Читать книгу Cattleman's Courtship - Lois Dyer Faye - Страница 9

O ver the next two weeks, Victoria threw herself into a frenzy of activity transforming the apartment she had rented in the old Victorian house next door to Nikki’s home into a welcoming nest. In the end, she was well satisfied with her home.

The activity focused her, gave her a purpose to fill her days and kept her too busy to fret over her problems. Her life as a child, teen and a young adult had been goal-oriented. She’d known from the day her uncle John had taken her and Lonna to the courthouse to watch his friend Hank Foslund plead a case that she would be a lawyer when she grew up. During her childhood, Victoria’s father had driven his family from Seattle to his brother’s home in Colson to spend their three-week summer vacation. She and Lonna were as close as sisters, and Victoria’s parents often gave in to the girls’ pleas to allow Victoria to spend an extra month with her cousin after they returned to Seattle. Many warm evenings had found the cousins challenging the widowed attorney to checker marathons on the screened porch. Those long summer evenings had cemented their friendship and her own resolve to practice law.

Now her health and her doctor’s edict had taken away her career. Granted, it was a temporary situation, but still she felt cut adrift, anchorless and without purpose.

Victoria didn’t like it, and she was determined to get her life back on track. The hiatus from her work was frustrating. So she threw herself into working on the apartment, clerking at her uncle John’s pharmacy and filling in for Hank. Business at the law office was slow, for all of his clients knew that Hank had left on a much-needed vacation. Fortunately for Victoria, however, Hank’s files were a disaster. She discovered that there was apparently no rhyme nor reason to his filing system, in fact, she couldn’t decipher any system at all. Satisfied that here was a project that would test even her fierce need for involvement, she dived into the years of files and documents that filled the cabinets in Hank’s office.

Busy though she was, however, she found thoughts of Quinn Bowdrie intruding all too often. Irritated to find herself remembering the handsome rancher and the kiss they’d shared, she determinedly pushed the memory aside. Still, she found she couldn’t banish him from her dreams.

Just after lunch one afternoon, Victoria bent from the waist and ran a feather duster over a bottom shelf in the cosmetics section. Dennings Pharmacy was enjoying a pleasant lull after a busy morning. The early afternoon sun poured through the plate-glass windows at the front of the store, glittering off the decorative glassware, bottles, and colored jars displayed in the deep window embrasures. Victoria had already dusted and efficiently reorganized the display before moving on to the aisle counters.

Humming along with the country music playing softly on the radio, she brushed the feather duster over a jewel-toned collection of bottles filled with nail polish. The store was quiet except for the low murmur of voices as a customer chatted with her uncle John at the pharmacy counter in the back of the store.

The jingle of bells that hung on the front door interrupted the soft music and Victoria stood, glancing across the store at the entrance. The small drugstore boasted only six aisles, the displays and shelves low enough for her to see over the top and across the width and length of the store from front to back.

That’s odd. I’m certain I heard someone come in.

Her tennis shoes made no sound on the waxed tile floor as she walked to the end of the aisle. She rounded the end display and stopped in midstride. Her pulse accelerated and irritation warred with attraction before distraction won.

Quinn Bowdrie was halfway down the aisle, talking to an adorable, wide-eyed toddler. He sat on his heels, one knee touching the floor, his forearm resting on the other bent knee. A grey Stetson was pushed back off his forehead, revealing thick black hair. A pair of sunglasses crowded a pocket of his blue chambray work shirt, and faded jeans, worn white at stress points, molded the heavy muscles of his thighs.

“I got a car,” the little boy announced importantly, and he held out one chubby hand, palm up.

“So you do.” Quinn took the miniature red metal car from the little hand and balanced it on his palm. “That’s a pretty nice set of wheels. Do you know what kind it is?”

“Yup—it’s a ’Far-ee.”

Quinn turned the die-cast metal car over and read the imprint.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “Ferrari—that’s what it says.”

“Where?”

The little boy stepped closer, stumbling over Quinn’s boot, and he moved quickly to steady the small body, his hand splayed across the child’s back.

Unnoticed by either of the two males, Victoria watched a rare, gentle smile break across Quinn’s hard face as he looked at the child.

