Cattleman's Courtship

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Quinn’s instinct was to toss her over his shoulder and haul her off to the nearest motel where he could show her just exactly how afraid of her he was, but he managed to restrain himself. Barely.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he growled. “Be ready.”

  Victoria nodded mutely. He glared at her for a split second longer before he turned and stalked away. Victoria’s caution disappeared under a surge of elation.

  “You can take me to dinner,” she said. He didn’t respond and kept walking. “And wear something nice, because I’m going to wear a dress. A sexy dress,” she called, louder since he was halfway to the sidewalk. “Oh, and don’t forget to bring me flowers!”

  Quinn kept walking, refusing to answer her. In seconds, he disappeared around the corner of the hardware store.

  Victoria stood motionless, staring after him, an irrepressible smile curving her lips.

  “It worked! It actually worked!” she murmured to herself before spinning in a circle, laughing. Grass slipped and dust lifted beneath her sandals, reminding her that she was standing in the middle of a lot, laughing alone, in full view of anyone passing by on the street.

  At three minutes before seven that evening, Victoria tucked one last hairpin into the twist of curls on the crown of her head.

  “There,” she murmured. She turned in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, glancing over her shoulder to check her dress. The halter collar buttoned just below her nape and blond tendrils brushed against the strip of green silk. The dress left her shoulders and back bare to just below her shoulder blades.

  Satisfied that no drift of bath powder smudged the back of her dress, she turned to inspect the front. The bodice was snug, the full skirt falling to just above her knees from the nipped-in waist. The dress was blatantly feminine although it exposed less bare skin than the modest one-piece bathing suit tucked into one of the drawers in her dresser.

  The sound of knuckles rapping on the front door reverberated through the apartment. Nerves jumping, Victoria pressed a hand to her midriff and drew a deep breath. She cast one last swift glance over her reflection in the mirror and left the bathroom. Pausing before the door to draw another slow breath in a vain attempt to calm the butterflies fluttering anxious wings in her midsection, she turned the knob and pulled the door inward.

  Oh, my. She thought, staring helplessly. He’s gorgeous.

  Her gaze moved compulsively from Quinn’s gleaming black hair, over the planes of his face where a frown curved the firm line of his lips downward, to his white shirt, collar unbuttoned, tucked into gray slacks belted with silver buckled black leather, and further to the ever-present black cowboy boots, dust-free and gleaming with polish.

  Her dazed gaze swept back up his long frame, pausing when she realized that he was holding a pearl-gray Stetson in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, before she moved on to his face. She was just in time to see his lashes lift and the scowl turn into something else entirely.

  He didn’t say a word. He stepped across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His mouth found hers with unerring precision.

  Victoria was vaguely aware of the cool crush of petals and the warm brush of his fingers against her bare back above her dress. The design of the bodice didn’t allow for wearing a bra. The fine cotton of his shirt and the thinly lined silk of her dress were all that separated her sensitive breasts from the warm muscles of his chest. It was almost like being naked, skin against skin. But not close enough. Not nearly enough. Locked against him, breast to thigh, his mouth seducing hers with hot intensity, the tiny part of her brain that still functioned demanded that she find a way to get closer. Victoria threaded her fingers into the thick black silk of his hair, her arms tightening around his neck.

  Quinn groaned against her mouth, his whole body clenching with the need to pick her up and find the nearest flat surface to lay her down on. Instead, he held on to sanity by his fingertips and reluctantly broke the kiss, tucking her face against his throat while he struggled to catch his breath. Her breasts rose and fell quickly against his chest as she, too, fought to breathe normally.

  He smoothed the back of his fingers across bare skin and realized that he was still holding the flowers. He also realized that if she was wearing anything under that flimsy excuse for a dress, it damn sure wasn’t much.

  He eased her away from him and frowned at her.

  “Are you wearing anything under that dress?” he demanded.

  Victoria, still trying to marshal her senses, glanced up at him through her lashes, gauging his reaction. “Not much,” she admitted.

  His eyes went hot.

  “Great. Just great,” he muttered. “As if I didn’t have enough trouble.” His arms seemed to have a will of their own and he had to force his reluctant muscles to release her and step back. “Here.” He held out the sheaf of flowers, wrapped in a cone of green florist’s paper.

  “Thank you, Quinn. They’re lovely.”

  She cradled the blooms in her arms, bending to breathe in the scent of roses tucked into the spray of baby’s breath and lilacs. She lifted her face and smiled with such pleasure that he felt absurdly pleased that she approved of his choice.

  Outside, a car backfired. The sound broke the spell that held Quinn, reminding him that they were alone in her apartment. He glanced at his watch.

  “Damn,” he growled, noting the minutes that had passed since she’d opened her door and he’d been hit with an overpowering wave of lust too strong to deny. He looked at her. She was smiling mistily at him and he wanted to kiss her again so badly that it hurt to tell himself no. He tore his gaze away from her mouth, tracing the arch of her throat and the strip of skin left bare by the bodice of her dress. The dress wasn’t immodest, but the knowledge that only two strips of soft green material separated her bare breasts from his hands damn near made him crazy. And the short, swingy skirt left her legs bare from above her knee to her feet. Even her feet were pretty. Frosted pink nail polish decorated the tips of shapely toes—her bare toes. When he realized he was contemplating erotic fantasies about what he’d like to do with her toes, he yanked his errant thoughts up short.

