It unnerved her to have him watching her every move—and he was. She ventured a glance his way every now and again and he didn’t once take his eyes off her.
She shouldered her purse. “All done.”
Quint stepped away from the door. “I have to tell you something before we go.”
“Okay.”
He cupped her cheek. “You have to be the prettiest woman in Big Horn County.” He leaned in and touched his mouth to hers.
Gillian’s purse slid from her shoulder and landed at her feet. She took advantage of her free arm and gripped the front of Quint’s shirt to pull him closer. She deepened the kiss, with her cast resting on his hip.
Quint wasted no time taking his fill of her. He cupped her butt and pulled her flush against him. His fingers tucked into the back pockets of her jeans and kneaded gently. His erection pressed into her hip.
So many emotions and desires stirred. All new and as exciting as they were scary as hell.
Gillian was way out of her league. Out of her element with this man. She pulled back, gave him one last quick kiss. “We don’t want to be late.” She patted his cheek and bent to retrieve her bag. “Ready?”
Holy hell, he was ready to explode.
“Yeah.” His voice squeaked. “Yeah.”
Gillian walked away as calm as you please. He would be lucky if he didn’t spontaneously combust right then and there.
If he had any sense, he’d take to her to the house and have his wicked way with her, slack the need that increased every time she came near. He shook his head. If he was smart, he run as far as he could in the opposite direction and leave her the hell alone. The woman had a kid. And with that came needs and responsibilities Quint had never sought. He wavered between not ready to start something he wasn’t sure he could handle and diving in head first.
“Should we stop and get something to take to the party?”
The question snapped Quint from his thoughts and he chuckled. “Newbie.”
“What?” She smiled up at him.
“A Cates shindig is by far gonna leave you mystified.” He tucked his hand at the small of her back. “They’ll have enough food to feed a small country. I hope you like barbeque.”
“I, I thought you were kidding.” Gillian’s chin hit her chest. “I mean, I’d heard about some of their parties and assumed Missy was exaggerating, but wow.”
Three enormous meat smokers sat side by side puffing out sweet and tangy aromas. There were honest to God stations. One for each food group—and an entire table dedicated solely to baked beans. Gillian’s stomach rumbled.
“Ready to eat?”
“Absolutely.”
Quint guided her through table after table laden down with an array of breads and veggies. By the time they reached the actual meat, she had little room left on her plate.
“How’re you?” An older man with a shock of white hair turned from the closest smoker and smiled. “You must be Gillian. I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”
Quint came up beside her. “Gillian, this is Mr. Cates.”
“I’d shake your hand, but…” She couldn’t move much under her loaded down plate balanced atop a glass of tea as her cheeks heated. “I can’t imagine what people would say about me, I’ve hardly been here two weeks.”
He smiled. “That’s thirteen days longer than it takes most of us to make up our minds.” He winked.
“Thank you so much for inviting my daughter and I to your party.”
“My pleasure. She is a sweetheart, jumped right in and helped my Marti get some of the tables set up.”
Gillian tried not to show her surprise. “My daughter? Tall, blonde teenager. Usually chomping bubble gum.”
He laughed. “That’d be the one. Never got more than a holler away from Ryder Lunsford.”
“That sounds more like the girl who I know and love.”
“So, what can I get for ya?” He clicked his tongs together.
“Whatever you think tastes best.”
Quint nudged her shoulder. “Darlin’ it all tastes good.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Mr. Cates lifted the lid of the smoker and snagged a huge piece of meat and set it smack dab on top of everything on her plate. He gave Quint twice as much.
“It’s a wonder your plate hasn’t folded under the pressure.” Her stomach growled again.
Quint guided her to a bunch of picnic tables. They sat between his aunt and her husband, and one of the couples she’d seen at the diner.
She stared down at all the food in front of her. She didn’t think she’d ever had that much food on her plate at one time—or two. But it all looked—and smelled—wonderful.
The other two couples finished their meals before she and Quint could even start. Jacob and Zan mentioned taking the girls to the pool, and the other couple wanted to wander around and work off the Mississippi Mud pie they’d eaten. Quint and Gillian had a quiet section of the eating area all to themselves.
“If you stop staring at it and actually put some in your mouth…” Quint nudged her elbow with his.
She giggled. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Close your eyes.”
She blinked said eyes several time. “What?”
His hand hovered over her plate. “Close your eyes.”
Gillian looked at him for a long moment. Her eyelids fluttered shut on a sigh. And she opened her mouth.
Something moist brushed her lip a moment before a tangy burst of flavor exploded in her mouth.
“Keep ’em closed,” Quint said when her eyes opened the barest of slits.
“Mmm.” She chewed the brisket, still with her eyes shut. She swallowed. “Wonderful.” She darted her tongue out to swipe at dab of sauce on her lip.
“Ready for something else?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Something rough scrubbed across her lip. When she opened her mouth the taste was vastly different. Breaded and woodsy.
“What was that?”
“You’ve never had fried okra before?”
She smiled. “Can’t say that I have.”
Quint leaned into her. “I’d love to keep doing this, but I don’t know how much more I can take before I combust.”
