Cattleman's Courtship

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “She did it.” Victoria waved a hand at the mare. “It’s all her fault.”

  “Yeah?” Quinn looked at the calm mare, then back at Victoria. “Just what did she do, exactly?” He asked mildly.

  “I tried to put some hay in her manger and she grabbed it out of my hand. It broke apart and I was sprayed with alfalfa. Then I lost my balance and fell off the divider.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t argue with a pregnant female several times your size,” Quinn suggested.

  His solemn tone was belied by the laughter in his eyes. Victoria eyed him for a moment.

  “So you think this is funny, do you?” she asked mildly.

  He grinned. Lit with humor, his face was stunningly handsome and as always, her heart jolted before it stuttered into rhythm again.

  “Honey, if you could see yourself,” he drawled, reaching out to pluck a piece of hay from her hair and hold it up for her to see. “You’d probably agree that you’re not your usual well-groomed self.”

  Victoria contemplated swatting his hand away. Instead, she grabbed fistfuls of the straw and tossed them at him.

  He wasn’t expecting to be pelted. For a moment, he was perfectly still, yellow straw catching and clinging to his hat, shirt and jeans.

  Uh-oh. Too late, Victoria remembered how he’d retaliated with the water hose. She scrambled to her knees, then her feet, in a flurry of skirts, and ran for the aisle and the open door.

  Before she reached the stall door, she was showered with straw.

  Her allergies chose that moment to decide enough was enough, and she staggered to a stop, caught by a fit of sneezing and coughing. Both exacerbated her tearing eyes and her vision wavered, further disorienting her.

  “Damn, honey. I’m sorry.”

  Quinn’s deep voice reached her just as his arm closed around her shoulders, steadying her.

  “Water,” she choked out between coughs.

  “Water, sure, we can do that.” He swept her up in his arms and strode down the alley to the back of the barn. He bent and pushed open a door, kicking it shut after him, and carefully set Victoria down. “Don’t move, I’ll get you a drink.”

  Victoria sneezed, fumbling in her skirt pocket for a tissue to dry her eyes. Quinn tucked a glass into her hand, folding her fingers around the cool surface.

  “Thank you,” she croaked. The cold water soothed her throat, easing the tickle that urged her to cough. Quinn left her to push open a window.

  Wood rasped against wood, then fresh air, free of the smell of hay or straw, brushed Victoria’s face. She sighed with relief, drank more water and for the first time, registered her surroundings.

  She was seated on an iron bed in a small room. The old-fashioned, white-painted bedstead was spread with a quilt, the colors muted to pastel blue and white, and a pillow rested against the head rails. The room was spartan, but homey, with a small bathroom off one end, a bureau and a rocking chair beneath the only window.

  Quinn left the window and dropped to his heels in front of her.

  “Feeling better?”

  She nodded. “Yes, much. Thank you for the water—and the fresh air.”

  “No problem. I shouldn’t have thrown the straw at you,” he said gruffly. “I just didn’t think about your allergies.”

  “Don’t apologize. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think about them, either.” She glanced around the room. “Where are we?”

  Quinn’s gaze flicked over the small room. “The hired hand’s room.”

  “You have a hired hand? Where is he?”

  “We don’t have one at the moment, but when we do, this is where he stays.”

  “Oh. I see.” She coughed.

  “Damn.” Quinn cupped her shoulders in his hands, then awkwardly patted her back. He hated this feeling of helplessness. He wanted her well, teasing him, throwing straw at him. She sipped the water and drew a deep breath. He bent his head to study her face. “Are you all right?”

  Victoria nodded. He stroked her back, the movements comforting. His green eyes were dark with worry. “I’m fine.”

  The worry didn’t leave his eyes and she cupped his cheek in an instinctive, reassuring gesture. “Really, Quinn, stop worrying. This happens sometimes—and it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I shouldn’t have thrown the straw at you,” he said again, grimly.

