Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Jo changed clothes eleven times between ten o’clock and ten forty-five. Quinn was probably used to fancy lingerie and soft little dresses that came undone with a quick pull on an invisible tie. At least that was the way Jo imagined a Manhattan woman dressed for a late-night meeting with a lover.
She didn’t have anything like that. Cotton underwear made sense when you lived in jeans and Western shirts.
In winter she wore thermal long johns, even less romantic.
She had exactly two dresses, one full-skirted for dancing and the other a sedate linen thing that buttoned up to her neck.
Neither of them qualified for a secret rendezvous.
Dammit, when Quinn looked back on this episode she didn’t want him to think of it as the night he spent with the hayseed.
She rummaged through all her drawers, tossing things on the bed.
Then she went through her closet one more time, swishing hangers along the rod in her impatience.
At the far end of the closet she found a box she couldn’t remember putting there.
She opened it and started to laugh. Perfect.
In an abortive attempt to put some romance into her relationship with Dick, she’d bought herself red silk boxers and a chemise.
But before she’d had a chance to try them out, Fred had seen Dick kissing a waitress at the Ugly Bug Tavern and forced him to confess he was having an affair.
Jo had filed for divorce and had forgotten all about the sexy outfit.
The silk felt good against her bare skin.
She’d have to wear something over the outfit, of course, or she’d freeze to death walking to the barn.
The slicker hanging by the front door would work.
She stood in front of the mirror and admired herself in the red silk while she imagined Quinn’s reaction. Her breath quickened.
Smoothing the material over her breasts, she closed her eyes.
She craved his touch so desperately it scared her.
Maybe meeting him tonight wasn’t the wisest thing she’d ever done, but logic wasn’t in charge at the moment.
Deep in her heart she knew that if she didn’t make love to him before he went back to New York she would regret it for the rest of her life:
She slipped on a pair of sneakers and picked up a folded quilt before creeping downstairs.
As she made certain to avoid the steps that squeaked, she shivered as much from excitement as the chill in the air.
The house was dark and quiet as she made her way to the front door and took down the slicker.
She picked up the flashlight they kept on the entry hall table and reached for the knob of the front door.
As she started to turn it, she felt resistance, as if... as if someone was turning the knob from the other side.
Heart pounding, she stepped away from the door. Maybe Quinn had become impatient and decided to come to the house to get her. After the incident with Benny, he knew they didn’t lock doors at the Bar None.
The door opened, but the man silhouetted by the glow from the porch light wasn’t Quinn. He squinted in the darkness. “Jo, is that you?”
Jo pulled the slicker tight around her and swallowed. “Hi, there, Fred.”
She didn’t know who was more embarrassed, her or Fred. She was glad the light wasn’t very good, because she was sure her face was bright red. They both started a sentence of explanation at the same time, then stopped and stared at each other.
“I, uh, thought I’d get something for my upset stomach,” Fred said, his usual bluster completely gone.
“I... wanted to go check on Betsy.” It was a transparent fib. She’d checked on Betsy two hours ago, and the mare had shown no signs of going into labor. Fred knew that as well as she did.
But he nodded as if that was a brilliant idea. “Sure.”
“There’s... there’s probably some of that pink stuff in the downstairs bathroom,” Jo said.
“I figured.” He glanced at the blanket. “How long you planning to, uh, spend time with Betsy?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure.” He probably knew what the blanket was for, she decided, but she wondered what he thought of her slicker. It wasn’t raining. “A couple of hours?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Then I guess I’ll be getting on down there.” She had no idea if Quinn would be waiting. With Fred prowling around, Quinn might have decided to stay put until the coast was clear.
“Yeah, might as well get on down there. Check on Betsy,” Fred said.
“Fred, you’re blocking the door.”
“Oh!” He came all the way into the house, and they sashayed around each other in the narrow hallway like two people do-si-doing at a square dance.
“See ya,” Jo said as she hurried out of the house.
“Yep.” Fred closed the door quietly behind her.
Once she was headed down the porch steps, Jo began to grin.
Shoot, those folks had probably been carrying on like this for years.