Gillian’s eyes jolted open. She glanced first at his face then down to the growing bulge in his jeans. “I, uh, sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just don’t want to embarrass either of us here at the party.”
“Good thinking.” The plastic fork punctured her plate when she speared another piece of okra. She gave a quick, nervous laugh. “If you stop staring and actually put it in your mouth…” She mimicked his earlier words.
Quint winked at her and took a bite of his own meal. They ate the rest of their dinner in silence. A few of the townsfolk stopped by to say hi. Quint was very popular. Ruby stopped at the table long enough to glare at Gillian before she headed to another table—probably to glare at her from a distance.
“They have a margarita machine over there. Would you like me to get you one?”
Gillian chuckled. “No, but water would be great.”
“Alrighty, be right back.” Quint took their empty plates to the trash.
“Hey. How are you doing?” Zan sat down next to Gillian and settled her youngest daughter in her lap all bundled up in a towel.
“I’m full.” She patted her stomach.
“Willard is the best smoker in the entire county.”
“I believe that.”
Zan stared at her for a long moment. “Are you okay?”
The brisket sat heavy in Gillian’s stomach. “My arm hurts a little.”
The woman leaned in closer to Gillian and settled her hand on her un-casted hand. “That’s not exactly what I mean.”
“Did Manny say something to you?” She pulled her hand free and settled both in her lap.
Quint’s nosey but well meaning aunt frowned. “Manny? No.”
Gillian closed her eyes and released a he
avy sigh. Learn when to keep your mouth shut.
“Hon, half the time you look scared to death. The other you look like you’re ready to run away as fast as you can.” She readjusted the toddler in her lap; the little one had fallen asleep swaddled in the thick towel. “If you ever need to talk… I am a great listener.”
Gillian snorted. “Something in the genes?”
Zan smiled and looked down to her daughter. “Something like that.”
“I appreciate the offer.” It wasn’t enough the people had opened their arms and accepted her into the town, but several had offered shoulders to lean on. Hers and Heidi’s wrong turn landed them in some alternate universe. That was all she could figure.
“As long as you know you really can take me up on it.”
“Take you up on what, Aunt Zan?” Quint came back to the table and looped an arm over his aunt’s shoulder.
“She said if I was interested in your deep, dark secrets she’d give them to me for a night of babysitting.” Gillian winked at Zan.
“I’ll counter that with two nights of sitting to keep my secrets, secret,” Quint said.
“Woo-hoo.” The little girl stirred in her lap and she lowered her voice. “I feel a bidding war coming on.” Zan toggled her gaze between Gillian and Quint. “If I play my cards right I might finagle a mini-second honeymoon for Jacob and I.”
Jacob hurried over to them. “We need to go.”
“What’s wrong?” Zan stood.
“Emily’s not feeling well.” He shifted his daughter in his arms. “I think it was the third brownie that did her in.”
“I remember those days.” Gillian waggled the little girl’s foot.
“It’s always something.” Zan shook her head and laughed. “We’ll see you two later.” The Bowmans left amid a round of good-byes and quick sugar-OD explanations.
Again Quint and Gillian were sequestered all by their lonesome. Being alone with Quint—even at a party—left her warm in places she didn’t want to feel warm. Especially after the cozy tête-à-tête with his aunt. “Um, we should go find the kids. Heidi and I should head back to town. We both have work in the morning.” She headed across the lawn toward the pool area Heidi had vanished to.
“I’d bet Heidi’s boss would give her a pass if her mother let her stay out too late.” He smiled down at her and settled his hand at her back as they crossed the huge yard. “It’s summer time. And a party.”
Gillian frowned. “Did that excuse work with your parents when you were sixteen?” She hadn’t meant to use her stern mom-voice, but slacking was not something she’d taught her daughter up to that point and it wasn’t on the agenda to add in.
His hand fell away as did his smile. “Not once.”
“And when you got older?”
“There’d been no point in trying. I did my own thing and my parents had no say.”
Did he not see how sad and lonely that was? “You’re a loner. Plain and simple, huh? No rules. No worries.”
“I moved away from my family, didn’t I?”
She shook her head. “But you moved close to both your aunts.”
“It was to get away from my dad more than anything.”
Gillian slammed her hand on her hip. “I don’t get that.” She paced away from him. They were on the side of the Cates’ house, headed to the pool. With no one within ear shot, she pressed the point. “My dad ran off when I was little. I never even got to know him. To talk to him. All I know are the tainted stories my mother told me. Some may be true, some may not. But like I said, I’ll never know.”
“But what if he smothered you? Treated you like you were still a fifteen-year-old screw up? Constantly.” Quint shoved his hands in his pockets.
He couldn’t mean that, not really. Did he not know what he had? “Even then I would.” Gillian slowed her steps and stopped right in front of him. Would have been nose to nose if he weren’t so much damn taller. “I would relish being smothered.”
Quint snorted.
Gillian grabbed his elbow before he could walk away. “My dad left when I was three.”
His cheeks reddened. “You said that already.”