“Careful, partner.” His voice was a deep-throated murmur, his big hand gently patting the small back reassuringly before he gravely inspected the little boy’s offering.

The child peered at the car in Quinn’s hand, studying the imprinted letters. “Right there?” He asked, tracing the upraised letters. “That says ’Far-ee?”

“Uh-huh. How did you know this car is a Ferrari?” Quinn asked him.

“My daddy told me.” The little boy said, nodding emphatically. “It’s my favorite car—see, it’s red.”

“Ah.” Quinn nodded sagely. “I see.”

This is the tough rancher who has no heart? Victoria thought with amazement. Watching the big man with the small boy brought a lump to her throat. She stood motionless, silently observing the two dark-haired heads bent together over the miniature car until Quinn glanced up. His green eyes darkened, an unnamed emotion flitting briefly across his hard features before his expression turned unreadable.

He slipped an arm under the little boy’s denim-clad bottom and stood in one smooth motion, the child seated safely on his arm.

He didn’t say anything. Victoria considered turning her back and walking away from him but thought better of the impulse.

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Quinn knew the moment he looked up and saw Victoria that he’d been lying to himself. He hadn’t been able to forget her, nor the kiss they’d shared on the shadowy dance floor, despite the fact that he’d never met an attorney he liked. And he downright detested pushy, aggressive female lawyers. He’d been moody, irritable and restless for the last two weeks. His gaze flicked down her body, noting the blue smock with Dennings Pharmacy embroidered over the upper swell of her left breast. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” Victoria’s memory of black hair, green eyes, tanned skin and a muscled, broad body wasn’t exaggerated. If anything, Quinn Bowdrie was even more blatantly male than she’d remembered. And judging by the irritation on his handsome face, the anger that had blazed in his eyes at the Crossroads Bar hadn’t diminished.

“You’re a salesclerk? Isn’t that a big step down from practicing law?” Quinn shifted the little boy on his arm. Her voice was frostily reserved, and the soft smile that had dazed him while they danced was noticeably absent.

“Some people might say so. However, I’m also handling Hank Foslund’s emergency calls and doing some other work for him for the next month or so. I happen to believe that work is work, regardless of the occupation. While I have a law degree and practicing law is my profession, it’s not the sum total of my existence,” she said pointedly, her gaze narrowing over the shift in his expression as he registered her words. His jaw firmed, his eyes narrowed. She could swear he grew taller as he stiffened. “My doctor ordered me to stay away from stress for at least six months. So—” she gestured at the store around her, wielding the colored collection of feathers “—I’m a clerk.”

“Six months? Do you really believe that you can keep from meddling in other people’s lives for six months?”

“I don’t meddle in people’s lives.”

“You’re an attorney,” Quinn said flatly. “Meddling in people’s lives is how you make your living.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.” Victoria held on to her temper with an effort. “But a lot of people, myself included, wouldn’t agree with you. In fact, Mr. Bowdrie, a lot of people, myself included, might argue that your opinion is suspect because you’re clearly prejudiced against attorneys.”

“Damned straight,” he shot back.

“Bobby? Where are you?” The female voice interrupted Quinn.

“Uh-oh.” The little boy in Quinn’s arms patted his face, demanding his attention. “That’s my mama.”

A young woman in her early twenties rounded the end of the aisle, her harassed expression quickly changing to relief and exasperation as she spied them.

“Bobby! There you are.” She walked down the aisle toward them and held out her arms.

Quinn handed the little boy to his mother, and she settled him against her hip with practiced ease.

“He wasn’t a bother.”

The young mother’s guarded gaze flicked from Quinn to Victoria before she smiled at her son. “I thought he was right behind me, playing with his car, while I talked to Mr. Denning. Then I turned around and he was gone.” She smoothed a lock of black hair from the little boy’s forehead.

“Thanks.” Her quick glance included both Quinn and Victoria before she hurried away down the aisle, the bells on the front door ringing melodically as the pair disappeared outside.

Quinn turned back to Victoria.

“I’d better be going, too.”

