Cold Night, Warm Stranger

by Jill Gregory

  "I'm so sorry," she cried as she trod on Lucky's booted foot.

  "Think nothing of it." He grinned as he noticed that Quinn had turned to stare at them. "Aw shucks, your husband's got his eye on us. Promise you'll put flowers on my grave."

  "Don't be silly. Quinn won't care who I dance with."

  He gave a burst of laughter. "Sure he will. He hates it when another man so much as looks at you, much less talks to you, or makes you smile. He's not really afraid of me doing it, because he knows I respect a married woman," he explained smugly, "and besides, I'm more naturally drawn toward, uh, certain other kinds of women, but you just watch what happens if Slim or Grady or Jethro Plum asks you for a dance."

  "Don't be silly," she said again, stunned by what he was saying and totally at a loss. With an effort she forced herself to turn the conversation back in the direction she had decided upon.

  "My, doesn't Nell Hicks look pretty tonight."

  "She here?"

  But his voice was too casual. Maura would have bet money that he'd already spotted Nell and seen for himself.

  "There she is, in that pink-and-white-gingham dress. Oh, her hair is curled so prettily, don't you think?"

  "I can't tell from here."

  "Perhaps you should go closer then," Maura suggested a bit breathlessly. The exertion of dancing was wearing on her, making her long suddenly for a cool glass of lemonade. "Perhaps you'd like to invite her to dance?"

  "Not likely!" he snorted. "She's the last girl I'd ask. The very last girl," he added darkly. "Now why is that, Lucky?"

  "Because she's got a viper's tongue on her. And she's bossy. Just because her father owns the general store she thinks she knows everything. And she didn't want me going with the posse that day—told me to be careful. Me!

  She thinks I'm a kid! Orchid doesn't. And neither does the widow Walsh..."

  "Why don't you give her a chance? You hardly know her."

  "I know all I need to know." He suddenly frowned at her. "Hey, Miz Lassiter, why should you care if I ask her to dance? She doesn't exactly look lonely to me."

  Maura turned her head and saw that Tex, one of the young ranch hands the Crooked T had sent to help Quinn, was leading Nell toward the dance floor.

  "Well, no, perhaps she's not lonely. But I think you hurt her feelings the other day."

  "How?" he asked suspiciously.

  "I overheard you make a...a joke about the Campbell gang trying to steal her. And I know you meant it in fun, but that's not the kind of thing a young lady can ever laugh at. And neither should you, Lucky," she said simply.

  He had the grace to flush to the roots of his hair. "I know that. Soon as I said it, I knew it was all wrong. I didn't mean it either. Not the way it sounded."

  "Why don't you tell her that?"

  "Because we just don't get along. And that's the end of it." But he was watching Nell dance while he said it, and a muscle twitched in the corner of his jaw.

  Maura dared not push him any further. But she was satisfied that she'd planted a few seeds in his mind and given him something to think about.

  As the music came to a halt, Lucky bowed to her. "I'm surprised the boss hasn't cut in on me yet," he confided. "I bet Slim two dollars he would before the end of the dance."

  "Lucky! You didn't!" But Maura burst out laughing. "You obviously don't know Quinn Lassiter as well as you—"

  She spotted Quinn at that moment. He was lounging in the corner with Serena Walsh, their heads close together, talking.

  "—think you do," she finished quietly.

  "Hey, there, Miz Lassiter, you all right?"

  "I could use a glass of lemonade, Lucky."

  But the smile she pasted on her face was forced and stiff as Lucky led her toward the refreshment table, poured her a glass of lemonade, found her a chair. He didn't leave her side until she'd been joined by Carolyn and Grace and Edna, all of whom were showing off their new dresses and admiring each other's.

  "Next we'll start on a baby quilt for that little one of yours," Grace told her, patting her arm.

  Maura nodded mechanically.

  "I think we should use squares of pale blue and white and yellow so it will be fitting for either a boy or a girl," Edna declared. "That's what we did for Alice before her youngest, Jared, was born."

  Maura tried to look interested, but she couldn't really concentrate. After a few moments, John Hicks ambled up and asked her to dance, and then so did Grady, the other ranch hand who'd helped out at Sage Creek while Quinn was after the Campbells.