  “That isn’t what made me sneeze and cough,” she said gently. “I knew when I climbed into the hayloft that I was pushing my luck. Much as I love the smell of hay, my allergies don’t like it. I would have been okay if I’d dropped the hay into the manger and left the barn, but then the mare shook it all over me and I breathed in the dust. The straw probably wouldn’t have started me sneezing if I hadn’t already had too much hay.”

  “But it didn’t help.”

  “No. But I refuse to live my life constantly thinking about whether or not I’ll have an allergy attack.” She met his gaze, her palm smoothing over his cheek, her voice determined. “This wasn’t your fault, Quinn, and I refuse to let you feel guilty.”

  Quinn didn’t know how to tell her that guilt was secondary to the suffocating fear he’d felt when she’d struggled to breathe between sneezing and coughing. Seeing her vulnerable had smashed what little remained of his defenses. He’d spent most of his nights for the last few weeks lying awake, struggling to come to terms with the knowledge that he needed her. He wasn’t comfortable with needing anyone, the emotion was alien to him and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  He wanted her. He needed her. And he didn’t know how to tell her. He didn’t know what words to use to make her understand that this wasn’t just about wanting her body. He wanted all of her—and that scared the hell out of him.

  “Quinn?”

  Her voice was uncertain. He realized that he’d been staring at her, frowning.

  “Sorry, honey.”

  His voice was a husky murmur. Victoria’s gaze searched his, trying to read the dark emotion that roiled beneath the worry. His big body was tense, muscles coiled, tension evident in the faint tremor of his hands against her back and waist.

  He covered her hand with his, pressing her palm and fingertips against his face before turning his head, his lips finding the hollow of her palm. With his eyes closed, the thick black lashes concealed the intensity of his gaze, making him somehow vulnerable. A wave of emotion swamped Victoria.

  Then his lashes lifted and his fierce green gaze met hers. Stunned, she couldn’t move. Excitement raced through her veins, heating her blood, loosening her muscles and bones. Without knowing she moved, her body swayed toward him.

  His hand left her waist. Without looking away from her, he lifted the water glass and set it on the floor away from him.

  “I want you.”

  Driven beyond control, his words were harsh, blunt.

  Victoria didn’t stop to reason. This was Quinn. And she loved him.

  “Yes.”

  She breathed the word. Quinn didn’t wait for another. His hand closed over her bare knee. He lifted her hand from his cheek and slipped it around his neck before wrapping his arm around her waist.

  His head bent, his mouth almost brushing hers.

  “Hey, Quinn!”

  Cully’s voice shattered the silence.

  Quinn froze. His lashes lifted, frustration roiling in his green eyes.

  “Quinn? Victoria?”

  Cully’s voice sounded louder, nearer.

  “Damn.” Quinn pushed away from Victoria and stood, catching her hands in his to lift her from the bed. He didn’t want his brother to find them in the bedroom but he’d never done anything more difficult in his life than to stop that kiss. His body screamed in frustration. “Come on, honey.”

  She stared at him, her eyes disoriented and faintly unfocused.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers trembling with the effort.

  “Let’s get out of this room. I don’t want Cully to find us in bed.”

  “Oh.” Her g
aze sharpened, the faint flush over her cheekbones deepening. “Right.”

  She tugged her hands from his and stepped around him, pausing when he caught her waist and reached around her to pull open the door. Victoria fought the nearly overwhelming need to sink back against him and instead, walked out of the room. Quinn followed and they reached the pregnant mare’s stall just as Cully appeared in the open doorway at the end of the long aisle.

  “There you are, Quinn.” He paused in the doorway, his broad figure haloed by the sunshine outside.

  “What’s up?” Quinn managed to ask casually.

  “I’m going to Kelso’s place. He needs a part welded on his horse trailer. I’ll probably stop at the Grill for dinner so don’t expect me back until late.”

  “All right.”

  Cully lifted a hand in farewell. “Nice to see you, Victoria. Come again.”

  “Thank you, Cully. I will.” Victoria was relieved to hear that her voice appeared normal, the passion that had roared out of control only moments before subdued. But then Quinn’s palm smoothed from her shoulder to her waist and her nerves jumped, her body leaning into his with an instinctive yearning.