The cowboy who had smiled gently at the toddler was gone, replaced by a remote, hard-faced stranger. This Quinn was the man that had walked away from her at the Crossroads Bar and Grill after kissing her nearly senseless. She’d neither forgotten nor forgiven how easily he’d turned off the heat while she still felt singed. Besides, she was angry enough with Quinn’s unreasonable prejudice against her occupation that the urge to needle him was irresistible.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

A faint frown creased his brow. “Not that I know of.”

Victoria gestured at his empty hands. “Didn’t you come in here to buy something, or were you just browsing?”

“No, I didn’t stop to browse.” He slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket and removed a folded paper. “A neighbor asked me to drop off this prescription.”

She took the slip of paper and unfolded it, frowning slightly as she struggled to decipher the scribbled words.

Quinn took advantage of her distraction to study her unobserved. The blue pharmacy smock she wore was hip length; unbuttoned, it hung open from throat to hem. Beneath it, she wore a scoop-necked white T-shirt tucked neatly into belted khaki shorts that hit her at midthigh. Below the narrow hem of the shorts, her legs were long, curvy and lightly tanned. White socks with neatly folded down tops and tennis shoes covered her small feet. Her hair was a smooth fall of silvery silk that brushed her shoulders, only the bangs were faintly ruffled where she’d sifted her fingers through them as she talked. She reminded him of a well-cared-for, sleek little blue-eyed cat. And he wanted to cuddle her, stroke and pet her just to see if he could make her purr.

It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t seem to stop wanting to touch her.

“…don’t you think?”

Quinn realized that he’d missed the question, whatever it was.

“I, uh…”

Victoria glanced up from the prescription to find him staring at her. His gaze lingered on her breasts before stroking upward to focus intently on her mouth. Her heartbeat thudded faster, and she caught her breath, awareness flaring between them.

“If you weren’t so prejudiced against lawyers,” she murmured, “I’d ask you over for dinner.”

Quinn went completely still. His eyes went hot, and he stared at her for a long moment.

“But I am, and even if I weren’t, I don’t think seeing you is a good idea.” His deep voice was quiet, undertones of tension humming beneath the simple refusal.

“But…”

Too late. Even as Victoria started to protest and ask him to explain, he was gone. His long strides carried him swiftly down the aisle to the front of the store, the bells tinkling as he pulled the plate-glass door open and disappeared through it.

She stared at the empty doorway, regret mixed with irritation.

Men. Who can understand them? And cowboys seem to make less sense than general, run-of-the-mill guys. Maybe working outside in all that fresh air affects their brains!

She shook her head and returned to her dusting, determined not to spend another minute thinking about Quinn Bowdrie.

Unfortunately, Victoria discovered over the next week that commanding herself not to waste brain power thinking about the handsome rancher and actually accomplishing it were two very different things.

Saturday morning found her seated cross-legged on the floor of Hank Foslund’s office, a pile of file folders on her lap. Behind her, the top drawer of a low filing cabinet stood open, the files that had crammed its now-empty space surrounding her in a circle of neatly labeled stacks. She’d been pulling and organizing files for two hours, finishing the A’s and moving on to the B’s.

She scanned the last three remaining folders and shifted them off her lap, placing them in the proper alphabetical stack.

“Hank,” she muttered to herself with a fond shake of her head. “You may be a great attorney, but you’re terrible at organization. You should have hired another file clerk when Shirley retired.”

She pushed the top drawer closed and pulled open the bottom one. Like its mate, it too was crowded full of files, loose papers jammed haphazardly to hang half-in, half-out of folders.

The first file was so thick that she had to slide both hands beneath it to lift it from the drawer. The sides bulged and when she set the folder on the floor, it popped open, papers slithering loose to slide across the carpet.

Exasperated, Victoria shuffled the papers together before settling cross-legged once again to attach loose pages and reorganize the file. One look at the heading on the topmost document, however, had her mouth dropping open.

She hadn’t known that Hank Foslund represented the Bowdries.

But I should have, she realized. He’s the only attorney in town, and he’s represented most of the ranchers for years.

Feeling almost guilty, Victoria tried to deal with the file in an objective, professional manner. But she had to read at least a portion of each document in order to determine in which section of the big file the paper should be placed.

