Gift of Fortune (5 page)

"Is there an empty trailer?"

Aileen shook her head.

"Well, it's too cold to pitch my tent. And I'm too old to
sleep in the barn. That was okay when I was fourteen and
fifteen, but not now." He hitched his left shoulder, feeling
the slight ache that had plagued him since he took a hard
spill off the back of that rodeo bull.

"How about a motel?" she asked.

"I've stayed in a motel while waiting for you to return
from your trip. That gets expensive fast. Maybe you can
afford it, but I can't." Still she didn't say anything. She
wasn't making this easy for him.

Quint walked to the hall and glanced around. Turning
back to face her, he said, "Judging by the downstairs, this
house must have three or four bedrooms." He saw the color
drain from her face.

"You want to sleep in this house?" Aileen asked and
reached for the table to steady herself.

"Seems the logical and practical thing to do."

"You can't! This is my house. My home," she cried out.

"Wrong. This is our house. Our home. Remember?"

Aileen's knees grew weak. She sank into the nearest
kitchen chair.

Aileen didn't know how long it took for the room to
stop swaying. She was holding onto the edge of the kitchen
table for dear life.

"Look, I'm sorry I sprang this on you so bluntly," Quint
said, "but I thought it had to have occurred to you that I
needed a place to sleep."

"Well, it hadn't! Until a few hours ago I didn't even
know that you existed, much less that you'd be invading
my home. And needing a place to sleep." Aileen pressed
her hand against her temple.

"Darlin', if my sleeping in the same house is what's
bothering you, it shouldn't. I like tall, pale blondes or tiny,
fiery brunettes. You're neither, so you're safe from me."

Aileen knew her mouth dropped open but she couldn't
help it. The man's arrogant assumptions were as astonishing as they were disturbing and insufferable. And then he
had the audacity to level one of his killer smiles at her.
Gathering her dignity around her and lifting her chin, she
said, "It's reassuring to know that I'm not your type, and
since you are not my type either, you'll be perfectly safe from me as well." She thought she saw his smile falter for
a second.

"Now that we got it settled that we're not going to tear
each other's clothes off, I'd like to turn in. I've had a long
day. Where do I sleep?"

That was a good question. There was no way she could
give him one of the upstairs bedrooms. The idea of his
sleeping down the hall from her was just too.... Aileen
couldn't think what it was that disturbed her so about it,
and she didn't have the time to figure it out. Ruling out the
upstairs, that left the first floor.

"If you don't mind a room that's not completely redecorated, you can have the small parlor. There's a bathroom
across the hall from it."

"I'm not fussy."

"That's good, because this house has no maid service.
I'll do most of the cooking, but you do your own personal
laundry. The washer and dryer are in the utility room,
which is next to the kitchen."

"That's acceptable," Quint said.

That was big of him, she groused silently. "The ironing
board is in there too."

"Ironing board?" he asked, puzzled.

"Don't you iron your shirts?"

"No. I have my dress shirts done, and the work shirts?
The cattle don't care if they're ironed or not."

"You have a point," Aileen conceded. "Just to clarify
things," she added, "You can use any room on the first
floor, but the upstairs is mine."

Quint lifted an eyebrow, but then inclined his head in
agreement.

"Follow me." Aileen led the way. She opened the door
and turned on the light. "Oh. I'd forgotten that we had left the stepladder and the worktable in here." Aileen picked
up the ladder.

"Here, let me." Quint wrested the ladder from her.
"Where do you want it?"

"Just put it in the hall."

When he returned, she said, "Jennifer, she's my best
friend, and I were putting up new wallpaper. Her baby
came down with a cold, and then I had to go to D.C., so
we didn't have a chance to finish. I'll call her and ask if
she can help me this weekend. I can't hang wallpaper by
myself."

"No hurry," Quint said. He pulled the dustcover from a
piece of furniture. A loveseat. Did Aileen think he could
sleep on this midget couch?

She lifted the dust sheet from a single bed next to the
window. "I'll get a pillow and some sheets."

He watched her leave. She was quick and graceful. Probably had taken dancing lessons as a girl. And studied the
piano, and...Quint dismissed these thoughts. It wasn't her
fault she had enjoyed privileges. She'd been lucky, and he
hadn't. That was life.

Quint sat on the bed to test the mattress. Not too soft. A
man could get a good night's rest in this bed. With a sigh
of relief, he pulled his boots off.

When Aileen returned, she handed him a thick, fluffy
pillow. "Can you put the pillowcase on it?"

"Sure." The pillowcase had yellow stripes woven into
the white fabric. The yellow matched the sheet Aileen
tucked over the mattress. The cover of the comforter she
spread over the bed matched the pillow. "I can't remember
if I ever slept in such a color-coordinated bed."

Was there a mocking undertone in his voice? His face
gave her no clue. "You don't like it? My mother didn't like
plain linens. She said that if you could have glorious color, why settle for white. I'm pretty sure we don't have any
white sheets. Maybe Martha has-"

"This is fine," he reassured her. "It looks pretty and inviting. I'm sure I'll sleep just fine in this bed. Relax,
Aileen."

Relax? He had to be joking. She might never relax again.
She straightened the edge of the comforter one more time.
"If you don't need anything else, I'll say good night."

"What time do you get up in the morning?"

"Six. Earlier if I don't get all the papers graded."

"In that case, I'll start the coffee. And I'll make it good
and strong. Just the way you like it," he said, repeating
Martha's words.

"Thanks."

"Good night," Quint said.

