Cattleman's Courtship

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “Becky’s right,” Sheila commented. “Eileen just isn’t rational about those boys and never has been. To listen to her talk about them, a person would think that they had horns, tails and carried pitchforks.”

  “That’s a perfect description of Eileen Bowdrie’s ridiculous opinion,” Becky declared with a sniff of disgust. “I’ve known those boys ever since they came to live next door at their daddy’s ranch,” she said firmly. “And they’ve never done anything worse than snitch a warm pie off my windowsill. Of course, they were a mite wild growing up. But their father, bless his soul, would be proud of the men they’ve become, despite what Eileen says.”

  “I’ve never met Cully, but I’ve met Quinn and saw no evidence of horns or a pitchfork,” Victoria said.

  “Hmm, that’s right. You told Eileen that you met Quinn,” Sheila murmured, eyeing her niece with interest. “And where was that, exactly?”

  “At the Crossroads Bar and Grill—the night that Lonna and I went to hear a band she loves. And then I saw him again last Friday when he came into the pharmacy.”

  “He was in the pharmacy?”

  “Yes. He dropped off a prescription—I believe it was yours, Becky.”

  Victoria noted the raised eyebrows and speculative glances between her aunt and Becky, but before she could question them, the minister joined their group and her query was forgotten in the ensuing conversation.

  “Hey, Quinn!”

  Cully’s shout, followed by the slamming of the front door, shattered the silence of the ranch house.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Quinn yelled. He glanced over his shoulder and watched his brother enter the room before he turned back to the sink. Dirty water ran from his soapy hands and swirled down the drain. Mud freckled his face, dotted his hair, splattered his shirt and coated his jeans almost to the knee. Only his feet, covered in white socks, were free of the half-wet, half-dry brown mud.

  “What happened to you?” Cully asked, halting in midstride to stare.

  “I got the truck stuck in that bog out in Pilgrim’s Meadow.”

  “No kidding. What does the truck look like?”

  Quinn glanced up and caught the amused grin that lit Cully’s green eyes and tilted his mouth.

  “Worse than I do.” He said drily. He bent and ducked his head under the spigot, scrubbing his face and hair vigorously under the running water before he twisted the faucet closed. Eyes shut, he fumbled for the towel on the countertop and dried water from his face and hands before he turned back to Cully, his head buried in damp terry cloth as he rubbed his hair. “So,” he mumbled, “where have you been?”

  “Over at Becky’s, helping fix her corral gate.”

  Quinn frowned and tossed the wet towel back onto the countertop. Cully’s voice was filled with amusement. Quinn eyed him. His brother leaned against the counter, boot-covered feet crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest. He was the very picture of innocence.

  Quinn was instantly suspicious.

  “At Becky’s, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened at Becky’s that’s so funny?”

  “Becky went to church this morning.”

  “What’s funny about that? Becky goes to church every Sunday morning.”

  “Yeah, but this Sunday morning the druggist’s niece was there, too.”

  Quinn stiffened. “So?”

  “So was our wicked stepmother.”

  Quinn’s hands curled into fists. “What did she do to Victoria?”

  “It’s not what Eileen did to Victoria, it’s what Victoria did to the wicked stepmother.”

  “All right, get to the point—what happened?”

  “Victoria must not have known that Eileen hates our guts because she asked her if she was related to us. Becky says Eileen practically exploded and the longer she ranted about us, the angrier the niece got. According to Becky, the lady interrupted her in midspeech and verbally ripped her to shreds.” Cully chuckled. “Becky told me that Eileen swelled up like a balloon, she was so mad. Then she told the niece that she was owed an apology and stomped off.”

  “Hell.” Quinn uncurled his fists and thrust his fingers through his hair. “What did she do that for?”

  “Damned if I know,” Cully said bluntly. “But it’s nice to know that somebody besides Becky has the guts to tell Eileen to shut up every now and then.” He eyed Quinn with curiosity. “Why did she stick up for us, anyway? Becky says the niece knows you—when did you meet her?”

  “A couple of weeks ago at the Crossroads,” Quinn replied, distracted by the mental image of what Victoria might have looked like angry. The smooth skin of her cheeks would have been flushed, her blue eyes snapping, her small body defensive.

  “At the Crossroads?” Cully’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Is this the blonde Nikki told me you took away from Sam Beckman?”

  “I didn’t take her away from Beckman,” Quinn said impatiently. “He was giving her a hard time and I cut in to dance with her. That’s all. End of story.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Cully’s tone was patently disbelieving. “If that’s the end of the story, then how come she jumped down Eileen’s throat when she started complaining about you?”

  “Who knows?” Quinn shrugged. “She’s an attorney. Maybe it’s just a natural reaction for her to argue.”

  “Hmm. Possibly, but I doubt it—sounds to me like the lady likes you, Quinn.”

  “I doubt it, but if she does, she’d be smarter to keep it to herself,” Quinn said grimly. “If the gossips in Colson decide she’s interested in a Bowdrie, her reputation will be toast.”