It became quickly obvious that the contents related to Eileen’s attempt to break Charlie Bowdrie’s will. It was also clear that Eileen had alleged that her husband had been mentally incompetent after suffering a stroke. Her attorney had used the public forum to villify Quinn and Cully, contending that Charlie was clearly not of sound mind or he would not have left his valuable property to two such unworthy recipients.

Victoria frowned and flipped through the pages to the original document. Her frown deepened as she read the allegations and double-checked the date of the will against the date of Charlie’s illness and subsequent death.

He made the will years before he suffered the stroke that eventually killed him. She shook her head, considering the significance of the dates. The attorney representing Eileen Bowdrie must have known there was little basis for filing this lawsuit, she mused. No wonder Quinn dislikes attorneys. It seems clear that the only reason this suit was filed was malice.

She shook her head in disgust and went back to sorting and attaching documents into the thick file until at last, there were only two sheets of paper left. The two letters were from a law firm in Helena, and both appeared to be an annual report on the status of a trust fund of some sort. Although the name Bowdrie was scrawled across the top of the letters in Hank’s bold, almost illegible hand, the file number below the name wasn’t the same as the thick file spread open on the floor before Victoria.

She paper-clipped the two letters together and added them to the stack of misfiled documents on top of the filing cabinet. Then she slipped the thick Bowdrie file back into its place in the file drawer. A quick glance at her watch told her she was going to be late for dinner with Aunt Sheila and Uncle John.

She quickly gathered her purse and let herself out of the office, carefully locking the door behind her, the puzzling letters forgotten on top of the cabinet.

Struggling to deal with the culture shock of her sudden shift from city to small town life, Victoria found herself brewing tea at two on Sunday morning, unable to sleep. She wasn’t sure if her sleeplessness was due to the lack of traffic noise outside or the hazy dream she’d had about dancing with Quinn.

Whatever the cause, Victoria stifled a yawn and struggled to concentrate on the minister’s sermon much later that morning.

Oh, what I’d give for a double shot latte, she thought longingly. Flavored coffee brewed strong enough to jolt her awake was only one of a long list of things she missed about Seattle. Six months, she lectured silently. I will make the best of living away from city comforts for the next six months.

Later, as she followed her aunt down the aisle and stepped out into the sunshine, she reminded herself that there were many things she enjoyed about living in this small Montana town. The pleasure of breathing air untainted by city exhaust, the friendliness of neighbors and the opportunity to spend time with her aunt, uncle and cousin were only a few of the reasons she liked Colson. I need to focus on what I enjoy about living in Montana, she thought. And not on what I miss about Seattle.

“Hello, Sheila.”

A plump, middle-aged woman, flowers bobbing atop her white straw hat, halted Sheila Denning. Victoria’s aunt paused on the wide sidewalk, Lonna and Victoria beside her.

“Good morning, Laura, everyone.” Sheila smiled pleasantly at the two women standing in a semicircle with Laura Kennedy. “I don’t think you’ve met my niece, Victoria. She’s recently moved to Colson. Victoria, I’d like you to meet Laura Kennedy, Becky Sprackett and Eileen Bowdrie.”

“Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Victoria murmured in response to the chorus of greetings. The woman that Sheila had introduced as Eileen Bowdrie piqued her interest. The impeccably dressed older woman had elegant features, but her patrician beauty was marred by cold blue eyes and a haughty air.

“I’ve met your relative—Quinn Bowdrie.”

Eileen Bowdrie’s eyes grew icier and she stiffened.

“I am most certainly not related to Quinn Bowdrie. Nor to his brother, Cully,” she said emphatically. “If you were more familiar with our town, you’d know that those two are absolutely no blood relation of mine. I’m their father’s widow, but I am certainly not their mother. Unfortunately for the community, they inherited all of their father’s weaknesses and none of his strengths. They ought to be locked up somewhere, there isn’t a decent woman in the county that’s safe with either of them.”

Despite Lonna and Nikki’s description of Eileen, Victoria was still stunned by the woman’s bitter attack. Her shock quickly gave way to anger, however, as bitterness continued to pour out of the woman. Stubborn and impossible though Quinn had been, Victoria thought, he’d gone out of his way to step in when Sam Beckman had proven difficult. Even when he’d discovered that she was an attorney he’d been angry but polite.

