Once Touched (17 page)

“Nothing,” she muttered. If Ethan was fool enough to risk re-injuring his shoulder racing, that was his business. And no, she would not be foolishly offering any more massages.

Calls of encouragement as well as a few razzing comments from Reid followed them as they loped toward Tess. Ward rode on the other side of Ethan, her brother having decided to stay with his fiancée for the remainder of the races.

Quinn looked straight between Domino's black ears, worried that if she let her gaze stray to Ethan she'd get distracted by the way his long thigh muscles hugged the saddle and how tall he sat, following Kane's rolling gait with surprising ease. It occurred to her that he might be an even better rider than she'd thought. Still, even Reid had to work to beat her. A win was certain.

It would have been difficult for Quinn to escape developing a competitive nature when she had two older brothers and worked most of her day among physically active men. It was an adrenaline rush to pit her athleticism against theirs, hold her own, and sometimes even blow them away. And being the daughter of a former champion brought out the compulsion to give every race her all.

The problem was that with their present audience, she couldn't protect Ethan by sandbagging, even if she'd wanted to. Everyone, even Josh, knew how fast Domino was. But she wasn't inclined to throw the race in any case. A good trouncing was what Ethan deserved for once more being as friendly as winter in Siberia.

They pulled up next to Tess, and Quinn had Domino execute a turn on the haunches, just to remind Ethan what real riders could do. “Prepare to eat my dust, buddy.”

He raised a brow. “Don't believe that's Kane's plan.”

“That's the ticket, Ethan. Don't let Quinn psych you out. She's the queen of trash talk.”

“Losing is such a bummer, isn't it, Ward? Of course I can only speak theoretically, unlike you.”

“Make sure you beat her by a country mile, Ethan.”

Tess cleared her throat. “Ahem. If the riders are ready?” She was obviously taking her role as race official very seriously.

Ethan had already gathered up his reins and was sitting deep in the saddle. She bared her teeth in a mocking smile. “Yeah, let's get this party started.”

“All right, then.” Tess paused for a beat. “On your mark, ready, set…go!”

With Tess Casari's shout of “Go!” still ringing in the air, Ethan closed his legs, bringing his heels to Kane's barrel, and opened his fingers around the reins. Kane was a superb animal, and that was all the signal he needed to leap forward. Within seconds they were at a full gallop, tearing over the open field.

She'd had an even better start; he expected no less from her. She was two heartbeats ahead of him, with Kane's nose at her leather-covered knee, and Ethan's eyes right at her shapely ass, those taut cheeks encircled by a pair of dark brown leather chaps, drawing his gaze like a bull's-eye. He couldn't hang back here. The sight was too hypnotic.

Dragging his gaze from Quinn's rear, he fixed it where it belonged. The finish line was ahead, two hundred yards away.

Damn, but he'd missed this exhilarating, hell-bent-for-leather kind of riding, of feeling a good horse's awesome power thundering beneath him. He'd missed the challenge of staying balanced over his mount's neck so that he was helping it, not hindering it. Ethan's hands followed the dip and rise of Kane's copper neck. Below, the horse's dark red forelegs stretched long as he ate up the ground.

He didn't know Kane well, so it was difficult to gauge how much was left in his tank and if it was sufficient to beat Quinn's Domino.

Could he do it?

Pride and the rush of pitting himself against this woman who was driving him crazy demanded he try. He leaned even lower over Kane's neck, so the ends of the gelding's long mane whipped the front of his shirt. Clearly loving the race and bred for speed and endurance, Kane responded, surging forward until he was neck and neck with Domino. He sensed as much as saw Quinn's sideways glance and hoped to hell astonishment was stamped on her face.

Less than a hundred yards to go. It was up to Kane now and how much he wanted the win. Ethan's sole job was to make sure he encouraged Kane to go for it and didn't do anything to get in his way. Hunkering low, he brought his hands even farther up the bobbing neck beneath him. The gelding's ears swiveled back and, as if turbocharged, his hooves drummed even faster. Ethan grinned into the wind as the chestnut pulled away from Domino and tore across the finish line.

