Ransom Canyon (8 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Staten

T
HE
WIND
BLEW
icy across Staten Kirkland’s land. It might be only noon, but he decided to call it a day. Fog was moving in over the canyon rim along his back pasture. With the canyon so close, it wasn’t safe to keep working cattle. His men had been out in the below-freezing wind since dawn, and the trucks were all loaded.

With a wave to the cowhands turning their horses toward the bunkhouse, Staten headed over to his home to do paperwork.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew there was another reason he’d stopped work early. Staten wanted to be alone. He wanted to think about Quinn. It had been almost a week since he’d last seen her, but she never quite left his mind.

Most of the time when he needed to think, he’d ride out to the pastures and move among his horses or cattle. The low sounds they made, the click of their hooves over rocky ground, the crackle of the wind in ice-packed trees, all relaxed him. He found his sanity there on his land where the work was never done and he could watch the clouds of heaven pass over and make shadows on the winter grass.

Today he needed to close himself off, to empty his mind so his thoughts could roam.

Once he reached the rambling two-story house that stepmother number two had built but left before she decorated, he made himself a bowl of chili and ate at his desk. His dad had finished the place with furniture bought in room groupings, but the things Staten loved were the few pieces his grandmother had sent over from her house a quarter mile away. The old place his grandparents had was still more a home to him than this house. It was still nestled in the breaks with trees on three sides. When his grandfather died, his grandmother had moved to town, claiming she was living with a memory there. Staten never could bring himself to go back inside. The old house had been locked up and empty for twenty years, but it still shone bright in the morning sun.

He shoved aside his half-eaten bowl of chili. He couldn’t concentrate on reading stock reports, so he moved to the huge leather chair that had been his grandfather’s. There, with the smell of the old man’s pipe still lingering, Staten leaned back and remembered last Friday night.

Even in dreams he’d never made love like that. Over the past five years, he and Quinn had learned each other. Or so he thought. Last Friday night he’d learned a few things about her he hadn’t known. For the first time he’d felt her hunger for his touch, needing it, almost demanding it.

He’d loved his wife, but somehow in the whirlwind of taking over the ranch and having Randall, they’d grown apart. The love had been there, always, from the beginning to the day she died, but the passion had vanished. He’d filled his days with work, and Amalah had poured her life into projects and spoiling Randall. They both had worked hard and shared dreams that all wrapped around Randall.

He remembered always looking forward to coming home and sharing with her, sleeping with her, making love to her, but somewhere passion had slipped away. By thirty they were married, settled, content. Three years later she was ill, and they’d both fought for her life.

Unlike his father, Staten had had only one wife, and she’d died. He knew he could never have that partnership again, and he had no intention of trying.

Quinn wasn’t what he wanted in a wife, even if he thought he could marry again. She was too shy. She would hate going to dinners in Austin or Dallas when Samuel Kirkland needed family present. Quinn wasn’t a joiner and never attended charity functions, even over in Crossroads. Staten wasn’t much good at that kind of thing, either, but he felt a duty to do his part.

What he and Quinn had was special. He told himself it couldn’t last. She was just someone to turn to when the pain of being alone got to be too much. She was a friend.

Only, lately what they shared seemed deeper, and he wanted more than an occasional day or two out of each month.

Pulling his cell out of his pocket, he pressed her number and wasn’t surprised it took forever for her to answer.

“Hello,” she finally said, sounding out of breath.

“Quinn, it’s Staten.”

She laughed. “I know.”

It dawned on him he hadn’t planned what he was going to say. In the past five years, they’d rarely phoned each other. “I was wondering what you’d like for supper. I thought I’d come over tonight, if you’ve no objection, and I could pick something up.”

She took a while to answer, then her voice was soft. “I put on a roast about an hour ago, just in case you dropped by. With the weather so cold, I thought you might quit early and head on over.”

