Gift of Fortune (8 page)

Aileen shook her head, signaling that this was incomprehensible to her. "You said this was your last rodeo competition?"

"Yes." Quint waited a beat. "Do you believe me?"

"I would like to, because the alternative is more than a
little scary. What if you got hurt and were laid up for
weeks, or months? Bob is past retirement age. He stayed
on only because Dad got ill. He promised to work until I
hired a competent foreman, but that could take time. I could
learn to run the ranch, but that would take time as well. In
the meantime, we could lose half the cattle and subsequently the land." Aileen paused to take a breath.

"I'm aware of what's at stake. I told you, I only entered
because I'd already paid the fee. And the money I earned
will cover my personal needs for quite a while."

"Why didn't you ask-"

"No! I've never asked a woman for money, and I'm not
about to start now," Quint said, his voice rock-hard, his
eyes emerald bright.

Aileen felt heat cover her face. "I'm sorry. We should
have talked about money sooner. My fault. I was so caught
up in all that's happened that I didn't think clearly."

"No need to apologize."

"Yes, there is," she insisted. He had risked his life riding
a wild bull because she hadn't faced facts. "Let's talk about
it now," she said. "This is how we've managed the finances
in the past. I use part of my salary to buy groceries and
pay the utility bills. Dad has...had an account for his
personal expenses and an accountant who pays the hands
and whatever the ranch needs. You should have an account too. And if this arrangement meets with your approval, we
can continue it."

"I already opened an account." Quint paused, trying to
frame his words carefully. "Do you have any idea what
kind of financial shape the ranch is in?"

"No. Dad refused to discuss such things with me."

"I'm only asking because we need to make some longterm financial plans if the ranch is going to make a profit.
Don't you agree?"

"Yes. I think we better take a trip to the accountant's
office."

Quint nodded. "When can you go there with me?"

Aileen studied the wall calendar. "Not until Friday afternoon, but I'd like to know before then what shape we're
in. If I call Mr. Holloway and tell him about you, are you
willing to go there by yourself?"

"Sure. Why not."

"I'll phone him from school tomorrow."

It turned out that Mr. Holloway had retired. He'd kept
the Triangle B as a client only as a favor to its late owner.
The accountant had left for a monthlong vacation in Florida. His secretary assured Aileen that the hands had received next month's salary, that the feed bill had been taken
care of, and the taxes had been paid. More than that the
secretary couldn't tell Aileen, but she promised to have the
accountant get in touch as soon as he returned.

When she told Quint that evening, he nodded thoughtfully. "At least we know everything's taken care of for the
next month. After that, we'll see."

"I can't believe that the ranch is in serious financial trouble," Aileen said. "I mean, wouldn't Dad have said something?"

"Would he? Did he confide in you about ranch problems?"

Aileen shook her head, chagrined. This had always been
a sore point, and for Quint to realize this so quickly was
embarrassing. "In some ways he was a dinosaur. As I mentioned before, he claimed a woman's work was limited to
the house and the garden. My mother was the only exception to this."

"Did he confide in your mother?"

"He must have. She kept the books. He hired the accountant after she died." Aileen pushed a piece of meat
around on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Of
course, my mother kept the books before she got married.
After her father died, she was in charge of the ranch for
about five years. She knew everything about it and managed it successfully until she got married."

"When you were growing up, did you think you were
well off?" Quint asked.

Aileen considered this question at length before she
spoke. "Yes. We took vacations. We had nice clothes. In
addition to the pickup, my parents each had a car which
they always traded in for newer models long before the cars
needed to be replaced. I had a college fund which paid for
tuition." She shrugged. "We weren't poor. At least I don't
think we were."

Quint chuckled, but it was a cynical sound rather than a
humorous one. "I'm an authority on being poor, so let me
assure you that you definitely weren't."

She studied his face, trying to gauge how much it had
hurt him to have gone without when she'd had everything.
His expression was unreadable. If anything, he looked tired.
And he was also worried about something. "Quint, what's
wrong?"

"Nothing, probably."

Aileen put her fork down. She carried her plate to the
sink, where she set it down with unnecessary force. Then
she whirled around to face him, her expression mutinous
and determined. "Don't you dare do this to me. It's bad
enough your father put me off with evasive answers. I had
to take it from him, but I don't have to take it from you."

Quint covered the distance between them with deceptive
speed. "Don't call him my father. Ever."

The anger in his green eyes caused Aileen to want to
move back from him, but he had her trapped against the
counter. She raised her chin. "Jack Bolton is your father.
Or rather, was your father, whether you like it or not.
Maybe he wasn't a great father-"

"Maybe he wasn't a great father? That lousy excuse for
a man...." Quint forced the rest of his words to stick in
his throat. He balled his hands into fists. He took a painful
breath. "Let me tell you about the man you call my father.
Jack Bolton saw a lovely, innocent young girl, filled her
head with false promises, and seduced her."

Aileen felt the blood drain from her face. "What promises?"

"What do you think? That he would marry her. Leave
his wife. What else? The miserable liar."

"No!" Aileen placed her hands over her ears.

"You asked. Now you have to listen." Gently Quint
pulled her hands from her ears. "When she got pregnant,
he discarded her like a worn-out saddle."

Aileen shook her head vigorously. "Discarded her?
That's not possible. Maybe she left because her folks were
leaving. Are you sure he knew about you?"

"Oh, yes, he knew. When my mother wrote him, telling
him again that she was pregnant, he denied being responsible. He sent her a couple of hundred bucks hush money
and told her never to bother him again. If she or any mem ber of her family ever set foot on the Triangle B, he'd sic
the dogs on them."