Daniel was still crowing when the assembled riders pulled into the open area between the corrals and the horse barn and began dismounting and then tending to their mounts.

“If you can believe it, I enjoyed watching Kane run that race almost as much as if I'd beaten Quinn myself. You did a good job with him, Ethan.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the loan. He's a great horse, Daniel.” Unknotting the cinch, he pulled off the saddle, only now feeling the twinge in his shoulder. He glanced over at Quinn. It was highly doubtful she'd give him another massage—even if he were masochistic enough to ask for one—since she'd barely looked at him since offering a terse “Congratulations” after they'd slowed to a jog to circle back to the group. Betraying herself, she added, “Helluva run for a greenhorn,” with a cold, slashing glance meant to leave him looking like a Christmas ribbon.

Yeah, she was good and pissed at having lost to him.

Ignoring the voice that whispered that he'd be behaving the same way if Kane hadn't made that last-second surge, he focused on enjoying the moment, which included reveling in Quinn's ire.

“Mind sharing where you've been honing your racing skills?”

“Several months before Afghanistan I was on assignment in Dubai. Met a man who bred Arabians. Aziz heard I liked horses, so he invited me to ride with some of his exercisers in exchange for photographing them. We'd go to the Warqa Desert. They gave me some tips. Before that, I spent some time with gauchos in Argentina. Played some polo in Chile—”

“Wait, don't tell me,” she interrupted. “And before that you went foxhunting in Ireland.”

He inclined his head, making sure not to smile. She already looked angry enough to spit nails. “Irish foxhunters are crazy bastards, every last one of them. They breed terrific horses, though.”

Narrowing her eyes until they were sharp slivers of blue, she shook her head. “If I'd known you've been spending the years riding all over the world, I might have put some effort into the race.”

“Bull,” he said without heat. “You wanted that win as bad as I.”

Her lips tightened, but she had the grace not to bother to lie.

“Who knows,” he added, “maybe someday you'll have enough experience to beat me.”

Q
UINN HADN'T THOUGHT
the day could get worse. She was still feeling as if Ethan, her dad, and perhaps her entire family had pulled a fast one on her. Had they all known Ethan rode whenever he had a moment to spare? And if he'd hung out with gauchos on the pampas, then he might even rope as well as she.

Did he have to be any more attractive?

And because she had to make some effort with her appearance before the Thanksgiving meal, she'd been forced to cut short her time with Tucker, Sooner, and Bowie and placate Alfie with some grapes and sliced bananas before stripping off her clothes and jumping in the shower. Knowing it would please her mother, she pulled on a burgundy knit pencil skirt that ended midcalf, paired it with a gathered embroidered blouse, and tugged on her favorite boots. Deciding that everyone was going to razz her for having lost to Ethan, she took the extra time to dry and brush her hair and apply gloss to her lips; she should look good when she faked a smile.

It was funny how things worked. If she hadn't spent those minutes primping to boost her confidence, maybe she would have arrived at her parents' house with it intact. Instead that few minutes' delay put her on a collision course with Josh and Maebeth and blasted any self-assurance she possessed to smithereens.

Since it was a little past five o'clock, they must have thought everyone was already inside. Or else they were so lust-addled they simply couldn't keep their hands or mouths off each other.

She'd stumbled upon lots of lovers around the grounds of Silver Creek. But never when she was carrying a platter full of brownies.

“Oh, crap!” she cried as the dish slipped from her nerveless fingers, dropped on the toes of her boots, and then bounced onto the path, her brownies getting a nasty coating of gravel.

Maebeth's face was a magenta hue—doubtless an exact match to Quinn's—as with one hand she shoved her dress to a basically respectable midthigh length and with the other grabbed at the scooped collar where Josh had shoved it aside to reach her breast.

Josh was marginally more presentable. Quinn thanked God Maebeth hadn't gotten to work on his belt buckle. But the snap buttons on his shirt made a distinct
click click
as Josh refastened them and then jammed his shirttails inside his black jeans.

Quinn stood there feeling like a fool until she finally realized she couldn't leave two dozen brownies lying in the dirt. She knelt down and blindly rearranged them on the chipped platter—damn, she'd liked that piece. She had just dropped the last smushed square onto the messy pile when the door of Maebeth's Charger opened and then slammed.

