Gift of Fortune (3 page)

"The house?" Aileen noticed that her voice had risen
again. She sounded like an alarmed mouse. Taking a breath,
she asked, "What about the house? I've taken care of it
since my mother's death seven years ago. You want to take
over?"

"Depends on what kind of housekeeper you are."

She watched Quint run his finger along the top of the
cabinets. Aileen stared at him, too stunned to say anything.
He was actually checking for dust. The nerve of the man.
Clamping her teeth together to keep from calling him a few
of the choice words she'd heard her students use, she
merely glowered at him.

Looking at the tips of his fingers, Quint said, "Not bad."
He opened the refrigerator door and peered inside.

"What are you doing now?" she asked, intrigued in spite
of herself.

"Checking to see if you're one of those women who keep
only diet food in the fridge." He leaned back to give her a
slow once-over. "You don't look like you're obsessed with
dieting."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" she demanded.

He grinned at her. "Whoa. I'd never imply that, much
less say it to a woman. I don't have a death wish." His
gaze lingered on her. "I'd say you're just right. At least for
a man who doesn't like squeezing mere skin and bones."

Aileen folded her arms across her chest until she realized
that this could be viewed as a protective gesture. Quickly
she uncrossed them and picked up her coffee cup. When
Quint transferred his scrutinizing gaze to the contents of
the refrigerator, she felt relieved.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said after a while. "There's
beef, ham, cheese, and a lot of green stuff. But that's okay," he said, his voice magnanimous. "I like a salad with dinner.
Are you a fair cook?"

"I can probably match your cooking skills. Unless
you've worked as a chef?"

"Nope. Never did, but I've been fixing my own meals
for a long time now."

"No wife?"

"No wife, no fiancee, no significant other, as they say.
Just a horse." Quint glanced at his watch. "Speaking of
horses, I need to feed and stable Sweepstake."

"I'm sure there's room in the barn, but we better check
with Bob. He's the foreman. Have you met him?"

"Yes, when I arrived."

"Did you tell him who you are?"

"No. I thought it best if you did that."

"All right. Follow me."

"I know you're not married. I asked the attorney. Are
you engaged or seriously involved?" Quint asked as he followed Aileen across the side porch to the small house in
which Bob and Martha lived.

For a moment she considered ignoring his question, but
he had answered hers. "Neither," she said in a tone that
discouraged further inquiries.

"But you have a horse."

"Not really. I teach full-time and keep house. I don't
have many chances to gallivant over the range. When I do
go for a ride, I use one of the horses from the remuda."
Aileen knocked on the door facing them. After hearing
Martha's invitation to enter, she opened the door. Bob was
sitting in his easy chair, reading the newspaper.

"Good. You're both here, so I won't have to say this
twice. You've met Quinton Fernandez. What you don't
know is that he's the new half owner of the Triangle B.
Jack left him his half of the ranch." Both Martha and Bob stared at Quint and then at her, clearly shocked as well as
curious. She'd have to tell them the whole story. "Jack
Bolton is, or rather was, Quint's father."

Martha and Bob exchanged a look.

"Quint has a horse that needs to be taken care of. Bob,
can you show him where he can stable Sweepstake?"

"Sure thing. This way," Bob said, heading toward the
side door.

As soon as the men were gone, Martha followed Aileen
back to the kitchen.

"Land's sakes, girl! Isn't this enough to strike a person
deaf and dumb? When did you find out about Quint?" Martha asked.

"Mr. Evans told me this afternoon. I didn't expect him
to show up so soon, though." Aileen rubbed her temple
where she could still feel the imprint of Quint's fingers.
Briefly she debated with herself whether she should pump
Martha for information or not. Her need to know was too
strong to be discreet.

"I asked Mr. Evans this question, but I'm not sure he'd
really know the answer, so I'm going to ask you." Aileen
faced Martha squarely. "Did my father fool around?"

"Not that I know of." Narrowing her eyes in thought,
Martha asked, "How old would you say Quint is?"

"Twenty-eight."

Martha used her fingers to count. Then she nodded.
"That fits."

"What fits?"

"About twenty-nine years ago, a group of migrant workers stopped here on their way back from harvesting wheat
in Canada. Jack hired them to do some work around the
place."

"How come you remember that so clearly?" Aileen
asked.

"Because one of the families had a beautiful, young
daughter. All the men gawked at her, including Bob. Heck,
all men gawk at pretty girls, so I didn't think too much of
it when I caught Jack talking to her a few times." She
paused, then confessed, her expression sheepish. "I made
it my business to know exactly where Bob spent his time,
but I should have been more watchful of Jack as well. Not
that I could have done anything about him being interested
in her."

"So you think Dad was the type to cheat on his wife?"

"Honey, he was a man, wasn't he?"

"You think Mom knew?"

"That's a tough question. If she did, she kept it to herself.
She was a lady. She wouldn't have thrown stuff and yelled
and hollered."

"Was she happy back then?"

Martha shrugged. "That I don't know. She wasn't one to
mope around and complain. I can tell you one thing,
though. She sure was happy when she got you. You were
the light of her life. There's no question about that. She
couldn't have children, the doctors told her, so she convinced Jack to adopt. She once told me that adopting you
was the best thing she ever did."

"She was the best mother I could have wished for."
Aileen swallowed, willing herself not to allow the unshed
tears to reach her eyes. "I hope she was spared knowing
about her husband's indiscretion."

"Even if she knew, she wasn't the type who'd give up
on a marriage at the first sign of trouble."

Aileen shook her head. "I don't know that I could be
that generous and forgiving if a man cheated on me. I'm afraid I'd be tempted to heave every single plate in the
house at him and call him every rude name in the book."