  Cully disappeared. Moments later, an engine started and the sound of truck wheels against gravel faded away.

  Victoria’s gaze left the sunny doorway and she looked at Quinn. His eyes were heavylidded, watchful.

  “He’ll be gone for hours. Come up to the house with me. I want you in my own bed.”

  Chapter Nine

  Victoria’s response was just as blunt, just as honest.

  “All right.”

  His grip tightened. His head lowered before he visibly caught himself.

  “I can’t kiss you here,” he said roughly. “If I do, we’ll never make it inside.”

  His hand left her waist, sliding down her arm to her wrist before he caught her hand in his and set off down the wide aisle. Victoria hurried to keep up with his long strides as he left the barn and swiftly crossed the wide yard between the barn and the house. He paused, holding the door for her to enter, then stepped across the threshold. Victoria got a swift impression of high-ceilinged rooms and heavy oak furniture before he drew her up the stairs.

  Quinn pulled Victoria into his bedroom and wrapped his arms around her, kicking the door shut behind them. His mouth took hers and he nearly groaned aloud as she welcomed him eagerly, her soft lips parting.

  Victoria speared her fingers into his hair, holding him closer while his mouth fed hotly on hers and he walked her backward to the bed. Without taking his mouth from hers, he swung her off her feet and deposited her atop a blue-and-white quilt, following her down. His heavy warmth blanketed her body, crowding close and she arched, pressing him closer. Quinn muttered against her mouth and pushed her knees apart, wedging between them and pulling her solidly against his jeans. Body against body, she sank into the kiss. Quinn’s fingers stopped stroking her thigh beneath the edge of her skirt and moved with sureness over her hip and beneath her short top. His fingers brushed the bottom edge of her white lace bra before cupping her breast with a sure possession that took her breath. He brushed his thumb over her nipple beneath the lace and she stiffened, arching against him in an instinctive plea for more.

  He groaned, a shudder shaking his body. Then his hand left her. She murmured in protest, but he caught the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up, his lips deserting hers as he yanked the shirt over her head.

  He reached around her and unhooked her bra, the straps falling down her arms, then it followed the T-shirt to the floor.

  Disoriented, Victoria heard his low, reverent curse and watched his intent, heavy-lidded gaze follow the movements of his fingers as he cupped her breast, his thumb smoothing over the rucked pink tip. She shivered and her eyelids, much too difficult to hold open, lowered as she concentrated on the unbearable pleasure. Rivers of sensation flowed through her body, swelling her breasts, pulling the nipples tighter as desire pooled in her belly.

  His hands left her body. Bereft, she forced her heavy lashes upward. He was standing, stepping away from her.

  “Quinn?” She reached for him.

  “Let me get my boots off, baby.” The words were thick, almost inaudible.

  Reassured, Victoria waited, so drugged with desire that she never thought about sitting half-naked on the bed before him. He sat beside her and tugged off a boot, it hit the floor with a thud. The other quickly followed. He twisted, reaching for her but Victoria stopped him, her hands fisting in blue cotton to tug at his shirt.

  “Take it off,” she murmured, her pulls uncoupling the top two snaps. Quinn grabbed the edges and ripped it open. Victoria pushed it off his shoulders but was distracted by the wide expanse of his sleek, tanned chest. She abandoned his shirt, flattened her hands over his collarbone, then stroked the washboard muscles of his midriff to his navel and the beginning traces of silky black hair that arrowed downward. Her thumb tested his navel. He growled out an oath and shrugged out of the shirt, reaching for her as she leaned into him, her arms going around his neck to bring them together, silky bare breasts and midriff against the satiny skin of his chest.

  Their mouths fused hotly together, he tumbled her backward on the bed, one hard thigh between hers. His hand found her knee and stroked upward, the hem of her skirt pooling over his wrist. His fingers brushed the damp silk of her panties and she bucked under his hand.

