Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (6 page)

She inclined her head and silently folded her hands around her coffee cup as though listening was her contribution.

“Hamilton seems to think you’ve lost your memory.” Ambrose didn’t try to disguise the disbelief in his voice. Lucy waited, neither agreeing nor denying. “Do you doubt that you’re Lucy McKenna Quince?”

She answered immediately, “No,” but again offered no elaboration. He wanted her to say yes so he could tell her to be on her way.

She finally asked, “Do you doubt that I’m Lucy McKenna Quince?”

“No.” His answer was instantaneous. He
needed
to send her packing but by God she was still his wife. The thought of her leaving made him more belligerent than her presence. “Do you expect to walk back in and take up where you left off?”

She smiled at that. “I don’t know where I left off. I was hoping to find out during my visit.”

Ambrose bristled at the implication, but it was Hamilton who asked, “Are you planning on leaving again?”

She looked at both men and a hint of her old self peeked through. “You two remind me of a pack of wolves running after a cow to bring her down. Was it always like this?”

Before they could answer, she set her coffee cup in the dishpan and turned toward the door. “I came to see my children, to make sure they’re well cared for and have no needs. I also returned to assure myself that they don’t live with a man who would harm them.”

She glanced down, staring pointedly at his hands fisted on the table. “When I’m convinced my children are safe, I’ll leave. I have a life I started two towns over and a restaurant to cook meals in.”

She’d already made it to the door when Ambrose growled, “So you’re going to run away again. You’re going to leave your children to grow up without their mama.”

Until that moment, her absence was exactly what he’d intended. But at the thought of having her here with him again, pure animal lust surged through him and he realized he’d never let her go.
Goddammit, she’s my woman. She’ll learn to live with that fact, like it or not.

She left the kitchen with him on his feet and following her before the door could swing shut between them. She mounted the steps, her back toward him and her voice soft, but her words carried to him clearly. “You’re the second man today who has pointed out that a woman can’t come back after being away for three years and just take up where she left off.”

Not waiting for his answer, she climbed to the top of the steps before turning to ask, “Can she?”

When he didn’t reply, she disappeared from his sight as he stood clenching and unclenching his fists.

Hamilton Quince shook his head, his expression amazed as he walked to the stairs and spoke to Ambrose. “I was coming from the sheriff’s office after they locked you behind bars.” Ham pulled a folded paper from his pocket and displayed it. “I found this note pinned to my saddle.” In childlike block printing it said,
QUINCE’S WOMAN IN BUFFALO CREEK.

He confessed, “Until then I thought you were a goner. As soon as I got this, I rode hell-bent-for leather to Buffalo Creek. I didn’t see anyone who looked like Lucy and the sheriff was gone to Wichita Falls, so I parked myself in the town restaurant and watched the comings and goings of the locals all day. Aside from the woman who owned the place, there weren’t any females.”

Ambrose started back up the steps. “You can tell me about your reunion later, Ham. Right now I have other things on my mind.”

Hamilton caught his arm and said, “Nope. This is important.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “It was the pie that did it. I’d been hogging a seat in the diner all day and the woman running the place kept giving me the eye and nodding toward the menu board, hinting I needed to order something. I told her to bring me a slice of whatever kind of dessert they had in the back.”

He explained in a rush, “She brought apple pie and it made me think of Lucy’s housekeeper, Mrs. Carmichael and her pies—that made me think of Lucy and the note.”

Taking the paper from Quincy’s grip, he tucked it in his pocket and continued. “I asked the owner to give me the name of her help and she shrugged me off. I hung around the back, watching for the cook to leave, but when no one came out, I slept in the livery and went back to the diner at first light.

“I almost fell off my chair when the cook came out of the back room and I saw her. First thing I noticed was how she carried herself the same as Luce. Seein’ her up close, scarred and skinny, I didn’t think it was her, but hell, it was worth a chance.”

Ambrose frowned at Hamilton’s
scarred and skinny
description, correcting him. “She’s not skinny. She’s…” This Lucy was fine-drawn, emanating danger like a mama cougar. He looked up the stairs, needing to see her again.

Hamilton threw his arm around Ambrose’s shoulder, squeezing him hard before he turned loose. “Skinny, fat, ugly or old, there’s no doubt in my mind it’s her.” He stopped and nodded at Ambrose’s hands as if for explanation. “She’s the only woman I’ve ever seen prod you to strong emotion.”

Ambrose shook his head. “Doesn’t seem possible. Had I not eaten her supper, I’d not believe that story. And who in hell sent you the note?”

”Someone who’s known she was there,” Ham said grimly. “There’s things you need to know I didn’t tell you this afternoon.”