A slight noise alerted her to Quint's presence. She hadn't
heard him open the door. Uneasily she wondered how much
he'd heard of her conversation with Martha.

"Did you get Sweepstake taken care of?" Aileen asked.

"Yeah. He's in the back stall in the small stable. We
thought it best to keep him separated from the other horses
till they get used to each other. You have a bunch of greatlooking horses out there."

"My d...Jack loved horses. After he got
sick..." Aileen paused briefly, a frown of concentration on her face.

"Actually, even before he was diagnosed, he sort of lost
interest in cattle. I'd say that for the past two years the only
thing that captured and held his attention were horses. Am
I right about that, Martha?"

"He always did favor horses," Martha agreed, "but never
more so than after he got to feeling poorly. My husband
took over the care of the cattle as best he could." She
glanced at her watch. "Well, I better get back to my
kitchen. Bob likes supper on the table promptly at fivethirty. See you all in the morning."

"Good night, Martha."

Quint wished her a good night too. As soon as the door closed after her, he turned to Aileen. "Could I have another
cup of coffee before dinner? It's been a long day."

Aileen stared at him for a moment. It hadn't occurred to
her that he expected to share her meal. She felt like smacking herself on the forehead for being so thoughtless and so
dense. She should have invited him. Her social skills were
slipping badly. The only excuse she had was that she was
still reeling from the events of the afternoon and was,
therefore, mentally slow and uncharacteristically disorganized.

"Of course, you may have coffee. Help yourself," she
said.

What was she going to fix for dinner? She couldn't remember what she had planned for herself. Opening the refrigerator, she assessed its contents. The ham looked good.
But what about side dishes? Both scalloped potatoes and
macaroni and cheese from scratch took too long. For herself, she'd slice some vegetables and stir-fry them, but for
a healthy young man, that wouldn't be enough. She discovered some sweet potatoes in the vegetable bin. If she
nuked them first and then put them in the oven next to the
ham, they should both be ready at about the same time.

While Aileen washed her hands, she stole a quick look
at Quint. He stood, one slim hip propped against the kitchen
counter, studying the wall calendar above the phone on
which she kept track of appointments and tasks to be done.

"Looks like you keep busy," he commented.

"Yes. I rarely get home before five, so forget about
having dinner at five-thirty. On school days it'll be more
like six-thirty or seven before we eat," she warned.

"That's okay." He studied the calendar some more.
"What's the A.C. you've written down for every Tuesday?"

"Authors' Club. It's for students who like to write. We meet after school and critique what we've written," she
explained.

"And Y.B. on Thursdays?"

"Yearbook. I'm the sponsor."

"On Monday and Wednesday you've written a-e-r something. I can't make it out."

"Aerobics."

Quint turned around and subjected her to another thorough up-and-down look. Aileen felt herself grow warm all
over. She doubted that she would ever get used to those
intense, hot-eyed looks that swept over her like laser
beams.

"I approve. Everyone needs exercise."

"What do you do?"

"I chase cows, muck out stalls, load sacks of feed, toss
bales of hay. Stuff like that."

"So you have worked on a ranch before?"

"Oh, once or twice," he said, his tone dry.

"Since I don't know anything about you, that was not a
dumb question," she protested.

"I didn't say it was."

"No, but your tone implied it."

"Don't get huffy."

"I never get huffy."

"Yeah, right."

"Well, I don't."

"Then what do you call it when you lift that straight,
aristocratic nose of yours into the air? And toss your hair
like that? You're the English teacher. You tell me, darlin'."

Quint called her darlin' to annoy her. She knew that. She
wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see her
annoyed, even if it meant grinding her teeth down to nubs
in the process.

"First of all, I do not toss my hair-"

"Yes, you do. You just aren't aware of it. Reminds me
of a spirited little roan filly I once owned. She tossed her
mane in the same manner."

Aileen gritted her teeth. When she could speak, she continued calmly, as if he hadn't interrupted her or compared
her to a horse. "And second, I am not huffy, or irritable,
or testy, or petulant, or any of the other synonyms that
come to mind." Like heck she wasn't. The man could irritate the living daylights out of her, and judging by the
grin on his face, he knew it. Worse, he enjoyed it. Aileen
grabbed the chopping board, placed a zucchini on it, and
proceeded to dice it with unnecessary force and speed.

"Easy there," Quint said, moving quickly to stand beside
her. "I've tended my share of wounded animals, but I've
never tried sewing a finger back on."

"Don't worry. I've done my share of chopping, and I
still have all ten fingers. See?" She lifted her hands and
wiggled her fingers before she grabbed the board and tossed
the vegetables into a saute pan. The oil hissed.

Quint took a step back and blinked. After a couple of
seconds he said, "Well, if you're okay, I'll go out to my
truck to get some things."

Aileen shot him a long, telling look. "I'm perfectly safe
in this kitchen." Especially with you out of it, she thought,
as she watched him stroll out. He had that insolent, sauntering male strut down pat. And he had a nice back view.
Broad shoulders. Narrow hips with just enough curves to
fit a pair of jeans perfectly.

Aileen groaned. She had to stop making these inappropriate observations about the man. Like his great back
view, or his stunning eyes, or his sexy smile, or his voice
which could dip into that low register that was at once
caressing and honeyed, teasing and just a little mocking.
None of these things mattered. They couldn't matter. Not if they were to work together and make a go of the Triangle
B.

Quint paused on the porch. His eyes swept over the outbuildings, the corrals, the range beyond. Half of this was
his. He had a home.