Cattleman's Courtship

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Quinn Bowdrie was halfway down the aisle, talking to an adorable, wide-eyed toddler. He sat on his heels, one knee touching the floor, his forearm resting on the other bent knee. A grey Stetson was pushed back off his forehead, revealing thick black hair. A pair of sunglasses crowded a pocket of his blue chambray work shirt, and faded jeans, worn white at stress points, molded the heavy muscles of his thighs.

  “I got a car,” the little boy announced importantly, and he held out one chubby hand, palm up.

  “So you do.” Quinn took the miniature red metal car from the little hand and balanced it on his palm. “That’s a pretty nice set of wheels. Do you know what kind it is?”

  “Yup—it’s a ’Far-ee.”

  Quinn turned the die-cast metal car over and read the imprint.

  “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “Ferrari—that’s what it says.”

  “Where?”

  The little boy stepped closer, stumbling over Quinn’s boot, and he moved quickly to steady the small body, his hand splayed across the child’s back.

  Unnoticed by either of the two males, Victoria watched a rare, gentle smile break across Quinn’s hard face as he looked at the child.

  “Careful, partner.” His voice was a deep-throated murmur, his big hand gently patting the small back reassuringly before he gravely inspected the little boy’s offering.

  The child peered at the car in Quinn’s hand, studying the imprinted letters. “Right there?” He asked, tracing the upraised letters. “That says ’Far-ee?”

  “Uh-huh. How did you know this car is a Ferrari?” Quinn asked him.

  “My daddy told me.” The little boy said, nodding emphatically. “It’s my favorite car—see, it’s red.”

  “Ah.” Quinn nodded sagely. “I see.”

  This is the tough rancher who has no heart? Victoria thought with amazement. Watching the big man with the small boy brought a lump to her throat. She stood motionless, silently observing the two dark-haired heads bent together over the miniature car until Quinn glanced up. His green eyes darkened, an unnamed emotion flitting briefly across his hard features before his expression turned unreadable.

  He slipped an arm under the little boy’s denim-clad bottom and stood in one smooth motion, the child seated safely on his arm.

  He didn’t say anything. Victoria considered turning her back and walking away from him but thought better of the impulse.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello.” Quinn knew the moment he looked up and saw Victoria that he’d been lying to himself. He hadn’t been able to forget her, nor the kiss they’d shared on the shadowy dance floor, despite the fact that he’d never met an attorney he liked. And he downright detested pushy, aggressive female lawyers. He’d been moody, irritable and restless for the last two weeks. His gaze flicked down her body, noting the blue smock with Dennings Pharmacy embroidered over the upper swell of her left breast. “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here.” Victoria’s memory of black hair, green eyes, tanned skin and a muscled, broad body wasn’t exaggerated. If anything, Quinn Bowdrie was even more blatantly male than she’d remembered. And judging by the irritation on his handsome face, the anger that had blazed in his eyes at the Crossroads Bar hadn’t diminished.

  “You’re a salesclerk? Isn’t that a big step down from practicing law?” Quinn shifted the little boy on his arm. Her voice was frostily reserved, and the soft smile that had dazed him while they danced was noticeably absent.

  “Some people might say so. However, I’m also handling Hank Foslund’s emergency calls and doing some other work for him for the next month or so. I happen to believe that work is work, regardless of the occupation. While I have a law degree and practicing law is my profession, it’s not the sum total of my existence,” she said pointedly, her gaze narrowing over the shift in his expression as he registered her words. His jaw firmed, his eyes narrowed. She could swear he grew taller as he stiffened. “My doctor ordered me to stay away from stress for at least six months. So—” she gestured at the store around her, wielding the colored collection of feathers “—I’m a clerk.”

  “Six months? Do you really believe that you can keep from meddling in other people’s lives for six months?”

  “I don’t meddle in people’s lives.”

