Once Touched (18 page)

Quinn couldn't even manage that. She was numb with shock. What would happen to all the lost and abandoned animals in the area?

Mia was seated a few seats away but must have overheard Marsha's comment. “My God, Marsha, that's terrible news. There's got to be some way to save the shelter.”

Dredging up a smile, Marsha made a noncommittal noise. Quinn figured her friend was doing her best not to spoil the holiday mood.

“What will you and Lorelei do if the shelter closes?” her dad asked.

Marsha shrugged. “We'll be all right. I'm single, I can relocate if necessary. And I know Cat Lundquist over at the animal emergency hospital would love to have Lorelei back on staff.” Before taking the job as Marsha's second in command, Lorelei had worked as a vet tech for Dr. Lundquist.

“Cat's great, but it wouldn't be the same as what we do at the shelter,” Lorelei said. “Those animals really need us.”

“Yeah, they do. Ours is a no-kill shelter. It's fairly obvious that if the remaining shelters start to become overcrowded, more animals will be euthanized.”

“We'll just have to bust our butts even more for the animals who come to us,” Lorelei said. “And figure out a way to appease those numbers-obsessed bureaucrats.”

Damn it,
Quinn thought. Here she was feeling sorry for herself when her friends might end up losing their jobs. And how many animals would be left to die in the woods or dumped by the side of the highway if there was no local shelter?

“What about private donations? Would they be enough to prevent your closing?” she asked.

“That would depend on the amount we received. At the very least it might buy us time to figure out a way to convince the agency to let us continue our work.”

She did some quick math, calculating Tucker's vet bills and making sure she left herself a cushion to absorb any future costs for her animals. “I've been saving up some money. I have around forty thousand I can donate to the shelter. Consider it yours. Happy Thanksgiving.”

She must have spoken at one of those odd moments when there was a sudden lull in the conversation, people chewing a last bite of turkey and cranberry sauce or buttering a cheddar and chive biscuit, for her offer sounded amplified, though she hadn't raised her voice.

Then everyone seemed to speak at once, lauding her generosity but also showing theirs by adding to her contribution.

Okay,
she thought. While she might be a muddleheaded screw-up when it came to men, at least she knew how to open her heart and soul to animals. This was what she was good at. The rest—the guys, the sex…well, she needed to shut the door on all of that again. It was that simple.

T
HE
T
HANKSGIVING MEAL
had gone well into early evening, with Nancy arriving with her two young kids in time to sample Roo Rodgers's desserts and weave new stories into the conversation. The chatter and laughter flowed for more than an hour after the last piece of apple pie and hazelnut cake had been consumed and every cup of coffee and mint tea drained.

Through it all, Ethan had watched Quinn. Watched and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with her.

He waited some more, until he knew Alfie's special time to spread his wings and squawk like a banshee would be over. Bowie was growing used to the bird, but Ethan wanted to ask his questions without the parrot's unique brand of racket filling every corner of the house. It would be too easy for Quinn to ignore him then.

Bowie knew the way to Quinn's. He was panting eagerly by the time they reached her door. Ethan had him sit while he knocked. He took her shout of “What?” as invitation.

She was still in her skirt and top, sitting on the sofa with her legs curled under her. Sooner and Pirate were in their habitual spots, flanking her. From the extended roar he heard when he entered the house, he didn't have to glance at the TV to know that tonight's viewing was dedicated to the big cats. She'd probably chosen it to make Pirate happy.

Because that's what she did. She made others happy.

It was why he'd known something was off, really off, when she'd spouted those lines about being replaceable and spreading happiness by moving farther away from him. There'd been a brittle self-mockery to them that had taken him aback. He was the one who had the market cornered on negativity. Yet as the meal progressed and he continued his scrutiny, he realized something more disturbing. She was hiding a deep sadness.

Even when she made that magnificent, outsized, impulsive, and beautiful gesture to Marsha and Lorelei, offering them a generous donation to help keep the animal shelter open, a shadow had still obscured the radiance that was Quinn Knowles.

He found he seriously disliked the idea of her being sad.

A quick folding of his arm had Bowie dropping onto his haunches. The dog was whip smart when it came to hand signals. Ethan couldn't wait to see whether he was as fast a learner and as obedient when it came to sheep work.