Ambrose’s expression changed from anger to pain. “You’re right. I need to know who the sonovabitch was who carved her up after she ran off with him.” He spoke quietly, with a promise of violence to come. “After I find out where she’s been and who she lit out with, then I’ll worry about the future.”

Hamilton stopped him in the middle of the dusty stair tread with his next words. “Sheriff Potter said he found her in the desert three years back. Someone had beaten her pretty bad, tortured her with a knife and left her to die.”

Quincy froze, knowing from Ham’s expression there was more.

Hamilton said grimly, “Potter said she’d been messed with—by an unknown man or men. Nobody in Buffalo Creek thought she’d live.”

Ambrose swallowed the bile rising in his throat. She’d been hurt and he hadn’t been there to protect her. He hadn’t even found her afterward. “So she’s been less than three days’ ride away from me for the whole duration? Why didn’t the sheriff send for me?”

Ham shook his head. “How could she tell him about you if she didn’t know her own name? Something happened inside her head. Apparently, her memories really are gone.”

Ambrose didn’t know what to believe. Buffalo Creek wasn’t the other side of the world, and fancy Boston women were scarce. He was sure if Lucy had been that close, someone would have recognized her and told him. He said as much to Hamilton.

Hamilton hadn’t been an admirer of Lucy’s. They’d sniped at each other often, and she’d tried to get Ambrose to kick him off the ranch. But, bad blood or not, Ham looked sick when he relayed his information.

“Potter said he was new around these parts and hadn’t heard of the Double-Q or us. Not knowing whether it was a relative, an acquaintance or a stranger who’d cut her up, he kept his mouth shut about her. Afterward, when she’d recovered some, she didn’t push to leave or remember. He said she stayed back in the kitchen cooking and baking all the time and never came out in daylight unless it was to practice her shooting. At night, she shared a room over the café with a woman named Roberta Harris, her partner in the Robin’s Nest Café. According to the sheriff, this last year was the first she’d spoken to any man, including him.”

Ambrose started up the stairs.
Goddammit, I’ll kill whoever did this to her.
His breath was labored, imagining her terror and pain when the man she’d run off with betrayed and abused her. “She should have remembered me,” he muttered.

Hamilton’s words followed him. “I think she did. She named herself Quincy.”

Ambrose considered Ham’s words as he walked down the hall toward their bedroom. He’d had too many shocks to sort it all out today, but he had to have another look at her, one more glimpse of his wife to prove to himself it was really her.

He knocked on the door, trying to think of what he’d say if she let him in. But when it opened and she faced him, he forgot everything but how much he’d missed her. Before she could escape, he gathered her in a clumsy bear hug, lifting her off her feet as he held her close.

“Welcome home, Lucy.” His kiss landed behind her ear as she jerked her head away. When he set her back on her feet, she stood trembling and pale.

He couldn’t resist touching her and ran his thumb across her bottom lip, feeling her breath hitch as she tried to appear calm.

His decision was made. He said gruffly, “You were missed every day you were gone. This is your home. I want you to stay.” He turned away, noticing the gun hanging limply from her hand. “Be careful you don’t shoot yourself in the foot—or me in the ass.” The door clicked shut on his muttered words as he walked down the hall.

When he returned downstairs, he found Hamilton waiting. “What are you going to do?” his brother asked.

“I’m going to thank God and apple pie for sending Lucy home and find the sonovabitch who knew she was in Buffalo Creek, hurt and alone. Lucy and I will sort the rest out someday.”

Hamilton gave him a crooked grin. “Figured that. I wish you well but Lucy and me under the same roof again is one Quince too many. I’m moving back to my cabin. I’ll be in for meals so I hope Luce doesn’t remember she can’t cook.” He pulled on his hat and left.

Alone with only his thoughts, Ambrose stared into the night, trying to get a handle on the events of the day. He’d watched the sun rise this morning knowing it would be his last Texas dawn. Now he stood alive, his wife upstairs in their bedroom, with a promise of life together stretching out before him.
“Do you doubt that I’m Lucy McKenna Quince?”
Doubt it was Lucy? Hell no.

Her Boston accent was softened, almost gone, and her words were pure Texas, learned, he supposed, from the folks in Buffalo Creek. But the way she held her head, turned up her nose, stared at him defiantly—?

Rubbing the burn on his neck, he remembered how she’d cut the rope with one bullet, saved his life and then looked at him as if he was a stranger. He murmured, “But she took my name when she couldn’t remember her own.”