  “You’re an attorney,” Quinn said flatly. “Meddling in people’s lives is how you make your living.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion.” Victoria held on to her temper with an effort. “But a lot of people, myself included, wouldn’t agree with you. In fact, Mr. Bowdrie, a lot of people, myself included, might argue that your opinion is suspect because you’re clearly prejudiced against attorneys.”

  “Damned straight,” he shot back.

  “Bobby? Where are you?” The female voice interrupted Quinn.

  “Uh-oh.” The little boy in Quinn’s arms patted his face, demanding his attention. “That’s my mama.”

  A young woman in her early twenties rounded the end of the aisle, her harassed expression quickly changing to relief and exasperation as she spied them.

  “Bobby! There you are.” She walked down the aisle toward them and held out her arms.

  Quinn handed the little boy to his mother, and she settled him against her hip with practiced ease.

  “He wasn’t a bother.”

  The young mother’s guarded gaze flicked from Quinn to Victoria before she smiled at her son. “I thought he was right behind me, playing with his car, while I talked to Mr. Denning. Then I turned around and he was gone.” She smoothed a lock of black hair from the little boy’s forehead.

  “Thanks.” Her quick glance included both Quinn and Victoria before she hurried away down the aisle, the bells on the front door ringing melodically as the pair disappeared outside.

  Quinn turned back to Victoria.

  “I’d better be going, too.”

  The cowboy who had smiled gently at the toddler was gone, replaced by a remote, hard-faced stranger. This Quinn was the man that had walked away from her at the Crossroads Bar and Grill after kissing her nearly senseless. She’d neither forgotten nor forgiven how easily he’d turned off the heat while she still felt singed. Besides, she was angry enough with Quinn’s unreasonable prejudice against her occupation that the urge to needle him was irresistible.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  A faint frown creased his brow. “Not that I know of.”

  Victoria gestured at his empty hands. “Didn’t you come in here to buy something, or were you just browsing?”

  “No, I didn’t stop to browse.” He slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket and removed a folded paper. “A neighbor asked me to drop off this prescription.”

  She took the slip of paper and unfolded it, frowning slightly as she struggled to decipher the scribbled words.

  Quinn took advantage of her distraction to study her unobserved. The blue pharmacy smock she wore was hip length; unbuttoned, it hung open from throat to hem. Beneath it, she wore a scoop-necked white T-shirt tucked neatly into belted khaki shorts that hit her at midthigh. Below the narrow hem of the shorts, her legs were long, curvy and lightly tanned. White socks with neatly folded down tops and tennis shoes covered her small feet. Her hair was a smooth fall of silvery silk that brushed her shoulders, only the bangs were faintly ruffled where she’d sifted her fingers through them as she talked. She reminded him of a well-cared-for, sleek little blue-eyed cat. And he wanted to cuddle her, stroke and pet her just to see if he could make her purr.

  It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t seem to stop wanting to touch her.

  “…don’t you think?”

  Quinn realized that he’d missed the question, whatever it was.

  “I, uh…”

  Victoria glanced up from the prescription to find him staring at her. His gaze lingered on her breasts before stroking upward to focus intently on her mouth. Her heartbeat thudded faster, and she caught her breath, awareness fla
ring between them.

  “If you weren’t so prejudiced against lawyers,” she murmured, “I’d ask you over for dinner.”

  Quinn went completely still. His eyes went hot, and he stared at her for a long moment.

  “But I am, and even if I weren’t, I don’t think seeing you is a good idea.” His deep voice was quiet, undertones of tension humming beneath the simple refusal.

  “But…”

  Too late. Even as Victoria started to protest and ask him to explain, he was gone. His long strides carried him swiftly down the aisle to the front of the store, the bells tinkling as he pulled the plate-glass door open and disappeared through it.

  She stared at the empty doorway, regret mixed with irritation.

  Men. Who can understand them? And cowboys seem to make less sense than general, run-of-the-mill guys. Maybe working outside in all that fresh air affects their brains!

  She shook her head and returned to her dusting, determined not to spend another minute thinking about Quinn Bowdrie.