Unsnapping the leash, he released Bowie from his sit and the dog trotted to the sofa, collapsing beneath Quinn's folded legs.

He studied her for a second. Yeah, whatever had been bothering her was still there. She was staring just a shade too fixedly at the cheetahs chasing down an antelope. Not quite believable when she averted her gaze from a roast turkey.

“You going to tell me what the hell's wrong with you?”

She flicked him a disdainful look. “I'm assuming you're talking about the money I gave to the shelter? FYI, I can do whatever I want with my earnings. And don't feel you need to stay.”

He dropped down into the big overstuffed chair. “Bowie likes the evening visit.”

“I wasn't talking about Bowie. He's welcome.” She returned her attention to the screen.

He sank deeper in the chair and propped his booted feet on the coffee table. “Of course you can do what you want with your money. I wasn't talking about that.” He paused, momentarily distracted when the cameraman zoomed in on the distinctive markings in a litter of black leopard cubs. “But what were you saving the money for, anyway?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you offered Marsha the money, you said you'd been saving it. What for?”

She gave him a sideways glance before making a study of her lap. Apparently spotting a piece of lint, she picked at the burgundy fabric with her slim fingers. “Someday I want to open an animal sanctuary. Not just for dogs and cats, but for larger animals. There's nothing like that in this area for animals that, for whatever reason—age, infirmity, trauma from severe abuse—aren't being adopted. I was saving to buy some land. But Marsha and Lorelei are doing important work and their efforts need to be supported.”

“You're pretty remarkable, you know.”

“Of course I am.”

He continued as if he hadn't heard her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you have any idea how few people in this messed-up, self-absorbed, and self-important world shelve their own desires in order to help others?”

“Stop right there,” she said sharply. “There are plenty of good people doing great things for others. I'm fortunate that I have the means to be generous, but it doesn't make me better or in any way remarkable. For all you know I'm overcompensating.”

“There you go again, spouting BS. What's with this ‘overcompensating' and ‘I'm replaceable' crap? Did Josh say something to you? Did the idiot spout off about Tucker?”

“What?” She frowned. “No, he's never mentioned anything about Tucker.” She paused as if struck by that, then returned to her brooding fixation with the animal program.

“So what did he do?” he persisted. For some reason he really wanted to make Josh's face a little less pretty.

“He didn't do
anything.
We just ended things.”

He sat up. “Wait. You're not telling me he broke up with you.”

She gave him a look, which he was damned if he could decipher. “No. I'm the one who called it quits. It's old news, anyway. I told him days ago, the morning after I brought Bowie home,” she added. “But Josh was all for it. If I broke his heart even the teensiest bit, believe me, he's over it.”

She'd been breaking up with Josh on the porch that morning? Friendliest breakup he'd ever seen, but then Quinn didn't exactly follow convention. He chose not to dwell on the surge of satisfaction that rose inside him at knowing Josh wouldn't be putting his hands on her again. “Well, that explains why he was all cozy with the bleached blonde today.”

“The bleached blonde has a name. It's Maebeth. And she's nice. And she's really, really into him.”

“So why are you down in the dumps? Are you annoyed that he's not heartbroken?”

“What is it with you? First you don't talk to me for days, now you want to cross-examine me?”

“I was preoccupied.”
With you,
he added silently.
A persistent condition.
“Sue me.”

“I would, but I don't have money for a lawyer,” she replied with mordant humor. “Here's an idea. You could leave. That would be an excellent solution.”

“I'd rather have a beer. Want one?”

“So kind of you to ask. Since you refuse to leave me in peace, I might as well drink.”

Without further ado, he went into the kitchen and grabbed two longnecks from the refrigerator. He rummaged around in her cutlery and utensil drawers until he found a bottle opener and popped the caps. Spying a bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter next to a neat row of shot glasses, he placed two over the bottle of Jack Daniel's and returned to the living room.

Sooner had abandoned his place to lie on the rug. Bowie, too, had moved, and now lay beside the smaller dog.

Ethan dropped down on the empty cushion next to Quinn. The weight of his body caused hers to tilt toward him, their shoulders bumping. She righted herself and scowled afresh. “That's Sooner's place. And that's my whiskey.”

