Perfect Timing (33 page)

Ceara didn’t give up her burning desire to get a driver’s license. The very thought of her driving fifteen feet beyond his front gate gave Quincy heart palpitations, but he got her a book from the DMV to study anyway, and showed her how to take mock tests on her new laptop. She was smart as a tack and caught on to practically everything—except cooking with the high-tech appliances—quickly, the only problem being that when it came to a vehicle, she still hadn’t quite mastered shifting gears and slamming on the brake fast enough. He had no sooner gotten the holding shed repaired than she smacked it again. He was beginning to accept as semipermanent a bent cattle guard on the front of his truck, and he’d lost track of how many sections of expensive fencing she had mowed down. He teasingly told her she would drive him into bankruptcy, but in truth, he enjoyed the lessons, mostly because she had so darned much fun and he never knew what might happen next. Still, he made sure she never drove near any live animals.

Not knowing what could occur in the next five minutes was enough to drive a man mad, but Quincy found instead that his wife’s unpredictability had its charm. He especially enjoyed the evenings when they shared a nice meal with a fine wine.

Ceara soon started losing pieces of her clothing after she had a drink. That worried Quincy, because he knew that sooner or later, the hens would ask her to join them for a girls’ night out. He guessed he’d just have to trust in his sister and sisters-in-law to make sure she stayed dressed. There was a country song that always moved through Quincy’s mind when Ceara’s eyes grew sultry and her cheeks became flushed. Something about some gal who first lost an earring after a sip of tequila, and then a shoe, and then—well, hell, a man could worry himself into a loony farm if he considered the possibilities. The only thing that comforted Quincy was that Ceara still draped herself in layers outside the house, although now they were trendier. She wore jeans, which she still deemed indecently revealing, only when they went riding.

She persisted in trying to teach Quincy how to use what she insisted were his gifts. No matter how many times he told her he had none, she insisted that he must. The Harrigans were of druid descent. Therefore, in her mind, it followed that they had to have special powers. Fortunately, as far as he knew, she’d confined her persuasions to her husband. Quincy humored her, flapping his hand at the fire and countless candles.
Nothing
. And he honestly did
try
. Bottom line, he was a watered-down druid, and the only real gift he had was a way with animals. In the quarter-horse industry, he had frequently been called a horse whisperer, but in truth, nothing magical occurred between him and an equine. He just understood them in a way a lot of people didn’t.

With each passing day, Loni grew stronger. One afternoon, Quincy dropped by Clint’s place unannounced and found his older brother in his arena office wiping tears from his sun-weathered cheeks. Quincy’s stomach clenched. He dropped onto the caster chair at the front side of Clint’s desk, stared at his embarrassed brother for a long moment, and then pushed out, “Is Loni getting sick again?”

Elbows propped on the blotter, Clint buried his fists in his eye sockets, sighed, and shook his head. In a choked voice, he replied, “No, that’s just it. She’s well, Quincy. I mean . . . not just better, but really well. I couldn’t trust in it at first. You know what I’m saying? But this morning when I went back to the house for something, I found her in her office doing Pilates. She’s really,
really
well, man. She’s even working with the FBI again to help find missing people.”

Quincy felt his own eyes fill. He blinked furiously. Clint straightened, fiddled with his stapler, pushed at a stack of papers, and then started to laugh as tears streamed from his eyes. He gestured helplessly, as if he couldn’t find words. “You and Ceara saved her life. At the time, I know I acted like an ass. I’ve never told you or her how sorry I am for that.” He shrugged. “Those aren’t easy words for me to say.”

Quincy knew that about his brother. Clint could talk a mile around an apology. He’d been that way for as long as Quincy could remember. “You were frantic. If I didn’t understand it before, Clint, I sure as hell do now. And so does Ceara. No words are necessary.”

Clint hauled in a deep, ragged breath. Then he shook his head. “No, words
are
necessary. That night—right after you married her—God, she was a virgin, and you were a total stranger to her. It shames me to admit it, but I honestly didn’t care if you had to hog-tie her to the bed to get the deed done. That was wrong of me, and I’m . . .” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Quincy couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not. Ceara is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me, Clint.”

“Really? I mean, you’re not just making the best of a bad situation with her?”

