Quinn (12 page)

“Did he?”

She shrugged. “We can all see that he’s really trying.”

“So he’s still here. What about his family?”

Her voice lowered. “He never talks about his past. According to Buddy, it was a really sad story. Austin had been in foster care, then living on the streets, when Buddy saved him from an attacker one night in Laramie.”

“Was Buddy in college there?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “After that they bonded and became friends, and when Buddy graduated he brought Austin here to work on the ranch.”

“I can see why your father wanted to keep him around.” Quinn paused, wondering how to ask the next logical question.

Finally, gathering his courage, he asked, “What happened to your father?”

He saw the pain in Cheyenne’s eyes. “A ranch accident. Dad had taken one of the all-terrain vehicles up into the hills. When he didn’t return, we went searching and found him in the snow. Apparently he’d taken a steep hill too fast, and the vehicle flipped on him, pinning him. Chief Fletcher said it looked as though he froze to death out on the trail.”

She fell silent, and Quinn thought it wise not to press for more details.

With a shake of his head he muttered, “That’s a heavy load of bad luck to shoulder. What about Austin? Where is he now?”

“Up in the high country with the wranglers. He keeps saying that he wants to learn everything he can about
ranching, and there’s no better way than by spending time with the whole crew.”

“That’s good. It sounds as though he’s found a home here.”

She looked down at the cup of coffee in her hands. “I really feel that I owe it to Dad and Buddy to give him as much time as he needs to learn the ropes of ranching.”

Quinn moved closer to the framed photograph of a beautiful young Arapaho woman in flowing native dress, her dark, waist-length hair spilling over her shoulders. “Your mother?”

She nodded.

“She was beautiful.”

Cheyenne dimpled. “My dad was absolutely crazy about her. And she felt the same way about him. I’ve never known two people more perfectly suited to be together. Her Arapaho name was Lolotea. It means ‘gift from God.’ Dad always called her Lola.”

She settled herself on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her as she reminisced. “When cancer took her, Buddy and I thought our dad would never get past his loss.”

“How old were you?” Quinn sat beside her, on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Seventeen. A senior in high school. Buddy and I did our best to comfort our dad, but he was inconsolable. It’s funny.” She stared down into her cup. “I can still remember the first time I heard my dad finally laugh again. He and Micah were talking about something that had happened years earlier. It was an old story, one we’d heard many times. About an ornery mare that had tossed my dad headfirst into a creek. He came up mad as a spitting cat. Suddenly Dad and Micah were convulsed with
laughter. Buddy and I sat there drinking it in, and thinking there had never been a lovelier sound than our dad laughing.”

She looked up and found Quinn studying her. “It taught me something special. I learned that every person has to work through grief in his own way. And when we reach that other side, that happier, less painful side, it seems all the sweeter because of the pain of the past.”

Quinn nodded and realized that his own cup was empty, though he couldn’t recall drinking the coffee. He’d been mesmerized by this woman and her story.

It occurred to him that he could sit and listen to that soft, breathy voice all night. Added to the voice was that sweet, expressive face that gave away every emotion she was feeling. “You’ve told me about everybody in the family except you. Where’d you go to school?”

“Homeschooled until high school. How about you?”

He nodded. “The same.”

“The town was just too far from the ranch to travel back and forth every day. But once I was old enough to drive, I felt a real sense of freedom. And when it was time for college, I followed Buddy to Laramie.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Still his shadow.” She shrugged. “I really only went to college to please my father. He never had any formal education, and it was a source of pride that both his children graduated from college. In truth, all I ever wanted to do was be a rancher like him. But once I got caught up in college life, and got over my homesickness, I found that I really liked learning so many new things in a different setting.”

Quinn laughed. “You sound just like my brother Jake. His first thought was to get his college degree online, so
he could stay home and be with the family. Our pa was having none of that. He practically had to kick Jake out of the house to get him to go. Then, after Jake got over his rebellion, he discovered that he was a really good student, and decided that he could become an even better rancher if he took the time to study veterinary medicine.”

“How did your folks feel about letting their son go?”

Quinn’s smile faded. “Like you, we all had to deal with our life decisions on our own. Our mother’s been gone since I was ten.”

“I’m sorry. What did she die of?”

Quinn frowned. Even after all these years, he hated having to answer this puzzling question. “She went missing without a trace.”

Cheyenne clapped a hand to her mouth. “What was I thinking? I’ve heard about your mother’s disappearance. Not when it happened, of course,” she added with a nervous laugh. “I was probably around five or six. But through the years I’ve heard bits and pieces of the story. Have you ever found out what happened?”

He shook his head and tried for a flip answer. “It’s our big deep, dark family mystery. ‘Where did Seraphine Conway go? And why did she leave her loving family without a word?’ ”

Cheyenne reached a hand to cover his. “That’s just horrible. I can’t even imagine losing a parent without knowing the why and where and how of it. It has to eat at your soul. I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

At her touch he felt the quick sexual rush and was reminded of the kiss they’d shared.

