Thankful for Love (12 page)

Still. After the night before, how would they react to each other when they were back in the boss/employee mode?

She was about to find out.

Except she didn't, at least not at first. Once again, Jack was gone when she got to the house. She accomplished the few things she had to do, roasted a chicken and made a pasta salad for dinner for him, and was about to gather up the things she'd left by the front door and leave when she heard the distinctive sound of his truck tires crunching on the gravel drive. In spite of her resolve not to let him affect her, her heartbeat kicked up a notch or two as she watched from the kitchen window while he hopped down from the cab of the truck and sauntered toward the back door. When he knocked on the hood of her car and flashed a huge grin she realized he knew she was watching.

“I was afraid you'd be gone by the time I got back from my sister's place,” he said as he toed off his boots in the mudroom. “I'm glad I didn't miss you. I wanted to ask you to stay and have dinner with me. Assuming you don't have class or anything planned for tonight, I mean.”

She'd never realized how sexy sock feet and worn jeans could be on a man. But then, she imagined he'd look sexy to her in sweatpants and flip-flops, basketball shorts and sneakers, or a trash bag and hiking boots. “Feeding me again?” she teased.

“Eat. Don't eat. Doesn't matter. As long as you keep me company while I eat. I've been thinking about dinner and you all day, although not in that order most of the time.”

She couldn't help it. His words warmed her to her core. “I'd love to stay. Let me know when you want to eat, and I'll finish getting things ready.”

“Now works for me. I'm starving. We ate lunch on the run so we could get everything done today. And although I love my sister, her healthy sandwiches leave a lot to be desired.”

Quanna pulled out the bowl of pasta salad, the makings of a green salad, and the chicken she'd finished up earlier in the day. While she plated their dinners, Jack washed up and put on his Nikes, hiding his sexy sock feet. Just as well. The rest of his sexiness was still quite visible and unnerving.

“So, did you get everything finished at your sister's place?” she asked after they were settled at the table.

“Yup. Her wheat is in. Then the Wilsons, the Salazars, and Doreen Campbell. I'm at the end of the line.”

“Good crop this year?”

“Not bad. Price isn't what we hoped for, but then, it never is.” He had cleared the food from his plate so fast Quanna had no doubts about how hungry he had been.

She reached for his plate. “Let me get you seconds.”

“I can do it.” He started to brush her hand off his plate, but when their fingers connected, the jolt she felt was considerable. He must have felt it, too, because he looked up, his eyes all pupil. But he didn't pull his hand away. “I should know better, shouldn't I? Touching you does the damnedest things to me.” He squeezed her hand before picking up his plate and heading for the kitchen.

She was left speechless, completely uninterested in food, and feeling almost as high as if she had been drinking wine.

• • •

It wasn't until he saw the pile of pasta salad he'd mindlessly heaped on his plate that Jack realized he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. In fact, he was thinking, again, as he had been all day, about the kiss from the night before. The zing of electricity that had hit him when their hands had touched just now reminded him of how powerful it had been.

He returned half the salad to the serving bowl, added a couple slices of chicken to his plate, and took a few moments to compose himself. Then he returned to the dining room. Quanna was picking at her food.

“Did I insist on eating too early?”

“No, the time's fine. I guess I tasted too much while I was cooking. I'm not very hungry.”

She wasn't looking directly at him, which was unusual for her. And he was pretty sure she'd tucked into the food with enthusiasm when they'd first sat down at the table.

She was reacting to the connection they'd just felt, and he was glad.

Later, he couldn't remember what they talked about for the rest of the meal. All he knew was he ate his second plateful of food and Quanna eventually ate most of what she'd dished up for herself. They cleared away the dishes when they were finished, and he loaded the dishwasher while she made a pot of coffee.

She was fussing with mugs and the sugar bowl when she said, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Fire away.” He couldn't think of anything she could ask that would be too intrusive to answer.

