Happily Ever After in the West Page 5

  Staying in his bedroom probably wasn’t a good idea, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance that he might hurt himself or otherwise ruin the progress from the surgery so far. “All right.”

  He smiled, one of those soft, secret smiles he seemed to have for only her that made her weak-headed for about a second.

  Zoe walked farther into the front room. “Are you hungry? Do you want some lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry, but I’d like to try to stand. Can you help me up?”

  She turned. “Do you think you’re ready?”

  “I have to try it sometime.”

  Uncertain, she frowned. “Why don’t you wait until Zeke returns from Haskell’s? Then there will be two of us to support you.”

  “I want to try it now.”

  Glancing from him to the table several feet away, she bit her lip. “If you can’t get your balance when you stand, you’re going right back into that chair.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked amused.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I promise.”

  She went to him, concerned at the fatigue on his features. “You’re not too tired?”

  He shook his head.

  “All right.” She stabilized his chair against the back of the door. Bracing one hand on an armrest, Quentin slid an arm around Zoe’s shoulders when she bent to fit her shoulder under his, supporting him to his feet.

  Slowly, steadily, he rose.

  She straightened as he did. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” His face was creased in concentration.

  She drew in his scent, a mix of soap and the outdoors and man. The open placket of his white shirt revealed the hollow at the base of his strong throat, a swath of bronzed skin, a smattering of dark hair on the flat planes of his chest.

  She could feel him all the way down her side. He had strong hands, probably from setting type and pushing himself around in the wheelchair. His thighs weren’t as thick or powerful as they had once been, but there was strength there. Strength he hadn’t had for a long time.

  After a moment, he straightened to his full height, five inches taller than Zoe. He appeared to be steady and she held her breath.

  He took a few halting steps then angled his body so that she was pressed against the wall adjacent to the door. He leaned into her.

  “Oh, I knew it! You’re not ready. Are you in pain?”

  He squeezed her waist. “I’m standing, Zoe. For the first time in seven years!”

  The sheer excitement, the disbelief in his eyes had her smiling. Maybe the surgery would completely restore his ability to walk, the sensation in his body from the waist down.

  “That’s wonderful!” Thrilled, she smiled up at him.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. Before she could take another breath, he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

  She froze. “Quentin.”

  “C’mon, Zoe. Kiss me,” he said huskily. “Not because you’re expected to, like at our wedding, but because you want to.”

  She didn’t try to tell him that wasn’t what she wanted. She did want to kiss him even though she knew she shouldn’t.

  But when his mouth settled on hers, her arms went around his neck. He murmured something against her lips, but her heart was beating so loudly she couldn’t make out the words.

  One of his arms was braced just above her shoulder and the other curled around her waist, bringing her right up against him. She could feel everything happening in his body. And plenty was happening.

  He deepened the kiss and she shyly touched her tongue to his. The rumble in his chest made her shudder in response.

  Every inch of him was pressed against her. Her arms were around his hard shoulders, her breasts flattened against his muscular chest and she felt the hard ridge of his flesh straining against her stomach.

  Heat flushed her entire body. Memories rushed back of their wedding night, when he had helped her out of her dress. His surgery and subsequent care had pushed that to the back of her mind.

  She felt herself floating, weightless, her blood moving through her veins like slow warm honey. He held her right against him, chest to breast, thigh to thigh.

  The last time she’d been in his arms this way had been the night before he had been shot seven years ago.

  The reminder snapped her back to the moment. What was she doing? She didn’t make any sudden moves, just pressed her hand against his chest until he stopped.

  He lifted his head, eyes glittering hotly. Instead of loosening his hold, he kept her curled into him. “What?” he rasped.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said in a half whisper. “You’re not strong enough.”

  “When you kiss me like that, I feel plenty strong.”

  She flushed. “You need to sit.”

  “Fine.” Frustration scored his words.

  Her pulse rioted as she helped him slowly into his chair.

  His features were taut with desire, color high on his cheekbones.

  He caught her hand before she could back away. “Zoe, I want—”

  “Annalise said not to overdo it.”

  “I’m being careful.”

  She pointed a shaking finger at him. “That is not what I call being careful, especially the first time you get on your feet.”

  “We’re going to be together, Zoe Prescott.”

  The sound of her new name caused a hitch in her breathing. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t even know if you can do…if we can be together that way.”

  “It’s going to happen.”

  An image flashed into her head of them together in his bed. And it sharpened the panic rising inside her. She backed toward the door. “I have to get to the Fontaine. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

  Then she fled. She knew it was cowardly, but she had to get away. She wanted him. The strength of that desire overwhelmed her. She had to move out soon. She had never considered having to deal with this much temptation, not once.

  Three hours later, she was cleaning one of the Fontaine’s four fancy rooms with indoor plumbing. She had learned this one was occupied by Egan Weaver. Distracted, she pushed aside the curtain that separated the main room from his bathing room and moved inside to clean the bathtub, basin and floor.