Maebeth held a large Pyrex dish covered in tinfoil. “I better take this inside so it can go in the oven,” she said with a strained brightness.

“I'll be right there, Mae honey. Just need to speak to Quinn about something.”

Wow. “Mae honey” and public makeout sessions. Josh hadn't let even a spore of moss settle on him.

No, really, we don't need to say anything to each other.
But Quinn's protest remained a silent one, her tongue turned to lead in her mouth.

The rest of her was just as useless. She stood with her platter of ruined brownies—a minor tragedy right there—feeling like a complete dolt for not having a single witty or breezy or even cutting remark to offer in order to demonstrate how totally unfazed she was by this situation. Could she be any more lame?

The sound of Josh clearing his throat interrupted her thoughts. “Quinn, I know you must be feelin' a little weird at seeing me and Maebeth together.”

Understatement of the century. “No, I'm happy for you.” And a part of her was, truly. “It's kind of
quick,
you know?” As in lightning fast.

“I guess it would seem so to others. But the crazy thing about Mae and me is, well, we just clicked. She's so terrific.”

“She's great.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Plus, we really get each other.” He looked at her, and his expression sobered somewhat. “You and me, well, something was missing, right?”

She gave a tight nod.

“It's not that I don't think you're really sweet, Quinn, 'cause I do. It's just I knew we really didn't feel the same way about things—important stuff. And, well…”

At his hesitation her nerves went on high alert. “And what?” she prompted even as she dreaded his answer.

“I could tell that something was off when we kissed, like you were holding back or that maybe you weren't into it…”

A whirring began in her head, a defensive mechanism to block out the hurt of his words. She'd heard a variation of them too many times before. They all boiled down to the same message: something was wrong with her. Luckily she and Josh hadn't gotten naked together, or his choice of words might have been crueler.
Holding back
would have turned into
cold, not into it
transformed to
cock tease.

The trees bordering her parents' grounds became a fluid blur of brown and blackish green. She was grateful for the failing light, though she doubted Josh would bother to note her expression. “I hope things work out for you and Maebeth, Josh. Really I do. I, um, need to go inside and see whether Mom needs help with the feast.”

Sometimes having a reputation as a brownie junkie came in handy. Her mother took her terse explanation of tripping over a stone and dropping the platter without a lengthy cross-examination. It helped, too, that the house was full and that her mom, Tess, and Mia were rushing about the kitchen, putting the final touches on the dishes. Every burner on the stove was occupied. Bowls upon bowls of food crowded the marble countertops. In the center of it all were the two turkeys, roasted to a golden brown and resting on matching platters.

Quinn averted her gaze.

“Don't worry about the brownies, Quinn. We'll make do with the pies and Roo's hazelnut cake. One can't eat brownies every day,” her mother said, transferring bright green string beans from a pan into a serving dish and then sprinkling chopped parsley over them.

“Mom, brownies are the staple of champions.”

Her mother replied with a skeptical “Hmm” before adding, “I heard Ethan did a superb job on Kane.”

“Harsh, Mom. Really harsh,” she muttered.

She heard Tess choke back a laugh. Mia became suddenly absorbed in the challenge of arranging steaming rolls just so in the breadbasket.

Her mother merely smiled. “Darling, can you tell everyone it's time to come to the table? And then if you can give us a hand with the dishes? And do cheer up, darling. I've got you seated next to Josh.”

Oh, no. No way in hell…

She had just switched her name card with Maebeth's and, with grim determination, was circling the glass- and china-laden dining table to put her folded cream-colored card next to that of Francesco, Lorelei's boyfriend, when Ethan's voice had her jumping the proverbial mile.

“Care to explain why you're messing with the name cards?”

She glanced over to where he stood with his good shoulder propped against the doorjamb. He'd dressed up, too, in a crisp white shirt and dark brown jeans. He looked ridiculously good, and that only depressed her more.

As if he intended to wait there until he got an answer, he crossed his arms and cocked his head. His gray eyes were unwavering.