She certainly was tetchy tonight.

“He abdicated. Here,” he said, and passed her a beer. “I figure whatever's bugging you may require more than an IPA.” Placing the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, he set up the shot glasses and filled one to the brim and the second half full. He slid that one toward her. “Cheers.”

“Didn't your mother teach you about equality?”

“For all I know you're going to get sloppy on even this minute amount of whiskey. I hate tears. As I recall, you used to bawl awfully loudly.”

“I was, like, four years old.” Shooting him a lethal look, she reached forward, plucked the bottle from the table, opened it, and filled the shot glass to the brim. “My house. My whiskey. My shot glass. My inebriation.” Picking up the glass, she tossed its contents back, and set it back down with a sharp rap.

“Impressive,” he said dryly. “Now, will you please tell me what the hell is wrong?”

She flopped back against the sofa, and Pirate jumped off in a feline huff. She eyed Ethan balefully as if he were somehow to blame for that, too.

“Fine. All righty, then. You want to know why I'm mad? I'm good and bloody sick of guys making me feel like a freak. I'm trying my best to get this whole sex thing over with and either get past the ‘God, this is awkward and excruciatingly unpleasant' aspect and accept that's how it's going to be for me or decide to call it quits forever. I'm trying to settle the issue here, damn it, but it doesn't help to have guys talk about how they can tell I'm not ‘into it.' Well, duh.”

His ears were ringing. He shook his head, hoping for clarity. “Did you just tell me you're a virgin?”

“Don't worry. It's not communicable.”

He couldn't even smile. “And you were going to embark on this fucking experiment of yours with Josh?”

“He seemed like a perfectly viable candidate.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered, and downed his own whiskey, wishing it were a double. “The guy has all the subtlety of a Texas longhorn.”

She reached forward to grab her beer and said something that sounded like, “We can't all be timberwolves.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She sank back against the sofa. “And there was nothing wrong with Josh. He was a perfectly good kisser. I'm sure of it. The problem's with me. It's always been.”

“Always? Just how many candidates have you auditioned for this job?” What a surreal conversation. She was a virgin at what, twenty-four? A part of him wanted to run screaming for the door. The other part, well, he didn't care to examine too closely how weirdly possessive her being untouched made him feel.

“You're not nearly as funny as you think you are. I don't know.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Six, I guess—Josh was unlucky number seven. I've been trying to do the deed since freshman year in college. At least with Josh I realized pretty quickly that it wasn't going to work out. We didn't have to get naked or anything.”

Thank God. He realized that his heart was pounding, hammering at the walls of his chest. The whiskey had done nothing to subdue it. He poured himself another shot and drank it, feeling the burn all the way down to his gut.

The mega-amped drumming of his heart continued unabated. It wasn't the only thing going haywire. The air in Quinn's living room had become charged. Electric. It made his skin prickly, made his muscles twitch and tighten. Did she have any idea of what this conversation was doing to him?

She'd shifted and was sitting kitty-corner now, her folded legs angled on the cushion between them. She had the beer bottle between her hands and her fingers were busy shredding the label into soggy confetti.

His gaze traveled up, taking in the gentle swell of her breasts. Christ, he could chug the entire bottle of Jack Daniel's and it wouldn't dull his wanting her. She had her hair up now, had done one of those things women did, twisting it and somehow looping it around so that the ends poked through a honey-blond donut. He imagined loosening the mass with his fingers and having its silken weight cascade over the backs of his hands as he cradled her head and brought his mouth to hers.

Had he telegraphed his thoughts? Was that why she swallowed convulsively? Was that why her pulse was jumping at the base of her neck, its tempo as crazy as his own? He wanted to press his lips there and then let them travel over her body and discover other pulse points.

The tension in him redoubled.

But she was a virgin and, from the sound of it, a spooked one. He could only imagine what had happened to make her think there was anything wrong with her sexually. What he knew was that there were a lot of assholes in the world and that when their sexuality was threatened or when it became obvious that they'd failed to arouse their partner, they were quick to find fault elsewhere. Now he had seven assholes he wanted to punch.