That sent Quincy’s chuckle into a full-blown guffaw. “Bad situation? Clint, I love her, and I think she loves me.”

“You think?” Clint’s brows snapped together. “She hasn’t ever told you so?”

Quincy sank lower in the chair and propped a boot on his knee. “No, when it comes to speaking of love, she’s like you are with apologies, finding a hundred different ways to talk her way around saying the actual words.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, in a way. I’d like to hear her say it. I mean, I’d
really
like to hear her say it. But being your little brother, I learned a long time ago to hear what isn’t actually said, knowing you felt sorry but just couldn’t put it into words. It’s kind of like that with Ceara. She acts like she loves me, and she says sweet things. For now, I’ll settle.”

Clint sighed. “Good luck with that, bro. Maybe I’m just a big old sap, but if Loni doesn’t say she loves me half a dozen times a day, I start to worry.”

“Do you tell her the same that often?”

Clint’s cheek creased in a grin. “More. She’s the center of my world, and I want her to know it.”

Quincy mulled that over for a second. “Hmm. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. Because Ceara never says it back, I only tell her I love her four or five times a day.”

“Jack it up, man. Women like to hear those words.” Clint glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I ordered Loni two dozen roses, and they should be delivered by now. Dee Dee picked Trev up after school, and she’s taking him and Aliza to Mountain Plaza to play on the trampolines, drive bumper cars, and rock-climb. Afterward, Dad is meeting them in town for pizza, and then the kids are doing an overnight at their place.”

Quincy shot to his feet. “I’m out of here. You should have clued me in sooner.”

It was Clint’s turn to chuckle. “I’ve been living almost like a monk since she got sick, so I’m way overdue on my homework.” He winked at his use of homework, a word all the Harrigan men used in reference to keeping their ladies happy in bed. “What brought you over? You never said.”

Quincy had come to ask Clint’s advice about Symphony, who was late to drop her foal and hadn’t even waxed up yet. Quincy suspected she hadn’t taken with the first cover, as he’d thought, but he’d wanted Clint’s perspective on it. Should Tucker be called in? Was it safe to wait another week and watch the mare? It was a conversation that could wait until tomorrow.

“Just wanted to say howdy,” he fibbed. “Been a while since we hung out.”

As Quincy drove home, the distance only a hop, skip, and jump, his cell phone clucked like a hen. He braked on the gravel road that adjoined all the Harrigan ranches to read the text from his wife.
Hurry. Symphony dropping foal
. Quincy gunned the accelerator and went so fast over that last half mile that his truck sailed over the potholes.

He found his wife in Symphony’s stall, an extra-large enclosure designed for birthing. Pauline and Bingo, ex-bronc riding champion and hired-hand extraordinaire, leaned over the gate, as if it were their job to hold the damned thing up. Ceara had tossed aside her little indoor jacket and wore only a peasant blouse, gathered skirt, and boots. Her right arm was smeared with blood and fluid, and she sat cross-legged on the straw, holding the newborn foal on her lap. Symphony stood over her, the afterbirth lying on the floor behind her blood-splattered hocks.

“’Tis a colt!” Ceara cried, her smile so bright that Quincy felt as if the sun had just peeked out from behind a cloud. “He tried to come breech, but I got him turned.”

Quincy sent a questioning look at his forewoman, who only shrugged, looking bewildered. “Sorry. Symphony caught us with our pants down. No wax, no drop, no nothing. Didn’t even know she’d gone into labor until your wife tore in here.” She sent a wondering look at Ceara. “She says the mare called to her, sort of like on a cell phone. I don’t get that part, but I’m fracking glad she came over. I was busy holding Elvis while he got his shoe fixed, Bingo was cleaning stalls, and Pierce was seeing to a hay delivery. We could’ve lost both mama and baby.”

Quincy vaulted over the gate and went to crouch beside his wife. He didn’t doubt for a second that she’d
heard
Symphony calling to her. Almost everything about Ceara was a mystery to him—or had been in the beginning. Now he just accepted what he couldn’t really understand and thanked God that she’d dropped into his world like a pebble out of the sky.

He ran searching hands over the foal, so fresh from its mother’s womb that its ears were still stuck to its neck and its hooves were still coated with light green stuff that resembled cottage cheese. People who’d never seen a foal born always asked what that
gooey
junk was on the baby’s feet. Quincy’s stock answer was that the
goo
padded the foal’s hooves, protecting the mother’s innards. It fell off shortly after birth.

