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