“When I was putting clean towels in the bathroom upstairs, I noticed the picture on your bureau is gone. Why did you move it?” She turned around to look at him while he answered.

The question was surprising, although it shouldn't have been. He was sure she knew exactly where everything in the house was. “I put it away when I got back from Portland.” He shrugged. “My brother said something to me when I was there about knowing when it was time to move on. I've been at that point for a while now, but I hadn't done anything about it. Didn't have a reason to, I guess.” He stopped before he could talk himself into a corner he wasn't sure he was ready to be in yet.

“But the boys ...”

“The photos of Paula with the kids are still around and will be. But that one, well, I needed to let it go.”

“Even though it's still her room, too?”

“The one thing I did after she died was to completely redo the bedroom. I couldn't face sleeping in what had been a sickroom and a deathbed, but I didn't want to change rooms. I moved out all the furniture, repainted, bought a new bed and linens. Made it only and completely mine.” He tried to control the grin that was threatening to break out at the thought that she cared about this particular subject. “That answer your question?”

“Yes. Thank you. I apologize for being curious.”

“You shouldn't. If anyone has a right to know, you do.”

He expected her to ask why he thought she had the right, but she didn't. Instead, she poured coffee. Without asking, she added the two sugars he took in his before handing him the mug.

“About tomorrow ...” she began.

“I thought we'd ride around the ranch for a couple hours then have a picnic dinner out by the pond.” He motioned to her to follow him into the living room where they settled onto the couch.

“What can I contribute to dinner?” she asked.

He laughed. “I think you've got it covered already. I was planning on bringing whatever you've left in the refrigerator for me.”

“I could bake brownies. Or chocolate chip cookies, if you'd like.”

“Now who's trying to fatten up whom? Thanks, but the fruit in the kitchen will be fine. Save the brownies and cookies to bribe the boys when they come home.”

“Did you hear from them today? What are they up to?” she asked.

While they finished their coffee, he gave her a report on his sons' latest activities. She seemed relieved at the less emotional topic of conversation. When the report was over and the coffee cups were empty, she started to gather them up, saying, “I better get home. My day starts early tomorrow.”

“Don't worry about the dishes. I'll take care of them.” He extended his hand to her. “Let me walk you out.”

She took his hand, and once again, he felt the tingle of contact with her. He reluctantly let go of her so she could collect her purse and a light jacket she'd left on the bench in the entry. As soon as she was ready to leave, he took her hand again, gently rubbing his thumb over hers as they walked to her car.

“See you tomorrow after your shift,” he said.

“Yes. And thanks for dinner.”

“Which you prepared,” he reminded her.

“With your food. In your kitchen.”

“Is this a competition?” he asked, amused at her insistence about the meal.

“No. It's a reality check about who's responsible for what around here.”

He ducked his head and kissed her, drawing her against him where he knew she would feel his beginning arousal. “No,
that's
a reality check. About who does what to whom.” Raising their still entwined hands, he kissed the tips of her fingers.

Her face was soft with emotion. Her eyes were huge, dark pools that tempted him to dive in. She swallowed hard and slipped her hand from his. “I better go.”

He nodded. “Yes. You better. See you tomorrow.”

He watched until her car was out of sight then returned to the house, which was once again empty. Of life and warmth and music. Of his boys.

Empty of Quanna, which he was beginning to think was the biggest void of them all.

Jack was unloading bales of hay from the bed of his pickup when Quanna arrived on Friday. He leaned against the side of the truck and watched her walk toward him, enjoying the sway of her hips and the swing of her braid. She was in jeans, as usual, but today, instead of a T-shirt, she wore a long-sleeved shirt, the shirttails tied around her slender waist. She looked beautiful. But then, no matter what she wore, she was without doubt the most beautiful woman he'd had the pleasure of watching in a long, long time.

“Hi, there.” She nodded toward the bales of hay. “Want some help?”