“Well, now, ain’t he a beauty?” Quincy murmured.

Ceara nodded, her face glowing. “That’s what I want to name him, Beauty.”

Quincy didn’t have the heart to tell her the colt was already slotted to be named Liberace, or that all ranch-born horses in his stable had handles with a musical theme. If she wanted to call the foal Beauty, that would be his nickname, and maybe his official name could be Ceara’s Beauty. That would depend on the AQHA’s registry and whether another horse already bore the title. Quincy doubted that would be the case. Until meeting his wife, he’d never met anyone christened Ceara.

“How the hell did you know how to turn him?” Quincy asked.

Ceara laughed. “Me da has horses, and I sneaked to watch the foals being born. He wouldna have allowed me to be there had he known. ’Twas no place for a proper young lady to be, ye ken. I learned a lot by watching.”

The foal wiggled, and Ceara gently helped him gain his feet. He stood spraddle-legged, wobbling and unsteady, his knee and hock joints protruding like oversize apples. One of his ears came loose from his neck and poked up, looking as big as a donkey’s. His coat was still so wet that Quincy couldn’t tell whether he’d be a sorrel or a black, but he had perfect conformation. Beauty was a fine name for him. Quincy called Tucker, his brother-in-law and the only vet he trusted, to come by to check on the mare and newborn ASAP. Not that Quincy believed an exam was really necessary. Ceara had done a great job of this, delivering the foal without a hitch, but it was Quincy’s motto that it was always better to be safe than sorry when it came to his animals. Anyhow, the foal needed some inoculations, and now was as good a time as any.

Quincy and Ceara spent most of the evening in Symphony’s stall, imprinting the foal. Afterward they left Pauline to watch over mama and baby while they went home to celebrate the occasion with grilled steaks, a tossed salad, baked potatoes heaped with butter, sour cream, and chives, and a bottle of fine merlot. Quincy’s reluctantly seduced taste buds loved every bite.

The next morning brought warm spring sunshine. Quincy was thinking about taking his wife for a ride into the wilderness area again, hopefully this time with better weather, but Loni scotched that idea by knocking at their door. Dark hair framing her face, she smiled from ear to ear when Quincy greeted her.

“Dad and Dee Dee still have my kids. I decided to take advantage of the empty house to walk over and have a mini hen party with Ceara.”

Judging by Loni’s radiant face, the roses and a whole night alone with her husband had been just what she needed. Quincy found it difficult to believe now when he looked at the woman that she’d been so close to death such a short time ago. She was still a bit too thin, but a few more weeks of good grub would put the meat back on her bones.

“Come in!” Ceara cried. “Let me just run upstairs to change.” She wore only one of Quincy’s work shirts, which on a woman of larger stature might have been indecent, but on Ceara, the tails reached nearly to her knees. “’Tis quick I will be. Quincy, will ye pour her some coffee or make her some tea?”

Quincy watched his wife disappear in a flash, then turned to motion Loni inside. She blushed as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Quincy. I should have called first. I forget sometimes that you’re newlyweds.”

“No worries. I’ve got a full day ahead of me. Ceara could use the company.” He told Loni about Beauty’s unexpected debut yesterday and used the foal’s recent arrival as a reason for him to be tied up all morning. “I’ll be spending several hours with him. Imprinting a foal during the first few days after birth is crucial. It makes all the difference in the long run.”

Loni’s shoulders relaxed. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to barge in.”

“You’re always welcome.” Crossing the kitchen, Quincy asked, “What’s your poison, coffee or tea?”

“Coffee is great. Black with two sugars, please.”

Ceara scurried back into the kitchen just as Quincy was serving their guest. She still wore his shirt over Sam’s rolled-up blue jeans. Her hair, tousled from the pillow, was a riot of burnished curls. Quincy found it amazing that she could look so beautiful without half trying.

He fixed a quick breakfast of bacon and eggs, making enough for Loni as well. His sister-in-law quirked an eyebrow at the fare, but blessedly refrained from comment as she picked up her fork. As soon as he could without being too obvious, Quincy made his excuses after eating and left for the arena, not wishing to horn in on the female chitchat.