“I don’t know where he is or even how to find him. I didn’t get to go to the daddy-daughter dances at school. Never had him there to cheer me on or hold me up. He’ll never get to walk me down the aisle when, if, when I get married. Hell, he never even got to see his beautiful granddaughter.”
Gillian held up her hand when he started to speak. “My sister died when I was just a teenager. She was my best friend. Can you imagine losing your sister? Or Zan? She left me and…” Gillian caught herself before she said too much.
“Then my mother died.” Breath caught in her lungs. “She left me all alone to raise a child. All by myself.” She pointed her finger at her chest. “I had no one.” She’d never had a conversation with anyone about all her losses. Heidi was too young and far too close to the situation to be burdened with this. Gillian had never made close enough friends to share even the most mundane details, much less all of the death surrounding the Harwoods. “I’d give anything to have my family. And you—” she stiffened her spine, balled her fist at her side and looked up at him, “—you do have family who care enough to love you and want the best for you. And you pout because daddy ‘expects too much’. Grow up, Quint Walters.”
Quint’s mouth hung up, unable to string together words as he watched Gillian’s retreating back. How had that gone so wrong?
He shoved his hands on his hips, ducked his head and leaned against the house. Mentally, he ticked off all the reasons to let her go. He had just as many reasons to go after her, not let her walk away mad. None of which, though, could spur him into action. He counted to one hundred and then one hundred again. Let his blood pressure even out and even then he stayed up against the side of the house. He wasn’t ready to be sociable.
“Whatcha pouting about, cowboy?”
“I am not fucking pouting.” His head jerked up in time to see Ruby’s smile fade. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to speak to you that way.”
She held a beer in each hand. “Is everything okay? I saw the new gal and her daughter leave all in a huff and thought maybe you could use a cold one.” She held an opened bottle out to him.
“Thanks.” He took the brew and sucked it all down in one long drink. “May I?” He held out his hand for the other bottle.
Ruby chuckled and handed him the other bottle. “If it’s that bad, we could hit Dominique’s. They have something with a little more punch.”
He eyed his friend for a long moment. “Why the hell not?” They left the party and he followed Ruby to her house to drop her truck off. He purposely went the long way through town, so he didn’t pass his own damn house. The most self righteous woman he’d ever met was bedded down inside.
He gave himself a mental slap when the thought popped into his head. That woman had lost almost every member of her family. But did it give her the right to psycho-analyze his life and tell him what an ass he’d been?
“Why are you letting her work you up like that?”
“What?”
Ruby twisted in her seat toward him. “If you grip the steering wheel any tighter, you’re gonna snap it right in half.”
Quint held back the growl that bubbled up in his chest. “It’s not what you think.”
“If you say so.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I just can’t see what the big deal is. She’ll be leaving before too long.”
“What makes you say that?”
“That woman has been in six cities in the last year. I heard her telling Manny about it one day. Sounds to me like someone with wanderlust. And not big on commitment. To anything or anyone.”
“But big on telling me off,” he said under his breath. Ruby was right. No point in letting Gillian have any more power over him. “I’m buying the first round.”
Eight rounds in and he and Ruby had laughed so hard his sides were on fire—sure it could be from the fall
the day before, but the Mustang Pale Ale made the world right. Kyle Eubanks, Dominique’s owner—and Jacob’s cousin—came over and plunked himself down in an empty seat. “What are we celebrating?”
“Freedom.” Quint raised his beer mug. Ruby clinked her glass to his and they both slammed back the amber liquid.
Kyle tipped back in his chair. “It’s getting close to closing time.”
Quint yanked the pocket watch from his hip pocket. It took him three tries to push the button in and pop open the cover. Little good it did as the numbers swam around the face. He snapped it shut and shoved it back in his pocket, then smiled up at Kyle. “I’ll take your word for it.”
The owner narrowed his eyes first at Quint, then at Ruby. “Who can I call to come get y’all?”
Ruby cleared her throat. “I’ve only had two.”
Quint frowned and counted the empty beer mugs littering the table top. “Two?”
Kyle hollered something to the bartender who confirmed her sobriety.
“I’m fine to drive.”
Something about her smile turned the beer in his stomach rock solid.
Kyle slapped Quint on the shoulder. “Y’all be safe.”
When the owner was back across the room, Quint tried to focus on his friend. “Why’d you let me drink so much? Alone?”
She shrugged. “You needed to blow off some steam. And somebody had to drive your ass home.” She dropped a couple of bills on the tabletop. “Speaking of, you ready to head that way?”
Quint nodded and stood—after three tries. Ruby came around the table and wrapped her arm around his midsection to keep him from listing to one side or the other as they walked out to the parking lot. If her hand lingered on his ass a bit as he opened the passenger door, he’d blame it on the brew making him hallucinate.
In the truck, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When the truck rocked to a stop, he was surprised they were back in town already. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“No problem.”
Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought. His little one bedroom foreman’s quarters had grown to a two-story Victorian. He rolled his head from one side to the other but the dwelling didn’t morph into anything different. After a blink or two, recognition came through. “Your house?”
Wrong Turn, Right Cowboy: Paintbrush, Book 2 Page 12