* * * * *

Lucy made herself at home in the next weeks and no one questioned her when she took charge of the washing, cleaning and cooking in the house. Brody became a source of joy and information. The child loved to talk and filled the hours of each day chattering. The Quince males were not as easily managed. Alex remained aloofly suspicious and Hamilton barely civil.

But Ambrose Quince set Lucy’s heart racing whenever he was close. From the moment on the first night when he’d hugged her and said “Welcome home, Lucy,” he’d acted as though he expected them to resume a relationship. Although Lucy tried to avoid him, his maneuvering made that impossible.

He was currently parked in her kitchen making a nuisance of himself and her chest felt ready to explode. His eyes were half-closed as he sipped his coffee, studying her as he did every time he was near her.

“I would like you to stop looking at me.” Lucy kept her back turned but could feel his gaze just the same. “Better yet, don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”

“Nope,” he said.

Because he was never quite respectful, just being near him made her furious. She’d catch him staring at her, a strange smile playing around his mouth. It was a look that made her shudder and want to hide. She didn’t like the man and when they were alone she refused to pretend.

“Does the touch of my eyes bother you?”

Somehow just that word
touch
said in his gravelly voice was enough to make her stomach cramp with unease.

She tried to ignore him, while at the same time silently numbering the reasons she needed to be here.
I have responsibilities toward my children. I am hunting my would-be killer. This is the place from which my journey into hell began.

Balancing that against the need for self-preservation, Lucy still wanted to pack her gear and ride back to Buffalo Creek. Or she wanted to yell, “Yes, you bother me. Stop looking at me!” But in their silent war for control, it would have pleased him to elicit that response, so she remained mute.

It irritated her to step around him as he cluttered up her workspace, but Brody was delighted her pa was suddenly visiting the house every afternoon and made sure they had a treat waiting for him each day. Cinnamon rolls left from breakfast, apple pie made for supper, johnnycake and beans when he came in roaring hungry and needed a tide-me-over.

To ingratiate herself with her daughter, Lucy accepted his presence, controlling her desire to chase him from the kitchen with a broom. And he knew it.

With Brody chattering nonstop, it was easy to avoid talking to him, but today Alex had lured his sister to the barn to help with an orphaned calf, and Lucy had her husband’s exclusive attention.

“Mr. Quince, are you watching for mistakes or looking for my flaws?” Her voice was sharp as she tried to erect a barrier of words between them and drive him from the kitchen.

“Neither, Mrs. Quince,” he drawled, frowning. She knew he didn’t like it when she addressed him so formally.  “I’m just wondering how many fellas came courtin’ after they ate their first Lucy-cooked meal?”

Lucy let her voice convey the full measure of her dislike of him, relieved that for once she had no reason to pretend. “Had it been fifty it would be none of your concern. But as it happens, there was only one.” At her words, his expression changed from sham curiosity to jealousy.

She frowned at him in disgust. “After I shot off half his ear, the traffic from the dining room trickled down to just Roberta.”

Ambrose grunted a sound of male satisfaction and settled deeper in his chair facing her. Looking ready to withstand the siege even if she pulled out one of her weapons and started slinging lead at him, he ventured another question. “Got any sugar for me today?”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” She could feel a flush of outrage and something more heating her cheeks as she glared at him. It was the way he said sugar—it just made her want to scream at him. She needed him out of her kitchen and the innuendoes and sly comments stopped.

He shrugged, eyes gleaming with devilment. “Just hoping for some of your hidden delights, sweetheart.” His lip did that little twitch that Lucy had come to realize concealed his humor.

She slapped a withered apple in front of him, the last of the dried bunch Brody had supplied. “This will have to do. I’ve got nothing else to offer.”

When he stood, looming above her, she backed against the counter, unsettled by his nearness.

“I figured you’d forgotten something you’d saved back just for me.” Resting one hand on her back, Ambrose leaned over Lucy. He retrieved the slice of cake Brody had put away for him and inhaled. “My God, I’ve missed that smell.”

Rattled by his words as well as his chest brushing her shoulder, Lucy demanded, “What smell?”

He shoved his face uncomfortably near her neck and sniffed. “Salt…sugar…cinnamon.”

“I thought you said I didn’t cook before. Did you hang your nose over the shoulder of somebody else who quit?”

Ambrose grinned. “No other cooks, no other women. I guess I must be remembering you—the scent of Lucy Quince. That’s what I’ve missed—the smell of my woman.”

Heat flashed through her and her nipples pebbled beneath the material of her dress. Her breath heaved in and out, fighting some wild passion that made her want to… She looked around for something to hit him with.

Lucy knew he aggravated her purposely, keeping her aware of him at all times. But when she’d snap back, he’d smile and make her feel foolish for misinterpreting his remarks.