Who Wants to Marry a Cowboy? (33 page)

Ainsley gasped as she took in the renewed life around her. “Oh, goodness.” No longer did rotten decay overwhelm her just by standing inside. The brown humus was now a vibrant green and plants sported flowers and buds about to blossom. The tender work and care given to these plants filled the space with a vibrancy that it could barely contain. She took a moment to become part of it, letting the energy soak into her, with Riley by her side. Always.

She made her way down the center aisle, spotting the Japanese kerria that Riley’s father had been cultivating when he died. The former stark stems now sprouted small yellow flowers and bright green foliage. Next year it would probably be too big for its clay pot. “It’s beautiful.”

Riley slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “You were a bright beacon in my life when the ranch had experienced so much sadness. When you were here, you made me realize that no matter what happens, life has to keep going. That if you have the power, there are dreams that need to be fulfilled.” He spoke into her ear. “Keeping this greenhouse alive was part of my dad’s dream. It didn’t end because he died. It began again with you.”

“No.” She turned and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, holding her future tight. “It began again with us.”

Abigail Sharpe’s sexy series continues!

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W
hat do you mean, ‘benched’?” Quinn Donnelly had been suspicious of his editor ever since the man suggested lunch at a swank downtown restaurant. Neither Gus nor his assistant ever took lunch outside of the offices of
The Nation, The World
magazine. The let’s-catch-up-away-from-everything game had been a ploy to get Quinn in a public place where he couldn’t yell at Gus. Or Janelle. Much, anyway. “I’m fine. I’m healed.”

No way would Quinn let Gus or Janelle keep him in Atlanta. So what if every time he moved, pain stabbed at his side and at his wrist like someone was clawing his skin? He could handle it, just like he had handled being wounded. Handled his physical therapy. Handled the occasional flashbacks to the battlefield, too. He slouched in his chair, acting like he didn’t care about what they said. To prove his injuries were healed. To convince them that keeping Quinn home was the exact wrong thing to do.

Janelle leaned against the table, the faint aroma of chemicals and ink wafting from her clothes. Boy, had Quinn missed that smell when he was in Afghanistan. She drummed her fingers on the pristine tablecloth, holding off more arguments. “You need time, Quinn. You might not need constant medical attention, but you’re still not ready to go back to the desert. Not physically. Not emotionally.”

The bitch of it was, the woman was right. But she didn’t need to know that. Quinn put a piece of steak in his mouth and chewed slowly, not dropping the eye contact. Silence was a tactic he sometimes used when interviewing subjects. Most people couldn’t stand the stillness and filled it with revealing statements. The hum of the restaurant made the atmosphere cozy, not uncomfortable or charged enough for anyone to spill information. Gus and Janelle merely continued watching him like two unblinking owls. Fine. “Says who?”

Now Janelle averted her eyes and shared a glance with his editor. “We don’t have a return-to-full-work form from your doctors yet. Besides…” Janelle tucked her blond hair behind her ear and studied him with intelligent brown eyes that usually missed nothing. “Look at you. You’ve rubbed your side five times since we sat down.”

Lucky guess. He had gotten great at hiding. A waitress walked by with a tray of sizzling steak, and his dining companions watched while she passed their table. Quinn took advantage of the distraction to shrug out of his brown leather jacket, taking care not to wince in case his editor noticed. “I don’t see my parents here and I’m not twelve. I can make my own choices.”

“Not when it comes to my magazine.” Gus leaned forward, concern overtaking the practiced nonchalance that usually covered his features. “Quinn, if you go back to Afghanistan before you’re ready, and God forbid something happens to you…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple dipping with the movement. “Getting wounded the first time was bad enough.”

The tug in Quinn’s gut had nothing to do with his healing wounds, but dammit, if Gus wanted to resort to emotional blackmail, Quinn could play with the best of them. He spoke quietly, knowing his editor could stave off yells and threats like a bomb shelter weathered attacks. “I left too much behind to leave the story unfinished.”

“I’m not saying I’d never send you back.”

Janelle threw Gus a sharp look, but he kept his focus on Quinn. “Just not now.”

Truth was, the wound still hurt enough that it was a constant reminder of the explosion from the IED and the gunfire that followed. He didn’t remember anything from that moment until the moment he woke up in Germany. Thankfully, none of the soldiers in his embedded unit had died, but more than half of them had needed in-depth medical assistance.