“Hi, back. Thanks for the offer, but they're pretty heavy. I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

She vaulted into the bed of the truck and went to the nearest bale. “Don't let my size fool you. I'm a lot stronger than I look.” With an efficient movement, she hoisted the hay and dropped it into Jack's arms. He grunted at the impact. She grinned.

With two of them working, it didn't take long to unload the truck and move the bales into the barn where the five Appaloosas were stabled.

They saddled two of the horses. Quanna was to ride Daniel's horse, Paint, which Jack assured her had been cleared with his son.

When the horses were ready, Jack pulled his Stetson off a peg and drew it down onto his forehead. “Don't you have something for your head? The sun's pretty brutal today.”

“I meant to bring a hat but forgot.”

He grabbed a baseball cap from another peg. “I'll loan you one.” He reached around her and pulled her braid through the hole in the back of the cap before settling it on her head. She drew a shaky breath as he patted the cap into place. His breath wasn't exactly steady. If he didn't take a step back, there wouldn't be a ride. There would be a roll in the hay they'd just brought in.

He looked around, trying to find something to take his mind off the hay and the woman in front of him. Gloves. He'd get her some gloves. He nabbed a pair, dropped one, picked it up, and offered them to her. “Want these? They're an extra pair of mine so they'll be a bit big. But the kids' would be too small. Afraid we don't have any that're just right, Goldilocks.”

“These'll do, Papa Bear. Anything else I need?”

He picked up two sets of saddlebags and handed one to her. “For our dinner,” he said.

“A lot of food for two people, isn't it?” She seemed to realize as she put the saddlebags on the horse, hers weren't heavy. “Or maybe not.”

“You're carrying the blanket and pillows. In case one of us needs a nap. Or something,” he said as he mounted Hero. He waited for her to mount Paint then tugged on the reins to direct his horse to the road up from the ranch. Quanna followed.

Soon they were riding between fields of ripe wheat and ripening alfalfa, spotting the occasional sage grouse trying to hide from the hawks hunting them. The only sounds were of the birds and the muted thump of distant wind turbines. They said little, merely rode and enjoyed the experience.

At the bottom of a small hill, Jack halted his horse in the shade of a cottonwood tree. “I need a slug of water. How about you?” he asked, grabbing the metal canteen hooked around his saddle horn.

She directed Paint to his side, the head of her horse facing the back of his. “Love some.” She took two long gulps from the canteen he handed her. As she recapped it, she said, “What's that weird-shaped outcrop with grass all around it in the hill back there? I didn't notice it when we rode past it. It must be more obvious from this angle. It doesn't look natural.”

Jack looked back over his shoulder. “It's not. My great-grandfather made it. It's the entrance to what's left of the cave with a sod front he built the first winter he lived here. We've kept it as a reminder of what he went through to claim the land grant.”

“Someone lived there? Why?”

“The family story is he had to take possession of the land by a certain date and live on it for some specified period of time. He left St. Louis to stake his claim, but it took him longer to get here than he expected. He arrived as winter was setting in and didn't have time to build anything proper. So, he made himself a sod hut that fronted on a shelter he dug out of the hill and lived in it. My great-grandmother stayed back in Missouri with my grandfather and his sisters and came out by wagon train the following spring.”

“How did he survive the winter?”

Jack grinned. “Some of
your
ancestors saved his ass. Apparently, the local Indians took pity on him and showed him what to hunt and where to find water. Even gave him food from their stores.” He took the canteen from her and hung it on his saddle horn.

“If it hadn't been for your relatives, I wouldn't be here. I'd probably be someplace in Massachusetts where my great-grandparents started out from. I'm quite sure my great-grandmother would never have come west alone.”

Quanna was quiet for a moment. “Has anyone from your family told the story to the director of the Tamastslikt museum on the reservation?”

“Don't think so. Why?”

“It's part of the history of the communities both off and on the rez, a good part, not a bad one.”