  Cully’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice hard.

  The kitchen was silent for several moments while the brothers were immersed in their own thoughts before Cully glanced at Quinn in slow surprise.

  “She’s an attorney? Did you say the Dennings’s niece is an attorney?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cully whistled, a soft, almost silent pursing of his lips.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You not only spoke to her, you actually went out of your way to take her away from Beckman?”

  “I told you—I didn’t take her away from Beckman.”

  “But she’s an attorney. You hate women attorneys. We both do.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know she was an attorney when I danced with her, okay?”

  “Okay.” Cully lifted his hands in surrender. He started toward the doorway to the back porch. “Must be some woman.”

  And with that parting shot, he walked across the small utility room and disappeared outside, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

  Quinn glowered at the closed door. Cully’s departing figure was clearly visible through the mesh screen and his cheerful whistling was plainly audible.

  There was no question that Cully thought he’d discovered a chink in Quinn’s armor and would continue to tease him about Victoria.

  “Damn,” Quinn swore as he threw his mud-splattered shirt inside the washer before stripping off his jeans and heading upstairs for a shower.

  Moments later, he stood under the pounding stream, sluicing the remaining mud from his hair. He braced his hands against the tiled wall and let the hot spray knead his sore back muscles.

  Why was she defending him? He’d given her no cause.

  The question nagged Quinn the rest of the day and into the evening. He wanted to ask her why she’d championed him in front of her aunt and her friends but he knew he shouldn’t. He should stay away from her.

  Victoria was curled up in bed, reading, when someone knocked on her apartment door.

  She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Ten o’clock?” She couldn’t think of anyone who might be visiting her except Lonna, and she’d already spoken with her cousin earlier in the evening. Nevertheless, she grabbed her comfortable cotton wrap robe from the foot of her bed and headed into the living room. The o
ld-fashioned oak door was heavy and solid, with no peephole marking its thick panels. She paused, her hand hesitating on the doorknob, made cautious by her years in Seattle and the lateness of the hour.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Quinn Bowdrie.”

  Startled, Victoria stared at the oak panel for a moment before she twisted the dead bolt free and pulled open the door.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  Quinn stared at her silently. Nonplussed, Victoria could only stare back. What was he doing here?

  He glanced over her shoulder at the lamplit room beyond. He tilted his head to look down at her and the brim of his Stetson threw a faint shadow over the top half of his face.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She stepped back hastily and waved him into the room. He moved past her and she closed the door, leaning against it for a moment while she stared at the blue chambray covering his broad back and shoulders. Her gaze swept down the long length of his legs encased in faded jeans and vaguely noted the black cowboy boots he wore while she struggled to get her bearings. What was he doing here? After he’d flatly rejected the possibility of visiting her at the pharmacy, he was the last person she’d expected to see at her door.

  Quinn glanced around the room before he turned to face her.

  “I’m surprised to see you.” She pushed away from the door, tugged the robe sash tighter and eyed him. “Didn’t you tell me that visiting me wasn’t a good idea?”

  “I did.” He nodded briefly. “And I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I heard you had a run-in with my stepmother this morning. I wanted to thank you for defending me…”

  Victoria’s militant stance softened, a half smile curving her lips.

  “…and tell you not to do it again.”

  The smile disappeared and she frowned.

  “That’s a left-handed thank-you if I ever heard one, and I’ve heard some pretty grudging thankyous.”

  Quinn yanked his Stetson off and raked the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate your standing up to my stepmother, but you’re wasting your time. Nothing you or anyone else can say will change what she thinks about my brother and me. All you’re going to do is stir up the gossips and start them speculating about your own character. Before you know it, the stories making the rounds will be wilder than you can imagine. I don’t want your good name ruined because of me—this isn’t Seattle. Small town gossip can be brutal.”

  “Why do you care? I thought you believed that the fact that I’m an attorney automatically gave me a bad name.”

  “That’s your profession—and your choice. This is personal and involves me.”

  “It was just one small conversation with a few women.” Victoria waved her hand impatiently. “You’re overreacting, Quinn. And even if you’re right about this, I refuse to worry about small-minded people.”

  “You’d better worry,” Quinn said grimly. “They can make your life hell.”

  Victoria shrugged. “I won’t be here forever—six months isn’t that long. And when I go back to Seattle, they’ll forget about me and find someone else to talk about. In the meantime, I won’t listen to your stepmother spreading wild lies about you.”

  “What makes you so sure that she’s lying?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Victoria said impatiently. “Don’t tell me that you expect me to believe that nonsense she told me.”

  Her unquestioning belief in him was astounding. With the exception of Becky, Quinn couldn’t remember anyone else ever telling him that Eileen was dead wrong about him. A swift stab of emotion pierced his chest and he absentmindedly rubbed his fingers over his heart in an attempt to erase the pain.

  Victoria’s gaze flicked to his fingers and then back to search his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Concern edged her tone.

  Quinn quickly dropped his hand away from his shirt.

