Gift of Fortune (9 page)

Raised in a house where raw emotions were always held
in genteel control, the memory of her tearful outbursts in
front of Quint was unsettling-as was her subsequent
weeping in the pantry. Aileen couldn't remember ever letting go of her feelings like that before.

In the bright light of morning, she was certain that Quint
had kissed her neck. And not just once. Several times. Soft
kisses whose power had flashed like hot light to the very
ends of her extremities, even as she was reeling from shock.
How was that possible? He had destroyed the image of her
father she had carried in her heart, had smashed the past
as she had known it, while at the same time making her
aware that she was a woman and he a man. This was insane.

Aileen groaned in dismay. Maybe Quint was mistaken.
Maybe he didn't know the whole truth about what had hap pened between his mother and Jack.
Maybe...Aileen shook her head. Quint was living proof that Jack Bolton
had cheated on his wife. Had fathered a son for whom he
had taken no responsibility. There was no denying that
Quint was her adoptive father's son. Even if Jack had not
acknowledged him, the resemblance was too strong to ignore. True, Quint's hair and skin were darker, but his features bore a striking resemblance to Jack. And then there
were those unmistakable, brilliant green eyes. How many
people had eyes like that?

Aileen pressed her fists against her temples. It seemed
that since Quint's arrival, she was perpetually hovering on
the edge of getting a migraine. A migraine she could handle, but how on earth was she going to deal with last night's
disclosures?

She brooded about this for long minutes. No matter how
disappointing, how disillusioning, how bitter, she would
have to learn to live with the new image of her father. Grit
her teeth and accept it. What about the other? About Quint
holding her? Murmuring comforting sounds and kissing her
neck? The longer Aileen thought about it, the more she
convinced herself that a few kisses on her neck were nothing to get unhinged about. Maybe if it had been a long,
passionate kiss on the lips, she might have something to
worry about. Such a kiss would undoubtedly indicate a
physical attraction on Quint's part, but kisses on the neck
were more...comforting? Yes, he had only meant to comfort a weeping woman.

Somewhat reassured, Aileen bathed her eyes repeatedly
in cold water until the puffiness induced by her marathon
crying jag was reduced. She planned to visit her friend and
mentor, Dora, on her way to school. Aileen dressed carefully, knowing that even though her mentor was ill, her
instincts were as sharp as ever. Dora Callahan could detect the slightest variation in mood and emotion with one glance
from her perceptive eyes.

In the kitchen, Aileen cut the coconut cake she had baked
in half and placed one portion in a bakery box. Then she
put two blueberry muffins in a bag and filled a basket with
meal-sized portions of chicken, ham, and beef. If her mentor would allow it, Aileen would gladly fix all her dinners,
but Dora was a proud woman, fiercely clinging to her conviction that she could take care of herself.

Aileen left a half hour early. She caught a glimpse of
Quint and the hands as she left the ranch, but didn't think
he had seen her. She was relieved, for she didn't know if
she should have waved, nodded her head, or what. She
hated feeling unsure of herself.

Quint heard Aileen's car start. Though he was listening
intently to Bob's comments about the south range, he was
sharply aware of her car moving down the driveway. When
she didn't stop, he felt the tension ease from his stiff shoulders.

He knew the reprieve was only temporary, and that he
would have to face her in the evening. Maybe by then he
would know what to say, how to explain his unexplainable
behavior of the night before. Just now he had no idea why
he had kissed her.

That was not entirely true. He had kissed Aileen because
she was crying, because she needed to be held, because she
smelled so sweet, because she had a lovely, elegant neck
that begged to be kissed-and because he had succumbed
to impulse.

Every single one of the many caseworkers and counselors who had supervised his long trek through foster homes
and the child welfare system had urged him to fight his
risk-taking impulses, to think before he acted, and to con sider the consequences. After some hard knocks and
disappointments, he had finally seen the wisdom of their
advice. He tried hard to curb his impulses, and usually he
succeeded. Last night he had not.

Why had he failed? Aileen wasn't his type. Quint ruminated over this all the way to the south range. Even
though he had told Aileen that he preferred blonds and
brunettes, that wasn't strictly true. Physical appearance had
never, or rarely ever, been the deciding factor in choosing
his female companions. Rather, it was the women's willingness to keep the relationship lighthearted, with no promises, with no expectations of anything more than mutual
pleasure and fun.

He strongly suspected-no, he knew-that Aileen
wouldn't be interested in that kind of relationship, but increasingly, he wasn't either. Now he wanted more.

The problem was that logic told him that the only relationship he ought to have with Aileen was a business partnership. No messy emotions. No long kisses. The thought
startled him. Why did he think she would be passionate?
On the surface, Aileen was lady-like almost to the point of
uptightness, and he sensed strongly that she was somewhat
inexperienced. Yet something about her suggested hidden
fires, barely acknowledged hungers, and slumbering passions.

Quint's throat suddenly felt dry. He had to stop speculating about Aileen. That was none of his business. It
couldn't be. Folk wisdom said that nothing ended a friendship faster than lending or borrowing money. From his own
observations he had learned that nothing ended any kind of
business partnership faster than emotional involvement.
Telling himself to remember that, he turned his attention to
the south range.

They had eaten their muffins and enjoyed the Earl Grey
tea, made small talk about school events, the weather, and
how soon the tulips might bloom when Dora, without missing a beat, said, "Now tell me, Aileen. What's really on
your mind."

"Why do you-"

"The truth, please. I'm recovering from quadruple bypass
surgery and can't waste my strength on evasions and equivocations. What's going on?" Dora refilled their cups and
then leaned back in her chair with an expectant expression
on her face.