  Quinn was barely capable of thought, let alone speech. He ripped open his jeans, fumbling in his pocket as he foggily remembered that he needed to protect her. She was nearly frantic beneath him. Driven by the need to claim and mate, he ripped the white silk underwear, covered himself and entered her in one fierce rush.

  She stilled. He froze, seated deep within her.

  Remorse dragged him back from the edge. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Her voice was slurred, thick with pleasure. “No. Please…”

  Relieved, Quinn obeyed the tug of her arms and lowered his mouth to hers. Her hips lifted, urging him on, and instinct took over, driving them both to fulfillment.

  Weeks of wanting and waiting to have her dissolved. Quinn held her tightly, their bodies sealed together, his face buried against her throat as his breathing slowly returned to normal. She stirred, shifting beneath him.

  “I’m too heavy,” he muttered.

  “No.” Her arms contracted, holding him against her. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m not going far.” Her words eased something anxious inside him. He shifted to the side, his face beside hers on the pillow, his arm across her waist, fingers cupping the warm weight of one breast, his thigh lying heavy and possessive between hers.

  Her hands made little, stroking movements against his back, her pulse throbbed at the hollow of her throat.

  Strands of her hair trailed across the few inches of pillow between them, and he rubbed his cheek against the fragrant softness. His fingers left her breast to smooth the tousled mass back from her temple.

  “Mmm.”

  Eyes drowsy, she smiled tenderly. Quinn couldn’t resist tracing the faintly swollen curve of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. That led to tasting her. She responded, her mouth warm, slow and loving beneath his.

  He trailed his hand down her throat, lingering over the flushed, silky swell of her breasts, the inward curve of satiny midriff. His fingers tested the span from the dainty indentation of her navel to the outer curve of hip before he found the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs. She was swollen and sensitive, and her fingers tightened against his shoulders when he brushed her soft, heated core. She sighed, her mouth parting to the gentle nudge of his and his body tightened when she sucked delicately on his tongue, lazy fires raging to life again.

  Reluctantly, his fingers left her, his mouth lifting from hers. He shifted off the bed.

  “Quinn? What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, honey,” he rasped. “This time, I want us naked,” he said as he shoved his jeans and un
derwear down his legs.

  Victoria felt her throat go dry. He was fully aroused, powerful and intimidating.

  He bent over her, stripping her skirt and the torn silk undies quickly down her legs. Then he tugged her sandals off and tossed them on the floor with her clothes. Before Victoria could blink, his warm weight blanketed her once again, his face inches above hers.

  “Now, where were we?”

  “Right here.” Victoria lifted her lips to his, sinking back against the pillow when his tongue surged hotly into her mouth.

  Filled with passion and the wonder of making love, the afternoon passed too quickly. Neither of them made promises. There was no pillow talk about tomorrow, no declarations of love. Both were reluctant to dispel the sheer magic of their time together by raising the thorny issues that lay unresolved between them. Quinn didn’t ask her if she would stay in Montana; Victoria didn’t ask him if he could move past his affection-starved childhood and offer her love, marriage and children.

  Still, something deep inside told Victoria that Quinn felt more for her than lust. The intensity of his lovemaking, the gentleness of his touch as he tucked her hair behind her ear or traced his fingertips over her face made her feel cherished.

  Late that evening, after he’d insisted on following her home and kissed her good-night at her door, she watched from the window as he drove away.

  Just because he didn’t say the words doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. I didn’t say the words, either, she told herself. But Victoria knew why she hadn’t told Quinn she loved him. The knowledge was too new, and she was too unsure of him.

  Would Quinn ever be able to say the words to her?

  Victoria woke the following morning to another day of clear blue sky and rising temperatures. By the time she reached Hank’s law office, it was eight-thirty and the thermometer already read seventy-two degrees.

  Simple though the routine of responding to phone calls was, still it was nearly ten-thirty before she turned to the mail. She shuffled through the envelopes, halting abruptly when she recognized the return address of the Los Angeles detective agency from the Bowdrie file.