in the engine of her old tractor. Even after all his stops, he’d arrived early. He’d said supper. It wasn’t even five o’clock.
Halfway to her barn he remembered the bag of barbecue in the truck. If she hadn’t already waved, he would have turned around. But it was too late. Maybe she’d rather drive over to Bailee and eat hamburgers or maybe even try something at the café in town. They didn’t have to always do everything the same. He could be flexible. The kiss was proof, wasn’t it?
No, going into a café would seem too strange. They never ate out. They both thought it would seem too much like a couple thing.
“Need some help?” he asked when he reached her.
“No. I’ve about got it.” She stepped down to face him. “Where’s the barbecue?”
“In the truck. I brought beer, too. That all right with you?”
He rubbed away a smudge on her cheek with his finger. The touch was casual, but her eyes watched his every movement.
Stepping out of his reach, Quinn moved toward the house. “I’ll clean up while you get the food.” She was almost to the porch when she looked back and added, “I already set the table.”
He watched her until she disappeared. She’d never seemed quite so nervous around him. Suddenly, he wished he could take back the kiss from last week. He wanted everything to stay the same. They had it good and good was enough.
The shower pipes rattled from down the hallway as he set out the food. The paper containers looked out of place amid her china. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but she always set the table with her few pieces of hundred-year-old china and nice flatware. He tossed the plastic cutlery he’d picked up into the trash.
When she finally joined him in the kitchen, he was halfway through his first beer. He offered one to her, but she poured herself a glass of cold tea instead.
She was wearing a blue silk blouse that floated around her. He liked the look. Something different. Brushing his hand over the soft material, he breathed in her fresh smell. “It seems like I’ve been fighting all week to get back to you.”
“I know how you feel.” She leaned against him. “I missed you, too.”
They sat down where they always ate and filled their plates. He wasn’t sure what she’d like, so he’d bought a pound of every kind of grilled meat the café had. Then he’d tossed in fries and okra for the vegetable.
She asked about the meeting, and he told her the gossip that she probably cared nothing about. Neither ate much. Neither wanted to talk.
Finally, Staten stood. She hadn’t offered to take him to her bedroom, and if he stayed longer, he’d say more than he should.
“I should call it a night.” He reached for his hat. “We saddle up before dawn tomorrow.”
“All right,” she said in a flat tone that revealed nothing as she stood.
He took two steps to the door and remembered how he’d promised he would kiss her goodbye before he left.
With his hat in one hand and Quinn holding their plates between them, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
When he straightened, he saw a tear roll down her face.
He doubted he’d get an answer if he asked her why she was crying, but it was obvious that he was doing something wrong.
Tossing his hat on the bar, he took the plates from her and set them aside. “I didn’t do that right,” he muttered, more like a swear than an apology.
She waited.
He brushed her shoulders lightly as he leaned in again and touched his lips to hers.
Quinn’s mouth was so soft. Her bottom lip trembled slightly.
His fingers tightened over her shoulders, and he pulled her closer, kissing her lightly until her mouth opened. Then, without hesitation, he kissed her completely.
She didn’t pull away. She simply accepted his advance. He lifted her arms and set them on his shoulders as he continued. If she wanted to be kissed, by hell he’d kiss her.
Slowly, her body melted against him.
He finally broke the kiss, but he didn’t turn loose of her. “Any objections if I undress you?” His hand moved over her back and came to rest on her hip. “I’ve never said so, but I like doing that.”
She leaned her head back as his fingers moved over her blouse. He watched her face as he slowly unbuttoned first her blouse, then her jeans. He liked the way she always left something on for him to finish, and tonight he was doing it all.
Standing before him she closed her eyes as he kissed his way down her body. Then, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
They made love slowly, tenderly, as they always did. Only after both were satisfied Staten held her tighter than ever before as though just discovering what a treasure he had in his arms.
When she drifted to sleep, he found himself kissing her. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of her. He’d been starving all week and finally she was beside him, warm and soft. For a while she moved in her sleep, welcoming his touch, but when he deepened the kiss she woke with a jerk.
For a few minutes he held her tight, gently caressing her, whispering her name in the darkness.
When she calmed, he pulled her close. “I want you again if you’ve no objections, Quinn. I don’t want to leave and wait a week to be with you again.”
Her big eyes widened with uncertainty, but she nodded slightly, and he made love to her for the second time. But this time they both knew he wasn’t just loving a woman out of need. He was loving Quinn.
Lucas
LUCAS REYES STOOD in the corner of the cafeteria and watched the mayhem. School was like the gathering of the clans in Scotland at Culloden. He’d read all about the great battle on the moors when the MacDonalds, the Jacobites and the French all met to fight the English in 1746. The English brought rifles and the men of the mighty clans of Scotland were wiped out that day. Highlander blood turned the earth red, and some said the thunder of the muskets still echoed off the hills.
Maybe the cafeteria wasn’t quite that bad, but the cliques were clear. In his grandfather’s day they would have been separated by race, but that no longer played a role. Neither did money. Now the division was more by interest. Each clan at Ransom Canyon High wore the markings of their tribe, though. The geeks, who always seemed to carry more books than anyone else. The jocks in their letter jackets. The cheerleaders with their designer purses and perfect spray-on tans even in January.
Several tiny towns and dozens of ranches fed into Ransom High, so there were more groups than he could name. Lately the goths were making an appearance, along with a dozen or so freshmen who looked like they were straight out of the Harry Potter movies. Big round black glasses and all that.
For a country school, this place was the best,