Aileen gasped and swayed as if he had struck her. She
clutched the edge of the counter behind her to steady herself. "I can't believe he could have done that," she cried
out in protest.

"Why not? Because he was good to you and your
mother?" Quint looked into her eyes, which were dark blue
pools of shock, anger, and misery. He knew it was cruel to
tell her this, but she had asked. "Aileen, you said the ranch
belonged to your mother's family. Think about it. According to Bob, Jack Bolton blew onto this ranch like a tumbleweed, owning nothing more than a beat-up pickup, good
looks, charm, and an overwhelming determination to improve his station in life."

"Just like you," she snapped, and immediately gasped,
appalled at her own words. But she was too angry to apologize.

"True," Quint said, his voice harsh. "Except I was invited. Or summoned. I didn't manipulate a woman into
giving me half ownership of this ranch." She looked as if
she might faint. Realizing that Jack Bolton might have
taken advantage of her beloved adoptive mother was obviously painful to Aileen. She turned away from him. Her
head dropped forward, exposing the soft, vulnerable curve
of her neck. Without conscious thought, Quint laid his hand
on her neck, a gesture meant to be comforting.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said this. Maybe Jack did
love your mother. Maybe he was only heartless to mine."
Quint turned her to face him. She was so pale that the
caramel-colored freckles on her face stood out in stark contrast.

"I don't know what to think," she whispered. "I'd like
to believe that he loved my mother." Aileen took a shud dering breath. "Still, your story is proof that he was capable
of cruelty, deceit, and irresponsibility."

Aileen's voice sounded strangled, as if it were being
squeezed out past unshed, bitter tears. Quint stroked her
hair.

"Did my fa...did Jack ever send money to help support
you?"

"No. Never." Watching her grow even paler, he said,
"Aileen, let it go."

She couldn't let it go. She had to know. "Did he know
where you were?"

"My mom wrote him when she took sick."

"Did he respond?"

"He returned the letter with a fifty-dollar bill and wrote
not to bother him again."

"Oh my God," Aileen murmured. She stifled a sob,
though she could not stop the tears that ran down her face.

Quint's fingers traced the curve of her neck. "Don't cry,
for heaven's sake. None of this is your fault. Besides, all
this happened years ago. It's almost forgotten."

"As if something like this could ever be forgotten," she
cried out.

"Maybe not forgotten, but you learn to live with it."

A violent shudder shook her body. "I can't believe this.
My mom used to say not to mind him when he was super
critical or aloof. She said it wasn't his way to show affection. Now I wonder if she was wrong about him-if he
ever cared about anybody but himself."

"Surely he treated her and you well." Quint didn't add
that it was in Jack's best interest to treat his wife decently.
"He didn't mistreat either of you, I'm sure."

"No, he was polite and solicitous. Most of the time he
called her `Miss Ruth,' which I always thought was quaint and sweet, but now I wonder if this was just another way
of keeping an emotional distance."

"How did he treat you?" Quint asked.

"Mostly he ignored me. Mom said he was too busy to
pay much attention to us, so I tried hard to make him notice
me.11

"How?" Quint asked.

"By getting good grades and doing everything that was
expected of me."

"Did it work?"

"Minimally. I've often wondered if he might have paid
more attention to me if I'd messed up and gotten into trouble."

"Maybe. Out of curiosity, why didn't you?"

"I couldn't do that to my mother." Aileen bit her lip,
trying to control her trembling voice. "In retrospect, I realize that most likely he agreed to my adoption only because it meant so much to my mother. And probably
because he felt guilty for cheating on her." A new burst of
tears followed that admission.

Quint placed his arms firmly around Aileen and held her.
The murmuring, soothing sounds of his voice slowly
calmed her sobs. With his face pressed against her neck,
he inhaled her scent. He hadn't been mistaken. Her skin
smelled a little like caramel, making him long for that
sweet, melted-sugar taste of all the feast days of his childhood.

He moved his head lower until his lips touched her neck.
He meant to kiss her neck just once, but that wasn't
enough. She was so delicious that the taste, the touch, the
scent of her fogged his ability to think. With a small groan
he pressed a series of kisses on her skin until he felt her
tremble. That stopped him cold. What was he doing? Had
he lost his mind? Had he forgotten that to him, kissing the tender neck of a woman was a potent aphrodisiac that
nearly broke his control?

He released her abruptly. "Sorry, Aileen," Quint murmured, his voice husky, and fled from the kitchen.

Aileen stared after him as if in a trance. Her senses, her
mind, her body were all in a turmoil. She felt as if the
world as she had known it had disappeared. Her father, who
had merely seemed cool and distant, had been unmasked
as a selfish, cold, cruel, immoral man. Could Quint possibly
be wrong? He had seemed so sure, had told his story so
convincingly.

And then Quint had held her and comforted her. She
thought he may even have kissed her neck. Why? What
was that all about? She felt so confused, ungrounded, cut
off at the knees. A sob escaped from her burning throat.
Then a new torrent of tears nearly blinded her.

Holding onto the kitchen counter, she made her way to
the pantry. There, shielded in its near darkness, she sank
to the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest. Surrounded
by the familiar, homey smells of strings of dried peppers,
sacks of beans and onions, bottles of sweet clover honey,
and tins of cinnamon and ginger, she allowed herself the
luxury of weeping tears she had repressed since her
mother's death.

Quint left the house before Aileen got up the next morning, for which she was unspeakably grateful. She wasn't
sure she could have faced him with even a minuscule measure of equanimity.