The puncture wound on his side was still tight, like the burned skin on his wrist, and sudden moves made the pain greater. Daily physical and occupational exercises helped the healing. And even though he wasn’t a member of the platoon, those men had become his brothers just as much as if he had enlisted himself. He had even earned a nickname, then had it upgraded to Superman. He needed to go back for them, to finish the story.

The waiter came to refill their drinks, giving Quinn more time to think. Putting his friends and family through another type of hell made him ache more. Gus was right. Heaving out a quick breath, Quinn gave in and settled into his chair. “So what are you going to have me do instead? Lifestyle pieces on the southern elite? Investigations into poor hotel water pressure? Finding one hundred and forty-one uses for red clay?”

Janelle relaxed and dipped her chin a fraction of an inch, looking at Quinn as a slow smile spread across her face. He had broken things off with her when he left, even before that had told her their relationship was nothing permanent, and yet she had still looked at bridal magazines and left them on his coffee table.

“Better.” Her eyes gleamed with eager excitement.

It had to be something good for her to look like that. Or something really, really bad. “Tell me.”

“Remember when we did that employee exchange a few years ago? Some of the crew from my cousin’s TV station came here, and I sent you and some other reporters to Harbin?” Gus asked.

“Yeah.” Quinn’s excitement dwindled and he took a swig of water. Harbin was about forty miles west of Savannah and reeked of small-town charm. The most exciting thing there was the community fish fry in the summer. Nothing at all like the sweltering and oppressive heat of the desert, where the most exciting thing was avoiding enemy gunfire. “Why?”

“She needs a host. Some kind of TV show where a pediatrician is trying to raise funds for a children’s clinic. I don’t know the specific details, but it will take about a month.” Gus put a forkful of chicken parmesan in his mouth and held up a hand before Quinn could argue. Red sauce stuck to the corner of his mustache. “You’re on partial medical leave for another six weeks anyway.”

Janelle pulled out her tablet and tapped away. “Tara will have more details when you get there, but it’s like some sort of dating game. You’ll announce the weekly winners to the audience and stuff like that for four weeks.”

Boy howdy, this sounded like the best assignment in the whole wide world. “How did I get so lucky? You sure it won’t be too strenuous for my poor mind and ailing body?” Quinn tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I don’t think ‘Harbin’ and ‘strenuous’ can be used in the same sentence. Besides, you’ll be working with a doctor. And Tara has an extra room, so you can stay with her and not be alone.”

No way was that going to happen. Living at his brother’s was about as close as Quinn could be to having a roommate, but at least it was a solitary garage apartment. And he wasn’t going to let some egomaniacal doctor examine him. He didn’t need monitoring. Not to mention he didn’t want anyone else knowing how hard it was for him to sleep at night. What post-traumatic stress disorder?

“You really can’t find anything for me to do here? Aside from watching some doctor romance the fair maidens of the town?”

“Consider this a favor to me,” Gus answered.

The words might have been said lightly, but the concern on Gus’s features spoke more to Quinn than any gruff bullying would have. Plus he did want to spare his family any worry during the rest of his recovery, considering the worry he would put them through when he went back overseas. And he was going back, regardless of what Gus and Janelle tried to do. “When do I start?”

His editor’s face broke into a smile of relief that crinkled his moustache at the ends. “The show starts filming next Monday, so you have a little over a week to hightail it to Harbin and get situated. I know how you like to get to know your subjects beforehand, so Tara built in extra time for that.”

Janelle removed a manila folder from her bag and handed it to him with a smirk. “Here’s the star. Sabrina Bankhead is a pediatrician with roots in Harbin.”

That’s what he got for assuming things. Quinn flipped open the folder and almost whistled at the doe-eyed blonde who stared back at him, then gave his editors a quick glance to see if they’d noticed. Janelle narrowed her eyes, but Gus grinned. He had known Quinn long enough to read his mind.

“You’ll get more info when you go there.” Gus wiped his mouth and signaled the waitress for the check. “I’m heading back. The new features editor had a deadline of two o’clock and I need to see how he handles that kind of pressure. Especially with me standing right next to his desk.”

“We’ll meet you back there,” Janelle interjected, leaving Quinn no choice but to stay. He’d rather go with Gus back to the familiar controlled chaos.

Maybe it was better if he stayed away. The magazine’s newsroom usually sent pulses of excitement through his blood, but now his inquisitive coworkers bombarded him with curious questions. The ones who lived near Atlanta had visited while he was recovering, but they still cheered when he walked through the bullpen. If they only knew what he’d gone through to earn those cheers. Quinn hated being rude, but if he heard “how are you?” or “tell me everything that happened” one more time, he’d turn paper clips into throwing stars and heave them at the offender.