At last the woman paused to catch a breath.

“An interesting viewpoint,” Victoria interjected smoothly. “However, my experience with Quinn was quite different. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Quinn Bowdrie, I would have had to fight off the unwanted attentions of a local rancher at the Crossroads several weeks ago. I’m very grateful that Quinn was there and stepped in, and I found him to be a perfect gentleman.”

Eileen’s face flushed with anger, and her thin body stiffened. She seemed to expand and grow taller with affront.

“Well! I refuse to stand here and waste my time being corrected by a young woman who clearly has no understanding of this situation.” Eileen glared at Victoria before turning a fulminating stare on her aunt. “Sheila, I suggest you apprise your niece of the facts.” She switched her furious gaze back to Victoria. “And after you are aware of the true situation, I shall expect a full apology from you, young woman.”

Clutching her purse between a rigid elbow and the cream silk suit covering her thin waist, Eileen Bowdrie turned on her heel and stalked away down the sidewalk, nearly vibrating with self-righteous fury.

“Well, I…” Laura Kennedy managed a feeble smile. “I’ll see you ladies at the Garden Club meeting on Tuesday.” She hurried off after Eileen, the flowers on her hat dipping and swaying in time with her quick strides.

“Well,” Sheila declared in a puff of sound, before she eyed her niece. “You stirred up a hornet’s nest, Victoria.”

Victoria was so angry she could feel her cheeks radiating heat. “That is the most obnoxious woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” She paused to draw a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an attempt to rid herself of the anger that coursed through her veins and beat at her temples. “Outside of opponents in divorce court, I’ve never heard such vicious comments.”

“Hah!” Becky Sprackett snorted inelegantly. “That wasn’t as bad as some things I’ve heard her say.” One capable, work-roughened hand patted Victoria’s shoulder approvingly and she smiled, her faded blue eyes twinkling. “Good for you, girl. I’m glad you stood up to her. I think it’s about time somebody reminded her that not all the folks in the county agree with her about the Bowdrie brothers.”

“Becky’s right,” Sheila commented. “Eileen just isn’t rational about those boys and never has been. To listen to her talk about them, a person would think that they had horns, tails and carried pitchforks.”

“That’s a perfect description of Eileen Bowdrie’s ridiculous opinion,” Becky declared with a sniff of disgust. “I’ve known those boys ever since they came to live next door at their daddy’s ranch,” she said firmly. “And they’ve never done anything worse than snitch a warm pie off my windowsill. Of course, they were a mite wild growing up. But their father, bless his soul, would be proud of the men they’ve become, despite what Eileen says.”

“I’ve never met Cully, but I’ve met Quinn and saw no evidence of horns or a pitchfork,” Victoria said.

“Hmm, that’s right. You told Eileen that you met Quinn,” Sheila murmured, eyeing her niece with interest. “And where was that, exactly?”

“At the Crossroads Bar and Grill—the night that Lonna and I went to hear a band she loves. And then I saw him again last Friday when he came into the pharmacy.”

“He was in the pharmacy?”

“Yes. He dropped off a prescription—I believe it was yours, Becky.”

Victoria noted the raised eyebrows and speculative glances between her aunt and Becky, but before she could question them, the minister joined their group and her query was forgotten in the ensuing conversation.

“Hey, Quinn!”

Cully’s shout, followed by the slamming of the front door, shattered the silence of the ranch house.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Quinn yelled. He glanced over his shoulder and watched his brother enter the room before he turned back to the sink. Dirty water ran from his soapy hands and swirled down the drain. Mud freckled his face, dotted his hair, splattered his shirt and coated his jeans almost to the knee. Only his feet, covered in white socks, were free of the half-wet, half-dry brown mud.

“What happened to you?” Cully asked, halting in midstride to stare.

“I got the truck stuck in that bog out in Pilgrim’s Meadow.”

“No kidding. What does the truck look like?”

Quinn glanced up and caught the amused grin that lit Cully’s green eyes and tilted his mouth.