  But Maura discovered that dancing wasn't nearly as much fun as she'd thought it would be. Even the bright gowns, festively glowing parlor, rich smells of perfumes and elderberry wine and roasting meats didn't seem quite so wonderful and gay as they had when she'd first entered on Quinn's arm.

  Quinn won't have you for Serena, she told herself as she returned to her seat. And she knew it to be the truth. She didn't know all that much about the man she'd married, but she knew that he lived by a strict code of honor, the same code of honor that had compelled him to marry her, and she knew he would never abandon her or the partnership they'd agreed upon.

  But if Serena was the woman he truly felt closest to...

  That thought hurt more than she could bear.

  Suddenly she couldn't sit another moment listening to the chatter surrounding her.

  "If you'll excuse me," she told Carolyn and Edna, jerking to her feet, "I need a breath of air."

  She fled before anyone could offer to accompany her, but not before she saw Edna watching her through worried eyes. She slipped out the front door onto the porch, walked to the farthest corner, placed her hands upon the railing and lifted her hot face to the open, starry skies.

  She took deep, long breaths and with all of her will, pushed back the dangerously threatening tears.

  When the sound of voices intruded into her misery, it took a moment for her to realize to whom they belonged. But only a moment. She snapped her head to the right, toward the cluster of trees whose canopy of dark leaves swayed rhythmically with the wind, as if they were dancing to the music, and saw two faint outlines. She made out the exquisite profile of Serena, recognized the dramatic upsweep of her pale clustered curls, and saw the wide set of Quinn's shoulders, the slant of his hat.

  Quinn and Serena. Huddled in the shadows beneath those shiny, swaying leaves, together in the musky spring darkness.

  Chapter 26

  "Reckon you should tell me what exactly you want from me, Serena."

  Keeping his voice low, Quinn studied the woman in the shockingly low-cut violet dress. Serena hadn't changed much from the bold young woman who'd once traveled from town to town with the Walsh Theatrical Troupe, performing musical numbers and melodramas with equal aplomb—until the show hit Abilene. That was where her first husband, Raymond P. Walsh, abandoned her and the show and ran off with a dance hall girl, taking with him all the costumes, sets, wagons, and horses. Quinn had met Serena shortly after that, when she'd gone to work managing an Abilene saloon. She'd been bitter and angry toward men, but at the same time, was as feisty and lusty a woman as he'd ever known, and they'd spent more than a few satisfying nights together before he'd moved on. Then some months later he'd run into her again, down in Texas. She'd gotten herself married to the owner of the Yellow Rose Saloon, and she sang and danced onstage twice a week—until her second husband got himself shot dead during a saloon brawl. Not many days later she discovered that the place was mortgaged to the hilt, and after the funeral expenses were paid and the cost of repairs taken into consideration, there was nothing left to pay the mortgage and she was forced to turn over the deed.

  So she'd gone to work as a prostitute for Madam Lola's brothel—and Quinn, after having spent a pleasant few days and nights in her company following his roundup of the notorious Stark gang, lost touch with her until he'd hit Hope a couple of years ago to scout out his newly acquired property and found her the owner of her very own boardinghouse. />
  Fate had seemed to throw them together time and time again, and Quinn had thought once or twice that if ever he were to settle down, it would have to be with Serena or someone like her, someone who had known nearly as rough a life as he had, someone who understood that some people weren't meant to put down roots, that nothing good ever lasted, that you should only rely on yourself.

  Someone who didn't trust, didn't need, didn't want anyone else—except as a useful and pleasant distraction when the night was cold and the urge for human companionship got the better of your good judgment.

  "Why, Quinn, honey, don't be silly. I don't want anything from you—I just want to say that you surprise me. You've been in Hope for quite a spell now and not once— not once, mind you—have you come calling at my door. Down south where I come from, folks know that's no way for an old friend to behave."

  He recognized the teasing tone, the luscious, red-mouthed smile that was pure invitation. Once, he would have taken her up on that invitation without a second thought, but tonight he just wished she hadn't waylaid him. His mind, for some reason, was fixed on Maura.

