Gift of Fortune (14 page)

"Ididn't think the day could get any worse, but I was
wrong," Aileen said when she arrived at the ranch right
after Quint. She dumped her briefcase and purse on the hall
table and slumped against it dejectedly.

"Are you referring to Myrtle Jensen?" he asked.

"Who else? Did you see that `Aha! I got you' expression
on her face? She caught us holding hands in public and,
for her, that's proof of her basest suspicions about us."

"I'm not thrilled about her seeing us holding hands, but
it's no big deal." Quint shrugged. "Aileen, aren't you overreacting?"

"Ordinarily it wouldn't be a big deal, but we live in the
same house! That colors everything."

"I suppose it does," Quint said, his expression thoughtful. "But what can she do? Spread gossip? Don't you think
people around here know what she's like?"

"Yes, but there will be talk. And then the whole `where
there's smoke, there's fire' mentality will take over. This
is a small, rural community."

"Ignore the talk. It's the best approach. Believe me. Don't get involved in defending or denying anything. If
you do that, people will wonder if there's truth to the rumors."

"Maybe you're right," Aileen murmured.

"What do you want to do now? Dance naked around the
kitchen?" Quint asked with a mischievous expression.

Aileen rolled her eyes.

"I was only kidding. We need a little humor. How about
me saddling up a couple of horses and we go for a ride?"

"No, thanks. What I want to do is go into the den and
fill out the forms for the IRS. And go over our finances.
Maybe later you can teach me to polka. With our clothes
on.,,

"Darn. You know how to take the fun out of the polka."
Quint retreated to the den before she could say anything
else.

Aileen made a pot of coffee, filled two mugs, and carried
them into the den.

"I haven't gone through all the desk drawers yet. Maybe
I can find some of Dad's tax stuff." In the bottom drawer
she found a yellowed envelope. She opened it and took out
a photo.

"What's that?" Quint asked.

Aileen looked at the back of the photo. "It's labeled,
`Mom, Jack, and Linda.' "She held out the photo for Quint
to see. "This could be your grandmother. And Linda could
be your aunt. Isn't this exciting?" She watched him shrug
and turn his attention back to the papers. "There's no address, so we can't trace them. That's too bad."

Quint ignored her comment, concentrating on last year's
monthly reports posted by the accountant. He frowned.

"That bad?" she asked, putting the photo away.

"That puzzling. Run right, the Triangle B should not only
break even, but show a decent profit."

"It obviously was profitable while Mom was alive."

Quint leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what it was like
back then. Close your eyes and picture the ranch."

Aileen closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she said,
"We had chickens. I remember I liked feeding them. And
we had two or three milk cows. Even a bunch of pigs. And
Mom and Martha put in the biggest vegetable garden you
can imagine. All summer long, we canned, froze, dried, and
`put up' food, as Martha called it, to last all winter."

"You already mentioned that you used to plant alfalfa
and clover for hay. Bob told me you even grew your own
oats for the horses. The ranch was practically selfsufficient."

Aileen nodded. "After Mom died, I remember Dad standing on the porch, giving orders to the men. Before her
death, he used to ride out with them. At least most of the
time."

"In other words, Jack Bolton didn't like hard work,"
Quint concluded.

Aileen gasped and touched his hand. "Quint, I'm sorry.
He was your biological father. I didn't mean to imply
that-"

"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it. And I'm fairly
sure I didn't inherit his gene for laziness."

"I'm positive you didn't!"

"Thanks." Quint smiled at her before turning his attention back to the reports. "What's `Racing, Inc.'?"

"Some horse racing scheme Dad was briefly involved
in."

"Horse racing is very expensive and uncertain. It's lots
safer to breed good-looking horses for people who want to
ride. By the way, Sweepstake has been busy. We should
get a nice crop of colts and fillies next spring which we
can sell the spring after that."

"That's great. I hope you haven't overexerted him."
Aileen felt herself color when she realized what she'd said.

"He loves his work. Hasn't complained once," Quint replied, his voice solemn, but there was a twinkle in his eyes
and a quiver around his lips.

"I could say something about the similarities among all
males across the species, but I won't." Aileen gestured,
dismissing the subject. "Anyway, Racing, Inc. wasn't a total flop. We got several good mares out of the disaster."

Quint turned the page. "What was `Air Service'?"

"I remember that fiasco. It was a transportation scheme
designed to service outlying ranches. It went bankrupt."

"That seems to be the pattern: Jack dreamed up or got
sucked into get-rich-quick schemes, all of which lost
money. Then he'd borrow more, trying to recoup what he'd
lost. That's a sucker's strategy." Quint shook his head.

"At least we know what not to do."

Quint leaned forward. For emphasis he touched her hand.
"Aileen, if we can hang on for the next two years, we'll
survive and start making a profit. But these two years will
be tough," he warned.

"I know that. You think I can't hack it, cowboy?"

"I know you can. You're an amazing woman. I just want
to be sure that you really want to work that hard and live
without frills and luxuries for that long. I need to know that
now. Once we start, I don't want to have to quit short of
the goal."