“Worse than I do.” He said drily. He bent and ducked his head under the spigot, scrubbing his face and hair vigorously under the running water before he twisted the faucet closed. Eyes shut, he fumbled for the towel on the countertop and dried water from his face and hands before he turned back to Cully, his head buried in damp terry cloth as he rubbed his hair. “So,” he mumbled, “where have you been?”

“Over at Becky’s, helping fix her corral gate.”

Quinn frowned and tossed the wet towel back onto the countertop. Cully’s voice was filled with amusement. Quinn eyed him. His brother leaned against the counter, boot-covered feet crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest. He was the very picture of innocence.

Quinn was instantly suspicious.

“At Becky’s, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What happened at Becky’s that’s so funny?”

“Becky went to church this morning.”

“What’s funny about that? Becky goes to church every Sunday morning.”

“Yeah, but this Sunday morning the druggist’s niece was there, too.”

Quinn stiffened. “So?”

“So was our wicked stepmother.”

Quinn’s hands curled into fists. “What did she do to Victoria?”

“It’s not what Eileen did to Victoria, it’s what Victoria did to the wicked stepmother.”

“All right, get to the point—what happened?”

“Victoria must not have known that Eileen hates our guts because she asked her if she was related to us. Becky says Eileen practically exploded and the longer she ranted about us, the angrier the niece got. According to Becky, the lady interrupted her in midspeech and verbally ripped her to shreds.” Cully chuckled. “Becky told me that Eileen swelled up like a balloon, she was so mad. Then she told the niece that she was owed an apology and stomped off.”

“Hell.” Quinn uncurled his fists and thrust his fingers through his hair. “What did she do that for?”

“Damned if I know,” Cully said bluntly. “But it’s nice to know that somebody besides Becky has the guts to tell Eileen to shut up every now and then.” He eyed Quinn with curiosity. “Why did she stick up for us, anyway? Becky says the niece knows you—when did you meet her?”

“A couple of weeks ago at the Crossroads,” Quinn replied, distracted by the mental image of what Victoria might have looked like angry. The smooth skin of her cheeks would have been flushed, her blue eyes snapping, her small body defensive.

“At the Crossroads?” Cully’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Is this the blonde Nikki told me you took away from Sam Beckman?”

“I didn’t take her away from Beckman,” Quinn said impatiently. “He was giving her a hard time and I cut in to dance with her. That’s all. End of story.”

“Yeah. Right.” Cully’s tone was patently disbelieving. “If that’s the end of the story, then how come she jumped down Eileen’s throat when she started complaining about you?”

“Who knows?” Quinn shrugged. “She’s an attorney. Maybe it’s just a natural reaction for her to argue.”

“Hmm. Possibly, but I doubt it—sounds to me like the lady likes you, Quinn.”

“I doubt it, but if she does, she’d be smarter to keep it to herself,” Quinn said grimly. “If the gossips in Colson decide she’s interested in a Bowdrie, her reputation will be toast.”

Cully’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice hard.

The kitchen was silent for several moments while the brothers were immersed in their own thoughts before Cully glanced at Quinn in slow surprise.

“She’s an attorney? Did you say the Dennings’s niece is an attorney?”

“Yeah.”

Cully whistled, a soft, almost silent pursing of his lips.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You not only spoke to her, you actually went out of your way to take her away from Beckman?”

“I told you—I didn’t take her away from Beckman.”

“But she’s an attorney. You hate women attorneys. We both do.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know she was an attorney when I danced with her, okay?”

“Okay.” Cully lifted his hands in surrender. He started toward the doorway to the back porch. “Must be some woman.”

And with that parting shot, he walked across the small utility room and disappeared outside, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

Quinn glowered at the closed door. Cully’s departing figure was clearly visible through the mesh screen and his cheerful whistling was plainly audible.

There was no question that Cully thought he’d discovered a chink in Quinn’s armor and would continue to tease him about Victoria.

“Damn,” Quinn swore as he threw his mud-splattered shirt inside the washer before stripping off his jeans and heading upstairs for a shower.

Moments later, he stood under the pounding stream, sluicing the remaining mud from his hair. He braced his hands against the tiled wall and let the hot spray knead his sore back muscles.