  She could still feel the press of Quentin’s mouth against her and there was still an ache deep inside her. An ache only Quentin had ever put in her.

  Gradually, she became aware of voices in the other room. She stepped toward the curtained doorway, intent on announcing herself, but the words of one man stopped her.

  “This whole town is ripe for plucking.”

  She drew back, frowning. The voice was unfamiliar.

  “Little Bitter Creek isn’t far from here. We can say we’ll be drilling the well near there and that it will provide water for Whirlwind and the surrounding ranches.”

  Leaning closer to hear better, she realized her feet might be showing beneath the curtain.

  She eased to the side as Weaver said, “I’ve already made up bonds for a water company. Knowing how this area has suffered the last year because of the drought, I reckon we’ll be able to sell as many bonds as we want.”

  “We’ll tell the people the bond money is for our working capital, to pay for the equipment and labor needed to drill the well. Once they figure out there is no water well, we’ll be long gone.”

  Weaver chuckled.

  Zoe was growing more outraged by the second; her brain whirled. What to do? She could confront them, but there were two of them. Weaver was a slight man, but Zoe had no idea what the other lowdown dog looked like. What if they were dangerous?

  She would wait quietly until they left then she was going straight to the sheriff.

  “I put a notice in Whirlwind’s newspaper that there will be a meeting tomorrow night at the church for anyone who wants to come,” Weaver said.

  The church! The man was going to steal from her friends inside their own church! A red mist haze
d her vision.

  The man whose voice she didn’t recognize said, “I’ll stay out of sight until the meeting. When you call me up, I’ll present the drawings of the creek and the drilling equipment.”

  “And the newspaper article about the success of the Portland Water Company with this kind of venture.”

  Had some real company successfully provided water for a community?

  “Yes, the article, too. That will back up our claims.”

  The door opened, the men’s voices fading as Weaver said, “I think everything will work just fine.”

  The door closed and for a long moment, Zoe stood there, frozen. Furious. How dare those men con the people of Whirlwind! Well, not if she could help it. Intent on going straight to Davis Lee, she quietly ducked around the curtain and came to a dead stop.

  Egan Weaver stood in front of the door, arms folded, his features pinched with irritation.

  Zoe’s heart kicked hard in her chest.

  “Well, well,” he sneered. “I thought I heard someone in the bathing room. You were eavesdropping.”

  “No, I—”

  “Shut up! You had to have overheard the discussion about the water bonds.”

  “Which are fake,” she said hotly. “For a fake company and a water well you have no intention of drilling. You won’t get away with this.”

  “No?” He smiled, his mouth a cruel slash that made her instinctively back up a step. “You’re married to the newspaperman, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You have a brother, too. Big fella, red hair like yours.”

  Zoe felt the blood drain from her face.

  “If you breathe one word of this to anyone before I’ve left town, your husband and brother will pay for it.”

  “You can’t steal from these people!” She told herself to be quiet, but the words kept coming. “Everyone in Texas was hit hard by the drought. Ranches, businesses. People need whatever money they have to provide for their families.”

  “People undoubtedly saw you come in here to clean my room so I can’t get rid of you,” he said more to himself than her.

  Alarm streaked through her.

  “A search party would probably be looking for you by daybreak, if not before. But your brother and crippled husband are another matter. I can’t guarantee something won’t happen to them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Would he really hurt them? Looking into the man’s cold, flat eyes, Zoe knew he would. Queasy, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  She had to force herself to say the words. As it was, she could barely grit them out. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you to make sure of that.”

  Cold sweat slicked her palms, trickled down her spine. She nodded again.

  He stepped away from the door and opened it slightly. “Get out of here and keep your mouth shut or you’ll be sorry.”

  Her legs shaking so badly that she could scarcely walk, she made it to the door and out. She ran down the stairs as fast as she could. Once at the bottom, she looked up.

  Weaver stood on the second-floor landing, his icy gaze fixed on her.

  Swallowing hard, she walked to the big oak desk that welcomed people to the Fontaine. She glanced right toward the office which had been Russ Baldwin’s living quarters before he and Lydia had married and moved to the third floor. From here, she could tell Russ wasn’t inside. No one was.

  Edgy and apprehensive, she didn’t want to finish her job. She wanted to go home, but there was still the lobby to clean and the front porch to sweep. If she worked her full shift, she could watch Weaver, too. See if he left the hotel.

  Mind racing, she moved the registration book and Russ’s fancy writing pen to dust the desk. Her muscles tensed at every movement she caught from the corner of her eye.

  There was no doubt in her mind that Weaver would hurt her family if she warned anyone about his cold-blooded, calculating scheme.

  She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let anything happen to Quentin or Zeke. They had both already lost too much.

  Chapter Four

  Several hours later in the kitchen, Quentin watched Zoe cut out biscuits and put them in a pan. He was still reliving the kiss. And the way she had torn out of the house as though trying to escape a twister.