"I'm not a quitter." Then, matching his tone in intensity
and seriousness, she added, "This is my home. I've always
lived here. I'll do anything to keep it." Aileen picked up
her mug and raised it. "Here's to two years of simple living
and hard work."

"I'll drink to that," Quint said and saluted her.

Before school Aileen thought that some of her colleagues
were looking at her speculatively or slyly, but she couldn't
be sure. When she entered the teachers' lounge during her
prep period for a cup of coffee and all eyes zeroed in on
her, she knew she hadn't imagined those glances.

"Wow. Talk of still waters running deep," Janice, the
school nurse, said. "All this time I worried about you living
like a nun and rapidly becoming a dried-up old maid, and
it turns out you've got a hunk stashed away on that ranch
of yours."

Maryann leaned forward, her expression eager. "Is he as
hot as he looks? Come on, tell all."

Aileen's mouth nearly dropped open. How could Maryann, who had known her for years, assume she'd answer
such a question? "On second thought, this coffee looks
stale. I think I'll skip it. I've got some grading to do," she
murmured and walked out of the lounge.

That afternoon she fled from school the moment the last
bell stopped ringing.

As soon as Aileen got to the ranch, she changed clothes
and hurried into her garden. One third of the vegetable plot
had been roughly tilled. It now needed to be raked into fine
soil. She picked up the rake. Nothing like pulverizing
clumps of dirt to get over the embarrassing scene in the
lounge.

Quint called Aileen's name as soon as he entered the
house, but there was no response. Her car was parked in
front of the house and her briefcase and purse were on the
hall table. The kitchen was empty too. Whatever she had
put into the crock pot that morning smelled delicious. His
stomach growled in anticipation.

Where was she? Quint walked to the bottom of the stairs
and called her name again. He had never been upstairs. Without ever having discussed it, he knew this was her
domain. It would be prudent for him to stay out of it. But
what if she was ill? Throwing caution aside, he climbed
the stairs two at a time. Since it took her only moments to
run down the stairs, he figured that hers had to be the first
room off the landing. The door stood partially open. He
knocked and called her name.

"Aileen?" He waited a beat and then pushed the door
open.

Quint would be the first to admit that he knew nothing
about antique furniture, but he was intuitively sure that
what he was looking at would qualify as antiques. Beautiful
antiques. The dark, polished pieces looked as if they had
been made for the room.

Quint had been in enough women's bedrooms to expect
a certain amount of frills and fussiness, but aside from the
delicate floral wallpaper and the plants on the windowsill,
the room was simple, uncluttered, serene. He didn't even
see a single stuffed animal. That shouldn't have surprised
him. Aileen's room would be classy, like the lady herself.
He grinned when he saw the books piled on her night table.
There wasn't a room in the house that didn't contain books.

The four-poster bed drew him like a magnet. He picked
up the white nightgown that lay folded at the foot of it and
raised it to his face. It felt as silky as her hair. He inhaled
the scent. Aileen's scent. For a moment he closed his eyes
and reveled in the intoxicating sensation. When he realized
what he was doing, he hastily but reverently refolded the
nightgown with shaky hands and backed out of the room.

Quint tried not to look at the four-poster again, but his
traitorous eyes strayed to it. He knew with certainty that
from now on that bed would play a prominent role in his
heady dreams of Aileen. He groaned. He surely didn't need
anything else to rob him of his sleep or to fuel his fevered imagination, or to accelerate the pulsing needs of his body.
He muttered a few four-letter words and called himself several unflattering names for having been rash enough to go
upstairs.

She had to be in the garden. He rushed outside. Quint
heard the thumping noise before he saw her. He stopped
and watched her for a moment. The way she smashed the
back of the rake down on the clump of earth would have
told a blind man that she was upset.

"Do you need any help?" he asked.

She paused. Leaning on the rake, she raised her arm and
used her sleeve to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

"You're upset. What happened?"

Thump. She smashed a few more clumps. Quint waited
for a moment before he picked up the extra rake and
worked on the small clumps until the earth was reduced to
black powder, ready to be planted. They worked side by
side for several minutes. Finally, he asked, "Are you going
to talk to me or keep on smacking these poor clumps?"

Aileen stopped. Facing him, she said, "I can't believe
my colleagues. People I've known for years, people who
have known me for years, if not for most of my life. You'd
think they'd give me the benefit of the doubt. But no. They
choose to believe the worst their gutter minds can think of.
There isn't a single one who isn't convinced you and I are
living in sin."

"Ah." Quint watched her face. She was angry, but beyond the anger he glimpsed disappointment and embarrassment. That riled him enough to want to inflict some
serious bodily harm on those who had hurt Aileen's feelings.

He watched her wield the rake forcefully a couple of
more times before he laid his hand on her arm to stop her.
"What did they actually say?"

"Quint! I'm not going to repeat the innuendos."

He gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry. I didn't anticipate that
they'd embarrass you, but this is going to blow over. As
soon as something else happens to catch their interest,
they'll shift their focus to it."

She sighed. "Probably. The bad thing is that around here
not too many exciting things happen, so you and I may be
the focal point for a long time."

"Aileen, look at me."

"Why?"

"I need to see your mouth."

"What on earth for?" she asked, thoroughly puzzled.