Why was she defending him? He’d given her no cause.

The question nagged Quinn the rest of the day and into the evening. He wanted to ask her why she’d championed him in front of her aunt and her friends but he knew he shouldn’t. He should stay away from her.

Victoria was curled up in bed, reading, when someone knocked on her apartment door.

She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Ten o’clock?” She couldn’t think of anyone who might be visiting her except Lonna, and she’d already spoken with her cousin earlier in the evening. Nevertheless, she grabbed her comfortable cotton wrap robe from the foot of her bed and headed into the living room. The old-fashioned oak door was heavy and solid, with no peephole marking its thick panels. She paused, her hand hesitating on the doorknob, made cautious by her years in Seattle and the lateness of the hour.

“Who’s there?”

“Quinn Bowdrie.”

Startled, Victoria stared at the oak panel for a moment before she twisted the dead bolt free and pulled open the door.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Quinn stared at her silently. Nonplussed, Victoria could only stare back. What was he doing here?

He glanced over her shoulder at the lamplit room beyond. He tilted his head to look down at her and the brim of his Stetson threw a faint shadow over the top half of his face.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

She stepped back hastily and waved him into the room. He moved past her and she closed the door, leaning against it for a moment while she stared at the blue chambray covering his broad back and shoulders. Her gaze swept down the long length of his legs encased in faded jeans and vaguely noted the black cowboy boots he wore while she struggled to get her bearings. What was he doing here? After he’d flatly rejected the possibility of visiting her at the pharmacy, he was the last person she’d expected to see at her door.

Quinn glanced around the room before he turned to face her.

“I’m surprised to see you.” She pushed away from the door, tugged the robe sash tighter and eyed him. “Didn’t you tell me that visiting me wasn’t a good idea?”

“I did.” He nodded briefly. “And I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I heard you had a run-in with my stepmother this morning. I wanted to thank you for defending me…”

Victoria’s militant stance softened, a half smile curving her lips.

“…and tell you not to do it again.”

The smile disappeared and she frowned.

“That’s a left-handed thank-you if I ever heard one, and I’ve heard some pretty grudging thankyous.”

Quinn yanked his Stetson off and raked the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate your standing up to my stepmother, but you’re wasting your time. Nothing you or anyone else can say will change what she thinks about my brother and me. All you’re going to do is stir up the gossips and start them speculating about your own character. Before you know it, the stories making the rounds will be wilder than you can imagine. I don’t want your good name ruined because of me—this isn’t Seattle. Small town gossip can be brutal.”

“Why do you care? I thought you believed that the fact that I’m an attorney automatically gave me a bad name.”

“That’s your profession—and your choice. This is personal and involves me.”

“It was just one small conversation with a few women.” Victoria waved her hand impatiently. “You’re overreacting, Quinn. And even if you’re right about this, I refuse to worry about small-minded people.”

“You’d better worry,” Quinn said grimly. “They can make your life hell.”

Victoria shrugged. “I won’t be here forever—six months isn’t that long. And when I go back to Seattle, they’ll forget about me and find someone else to talk about. In the meantime, I won’t listen to your stepmother spreading wild lies about you.”

“What makes you so sure that she’s lying?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Victoria said impatiently. “Don’t tell me that you expect me to believe that nonsense she told me.”

Her unquestioning belief in him was astounding. With the exception of Becky, Quinn couldn’t remember anyone else ever telling him that Eileen was dead wrong about him. A swift stab of emotion pierced his chest and he absentmindedly rubbed his fingers over his heart in an attempt to erase the pain.

Victoria’s gaze flicked to his fingers and then back to search his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Concern edged her tone.

Quinn quickly dropped his hand away from his shirt.

“Nothing.” He had to get out of her apartment and away from her. The quiet room, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp, was too intimate. He’d tried, and failed, to ignore the robe that clung to her curves and left her legs bare from just above her knees to her toes. Now he tamped down the urge to smooth his palm over her normally sleek blond hair that was tousled as if she’d just gotten out of bed. But the spark of worry and caring in her eyes was an enticement he could barely resist.