Chapter 10 #2
After Fred left, Quinn leaned against the stall door, which still separated him from the delectable Jo. Jo the turncoat. “I thought you were going to teach me how to be a cowboy.”
“I was.” She looked disappointed. “I was really looking forward to it.”
“You weren’t the only one.”
“But then, while Clarise was giving birth to her foal, I started thinking.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“About what?”
“You first.” This didn’t seem like the time to tell her he’d started thinking how nice she’d look pregnant.
“Here’s the deal.” She moved a little closer to him. “I like you. I like you a lot.”
“Is that why you’re turning me over to Grizzly Adams? Because, gosh darn, you sure do like me?”
“Yes.” She trailed a finger along his forearm. “Because if I did all the teaching, I’m afraid we’d get involved.”
“And what a disaster that would be.” So what if her touch affected his breathing? He could work around that. The one bright spot in this whole episode had been wiped out, almost as if Fred had hit it dead center with a stream of tobacco juice.
“It would be a disaster.” Jo’s expression was sweet and serious as she continued to draw imaginary lines over his arm.
“Now that you’re going to be Brian Hastings, you have to play your part and hightail it out of town before anybody’s the wiser.
You can never set foot in these parts again. It’d be too risky.”
He was beginning to get her point. He didn’t like it, but he was getting it.
He captured her hand. She had strong hands, but warm and so soft.
She must slather them with lotion to keep them that way.
“And you’re not the kind of woman who wants a fling with a guy who can never set foot in these parts again. ”
“I wish I could be, Quinn. If I could be that kind of woman, you’d be the very guy I’d choose to have a fling with.”
“That’s such a comfort.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles one by one.
Her eyes darkened to the color of chocolate. “Are you the kind of guy who would have a fling with a woman you could never see again?”
Under the glow of that gaze he began to fidget.
He looked away. His conscience wasn’t as clear on this score as hers apparently was.
There was that time in Rio, when both he and the woman had known the relationship would go nowhere, yet they’d had a damned good time for a few days.
And then there was the woman he’d met on the subway.
She’d come to New York for a convention and had flown home to Paris three days later.
Even though the time together had been great, neither of them had felt committed enough to uproot their lives to be with each other.
Both times he’d suspected the women were pretending he was Brian Hastings, but that was another matter.
“I guess you are that kind of guy,” Jo said quietly. She tried to pull her hand away.
He held it tight and met her gaze. “Okay, I’ll admit I’ve been willing to do that in the past. Not often, but it’s happened. I’ll also go out on a limb and say that I wouldn’t want that sort of arrangement with you.”
“Because you think I would get hurt?”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Because I think we could both get hurt.”
Her gaze softened. “Thank you. You’re a kind man, Quinn.”
Not kind. Right now he wanted to come into that stall and push her down on the fragrant hay at her feet.
“Just telling it like it is. I hadn’t thought this through as completely as you have.
You’re right. Now that I’m going to impersonate Hastings, we really shouldn’t let anything develop between us.
” He hated saying that, but it was true.
Jo sighed wistfully. “You sure look good with no clothes on, though.”
Quinn’s body tightened even more. “You sure felt good—whatever part of you I got a grip on when I was wrestling with Benny.”
“My thigh. You grabbed my thigh.”
“Mmm.” Probably another spot she slathered lotion on. An ache began to build in the vicinity of his groin. He should end this conversation while he could still walk. “I said I was sorry. I wasn’t really.”
“That’s okay.” She sounded breathless. “Maybe we should get all these comments out in the open, now that we’re not going to... do anything. I think you look lots sexier than Brian Hastings. It’s just my personal opinion, of course.”
“That’s the opinion that counts.” He kissed her palm and felt the shiver that ran up her arm. “I’ve been wishing I could run my fingers through your hair. I love your hair.”
She drifted closer, until they would have been nestled against each other if they hadn’t been separated by the stall door. “And I love your eyes.” Her voice grew husky. “Such a deep blue. I’ve heard Brian Hastings wears contacts.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“Do you?”
God, but he wanted to kiss her. “No. Do you?”
She shook her head. “No contacts, no capped teeth, no breast implants.”
He glanced down and noticed she’d skipped putting on a bra under her T-shirt. Her nipples pushed at the soft material. He looked into her eyes. “I wanted to comb your hair over your naked breasts.”
Her breath caught. “And I wanted to feel your chest muscles flex. Do you… work out?”
“Not much.” Desire thickened his vocal cords.
He sounded as if he had strep. “Mostly I go out to Murray’s house on Long Island and help him with his projects.
” Only one project interested Quinn at the moment, and that was finding a quiet place where they could both get naked.
“He’s always adding a room or something. ”
“You can do handyman stuff?” Her breasts touched his chest as she leaned closer.
“Hey, I’m very macho.” He ached to kiss her, but he didn’t dare.
Instead he ran a forefinger gently over her lower lip until she closed her eyes and sighed, surrendering to the caress.