Janelle flipped her hair over her shoulder, the movement carrying the scent of her shampoo. He had always enjoyed the smell of it, some exotic fruit and ginger combination that suited her.

“How are you, really?” Her vocal emphasis made it clear it wasn’t the superficial greeting he had braced for from others. She really wanted to know. As much as Quinn tried to stay away from her as a clinging female, they had been friends before they had been lovers. Maybe they could be friends again.

He shrugged, feeling the skin pull on his torso. “Better than I was two months ago.” And better than a lot of the men he had been following. Thankfully, only one was still at Walter Reed, though some had been moved to hospitals closer to their homes.

She put a hand on his arm and gave him a small squeeze. He had to admit, the contact was nice, since most people were afraid to touch him, thinking it might hurt. “It’s good to see you away from the office. And out of the hospital.”

“You, too.”

“I was so worried about you.”

He moved more food around on his plate, her outpouring of emotion setting off warnings in his belly. “Sorry.”

“Gus made me keep it quiet at first when we heard you were in an explosion. We had to know if you were okay before we told everyone.” She drew in a shuddering breath, as if reliving the moment. “I’ve been reporting the news since I was a sophomore in high school and I’ve got to tell you, Quinn, holding this story was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You were all alone over there, with no one to take care of you, and all I wanted to do was hop on a plane and not pretend it was business as usual.”

“I had people to take care of me. I was in a hospital, remember?”

“No. I mean, yes, of course I remember. But I meant family. Or friends. Or…someone else.” She dipped her chin and lowered her gaze, her hand sliding down his arm so it rested on his. “I missed you, Quinn. A lot.”

Crap. “Janelle.” He took a deep breath to explain why getting back together wasn’t a good idea but had to stop when the pain in his torso flared.

“I know. I told myself I wouldn’t do this. It’s just that…” she took a deep breath. “You’re special, Quinn Donnelly.” She stood up and slung her large bag over her shoulder, using her straight hair to hide her face. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

She didn’t exactly run out of the restaurant, but she didn’t linger, either. Quinn finished his drink and picked his backpack up off the floor. When he approached the restaurant doors, he saw Janelle still outside. Waiting for him, maybe? Apprehension tingled down his arms and he went outside to face whatever else she wanted to throw at him.

“It was a good exit, wasn’t it?” She gave a bit of a laugh. “Marred only by the fact that Gus left me stranded. Can you give me a ride back to the Nation and World headquarters?”

Quinn parked his motorcycle outside his garage apartment. When he had been released from the hospital, he had worried that riding the bike would hurt too much, but the gliding movements felt better on his body than a jolting car. It was a relief to be home, where he could lie down and groan out loud, not worrying about what anyone would think or if they’d shoot him concerned glances or blather well-meaning encouragement. The one room and kitchenette had all Quinn needed, and the home-cooked meals he got from Merrick and his wife, Erin, were definitely a benefit. Buying his own home made no sense since he was never around.

The mail sat on the kitchen counter and he shuffled through it. Gaines—the one soldier still at Walter Reed—had sent him a copy of last month’s
Play House
with the corners turned down on his favorite models. Quinn felt it his duty—nay, his obligation to country—to inspect what his friend had so painstakingly marked.

His mind categorized what he needed to do for his new job while his eyes roamed the airbrushed figure on the page. He shuffled to the computer tucked next to the window. Apartment hunting was first on his list. He was going to Harbin as a resident, not as a hostile guest. With one last lingering look, he put down Ms. Navel Staples and searched for housing online.

All he required was a quiet bed and privacy. He hadn’t had much of either lately.

The setting sun cast shadows on his monitor by the time he was the proud renter of a one-bedroom furnished apartment on Harbin’s Main Street. The web pictures promised hardwood floors, a large, comfortable sofa, a queen-sized bed and a television. All the comforts of home.

“How was lunch?” Merrick leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, still in a dress shirt and tie, every bit the executive accountant. Quinn tossed him the magazine. It always amused him how similar his family members looked. He shared the same Irish characteristics as his three siblings, including dark hair and blue eyes and the ability to cook the perfect corned beef and colcannon on St. Patrick’s Day, but their different personalities made Merrick happy at home and left Quinn always looking for the next assignment. His brother gave a quick check down the apartment stairs before flipping to the dog-eared pages. “Gus give you this?”