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