  He hadn't been able to stop thinking how downright scrumptious she looked in that soft yellow dress. Had she really not known how good she looked? She was just lucky he'd let her keep all those pins in her hair, the ones holding it off her face. He'd been tempted to slide them out one by one and watch the curls come tumbling down.

  The gown would have fallen to the floor directly after—and then they might have missed the whole damn party.

  He knew how much going to this party meant to her— and now he hadn't even been able to see if she was enjoying it, because Serena had taken it into her head to corral him.

  "I'm a married man now, Serena," he said coolly. "It wouldn't be fitting for me to come calling."

  "Quinn Lassiter—don't tell me you give a fig about respectability! Or appearances!" Her laugh echoed through the leaves. "I don't believe it."

  "It's not what anyone else thinks I give a fig—or a damn—about." He leaned against a tree and watched her from beneath the brim of his hat. He knew most men would be enticed by the swell of her bosom and the way the low-cut violet dress hugged her curves, and once he would have been, too, but tonight all he could think was that he'd been tied up by Serena long enough—and he wanted to get back to Maura.

  "Right is right. And calling on you just wouldn't be right."

  "I suppose not, honey, seeing as you've gotten yourself married and there's a baby on the way. But tell me, Quinn, is that why you married her? Because you had to?" Serena inched closer, lifting her face slyly to his. "It is, isn't it?"

  "None of your business, Serena."

  "But you and that skinny red-haired girl don't suit. She's just like those other boring, uppity women in that Hope Sewing Circle. Too snooty and respectable for the likes of us." She gave a sharp laugh that somehow rang hollow. "Do you know they asked her to join when she'd only been in town a few weeks—and I've been running my boardinghouse for two damn years? I stuck like glue to this town through all the trouble, and I'm still not good enough for them!"

  "That's not exactly Maura's fault." Quinn spoke curtly. "If you've got a beef with the womenfolk of Hope, take it up with them, but leave Maura out of it." He started to move away. "I have to find my wife."

  She grabbed his arm. "But Quinn, honey, why? Why would you of all men want to get married—least of all to her! You can never be happy with her. I know you. You like to ride off at the drop of a hat, go where the wind blows you. Try as I might, I can't picture you with a bawling infant on your knee and—"

  She broke off suddenly and drew in a deep breath. "Unless you're in love with her?" She gaped at him. He appeared as nonchalant and in control as always, but a faint flush darkened his skin in the moonlight. "Oh, Lord, Quinn, no! Are you?"

  "You know me better than that." His tone couldn't have sounded more dismissive. And yet...

  "I surely thought I did. But—" A terrible uncertainty assailed her. Here she'd thought Quinn was as doomed as she to a life as a loner, an outcast, always on the edge, and now...

  Was he truly becoming this upstanding family man, devoted to one woman, a woman who—in Serena's opinion—was as ordinary as spit? Oh, she was pretty enough, in her simple, refined way, and she did have a quiet manner about her, which she supposed might be appealing to certain men... but to Quinn?

  "Reckon it's time we went in," Quinn muttered.

  "Lord have mercy on me, I never would have thought I'd see the day that Quinn Lassiter would fall in love. You are, aren't you, Quinn? Gracious, what kind of a spell did that girl cast on you?" She chortled out loud, trying to sound amused and mildly contemptuous, but it came out bitter instead.

  And it died away completely under the blistering stare he gave her.

  "Well, Quinn, honey, you don't have to look so—so put out," she blustered. "I didn't mean anything—"

  But she was speaking to the darkness. Quinn had stalked away without another word.

  Maura felt ill. It was not due to her pregnancy—those symptoms had eased in the past day or two, as had the light-headedness. Nevertheless she had to push down the nausea that rose in her throat as she gripped the railing so tightly, her knuckles gleamed ivory in the moonlight.

  From beneath the canopy of trees, Quinn's and Serena's voices drifted indistinctly to her, like fog swirling over a night-shadowed street. Then the front door burst open and Nell Hicks flounced out. "I hate him!" she muttered to no one in particular.

  Catching sight of Maura, the black-haired girl rushed forward. "I wish your husband would fire Lucky Johnson and he'd move on to some other town!" she declared.