Imagining what words he would choose to describe her deficiencies and instinctively knowing that they would cut even more deeply than Josh's, she scowled. “I haven't seen my friend Lorelei in days and she and Francesco don't know as many people here as Maebeth does, so I switched places with her. No biggie.”

If possible, his gaze became even more intent. “You were next to Josh. Won't he be disappointed?” he drawled.

It came as no surprise that he knew where she'd been seated. If he'd been at the house for any length of time, her mom would have put him to work carrying stuff like the warming trays that were ready and waiting on the sideboard. Ethan was the sort who noticed and paid attention to the tiniest of details. It's what made his photographs so good, so striking and memorable. Right now she'd have preferred if he had the acuity of a brick.

“Believe me, Josh won't miss me. I'm eminently replaceable. And since you've memorized the seating plan, you'll realize that my switching places puts me farther away from you. I'm all about spreading happiness today.” Aware that her voice was woefully short on humor, she brushed past him to summon the others to the table.

The meal was delicious. That was the near-unanimous and very vocal assessment. But Quinn honestly could have been sharing a flake of hay with Tucker for all she'd been able to taste. For the most part she simply stared at her plate, willing the pile of food to evaporate, since there was no way she could swallow it down. Even though she didn't particularly enjoy looking at mounds of butternut squash, farro pilaf, and green beans—she'd passed on the poblano-spiked mac and cheese, shock of all shocks—it was better than letting her glance drift down the table to where Josh and Maebeth were rubbing elbows…and likely other body parts beneath the cloth-covered table.

It shouldn't hurt. The rational part of her understood that. But somehow the fact that she'd been the one to break off her and Josh's nascent relationship no longer carried weight. What mattered was that five chairs down and across from her were Josh and Maebeth, already happily hot and heavy, and here she was, unable to exchange the most basic of kisses without alerting Josh to the fact that sex freaked the bejesus out of her.

Comparisons were odious. Generally she tried to resist them, but right now she couldn't shake the compulsion to ask why she couldn't manage to enjoy an act that everyone else seemed to have no problem with.

So while she might not be eating her farro, she was gorging on self-pity with a side of disgust.

The conversation around the table was as abundant as the food and flowed as easily as the wine Mia and Reid had selected. With sixteen people it was easy to zero in on snippets. Tess was telling Ethan about some of the more colorful characters in her old neighborhood in Queens, New York. Frank and Mel were talking to Jim and Mia and Reid about the best fertilizers for Mia's grapes. And on her right were Lorelei and Francesco, who worked as a general contractor; they were discussing the local economy with her dad and Ward and Marsha.

“I took Ethan to look at a property that's for sale next to ours. Joe Trullo's place. With the ongoing drought, I'm still of two minds as to whether it's a sound investment.”

“Has he lowered his asking price?” Ward asked.

“Nope, which means it's unlikely it'll sell anytime soon. But I've told Joe I'd like the chance to match any offer he receives. We've been friends and neighbors long enough that he's agreed—though he's not particularly happy I haven't snatched the parcel up.”

“Hard to believe anyone is going to want farmland when water's as scarce as hen's teeth,” Ward said.

“The drought's making it hard for the entire county,” Francesco observed. “I'm lucky to be getting steady work. I have a number of jobs—but they're in Sonoma and Napa. Second homes for San Fran folks. Money's still flowing there, even if the water's down to a trickle.”

“Good for you, Francesco,” Ward said.

Her dad nodded in agreement. “Shows word is getting around about the quality of your work. That's how Adele and I built up our business in the beginning. Here's to another successful year for you.” He raised his wineglass.

“I'll second that!” Lorelei said with a smile, and leaned in so her shoulder bumped Francesco's lightly.

“How are things on your end, Marsha? Are you getting as many animals as before?” her dad asked. “I know it was real bad a few years back.”

“No, the numbers aren't quite as high—thank goodness. Of course any homeless or abused creature is heartbreaking and we still have far too many come through our shelter's doors. I only wish that the work Lorelei and I do in finding forever homes for them could impress the bureaucrats wielding their budget axes. I've been told we may have to close.” As if to wash away the bitter taste left by her announcement, she took a long sip from her wineglass.