Authors: Ilsa Mayr
"How about a motel?"
"For one thing, the nearest motel is over forty miles
away, and for another, neither of us could afford to pay for
a motel night after night."
"But he can't stay here," Martha said emphatically.
"Why not? Half this house belongs to him. Remember?"
Aileen straightened the stack of papers and slid them into
her briefcase. "Martha, I said Quint spent the night in this
house. I didn't say he spent it in my bed."
Martha gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Mercy,
girl. I never suspected he did. Miss Ruth raised you better
than that."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is that we don't know nothin' about him.
The man could be a swindler or a convict or worse."
"The lawyers checked him out thoroughly to be certain
that he's not a swindler or an impostor. And if he had a
criminal record, they would have discovered that as well
and told me."
"But you're both young and unmarried. It just isn't
proper. And Quint's so good-looking." Martha's voice had
risen into a wail.
"If Quint were ugly, would that make it less improper?"
Aileen asked, her eyebrow raised.
"Oh, you know what I mean. People are going to talk!
And you're a schoolteacher."
"Martha, we're now in the twenty-first century. Surely
two people sharing a large house they both own isn't going
to cause a major scandal."
"Maybe not in a big city, but here? I wouldn't be too
sure. You be careful," Martha warned.
Martha twisted her wedding ring, a sign, Aileen knew,
that she was uneasy. "What's the matter?"
Martha shrugged. "Oh, all right. Which room did you
give Quint?"
"The small parlor."
"Downstairs? That's good."
"I'm glad you approve," Aileen said, her voice dry. "I
hope you remember that this is an old house and that all
the doors are sturdy and can be locked."
Martha looked a little sheepish. Then she rose. "I better
go see how the men are doing. Eat your biscuits."
"I will. Thanks, Martha."
Jennifer arrived on Saturday morning, ready to work.
"Where's the baby?" Aileen asked, after greeting her
friend.
"My mother-in-law is babysitting her so I can stay until
after lunch."
"Great. We should be able to finish wallpapering the
room."
They had cut and hung the second panel when Jennifer
sucked in her breath in that audible manner that indicated
surprise. "What's this?" she asked, holding up a pair of
boots. "And this?" she demanded, picking up a shirt from
the love seat.
"That's a flannel shirt," Aileen said.
"No duh, but it's a man's flannel shirt, and don't tell me
it belonged to your dad, because he never wore anything
this brightly colored."
"No, it wasn't Dad's shirt."
"Aileen, you got a man living in this room, don't you?"
"Yes."
Jennifer dropped the boots.
Aileen had never seen her friend so stunned. It took a
good five seconds before Jennifer found her voice.
"Man, if the saying `still waters run deep' weren't so
old, I'd swear it was coined especially for you. I can't believe this. You were always so...so straight-laced and
proper."
"I'm not straight-laced," Aileen protested. "Careful and
choosy. Maybe."
Jennifer collapsed onto the love seat, still clutching the
shirt. "Who is he?" she demanded.
"His name is Quinton Fernandez and this isn't what you
seem to think it is." Aileen then proceeded to tell the story
as succinctly as she could.
"Holy-." Jennifer clapped her hand over her mouth.
Now that she was a mother, she was trying to clean up her
language. "Holy horseradish! Your dad? Of all men, I'd
never have suspected him of having a baby on the side. Just goes to show that you can never tell about people."
Jennifer shook her head. "And this Quinton really owns
half of everything? Is that legal?"
"He does, and it is."
"What's he like?"
Aileen shrugged.
"Aileen! This is no time to clam up. What does he look
like?"
"He looks okay."
"He looks okay? What does that mean? Is he plain? Is
he ugly? Is he cute?"
"Your husband is cute. Quint is more... adventurouslooking. Now come on and help me with this panel. We
have to get this done. You'll meet him at lunch."
"If I'm not dead of curiosity by then," she muttered.
Despite Jennifer's difficulty in concentrating on the task,
they got the room wallpapered by 11:30.
Jennifer, hands on hips, looked at their work. "I must
say this room looks great. I wasn't so sure about this green
textured wallpaper when I first saw it, but it works in here.