Aileen hurried into the kitchen. She put the teakettle on.
If ever she needed a calming cup of herb tea, it was now.
She retrieved her briefcase from the hall and stacked the
spelling work sheets on the table.

Ordinarily, she graded papers wearing her comfortable
robe and fuzzy slippers, but with Quint in the house, that
didn't seem such a good idea. Briefly she debated running
upstairs to change into jeans and a T-shirt and get out of
the pantyhose she'd been wearing all day, but that would
only waste time.

She poured a cup of tea and picked up the first sheet.
Would Quint be warm enough with just the comforter? The
nights still got awfully cold.

Aileen went to the linen closet for a blanket. She paused
in front of his closed door to take a deep breath. She
knocked. When he opened it, she forgot momentarily what
she was going to say. He had taken his shirt off. Mutely
she stared at his wide shoulders and broad chest. That glo rious expanse of skin and muscle seemed to be all her eyes
could look at.

"Yes?" Quint asked.

"Um. I brought you a blanket. I remembered that the
heat register is closed in this room. You should open it.
The nights are still cold."

"Thanks. I will."

Then, remembering why she had knocked on his door,
Aileen thrust the blanket at his chest. "Here, you'll need
this." When he took the blanket, his fingers brushed against
her hand. She jerked back as if scalded and, for the second
time that evening, covered the short distance to the kitchen
in record time. This could become a habit-her hasty retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen.

Aileen sat down. She sipped some tea. Then she picked
up the top sheet. She blinked when she read the first word.
What on earth was gerrenty? Then she remembered that
guarantee was a word in the short story her freshmen class
was reading. With a sigh she picked up her red pen. She
had a feeling she'd be using it a lot.

She had graded about half the quizzes when she heard
the shower start. Oh, great. Now she had a naked man
taking a shower in her house. Noting the absurdity of her
thought, she shook her head. Of course Quint was naked.
People didn't take showers with their clothes on.

Unbidden, the image of his bare chest flashed into her
consciousness. She pictured water sluicing over his handsome face, over his strong shoulders, down his chest, matting the fine, dark hair.

"That does it," she muttered. "I'm going upstairs."

The first thing Quint became aware of the next morning
was the seductive aroma of coffee. Aileen must not have
finished grading those papers last night. He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. He had overslept, but that was not surprising. He hadn't slept well the whole week while waiting
for her to get back to the ranch.

When he had finished getting ready, he joined her. "I see
you're still at it," he said, nodding toward the stack of papers.

"Sometimes it's easier to face these atrociously spelled
words in the morning." Aileen hoped Quint would buy her
explanation. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a baby."

Lucky him. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, and
then her sleep had been plagued by bizarre dreams in which
he and his sexy smile had played a leading role.

"Looks like the coffee is ready. Want me to pour you a
cup?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

Quint studied the mugs hanging from a rack. With a grin
he picked the one with a big, red apple on it. He read the
inscription. "From a fan?"

"Last year's senior class. I was their advisor. It's customary to say stuff like that about the class advisor."

Quint doubted that, but let it pass. He filled the mug and
handed it to her. Then he filled one for himself. Sipping
the fragrant brew, he studied Aileen. Her hair hung in shiny
reddish-golden waves to below her shoulders. She looked
very pretty and very young in her quilted satin robe that
she had buttoned all the way to her chin. He wouldn't have
thought that pink was a good color for fair skin and
caramel-colored freckles, but this particular shade looked
great on her.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked.

"Look around. Meet the hands. Decide what's to be done
first."

"Will you consult Bob? He's been the foreman for as
long as I can remember."

"It would be dumb and shortsighted of me not to consult
him."

She nodded, relieved.

"Did you think I'd throw my weight around? Give highhanded orders? Maybe fire someone?"

"I hoped you wouldn't, but since I don't know you-"

"You didn't know what to expect."

"Exactly."

"Aileen, I may not be as educated as you, but I'm not
stupid."

"I didn't say, or even imply, that you were."

"My...what is the buzzword? People skills? They're
good." They'd had to be for him to survive. "I can run this
ranch, Aileen."

"Again, I didn't say that you couldn't. And for both our
sakes, I sure hope you can."

"For the last year-and-a-half, I was the foreman on a
ranch in the western part of the state." Quint took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. "You can
call Mr. Vance and ask him for a reference. I-" A knock
on the back door stopped him.

"Come in," Aileen said.

"Mornin', folks," Bob said. "Martha's fixin' a big breakfast. She hopes you can join us."

"I have to finish grading these papers, so I can't, but
Quint, why don't you go? You can talk about the ranch
while enjoying Martha's excellent cooking."

"Sounds good. Thanks for the invitation, Bob."

"Martha was takin' the biscuits out of the oven, so why
don't we go. She gets cranky when her food gets cold."

"See you tonight," Quint said to Aileen.

She watched the men leave the room, glad to be alone. She had been acutely aware of Quint's silent study of her
and had almost regretted her small act of defiance-if coming down to her kitchen wearing her robe rather than her
school clothes could be called an act of defiance.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She didn't
even have a chance to say "enter" before Martha swept in,
carrying a plate.

"I brought you a couple of biscuits and some blackberry
preserves that you can eat while reading your papers."

"Thanks."

"Quint sure got here early."

"He never left," Aileen said.

"What do you mean, he never left?"

"He slept here."

Martha's jaw dropped open. She perched on the nearest
chair and leaned toward Aileen. "Say that again."

"Quint spent the night here."

"Saints above protect us from the demons below," Martha murmured. "Why?"

"Because we don't have a bunkhouse, and he had nowhere else to go."