  “Where are your shoes?” he asked testily. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Why?” Victoria thought he looked like a man pursued by a herd of man-eating crocodiles. “Do we have dinner reservations? Are we late?”

  “No, but one of the biggest gossips in town is Elizabeth Price, who just happens to own the only florist shop in town. Which means that half the town knows that I bought flowers this afternoon. Flora Andersen lives across the street and watched me drive up, so by now, the other half of Colson’s population knows that my pickup is parked outside your apartment building.” He glanced at his watch and frowned again. “I figure we’ve got another five minutes before Flora gets on the phone and starts telling everyone that I’ve been here long enough for us to be engaged in serious, down-and-dirty sex.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open. Then she burst out laughing.

  “You’ve only been here ten minutes—maybe fifteen,” she said when she could stop laughing. “You must have a really wild reputation, Quinn, for anyone to believe that women go from hello to raunchy sex in fifteen minutes.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth, his green eyes lighting with amusement.

  “Oh, honey,” he drawled. “Fifteen minutes is more time than I usually need.”

  The deep drawl sent shivers chasing up Victoria’s spine. She lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Really? To get started? Or to finish?” she teased.

  “Put your shoes on,” he growled, unable to suppress the grin that tugged at his lips, sexual tension giving way to amusement. “Before I’m tempted to show you how many hours it would take me to finish.”

  Chapter Seven

  “So, stud,” Victoria teased, smiling up at him as they stepped into the Steak House, Colson’s
one and only supper club. “Ready to face the lions?”

  She could feel the tension in the muscles beneath her clasp ease. His facial muscles loosened marginally, a wry smile briefly curving his lips as the remoteness of his green eyes warmed. He shook his head.

  “You don’t have a defensive bone in your body, do you?”

  “Of course I do,” she said promptly. “I’m big on defenses. I’m an attorney, remember?”

  “Don’t remind me,” he growled. “I’m trying to forget.”

  “Well, stop trying. That’s not going to change.”

  He glared at her. She stared back, lifting her chin in cool defiance.

  “Good evening. A table for two?”

  The hostess’s polite question broke their absorption with each other. Quinn’s gaze snapped to the young woman. She took a step back, her gaze flicking uncertainly from Quinn to Victoria, then back again and he realized that he was frowning at her. He forced a smile.

  “Yes. Please,” he added.

  “Right this way.” The hostess’s professional smile held an edge of relief.

  Victoria went up on tiptoe, her lips brushing his earlobe.

  “Behave yourself, you’re terrifying the employees,” she whispered.

  Before Quinn could respond, she stepped away from him to follow the hostess into the restaurant. Quinn had been so distracted by sparring with Victoria that he’d all but forgotten his qualms about entering the big dining room. He was swiftly reminded as he walked behind Victoria. The pregnant pause in the hum of conversation and the silenced clink of tableware was deafening.

  They passed a table of women in their mid-thirties. His gaze registered their widened eyes and raised brows; one brunette nudged her neighbor and pointed. He steeled himself to overhear whispered comments and reminded himself not to lose his temper.

  “Quinn.”

  A hand closed over his forearm, halting him, and he glanced down to see a neighboring rancher. The man was grinning widely.

  “Good to see you, Quinn.”

  “Hello, Angus.” His gaze flicked over the rancher’s wife and the other middle-aged couple seated at the table. “Evening, Richard.” He nodded politely to their wives. The four looked past him, their expressions expectant. Quinn felt Victoria’s hand close around his forearm and realized she had stopped beside him.

  “I don’t believe we know this young lady.”

  Quinn tensed. His inclination was to pick up Victoria and carry her out of the restaurant, away from his neighbor’s curiosity, away from the endless talk and damaging gossip that he was sure would follow.

  He glanced down at her. She was smiling with friendly interest at the quartet as if she wasn’t concerned about their reaction to seeing her with him.

  “This is Victoria Denning—John and Sheila’s niece. Victoria, this is Angus McKinstry and his wife, Verna, and Richard Jones and his wife, Marie.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Victoria purposely leaned into Quinn, both hands clasped around his arm at the elbow, her weight resting with easy familiarity against his side. “It’s always a pleasure to meet Quinn’s friends.”

  She ignored the quick sideways glance Quinn shot her and smiled sunnily at the middle-aged couples. Quinn’s stiff introduction told her that he expected the worst, but she saw nothing but warm approval from the four people eyeing her with interest as they returned her greeting.

  Behind them, the hostess cleared her throat.

  Quinn glanced over his shoulder and slipped his arm from Victoria’s clasp, turning her.

  “We’re keeping the lady waiting, Victoria.” He nodded to his neighbors, said goodbye and with a hand resting against the small of Victoria’s back, steered her after the hostess.

  They were stopped once more, by an older, white-haired couple, to exchange friendly greetings before they reached their table.