Aileen took a deep breath and told Dora about the will
and Quint. Her mentor listened attentively, but Aileen could
tell that even the unflappable Dora was stunned. She
downed her tea as if to gain strength, or time, or both,
before she spoke.

"This story contains all the ingredients of a Greek tragedy, or a Restoration comedy, or an afternoon soap opera,
depending on how you look at it," Dora said.

Agitated, Aileen cried out, "This is not a story. This is
my life!"

"I'm sorry, dear. I know this isn't a story. It's just that
it is so hard to believe that Jack Bolton..." Dora's voice
trailed off. She stared into space. Then she nodded. "On
second thought, it isn't so unbelievable. Remembering his
hands, I'm not surprised to learn that Jack had a streak of
ruthlessness in him."

"I don't understand. What about his hands?"

"They were almost square. See how our four fingers are
of unequal length? How there's roughly a half-inch difference in length between them?" Dora held up her hand to
illustrate. "The three middle fingers on Jack's hands were
almost the same length. And his fingers were broad, blunt,
brutal-looking. If I had been here the summer your mother married him, I would have tried very hard to keep her from
doing so. She was my friend, the younger sister I never
had."

Although Aileen was used to her mentor's odd beliefs,
which she had acquired from a lifelong study of history
and world cultures and their more bizarre facts, this time
Dora seemed to have gone too far. "On the basis of Jack's
hands you would have advised my mother against marrying
him?"

"You sound shocked, but physiological manifestations of
a person are most often a good indication of character. But
in this case, I had other reasons."

"Such as?"

"They don't matter anymore," Dora said. "Both Jack and
Ruth are dead." Dora refilled her cup. Then she added,
"Your grandmother opposed the marriage. She never liked
Jack. Never thought he was good enough for her daughter.
And she let Jack know exactly how she felt about him.
Those first years of their marriage while she was alive and
living at the ranch with them couldn't have been easy for
him."

Aileen sipped her tea, thinking. After a lengthy silence
she spoke. "You were my mother's best friend. Do you
think she knew about Jack cheating on her with Quint's
mother?"

"Yes. Ruth never said anything specific, but I'm quite
sure she knew."

"Oh, gosh. How awful for her," Aileen whispered.

"I'm sure it was devastating at first, but in some ways it
made the marriage stronger. Jack stopped running around
and became a serious rancher."

"He ran around?" Aileen whispered, stunned.

"What I meant was, he'd drive to the roadhouses on the highway. I'm not sure he necessarily did anything more
than have a few beers, play poker, and shoot pool."

"What caused him to reform?" Aileen asked.

"Guilt, probably, and Ruth gave him-" Dora stopped
abruptly and busied herself refilling their cups.

"What?" Aileen asked.

"I've already said too much."

"No. You've come this far; go on. I'd like to know the
truth," Aileen urged her.

"The truth about relationships is often overrated and disillusioning."

What could her mother have given Jack Bolton that
changed him? Or seemingly changed him. Then it hit
Aileen. She felt the blood rush to her face. "Ruth gave him
half the ranch, didn't she?" From Dora's expression, she
knew she had guessed right. "She bought him with
thousands of acres of land."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think? The man worked
the land. Giving him half the ranch probably made him feel
less like an outsider. And Ruth loved him."

"And love makes everything right?" Aileen demanded.

"No. Love has nothing to do with something being right.
It's a powerful force that isn't subject to reason or logic or
even ethics. It's a law unto itself." Dora studied Aileen.
"You obviously have not been in love."

"Have you?" Aileen asked forcefully. She regretted the
impertinent question as soon as the words left her mouth.
"I'm sorry. I had no right to ask that."

"It's all right. Just because I'm a spinster doesn't mean
I never loved a man."

Aileen looked at Dora speculatively. During the school
year her mentor led the quintessential spinster's life-living alone in her little house with only her cat for company, her garden as a hobby, her charitable works to fill the winter months.

Yet every summer she traveled. What she did during
those worldwide odysseys, as she called them, nobody
knew. She could have had wild flings all over the globe,
or a longtime married lover with whom she spent the halcyon days of summer. More and more Aileen was convinced that it was impossible to know anyone completely.

"How about you? Are you seriously dating anyone?
Steve Sanders, now that he broke up with his girlfriend?"
Dora asked.

"Why does everyone assume that?" Aileen demanded.

"Maybe based on the way Steve looks at you when he
thinks nobody's watching?"

Aileen stared at her mentor. "I never noticed him doing
that."

"You wouldn't. Are you interested in him?"

"No!"

"That was a strong, unhesitating answer," Dora said,
pleased.

Aileen herself was surprised by the emphatic no she had
uttered. Even as recently as spring break she would have
gone out with Steve. What had changed? Then it hit her:
Quint. Aileen's heart skipped a beat. No sooner did that
green-eyed cowboy move into her house and she was ready
to dismiss one of the most sought-after bachelors in the
county. What was wrong with her?

"I was afraid you might be interested in Steve."

"Afraid? Why afraid? What's wrong with Steve? There's
hardly a single woman around who doesn't give him a second look."

"No doubt. He is nice-looking, and has that boyish charm
that attracts a lot of women, but have you studied his
mouth? The way it often droops?"

First a man's hands and now another's mouth. Was
Dora losing it? A quick glance at her mentor showed her
to be alert and bright-eyed.

"No, I can't say that I've noticed Steve's mouth." But
Aileen was quite sure that if Dora had handed her a piece
of paper and a pencil, she would have been able to sketch
an accurate image of Quint's mouth. This was not good.