She knew him well, but he didn’t want to impose. “I’ll be there. I just called in case you wanted to go out. We could—”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

He wasn’t surprised. She never wanted to go out. Once, he’d taken her to a farm-and-ranch show in Abilene and lost track of her. He’d found her an hour later sitting in his truck reading. She’d made no apology, and he hadn’t commented on the waste of time. They’d just driven back to her place in silence. That night he’d remembered there seemed to be miles between them. She hadn’t taken his hand, and he hadn’t suggested staying over. After that night he’d waited six weeks before going back, but when he did, she’d welcomed him without a single question.

“I’ll be there before dark,” he said and hung up, wondering if she’d even miss him if he never saw her again. She was his rainy-day woman, and he shouldn’t try to make her more. Amalah had loved parties and eating out and travel. She’d spend weeks talking about what she’d wear to one of his father’s big balls in Austin. She’d loved having fancy lunches with the ladies in the half-dozen clubs she belonged to. Quinn didn’t, and, after the drive back and forth to Abilene in one day, Staten never got them confused again.

Quinn would never like things like that. She didn’t want to go to the café in Crossroads. What they had was private, between them alone. No one knew he drove the road between his place and hers. He wouldn’t have cared, but Quinn wanted it that way.

Drifting off in the leather chair, he was already with her in his mind. At sunset he woke with a start, realizing he was almost late for dinner.

The wind blew him inside when he opened her door without knocking, and Quinn laughed as she caught his hat tumbling in ahead of him.

When she closed the door, he kissed her awkwardly.

She smiled but backed away out of reach. “I’ll put the food on the table.”

Staten nodded, feeling a bit out of place. Since she’d told him she wanted him to kiss her goodbye every time before he left, something had shifted. He wasn’t sure what the rules were anymore. Hell, with Quinn he was never sure what the rules ever were. She never turned him away, but he had no illusion that he was in control. She was his friend. They shared a history since grade school. They had sex now and then, but in many ways he didn’t feel as if they were lovers. Not until last week anyway. The way they’d made love that second time was different.

He sat down at her table and didn’t miss the fact that she’d taken extra effort tonight. Cloth napkins, a little pot of mums as a centerpiece. “It looks great,” he said as she set a platter of roast and vegetables between their plates.

He’d sent her a quarter of beef, freezer wrapped, last spring, and she’d sent him lavender soap. They’d both gotten the joke. She rarely ate beef, and he wasn’t about to shower with lavender soap. But she sometimes cooked the meat when he was coming over, and his housekeeper had put the soap in the three guest bathrooms he never used.

“I’ve been practicing today and thought I’d play for you after supper.” She brushed her hip against his shoulder as she filled his coffee cup.

“I’d love that.”

When she returned to the table, he stood and pulled out her chair for her. It seemed awkward, new.

“You don’t have to,” she said, not looking at him.

“I just need to touch you, Quinn.” His hand brushed over her shoulder. “I don’t know why, but I missed you this week.”

“Me, too.” She smiled up at him. “Especially when the tractor broke down again.”

He took his seat and grumbled. “I know you don’t like help, but I’m coming over one day and getting that thing in working order.”

To his surprise, she didn’t argue. They settled in. He cut her a slice, then filled half his plate with meat. She served the vegetables, giving him one of each, then filled her plate with the potatoes, carrots and celery. As wind rattled the windows, they ate in silence, neither feeling the need to keep conversation going.

His leg bumped her beneath the table, then settled against hers. When she handed him a bowl of cobbler for dessert, he rested his hand on her thigh. She looked up at him, and he saw a fire in her eyes. They’d make love tonight. She must have been thinking about last week, too. They might be in their early forties, but the way they’d made love last time seemed newly born to each.

She stood and put away the leftovers. He simply watched, his hands almost feeling what he saw. The soft flannel of her old shirt. The cotton of her white T-shirt.

Staten stopped his line of thinking. He and Quinn had never been about sex. They were friends first. She’d been there for him when he needed her. They were simply two people who needed someone. They trusted each other. They liked each other.