“Forget teaching me to ride and rope,” he murmured.
As he eased his finger between her slightly parted lips, his erection pressed against the rough wood of the stall door.
“I’ll impress the population of Ugly Bug by hammering a couple of boards together.
Then for an encore I’ll saw a plank in half. ”
“Coffee and cookies, anyone?”
Quinn and Jo leaped away from their respective sides of the stall door. Then Quinn quickly plastered himself to the door again, grimacing at the impact of the wood against the body parts most affected by Jo.
“Hi, there, Emmy Lou. Hey, Benny.” Jo blushed furiously. “We were just—”
“Were they kissing?” Benny asked Emmy Lou.
“Not quite.” Emmy Lou set a wooden tray on a leather trunk in the aisle between the rows of stalls.
“We were talking,” Jo said.
Emmy Lou poured a mug of coffee and handed it over the stall door to Jo. “Honey, no explanation necessary. You already told me you thought he was cute. “ She filled a second mug and gave it to Quinn.
Quinn’s embarrassment turned to delight, “She did?”
“I just meant in a general sense,” Jo said, blushing.
“But you did say it.”
“Yes, she really did.” Emmy Lou patted him on the arm. “I think you’re cute, too.”
“Well, I don’t think he’s so damned cute,” Fred said as he walked into the circle of light by the stall door carrying his bottle. “How’re momma and baby doing?”
“Sleeping,” Jo said.
Quinn glanced guiltily at the mare and foal. They could have been dancing the tango for all he knew. Once everyone had left he’d forgotten the horses and become completely immersed in Jo.
“Whatcha gonna name him?” Fred asked.
Jo gazed at the little foal curled up against his mother. “Well, if people hear that Brian Hastings was present for the birth, they’ll expect this colt to be named Brian, probably.”
“Aw,” Fred said. “Don’t do that. That don’t sound like a horse name. And don’t be calling him Hastings, either. That sounds like a butler.”
“Then I guess I’ll call him Stud-muffin,” Jo said.
Fred groaned.
“I think it’s clever,” Emmy Lou said.
“What’s it mean?” Benny asked.
“Never mind, Benny,” Fred said. “So is that it, Jo?”
“That’s it.”
“Then if it’s official, I can drink to it.” He uncorked his bottle. “Here’s to—” He grimaced. “Stud-muffin. Long may he live.” He took a swig and wiped the top on his sleeve. Then with a rascal’s glint in his eye, he handed the bottle to Quinn.
Quinn took it. “I’ll bet you think I’ve never swigged whiskey from a bottle before, don’t you?”
Fred nodded. “That would be my guess, city boy.”
“You’d be wrong.” It had been a few years, but he’d done it. Once. “Here’s to Stud-muffin.” Quinn took a big swallow from the bottle and choked, spilling coffee on himself in the process. The whiskey burned its way to his stomach. The coffee on his shirt seared his chest. He whimpered.
“Give me that!” Emmy Lou grabbed the bottle out of his hand and sniffed it. Then she glared at Fred. “What do you think you’re doing, giving that boy some of your hundred-and-fifty-proof home brew? You want to kill him before he has a chance to do this Brian Hastings thing?”
“Jo said I was supposed to turn him into a cowboy!”
“She didn’t tell you to turn him into a lush, now, did she?”
Fred stuck out his chin. “A real cowboy can hold his liquor!”
Quinn had recovered enough to set his coffee mug on the wooden tray. “Give me that bottle, Emmy Lou.”
“Nope.”
Quinn knew his smile could accomplish most anything with Emmy Lou, and he used it. “Come on, Em. Let a guy salvage his pride.”
Jo leaned over the stall door. “Forget your pride, Quinn. That stuff would burn a hole right through the floor of this barn.”
“You’re all a bunch of pansies,” Fred muttered.
Quinn motioned for the bottle. “Give it here.”
“Don’t drink it,” Benny said. “It rots your innards.”
Quinn glanced at Fred. “He’s still standing.”
“You can’t go by him,” Emmy Lou said. ‘His insides are galvanized steel.”
“Emmy Lou. The bottle.”
“Oh, give it to him,” Jo said. “It’s a guy thing. Might as well get it over with.”
Emmy Lou surrendered the bottle with obvious reluctance. “Just so you know, we don’t have a very up-to-date medical clinic in Ugly Bug.”
“I won’t need a medical clinic.” Quinn met Fred’s piercing gaze.
Then he slowly raised the bottle to his lips and took another drink, a slightly smaller one this time.
Damn, but it was strong. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he lowered the bottle and smiled at Fred.
“Good stuff,” he said hoarsely. “You make this yourself?” His whole chest was on fire.
“I do.”
Quinn wiped the bottle on his sleeve and handed it back. “Thanks.”
“Any time.”
“I’ll remember that.” Quinn looked into Fred’s eyes and was rewarded with a gleam of exactly what he’d been hoping for—respect.