  Unfortunately, Victoria discovered over the next week that commanding herself not to waste brain power thinking about the handsome rancher and actually accomplishing it were two very different things.

  Saturday morning found her seated cross-legged on the floor of Hank Foslund’s office, a pile of file folders on her lap. Behind her, the top drawer of a low filing cabinet stood open, the files that had crammed its now-empty space surrounding her in a circle of neatly labeled stacks. She’d been pulling and organizing files for two hours, finishing the A’s and moving on to the B’s.

  She scanned the last three remaining folders and shifted them off her lap, placing them in the proper alphabetical stack.

  “Hank,” she muttered to herself with a fond shake of her head. “You may be a great attorney, but you’re terrible at organization. You should have hired another file clerk when Shirley retired.”

  She pushed the top drawer closed and pulled open the bottom one. Like its mate, it too was crowded full of files, loose papers jammed haphazardly to hang half-in, half-out of folders.

  The first file was so thick that she had to slide both hands beneath it to lift it from the drawer. The sides bulged and when she set the folder on the floor, it popped open, papers slithering loose to slide across the carpet.

  Exasperated, Victoria shuffled the papers together before settling cross-legged once again to attach loose pages and reorganize the file. One look at the heading on the topmost document, however, had her mouth dropping open.

  She hadn’t known that Hank Foslund represented the Bowdries.

  But I should have, she realized. He’s the only attorney in town, and he’s represented most of the ranchers for years.

  Feeling almost guilty, Victoria tried to deal with the file in an objective, professional manner. But she had to read at least a portion of each document in order to determine in which section of the big file the paper should be placed.

  It became quickly obvious that the contents related to Eileen’s attempt to break Charlie Bowdrie’s will. It was also clear that Eileen had alleged that her husband had been mentally incompetent after suffering a stroke. Her attorney had used the public forum to villify Quinn and Cully, contending that Charlie was clearly not of sound mind or he would not have left his valuable property to two such unworthy recipients.

  Victoria frowned and flipped through the pages to the original document. Her frown deepened as she read the allegations and double-checked the date of the will against the date of Charlie’s illness and subsequent death.

  He made the will years before he suffered the stroke that eventually killed him. She shook her head, considering the significance of the dates. The attorney representing Eileen Bowdrie must have known there was little basis for filing this lawsuit, she mused. No wonder Quinn dislikes attorneys. It seems clear that the only reason this suit was filed was malice.

  She shook her head in disgust and went back to sorting and attaching documents into the thick file until at last, there were only two sheets of paper left. The two letters were from a law firm in Helena, and both appeared to be an annual report on the status of a trust fund of some sort. Although the name Bowdrie was scrawled across the top of the letters in Hank’s bold, almost illegible hand, the file number below the name wasn’t the same as the thick file spread open on the floor before Victoria.

  She paper-clipped the two letters together and added them to the stack of misfiled documents on top of the filing cabinet. Then she slipped the thick Bowdrie file back into its place in the file drawer. A quick glance at her watch told her she was going to be late for dinner with Aunt Sheila and Uncle John.

  She quickly gathered her purse and let herself out of the office, carefully locking the door behind her, the puzzling letters forgotten on top of the cabinet.

  Struggling to deal with the culture shock of her sudden shift from city to small town life, Victoria found herself brewing tea at two on Sunday morning, unable to sleep. She wasn’t sure if her sleeplessness was due to the lack of traffic noise outside or the hazy dream she’d had about dancing with Quinn.

  Whatever the cause, Victoria stifled a yawn and struggled to concentrate on the minister’s sermon much later that morning.

  Oh, what I’d give for a double shot latte, she thought longingly. Flavored coffee brewed strong enough to jolt her awake was only one of a long list of things she missed about Seattle. Six months, she lectured silently. I will make the best of living away from city comforts for the next six months.