  “Nothing.” He had to get out of her apartment and away from her. The quiet room, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp, was too intimate. He’d tried, and failed, to ignore the robe that clung to her curves and left her legs bare from just above her knees to her toes. Now he tamped down the urge to smooth his palm over her normally sleek blond hair that was tousled as if she’d just gotten out of bed. But the spark of worry and caring in her eyes was an enticement he could barely resist.

  I have to get out of here. Now.

  He settled his hat on his head and moved forward.

  “Take my advice,” he said brusquely. “Stay away from Eileen. And don’t defend me. Don’t even admit you know me.”

  “No.” Victoria’s chin firmed stubbornly and she crossed her arms across her chest.

  Don’t do that. Quinn almost groaned. The move pulled her robe taut across her chest, deepening the V opening to reveal the beginning slope of her breasts and an edge of green silk. His palms itched and he curled his fingers in over them.

  “I refuse to agree to something that I know is wrong.”

  She didn’t budge from her position in front of the door. Quinn took a step nearer, but still she didn’t move.

  “You don’t have to agree, just don’t defend me again.” He glanced at the door behind her. “It’s not a good idea to have my truck parked outside your apartment building for long. I have to leave.”

  Exasperated, Victoria didn’t budge. “You have an annoying habit of ending conversations by walking away from me.”

  “And you have a habit of not listening.”

  He closed his hands over the slope of her shoulders, intending to shift her aside, but the feel of warm woman beneath thin cloth distracted him. He smoothed his thumbs over the smooth cotton, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. Her eyes darkened and she caught her breath.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” he muttered, fighting the need to pull her into his arms.

  Chapter Three

  Victoria wanted him to kiss her. She recognized the unmistakable signs that Quinn wanted her, too. The hard line of his mouth was unrelentingly sensual, his nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath, his eyes a heated green between lowered lids. Her knees weakened, the floor beneath her feet shifted. She reached for the solid bulk that was Quinn, steadying herself with her palms against his chest.

  “Why isn’t this a good idea?” she asked, her voice a husky murmur in the hushed, expectant silence of the room.

  “Because you’re a safe, settled woman. And I’m not the boy-next-door.”

  “What makes you think I want the boy-next-door? Maybe I like dangerous men.”

  The grip of callused fingers tightened reflexively, his thumb stroked across soft cotton and found silky skin. His gaze flicked to her mouth and downward to her throat.

  “Not a good idea.” He murmured, distracted by the contrast of his work-roughened fingers, dark against her pale throat. He smoothed his palm upward over satiny skin, his fingers closing gently over her nape beneath her hair, his thumb stroking up the vulnerable arch of her throat. “A woman is likely to lose her good reputation—and a lot more.”

  His voice was a husky growl, taut with restrained hunger. Victoria’s heart leapt wildly at the promise implicit in his words. Her pulse raced, hammering against the pad of Quinn’s thumb where it rested in the hollow of her throat. He froze, muscles tensing, and his gaze lifted to meet hers.

  Mesmerized, Victoria could only stare helplessly at the heat that blazed from his green eyes. She saw reluctance give way to acceptance, saw his lashes lower as he moved closer, bending slowly until his mouth touched hers.

  Then her own lashes lowered, her hands fisting tightly in his shirtfront. For a long moment his mouth, carefully restrained, tasted hers. But the heat grew steadily stronger, hotter, and Victoria pressed closer, slipping her arms around his neck.

  Qui
nn groaned against her mouth and slipped his arm around her waist. One big hand cradling her head, he eased her back against the door and half lifted her to fit her much smaller body more intimately against his bigger frame. She responded with an instinctive wiggle of hips to adjust to him and Quinn felt the leash on his control slip dangerously.

  I have to stop. Warning bells clanged, disaster whistles blew.

  Victoria stroked his bottom lip with her tongue.

  Damn. I have to stop this. Now. His whole body clenched in refusal.

  He broke the seal of their mouths with slow reluctance. Her lips clung to his and when he opened his eyes, the dazed passion in hers and the faintly swollen, damp curve of her lips almost sent him over the edge.

  “We have to stop,” he rasped.

  “Why?”

  She sounded as confused and aroused as he felt.

  “Because we either stop now, or I pick you up and carry you to bed and finish this.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending, until the words registered and recognition replaced passion.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” Quinn mourned the loss of the soft weight of her breasts as he stepped back. She swayed and he caught her, tucking her against him once more for an all too brief moment before she pushed away from him. He shifted her aside and pulled open the door. “This won’t work, Victoria. I won’t be back. Find yourself a nice, safe man—and forget this happened.”

  Victoria didn’t answer. With one last look, he stepped outside. The door closed with a quietly decisive click and she heard the sound of his boots as he took the stairs with long strides. She crossed the room, watching from the window as he walked down the sidewalk, started his truck and drove away.

  He’s impossible. Victoria stared at the dark, silent street outside. What am I going to do about him? She dropped the curtain and crossed to the door.