His head came up sharply and he turned to her with a look so fierce, she was reminded of the animals he studied.

Wolf eyes. A predator’s eyes, and she the prey.

At once she removed her hand and struggled to her feet. “Well, I think it’s time I went up to bed.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He reached out for her empty cup.

When she handed it over their fingers brushed and they both turned away quickly.

Quinn deposited the two mugs in the sink in the kitchen and followed Cheyenne up the stairs.

At the door to his room he paused. “If that shoulder gives you any trouble, let me know. I don’t mind losing sleep to drive you to town. In fact, I’d feel a lot better if a doctor looked at it.”

“Thanks, Quinn.” She started to reach out a hand, then seemed to think better of it and clasped her hands in front of her. “For everything. ’Night.”

“Good night.” He waited until she reached the door of her bedroom. When it closed behind her, he stepped into his room.

Buddy’s old room
, he thought. Now that he knew a little more about the man who’d once lived here, Quinn could see it through new eyes.

He circled the room, seeing the framed photos of a younger Buddy on horseback, in a hay wagon, in the bull-riding ring at the fairgrounds in Paintbrush. There was a small photo atop the dresser of Buddy and Cheyenne, arms around each other, grinning like two conspirators. There was no disputing their relationship. Their dark hair and eyes and wide smiles were identical.

As he stripped and climbed into bed, Quinn thought about the tragic losses Cheyenne had suffered in the past years. It must seem as if her entire family had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

What would it be like
, he wondered,
to lose everyone who mattered most?
He lay very still, staring at the crescent moon in the midnight sky outside the window. There were times, even now, when the loss of his mother was like a quick, unexpected knife to his heart, and she’d been gone for better than half his life. Plenty of time to get used to it. And yet he never had. None of his family had. Especially their father.

Quinn couldn’t imagine what he’d have done if he’d been forced to deal with not only the loss of his mother but of his father and siblings as well.

Just thinking about them had Quinn eager to head home. He’d been gone way too long. He wanted, needed, to touch base with his family. To sleep in his own bed. And to get back into the routine of hard, challenging ranch chores alongside Josh and his father and Big Jim.

It had felt good to clean the stalls here and to handle the dozens of ranch chores that had piled up overnight. It would be even more satisfying to tackle the chores on his own family ranch.

Just the thought of home had him smiling as he drifted into sleep.

Favoring her shoulder, Cheyenne undressed slowly before turning out the light and climbing into bed. After sleeping away most of the day, she ought to be feeling wide awake. But the truth was, she felt sluggish. As though her brain and her body had somehow disconnected.

She thought again about the mustang’s unexpected attack. It had all happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye she’d been rendered nearly unconscious from the pain. If not for Quinn’s quick thinking, she wouldn’t be
lying here comfortably in her own bed. She shivered and drew the blanket firmly around her.

As warm as Quinn’s arms.

The thought had her eyes going wide. Quinn’s arms? Around her?

Had she dreamed it, or had he actually held her? In fact, kissed her?

She touched a finger to her lips. In that instant the realization dawned.

It hadn’t been a dream. He had held her and kissed her, and she’d kissed him back.

The feelings that had stayed with her throughout the day hadn’t been just her imagination. The wild thrill that had coursed through her veins, the hot, sexual awareness that had remained even in sleep, was real.

And then she remembered her words.

Have I told you that you’re easy to look at?

Hold me, Quinn.

Kiss me, Quinn.

And he had. Sweet heaven, he had. Because she had initiated it.

On the one hand, she was mortified at her own boldness. The man had saved her life, and she’d acted like some kind of seductress. She knew it was out of character. Knew, instinctively, that it had been the effects of the tall glass of whiskey. But she couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed it.

Even while her face grew hot with the memory, she found herself smiling at the amazing feelings that lingered.

Quinn Conway wasn’t only easy to look at; he was also a man to be trusted. She could have found herself in
a precarious situation, if he hadn’t proven to be a perfect gentleman.

A perfect gentleman. And a fantastic kisser.

She was still smiling as she drifted into sleep.

Quinn had always been a light sleeper. He’d never decided if that was a blessing or a curse. Many a night as a kid he’d lain awake for hours, hearing sounds in the house that had him absolutely certain that his mother had returned. He would creep down the stairs and peer around in the darkness, eager to hear her call his name.

He’d lost count of the number of disappointments he’d experienced through the years when the sounds turned out to be the hum of a furnace or the rattle of a windowpane in a storm.

Now he lay very still, listening to the alien sounds that told him, with every fiber of his being, that someone was moving around downstairs. He knew he could be wrong. He had no idea what hisses, creaks, and moans this old ranch house was capable of making. But he knew, too, that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he investigated the sounds he was hearing.

He didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes. Pulling on his jeans, he slipped quietly from his room and headed for the stairs.

He was halfway down when a light was suddenly thrown on, momentarily blinding him.

He lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

And heard a deep voice say, “You take one more step, stranger, it’ll be the last you ever take.”