She took his hand, and they walked to her tiny living room. The piano seemed to take up half the space. He could almost see her as a little girl with pigtails swaying as she practiced. Music would have drifted out the open windows and across her parents’ farm.

He leaned back on a couch too small for him and listened as she began to play. They both knew she was giving him a rare gift, and he enjoyed every minute of it. He might not know composers or understand much about music, but he knew that when she played he could hear angels singing.

When she stopped, she turned and smiled. “How did you like that?”

“I loved it, Quinn. You know I did. I wish the world could hear you play.”

“It’s enough that I play for you. I enjoy that.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that the chamber of commerce—”

She laughed. “You mean you, the store owners and a few old women who think they run this town?”

He didn’t argue. “Don’t pick on me, Quinn. My grandmother made me take her place on the chamber of commerce last year. Claimed at eighty-four she needed a rest from all the decisions they have to make.”

“And you never say no to her.”

“Nope. She raised me while my dad and his line of wives went to Washington. I figure when she does die, she’ll probably leave instructions for how I should live the rest of my life.”

“I find it endearing that everyone thinks you’re this big powerful rancher, and you still follow orders from her.” She moved to kneel in front of him, her hands on his knees. “Your love for her is touching. She’s a lucky woman to have you and a smart one for moving to town and not living with you. I’m afraid you’d drive each other crazy.”

“Definitely.” He cupped her face. “Don’t distract me, Quinn, I’ve got some news. Real news, and that’s rare in Crossroads.”

Only, she did distract him. She pouted, and he couldn’t resist her bottom lip. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly.

“The big news?” she asked.

He brushed his fingers along her jaw. “You know the chamber has been trying to think of a fund-raiser for a year. Well, Miss Abernathy—” he stopped and winked at her “—she was your first piano teacher, I believe. I should thank her for that someday.”

Quinn didn’t look impressed. “She was everyone in town’s first piano teacher. She’s also the reason I went to New York to study. She talked my parents into it.”

Staten nodded. “Someone mentioned that to everyone at the meeting. Said you might know the pianist she wants to bring in for a one-night concert. Evidently, he is performing in Dallas in March, and she’s talked him into stopping here for one performance. We signed the contracts last meeting.”

Quinn shook her head. “New York was twenty years ago. I doubt I’d know anyone who’s still there.”

“Miss Abernathy said he wasn’t a student, but a teacher then. When he agreed to come, he asked about you. He had a funny name, Lloyd deBellome I believe.”

Quinn pulled away so fast Staten didn’t have time to stop her. For a flash he saw the fear in her eyes. She ran to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

For a moment he just sat there, having no idea what to do. Then fury rose in him. Whoever this guy was, whatever had happened, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d hurt Quinn. She’d done a good job of hiding it from him and probably everyone in town, but that one look hadn’t lied.

Staten stood and stormed after her.

He didn’t hesitate when he saw the closed door to her bedroom. If it had been locked, he would have knocked it down. His announcement had hurt Quinn, and he’d be damned if he’d leave without knowing why.

* * *

Q
UINN
COULDN
’
T
STOP
SHAKING
. She curled in a ball and pulled the bedcovers all around her. Staten stormed down the hallway after her and shoved the door open. He was halfway to her bed before he froze. “What is it? What’s happened?” His words sounded angry, worried, frightened.

“It’s nothing. Go away.” She couldn’t talk now. He was the last person she’d ever tell what had happened.

He knelt beside the bed. “Like hell, Quinn. I’m not going anywhere.” He climbed in beside her and held her as she cried. He might have no idea what had happened with Lloyd deBellome and her in New York, but while she cried he swore he’d make it right.

“How could anyone in the world hurt you, Quinn?” he finally whispered.

Finally she stopped crying and hugged him back. She was no longer a young girl. She needed to hang on to the one person she knew was safe—him.

He moved his hands over her in comfort. “Tell me what happened, Quinn.”

She dried her eyes on his shirt. The clean air smell of him made her smile. She’d always loved the way Staten smelled of the earth and sky and rain and work. Slowly, one long breath at a time, she calmed.