  That kiss had spurred more than physical desire for him. It had strengthened his determination to walk. In the time since she had helped him to his feet, he had done it again by himself—and just barely managed to avoid crashing to the floor by catching himself on the desk in the next room that served as a parlor and his office.

  His muscles were weak and aching, but he could feel them! If he could make himself stand on his own at least once a day, he might be able to surprise Zoe by walking soon. Besides changing his bandages, she helped him with exercises suggested by Annalise. He wouldn’t have gotten this far without his wife.

  If she moved out, as she had announced days ago that she would, Quentin was afraid he would see her only around town. Just like before. He wanted more than that.

  Disappointed and frustrated with her decision to leave once his doctor agreed, he’d been thinking about her words for the past ten days. And trying to come up with a way to convince her to stay.

  As she fixed supper, Zeke sat at the dining table with Quentin, working laboriously over a ledger where he recorded the money he received from the odd jobs he did around Whirlwind.

  The front door was open to let some of the heat from the burning stove escape out the screened door. Outside, red and gold rays of the setting sun slanted across the side of the Fontaine. The town was quiet.

  Quentin’s attention was more on Zoe than her brother. He tried not to be too obvious as he admired her sleek curves. The sleeves of her peach-and-white-striped day-dress ended at her elbow. His gaze took in the line of her jaw, her straight nose, the delicate bones of her forearm. She gripped a sharp knife, her slender hands moving gracefully as she began to cut up a chicken for frying.

  “I have thirty-six dollars,” Zeke announced proudly.

  The smile Zoe threw over her shoulder was tight and didn’t reach her eyes. Since returning from the hotel, she’d seemed…agitated. A low-thrumming tension vibrated from her.

  “What should I do with it?”

  Quentin pulled his attention back to Zeke.

  Gesturing to the small glass jar on the table that held his savings, the boy gave his sister an exasperated look. “I offered to give it to Zoe ’cuz she always takes care of me, but she wouldn’t take it.”

  “There’s no need for that,” she said quietly.

  “He just wants to help,” Quentin pointed out.

  “I know.” With a soft smile, she glanced at her brother.

  He turned to Zeke. “Maybe you could invest your savings.”

  “In what?”

  “I’ll give it some thought.” Feeling Zoe’s attention on him, Quentin looked over.

  She watched him soberly. There was nothing of that kiss or desire in her blue eyes. Instead, worry clouded her features.

  Had something happened at the hotel? “Did you have a good afternoon?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Before she turned away, he thought he glimpsed fear in her face. What could she possibly have to fear?

  Quentin frowned. “Anything special going on at the Fontaine?”

  She stiffened. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He cocked his head, studying her. Her hair was pulled back in a braid and his gaze caught on a tender patch of skin just below her ear. “Anything out of the ordinary.”

  “No.”

  “You seem—”

  “I’m fine.”

  Zeke looked from Quentin to Zoe then back again, a question in his eyes. Quentin wasn’t imagining things. Even the teenager knew something was wrong.

  Hands on her hips, she turned with a frown. Her skirts swirled around her legs as she looked over at the table
then around the front room.

  “What is it?” Quentin asked.

  “I can’t find the skillet.”

  His gaze went past her to the counter where she’d been working. “The skillet that’s sitting next to the dry sink?”

  “Yes.” She looked back. “Oh, forevermore, it was right where I put it.”

  Taking down the crockery jar on the shelf above the dry sink, she dipped lard into the skillet then returned the container to its place.

  She stared hard at the counter for a moment before picking up a peeled potato. Taking the knife, she sliced the vegetable. She reached for another potato and fumbled it. Twice.

  Muttering under her breath, she managed to stop the vegetable before it rolled off the counter.

  Quentin couldn’t make out the words, but she was obviously vexed. He’d never seen her scattered. Or clumsy. Another time, he might have found her unfamiliar actions amusing, but something was going on. She was pale and had been so since returning from the hotel.

  He moved away from the table and across the few feet separating them. “May I help you do something?”

  She started so violently that the knife slipped and she barely missed cutting herself.

  “Sorry.” Quentin put a hand over hers to steady her.

  After a moment, she slid her hand from his and moved a step away. “No, thanks. I’m about to fry the chicken and potatoes.”

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

  “What would be wrong?”

  That’s what he wanted to know! But she clearly didn’t intend to tell him. Maybe because Zeke was in the room?

  Just as Quentin turned back to the table, he heard a dull thud on the wood floor. Before he could look to see what had fallen, Zoe rushed past him and out the front door.

  He exchanged a look with Zeke. The boy seemed as perplexed as Quentin felt.

  “I’ll check on her,” he said.

  Zeke rose. “I’ll pick up the chicken and wash it off.”

  Glancing at the meat Zoe had dropped, Quentin wheeled around the dining table and out the front door.

  She stood at the end of the porch, looking out at the prairie that stretched west past Whirlwind. Golden light from the setting sun streaked her hair, making the fiery braid even more vibrant.