You always had good taste."
"Thanks. I need to check on lunch," Aileen replied.
"I'll clean up in here."
Ten minutes later the women had set the table. Jennifer
was pouring the third glass of milk when Quint walked into
the kitchen. Staring at him, Jennifer kept pouring, even
though the glass was full. Fortunately, she was doing this
over the sink. Aileen dashed to her side and rescued the
carton of milk.
While returning the milk to the refrigerator, Aileen made
introductions. Judging by Quint's smooth, gracious response, he must have encountered Jennifer's slack-jawed,
undisguised admiration more than a few times before.
When she met his green-eyed gaze, Aileen knew he was a little amused as well, but since it was a good-natured
amusement, she decided to overlook it. Jennifer had been
her friend since fifth grade. She could not allow anyone to
be maliciously amused at her friend's expense.
They concentrated on eating for a while. At least, Quint
and Aileen did, while Jennifer, with a stunned look on her
face, stirred her soup.
"This is great soup," Quint said. Peering closely, he analyzed the contents. "Lots of vegetables, chunks of tender
beef and...rice?"
"Barley," Aileen said.
"I suspect this soup didn't come out of a can," Quint
said.
"Not in this house. Miss Ruth made everything from
scratch and she taught Aileen to do the same," Jennifer
said. "My mom, on the other hand, couldn't put a meal
together if you took away her cans and boxes. Aileen's
been giving me cooking lessons. Andy loves it."
"Andy is Jennifer's husband," Aileen explained. "Help
yourself to more soup."
Quint refilled his bowl and took another sandwich. "Do
you live near here, Jennifer?"
"I live in town now, but I grew up on a ranch just south
of the Triangle B. My folks still live there."
"Must be nice to have lived in one place most of your
life," Quint said, his voice musing.
"Or boring. Where did you grow up?" Jennifer asked.
"All over." Quint shrugged. Then, focusing on Jennifer,
he asked if she had children.
Aileen noticed that Quint had deftly changed the subject
from his past to Jennifer's baby. Why was he so reluctant
to talk about himself?
When they had finished dessert, Quint rose. "Thanks for
lunch, Aileen. I'm working on the north range, mending fences, so I'll be back late. I can fix myself something when
I get back. Nice meeting you, Jennifer."
"Nice meeting you too." Jennifer waited until she heard
the back door close before she spoke. "Okay-looking?" she
said, her tone incredulous.
"What?"
"You said he was okay-looking. Do you need glasses?
Quint's positively yummy. He's hot, hot, hot. Even a happily married woman like me sees that." Jennifer used her
hand to fan herself.
"Looks aren't everything."
"No, but they sure don't hurt. Did you notice he was sort
of evasive about where he grew up?"
"I noticed."
"What do you know about him?"
"Not much. He works such long hours that we haven't
had a chance to talk. He comes in to eat dinner and then
he goes out again, working in the tack room or the barns.
He certainly is a hard worker; I'll give him that. And Bob
says Quint seems to know a lot about ranching. I hope so.
I'd sure hate to lose the Triangle B."
"You always did love this place. Me, I couldn't get into
town fast enough." Jennifer paused. "He isn't married, is
he?"
"Who? Quint?"
"Of course, Quint. Who else are we talking about?"
"He said he wasn't. Or engaged or involved. He told me
that right off the bat."
"Interesting," Jennifer mused.
"Why?"
"Did he ask if you were involved?"
"Yes."
"Even more interesting." Before Aileen could ask why,
Jennifer said, "He was testing the water."
Aileen rolled her eyes. "We have to get along to hang
onto the ranch, so it's better if we keep this strictly business. Ranching hasn't been all that profitable lately. The
Triangle B will require all of our attention."
"Or you could get married and make this a doubly solid
partnership."
"Like that wouldn't present another set of problems? Besides, I seriously doubt that Quint's the marrying type."
"Any man's the marrying type if he has a strong incentive or if he meets the right woman," Jennifer claimed with
conviction. "Now I better go and retrieve my baby. Andy's
mom wants to go shopping."