  Both Quinn and Victoria ignored the whispers and raised eyebrows from the table of Eileen’s cronies and their husbands just beyond.

  Victoria waited until they were seated, accepted menus and the hostess retreated before she spoke.

  “Your friends seem like very nice people.”

  Quinn looked up from his menu.

  “They aren’t my friends, they’re my neighbors.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “What do you mean, is there a difference?”

  “I thought neighbors in a rural area like Colson became friends through sheer necessity, if nothing else. In Seattle, I’m so busy that I hardly know my neighbors and wouldn’t feel comfortable calling on them in an emergency, but I assumed that neighboring ranchers helped each other.”

  “We do.” Quinn gestured at Angus McKinstry. “Angus and his wife have the ranch just south of me. Cully and I help him with branding every year.”

  Victoria waited expectantly, but he added nothing further.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And what?”

  “And what else?”

  “Nothing else, that’s about it.”

  “What does he help you with?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Why not, you help him with branding.”

  Quinn shrugged. “That’s because he needs us. Cully and I don’t need his help with anything on our place. We handle what needs to be done.”

  Victoria was getting a picture of a man so isolated and self-sufficient that it didn’t occur to him to ask a neighbor for help.

  “But he’s your neighbor, like Becky’s your neighbor, so you must visit him. His wife probably insists on feeding you dinner every week or so.” With three single brothers, all older than she, Victoria was well acquainted with older women’s motherly urges to feed their bachelor neighbors.

  “No.”

  “Really?” Victoria considered him over the top of her heavy, gold-tasseled menu. “His wife hasn’t shown up on your doorstep with a casserole in one hand and a picture of her unmarried daughter in the other?”

  “She doesn’t have an unmarried daughter.” Quinn eyed her quizzically. “What made you think she did?”

  “I just assumed…” Victoria stopped in mid-sentence, waiting patiently until the waiter had filled their water glasses, taken their order and left them alone again. “What I’m trying to say is that I know what happens when a bachelor lives in the neighborhood—I have three older brothers. They spend half their life eating free food and dodging matchmaking efforts.”

  “Ah.” Quinn’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “I don’t have that problem.”

  Not that you’re aware of, Victoria realized. She could tell by the conviction in Quinn’s voice that he had no idea that the women of Colson considered him one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. And what had Lonna said? Oh, yes, Victoria remembered. The most eligible and the least likely to wed.

  She propped her elbow on the table, rested her chin on her hand and slowly shook her head at him.

  “You’re amazing, Bowdrie, absolutely amazing.”

  “Why is that?” Quinn couldn’t help smiling at her. She was the strangest combination of sassy mouth, brains, sharp tongue and mind-numbing sex appeal he’d ever met. And at the moment, she was just plain cute.

  “Because you haven’t a clue what a catch you are.”

  “Is that right?” She had no idea how wrong she was, he thought grimly.

  “Absolutely. Becky was right.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Becky? What does Becky have to do with it?”

  “She told me that you’re a nice guy who’s been brainwashed into believing otherwise by that horrid woman who raised you,” Victoria said bluntly, not surprised by the swift change in his expression. His green gaze turned cool, his features remote. “And I agree with her.”

  “You don’t know me,” he said flatly.

  Victoria shrugged, the green silk shifting over bare skin. “Perhaps. But I’ve seen enough to know that Eileen Bowdrie is wrong.” She reached out and brushed her fingers over his hair just above his temp
les. Startled, he stiffened, but didn’t pull away. His black hair was rough silk against her fingertips and she reluctantly drew her hand away. “I knew it.” She said with satisfaction.

  “Knew what?”

  “I knew that Eileen was wrong—you don’t have horns.”

  Quinn laughed aloud, a deep-throated chuckle that had the diners at neighboring tables turning to look at him with astonishment. Some of the occupants frowned with disapproval, some smiled with genuine appreciation.

  He didn’t even notice. His amused gaze was fastened on Victoria.

  “Did she tell you I did?”

  “Not in so many words—but after listening to her ramble, I assumed she thought you did.”

  “I’m sure she thought both Cully and I had horns—and a tail and pitchfork—when we were kids and had to live in the same house with her.” Quinn relaxed in his chair, unaware of the diners who cast glances his way. “Of course,” he said consideringly. “We always suspected that she flew off on her broom whenever there was a full moon.”

  “Really?” Delighted, Victoria grinned impishly. “Tell me more. I bet you pulled pranks on her.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So,” she prompted. “What was it? Superglue on her chair seat? Worms in the garbage disposal?”

  “She didn’t have a garbage disposal,” he said idly, more interested in her question than his response. “How did a nice, studious girl like you find out about that?”

  “I told you, I have brothers.”

  The waiter interrupted Quinn’s laughter.

  “Do you have any sisters?” he asked, when they were alone again with steaming plates and filled wineglasses.

  “No. I’m the only girl—and the youngest of four.”

  “Well, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you’re so hell-bent on proving you’re right. The only girl and the baby of the family— I’ll bet they spoiled you rotten and never once told you ‘no’.”