Josephine might have known about it but couldn’t find a good way to inform her young grand-niece.
Jo wondered why they’d never made their romance public and gotten married.
But she could guess. Fred might enjoy having Emmy Lou nearby, and she no doubt felt the same, but Jo couldn’t picture Fred becoming domesticated enough to live in the house, which would probably mean giving up his chewing tobacco and his occasional trips to the Ugly Bug Saloon.
Jo swept the ground with her flashlight, checking for snakes. She didn’t expect to find any. The nights were still too cold for them to be out and about at eleven o’clock. Finding nothing, she started around the house toward the barn and glanced quickly at the entrance lit by a dusk-to-dawn light.
No Quinn.
Although Jo told herself he was probably waiting until he was sure Fred wouldn’t see him, her self-confidence slipped a notch.
Maybe he’d reconsidered and wasn’t coming, after all.
Or even more humiliating, maybe he’d fallen asleep, his ardor for her forgotten once his head touched the pillow.
She’d rather be rejected outright than forgotten like some dentist’s appointment.
The more she considered it, the less she liked the idea of hanging around the front of the barn for God knew how long before Quinn decided to show up, assuming he would show up and wasn’t sawing logs at this very minute.
Quinn wasn’t following the script. He was supposed to be so excited that he’d arrive early.
Eager and nervous, he would then pace back and forth until the appointed time.
When he first glimpsed her, he’d rush to meet her, and she would drop the quilt and flashlight (gracefully) and run to meet him, except the moment would be drawn out in slow motion, with appropriate background music.
Instead Quinn was late. He would arrive, if he arrived at all, to see her standing in the unflattering glare of the dusk-to-dawn light wearing her yellow slicker and clutching an old quilt. She probably looked like a refugee. Or a flasher.
On impulse she stepped into the shade of a large oak.
When she saw him coming, she could hurry forward as if she’d just arrived, as if she’d lost track of the time and had suddenly realized that it was past eleven.
Yes, that was a good line. She’d say she’d been reading a wonderful book and hadn’t realized how late it was.
That should put Mr. Quinn Monroe in his place.
Assuming he showed up at all.
If not she’d have to stay here for two hours because she’d subtly promised Fred she wouldn’t interrupt him and Emmy Lou any sooner than that.
From Jo’s perspective Fred and Emmy Lou had the ideal relationship.
It sure beat marriage, from what Jo had seen of that institution.
She envied their comfortable, no-strings arrangement.
This standing out in the cold waiting for some guy to meet you was for the birds.
She used to play in this tree when she was a kid, she remembered.
The trunk branched off about three feet from the ground, providing a crotch that was a perfect place to put your foot and heave yourself into the tree for a good climbing experience.
The oak had leafed out in the past couple of weeks, and it provided dense enough shade to camouflage her until Quinn arrived or.
.. he didn’t. If the rat didn’t show, she’d find some way to get revenge.
Strong arms came around her from behind, and she yelped. The quilt and flashlight plopped to the ground.
“How come you didn’t come over to the front of the barn, where you said you’d be?” Quinn murmured in her ear as he pulled her hard against him.
“Because you were late!” she whispered hoarsely, her heart going like crazy. “I decided to wait here until you managed to get yourself out of the bunkhouse!”
“I wasn’t late.” He nibbled her earlobe as he held her tight and began unsnapping her slicker with one hand.
“Were so.” Even through the slicker she could feel his erection pressing against her, rock hard and ready.
“Was not. I stayed in the shadows so there was no chance Fred would see me. I watched you coming toward me and decided I’d wait until you got right to the door of the barn before I showed myself, in case anyone was watching.
” His teeth raked the lobe of her ear as he slipped his hand inside her slicker.
“Except for some reason you changed your mind and decided to hide under this tree. So I had to come and get you.”
She gasped as he reached under the silk chemise and cupped her breast. Cool air touched her skin through the open slicker.
She should suggest they go into the barn, but his hand felt so good she didn’t want to move just yet.
In a minute they could move. He kneaded her breast with his strong fingers.
In another minute. “I... met Fred coming in the house as I went out,” she said.