As Aileen walked Jennifer to the door, Jennifer asked,
"Do you have any plans for tonight? It's Saturday, you
know."
"I have papers to grade and bread to bake."
"You're going to wait up for him, aren't you? And have
something hot waiting for him?" When Jennifer saw
Aileen's expression, she added quickly, "Hot to eat, I mean.
A man who works that hard deserves a hot meal at the end
of the day."
"Good-bye, Jennifer. Thanks for the help."
Even though her friend was obviously matchmaking, she
was right about a man deserving a hot meal. Aileen decided
to cook something that would keep warm in the oven.
By the time Quint got back to the ranch, it had been dark
for several hours. He hadn't meant to stay out that late, but
fixing the fence had taken longer than anticipated. He was
dead tired, cold, and hungry.
The house was quiet. Aileen had gone to bed, or, more
likely, she was out on a date. This was Saturday night, after
all. He felt acutely let down that she wasn't there. When
he identified the source of his disappointment, he called himself a fool. The woman was nothing to him. She could
be nothing to him.
Something smelled temptingly good in the kitchen. A
note on the counter informed him that food was in the oven
and a salad was in the refrigerator. Aileen sure was big on
salads. He filled his plate from the casserole and carried it
to the kitchen table. He had almost wolfed it all down when
Aileen joined him.
"I thought you were out," he said.
"No, I was upstairs. Reading." She fetched the salad and
the dressing and set both in front of him. Then she placed
the casserole on a trivet and brought it to the table. "You
may as well finish this. It doesn't keep well. The noodles
become soggy."
He didn't need urging and scraped the last bit of chicken,
noodles, and vegetables onto his plate. He also dutifully ate
the salad.
Aileen carried the casserole to the sink and washed it.
"What were you doing out there so long?"
"Mending the fence."
"In the dark?"
"Kept the headlights of the truck aimed at the fence. I
wanted to finish that section. No sense in wasting time driving all the way out there again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is Sunday. Everyone has the day off." Aileen
put the casserole into the cupboard before joining him at
the table. "Quint, you don't have to kill yourself with work.
No one expects that."
"What did you expect? The south-of-the-border guy with
the sombrero pulled over his eyes taking a nap in the noonday sun?"
"That's a terrible ethnic stereotype," she said, her voice
and expression shocked. "I didn't have time to form any
expectations. You were here before the surprise of your existence wore off. I wasn't able to speculate about you or
form any preconceived ideas."
Quint carried his dishes to the sink. He turned the radio
on and moved the dial until he found a station playing
music.
"How come you're not out on a date?" he asked. "It's
Saturday night."
"I got out of the habit of dating, I guess. Dad was sick
for so long. When he was home, he needed care. When he
was in the hospital, I visited him every evening. And since
his death...." her voice trailed off. Then she realized that
his voice, his expression held a challenge. Squaring her
shoulders, she asked, "What about you? You were out repairing the fence instead of kicking up your heels in town."
"True. Let's fix that," Quint said, and approached her.
What does he have in mind, Aileen wondered, her heart
thudding.
Taking her hands, he pulled her to her feet. "Let's
dance."
"Dance? I'm not a good dancer."
Putting his arms around her, he said, "Don't worry. I
am."
"Why does that not surprise me?" she murmured. "You
do everything well that involves women, don't you?"
"Are you accusing me of being a gigolo, or are you asking for a demonstration?"
He smiled at her lazily. His green eyes sparkled. Aileen
felt her breath catch. "Neither, but-"
"If you don't want a demonstration, hush up and dance.
You think too much."
"I don't believe that's possible."
"Yes, it is," he insisted. "Sometimes you have to listen
to your instincts. Feel instead of think."
"That could be dangerous."
"Your life could stand a little danger."
His words, his voice, soft and husky, sent a shiver down
her spine. She ought to pull out of his arms and run upstairs
and lock her door. But she didn't. She would wait until the
music stopped. After all, she didn't want him to think that
he was dangerous to her. He wasn't.
The music changed to a slow beat. Immediately his arms
tightened around her and he drew her close.