  Sick at heart, Maura tried to focus her attention on Nell. The girl's cheeks were flushed an even brighter pink than her gown, and there was the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

  "Oh, Nell, I'm sorry." She swallowed. "What has Lucky done now?"

  Nell threw herself disconsolately into one of the porch chairs. "He danced with you. He danced with Orchid. He danced with Willa Carmichael and with Serena Walsh. He bumped into me while I was dancing with Cutter Miles and had the nerve to laugh when he begged my pardon. Not ten minutes later he walked fight up to me as if he was planning to ask me to dance, and then he asked Miss Ellis—who was standing right behind me—instead. He did it on purpose. He was trying to humiliate me!"

  "No, I'm sure he wouldn't do anything like that."

  "Like hell he wouldn't!" Nell blushed even as she said the words, but her expression remained thunderous. "Well, if he thinks for one minute that I would even consider dancing with him, he can think again. I'd spit in his face if he asked me. I'd laugh myself silly. I'd sooner dance with a rattlesnake. Oh... Tex!" She beamed as the tall, towheaded cowhand strode out onto the porch.

  "You're just the man I was looking for."

  Maura noticed that just behind Tex, Lucky and Orchid were stepping onto the porch. Obviously, Nell had seen them too. They were arm in arm and looked as if they'd intended to slip off into the darkness together.

  "I believe I lost my handkerchief when I was out strolling with Slim a little while ago," Nell plunged blithely on. Her blue eyes positively glowed into Tex's twinkling brown ones.

  "Would you mind helping me search for it? Somewhere over there..." She waved a hand to her left, where Alice Tyler's vegetable garden gave way to a belt of graceful willow trees.

  "Sure as shootin', Nell. Can't think of a single thing I'd like better than lending a helping hand to a pretty lady." Gallantly, Tex tucked her arm in the crook of his and led her toward the knot of trees.

  Lucky's gaze followed them, his mouth twisting into a disgusted scowl as Nell's laughter drifted back to those on the porch.

  "Come on, Orchid." But he sounded glum as he tugged her in the opposite direction, toward the trees that flanked the other side of the porch.

  Suddenly Maura couldn't bear to be outside another moment, knowing that Quinn and Serena were still huddled beneath
the trees. Perhaps they were waiting for Orchid and Lucky to pass by before returning to the house—or perhaps they were too engrossed in each other to notice if anyone else was around.

  She spun about and rushed back inside, fighting the churning in her stomach, trying to push away all the ugly, unsettling thoughts. This did her no good—it did the baby no good. And being angry with Quinn would do no good. He couldn't help it if he felt more of a kinship with Serena than with her, if their past relationship and their feelings for one another formed a deeper bond than he was able to form with his practically shotgun bride—

  "Grady!" She nearly ran into the lanky, gold-haired ranch hand standing beside the dance floor. She clutched his arm, then took a deep breath and offered her most dazzling smile. "Dance with me? I ... I feel a sudden urge to waltz."

  "My pleasure, Miz Lassiter." His sea-green eyes beamed into hers. "But don't tell Mr. Lassiter, you hear?" he added with a grin. He clutched at his heart. "Ma'am, I'm too young to die."

  He led her into the throng of dancers. Maura scarcely heard the music, or his light, gallant compliments as they entered into the dance. Her heart was heavy as she pasted a smile on her face and responded mechanically to all of his pleasantries. If only he knew that Quinn would scarcely care if she danced with every man in the room. No doubt he wouldn't even notice!

  Well, she would dance with every man in the room, she decided desperately, tossing her head. She flashed Grady what she hoped was a tantalizing smile, and fluttered her eyelashes as he swept her across the floor. She'd dance till her feet fell off before she'd let Quinn Lassiter see that she cared a button about his going off into the night with Serena Walsh...

  "Reckon I'd like a dance with my wife." Quinn's cold gray eyes pinioned Grady, even as his hand descended hard on the ranch hand's shoulder, halting him in midstep upon the dance floor.

  Grady took one look at that hard face and began to nod. "S-sure. I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Lassiter."

  He threw Maura a nervous smile, his hand dropping from her waist. But she wasn't looking at him. She was gazing at her husband and her face had gone pale.