  Later, as she followed her aunt down the aisle and stepped out into the sunshine, she reminded herself that there were many things she enjoyed about living in this small Montana town. The pleasure of breathing air untainted by city exhaust, the friendliness of neighbors and the opportunity to spend time with her aunt, uncle and cousin were only a few of the reasons she liked Colson. I need to focus on what I enjoy about living in Montana, she thought. And not on what I miss about Seattle.

  “Hello, Sheila.”

  A plump, middle-aged woman, flowers bobbing atop her white straw hat, halted Sheila Denning. Victoria’s aunt paused on the wide sidewalk, Lonna and Victoria beside her.

  “Good morning, Laura, everyone.” Sheila smiled pleasantly at the two women standing in a semicircle with Laura Kennedy. “I don’t think you’ve met my niece, Victoria. She’s recently moved to Colson. Victoria, I’d like you to meet Laura Kennedy, Becky Sprackett and Eileen Bowdrie.”

  “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Victoria murmured in response to the chorus of greetings. The woman that Sheila had introduced as Eileen Bowdrie piqued her interest. The impeccably dressed older woman had elegant features, but her patrician beauty was marred by cold blue eyes and a haughty air.

  “I’ve met your relative—Quinn Bowdrie.”

  Eileen Bowdrie’s eyes grew icier and she stiffened.

  “I am most certainly not related to Quinn Bowdrie. Nor to his brother, Cully,” she said emphatically. “If you were more familiar with our town, you’d know that those two are absolutely no blood relation of mine. I’m their father’s widow, but I am certainly not their mother. Unfortunately for the community, they inherited all of their father’s weaknesses and none of his strengths. They ought to be locked up somewhere, there isn’t a decent woman in the county that’s safe with either of them.”

  Despite Lonna and Nikki’s description of Eileen, Victoria was still stunned by the woman’s bitter attack. Her shock quickly gave way to anger, however, as bitterness continued to pour out of the woman. Stubborn and impossible though Quinn had been, Victoria thought, he’d gone out of his way to step in when Sam Beckman had proven difficult. Even when he’d discovered that she was an attorney he’d been angry but polite.

  At last the woman paused to catch a breath.

  “An interesting viewpoint,” Victoria interjected smoothly. “However, my experience with Quinn was quite different. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Quinn Bowdrie, I would have had to fight o
ff the unwanted attentions of a local rancher at the Crossroads several weeks ago. I’m very grateful that Quinn was there and stepped in, and I found him to be a perfect gentleman.”

  Eileen’s face flushed with anger, and her thin body stiffened. She seemed to expand and grow taller with affront.

  “Well! I refuse to stand here and waste my time being corrected by a young woman who clearly has no understanding of this situation.” Eileen glared at Victoria before turning a fulminating stare on her aunt. “Sheila, I suggest you apprise your niece of the facts.” She switched her furious gaze back to Victoria. “And after you are aware of the true situation, I shall expect a full apology from you, young woman.”

  Clutching her purse between a rigid elbow and the cream silk suit covering her thin waist, Eileen Bowdrie turned on her heel and stalked away down the sidewalk, nearly vibrating with self-righteous fury.

  “Well, I…” Laura Kennedy managed a feeble smile. “I’ll see you ladies at the Garden Club meeting on Tuesday.” She hurried off after Eileen, the flowers on her hat dipping and swaying in time with her quick strides.

  “Well,” Sheila declared in a puff of sound, before she eyed her niece. “You stirred up a hornet’s nest, Victoria.”

  Victoria was so angry she could feel her cheeks radiating heat. “That is the most obnoxious woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” She paused to draw a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an attempt to rid herself of the anger that coursed through her veins and beat at her temples. “Outside of opponents in divorce court, I’ve never heard such vicious comments.”

  “Hah!” Becky Sprackett snorted inelegantly. “That wasn’t as bad as some things I’ve heard her say.” One capable, work-roughened hand patted Victoria’s shoulder approvingly and she smiled, her faded blue eyes twinkling. “Good for you, girl. I’m glad you stood up to her. I think it’s about time somebody reminded her that not all the folks in the county agree with her about the Bowdrie brothers.”