoy the game. And it's a good way to pass the time and keep from having to drink too much. You can nurse a bottle of beer through several games."
"You don't like to drink?"
"Not particularly. It slows down your reaction and your performance. When you're rodeoing, that's bad." Quint paused for a moment. With a suggestive grin, he added, "Drinking also slows down your performance in other activities. Activities I like even more than rodeoing."
When Aileen understood the implications of his statement, she felt warmth creep into her cheeks. To distract him, she turned on the radio. "Would you like a soft drink?"
"Not right now. Thanks. Why don't you come over here? I'll teach you to shoot pool."
"No, thanks. I don't think I'd be very good at it."
"You don't know that till you try. Come on, Aileen."
That soft, coaxing voice drew her like a magnet, even though she was sure she didn't want to learn to play pool. She stopped a couple of feet away from him and watched him test several cue sticks. He handed her one.
"This is how you hold it," Quint instructed, standing behind her and reaching around her with both arms to adjust the cue.
He was so close that his body pressed lightly against hers. She felt his breath feather against her temple. She recognized the pine scent of his soap and wondered how a simple soap could smell so good.
"Relax your grip, Aileen."
She tried, but her fingers seemed to be glued to the stick.
"You smell sweet, like caramel."
"You like caramel? I saw a recipe for caramel custard recently. Maybe I'll try fixing it one day."
"I do like caramel," he murmured. "Love the way it smells." And fate had given him a wife who smelled like that. He couldn't stop himself from pulling her closer.
"You're so tense," Quint murmured. "Relax."
Relax? How could she relax when his nearness made her knees shake? She had longed to be with Quint, but to talk, to get to know him, not to have her senses reel and her body grow weak. Aileen let go of the cue and ducked under Quint's arm. Quickly she moved several feet away.
"I don't think I can learn to play pool."
"Why not? It's not that hard."
"I'm not good at playing games."
"You also said you weren't good at dancing, and look at you now. Your moves take my breath away." Quint took her arm and pulled her against him again. "Turn around," he ordered. When she did, he placed her hand on the cue stick and his hand on hers.
Once again Aileen found herself imprisoned in his arms.
"You have a lot of undiscovered talents and abilities," he murmured.
"You think so?" Aileen's voice sounded throaty. She couldn't seem to breathe properly.
"The way you respond to music convinces me you'd respond as intensely with your other senses. You don't believe me?"
Aileen shrugged.
"Let's try an experiment." Quint took the cue stick from her hand and turned her to face him.
Aileen tried to put a little distance between them, but he had her trapped against the pool table.
"Close your eyes," Quint instructed.
"Why?"
"It's part of the experiment. Trust me." Seeing the wariness on her face, he realized that she probably wasn't comfortable with or used to being touched by men. She'd admitted to not having dated much in the past year or so, and Jack, he guessed, hadn't been a toucher. Gently he said, "I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."
She looked searchingly into his eyes. Then she nodded.
"Touch my face," he said softly. When she hesitated, he raised her hand to his cheek. "What do you feel?"
"Your skin. It's warm. Your beard's a little prickly, but, oddly enough, it's sort of a pleasing sensation," she added, surprised.
"Touch my hair."
Aileen had been wanting to do just that since she couldn't remember when. At first she touched his hair only with her fingertips. Then, boldly, she buried both hands in the black mane. His hair was thick and coarsely silken. "This feels good," she murmured.
Did it ever. Her caressing hands made Quint shiver.
"Time to test another sense," he whispered.
"Which one?"
"Taste. Kiss me."
Aileen's eyes snapped open. "Pardon?"
"You heard me."
"Um. Yes. Taste. I made a dessert. Why don't we taste it?" Nimbly she ducked out of his arms and hurried upstairs.
Quint stared after her in stunned disbelief. Then he grinned. What she needed was a different approach and a little more wooing. He could do that.
Upstairs Aileen soaked a paper towel in cold water and pressed it against her hot face. She couldn't believe she'd bolted upstairs like a coward. Except his sweetly whispered command to kiss him had caught her completely off guard. None of the men she'd dated had ever asked her to kiss them. They'd just grabbed her and pressed their lips against hers with varying degrees of expertise. Some of those kisses had been more pleasant than others. Quint's kisses, she suspected, would be quite awesome, if merely thinking about them made her heart pound.
She heard Quint enter the kitchen. Moments later music floated from the radio.
"The dessert can wait," he said. "How about a dance? Jennifer mentioned going to The Black Hat. They do mostly line dancing there."
"I don't know how to do that kind of dancing."
Her tone of voice told him that she'd pounced on that as an excuse. "Line dancing isn't har
d. And it's okay if you don't do it perfectly."
Aileen looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you feel it necessary to give me permission not to do something perfectly?"
"Because you won't give it to yourself." When she continued to look at him, he added, "Why do you think you're not into doing something on the spur of the moment?"
"Because I'm conservative by nature?"
"Maybe, but Jack's insistence on being perfect sure didn't help."
"No, it didn't," she admitted, astonished by this insight. "But I'm also not a risk taker."
"Yeah, right! You take risks every day. How do you know that you're getting through to those kids? You don't, but you spend all that energy and time on them. Maybe years down the road one or two of them will come back and tell you that you had a big influence on their lives, but right now? You're gambling and taking risks."
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Aileen admitted.
"And then you live on a ranch. If ranching in this day and age isn't taking risks, I don't know what is."
"You're right."
"Okay then. Come on." Quint held his hand out to her.
"What, right now? We're line dancing in this kitchen?"
"Why not? It's big enough. We have plenty of room."
"Remember, dancing doesn't come naturally to me the way it comes to you."
"Hush. You'll be okay."
"So, what steps are you going to teach me?"
"Depends on what music's playing." Quint didn't let go of her hand while they waited for the commercial to end. "Did you know there are actually teachers out there who teach the steps without music? How can you dance without music? That's ripping the soul out of dancing." He shook his head. "Ah. Listen. A country-western cha-cha."
"You're kidding, right?"
Quint grinned. "No. There really is such a thing as a cowboy cha-cha. It goes like this."
Quint demonstrated, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. Aileen watched. He made it seem effortless. Graceful. Even sexy. Very sexy. This wasn't going to be easy. Thank heaven, he wasn't going to touch her. Still, even being close to him was enough to fluster her and impair her concentration.