Thankful for Love (7 page)

He felt the warmth of the hand he held and wanted to hold it for a good long time. He knew he needed to back off. He couldn't just drop her hand like a rock, though. So he made a clumsy attempt to turn their connection into a handshake. It didn't work.

Quanna tried to untangle their hands but that made it even more awkward, which seemed to embarrass her, if her slight blush was any indication. To cover his inept gesture, he continued the talk of salary. “We can negotiate pay later. Thanks for agreeing to the change in plans for the summer. You're invaluable around here.”

“Thanks. Again.” She withdrew her hand and opened her car door.

He watched her drive away, shaking his head after he was sure she couldn't see him anymore, wondering how the hell it had gotten so difficult to talk to an employee. A beautiful, smart, sexy, and totally entrancing employee.

Dear God, he was in over his head.

After the essay-writing evening, at least once a week, one of the boys, usually Lucas, came up with a reason for Quanna to stay for dinner. As time went on, it became almost routine for her to be there once or twice a week. The issue of overtime pay got settled the way she wanted it: she had no intention of being paid for a social evening and a good meal.

There was no repeat of the hand-holding incident, for which Quanna was grateful. Sort of. She had loved the feel of his hand, loved the look in his eyes when he told her how much she was appreciated. It had become her favorite just-before-sleep thought. One that usually guaranteed lovely dreams. She knew she was embarking on the slipperiest of slopes, fantasizing about Jack, spending free time with the three of them, but she loved being around the three Richardsons so much she was willing to try to keep her balance.

With the arrival of summer came changes in Quanna's routine with the boys. First, they were around more every day, and she had to organize something to occupy their time when they weren't out helping their dad with ranch chores. Once a week, they went someplace the kids had not been to or wanted to visit again—the Tamastslikt Cultural Institute on the reservation, with its exhibits on the history of the American Indians who had lived in the area for centuries, was one. There were picnics, trips to the library, an occasional movie. They built raised beds in the garden and planted vegetables in them. She even started giving the boys cooking lessons.

Caught up in the busiest time of the year on his ranch, Jack wasn't around much except first thing in the morning and late in the afternoon, just before she left. Once a week or so, she had dinner with the family, reminding her of how strong the attraction to him was. A reminder she kept pushing out of her mind so she could focus on her job and the importance it had for both her and her family.

When the end of July arrived, so did Jack's nephews. Except for the increase in laundry and the huge amounts of food it took to keep four active boys from being hungry, they were easy to deal with. Each morning, they enthusiastically worked with Jack getting ready for harvest, and they often rode horses with their Aunt Barbara and her boys at Barbara's ranch where there were enough horses for everyone. They didn't mind mucking out the stables because, as they told Quanna, it made them feel like real cowboys. Even when Jack's other three nephews were in Quanna's charge, which happened a couple times during the visit, it was more pleasure than problem.

The two-week visit seemed to rush by. Before Quanna knew it, she was packing clothes for Daniel and Lucas's stay in Portland and then hugging all four boys goodbye before they piled into Jack's truck for a trip to the big city.

• • •

“For chrissake, Jack, light someplace, will you? I have a crick in my neck from trying to follow your pacing, and you're driving Chihuly nuts.”

Jack dropped into the leather couch opposite the one his brother Sam was occupying. The two men looked so much alike they would have been hard pressed to deny their relationship. Jack had two inches and a few years on his younger sibling, but that was about all that was different.

Well, except for the expressions currently on their faces. Sam looked relaxed and content with himself. Jack was sure he projected neither quality.

Before he responded to his brother's complaint, Jack motioned for Chihuly, the curly-coated retriever Sam had acquired when he married Amanda St. Clair, to sit beside him. “Sorry. I guess I'm restless today.” He scratched a spot between the dog's ears, hoping to make up for his pacing.

“No shit, Sherlock. It doesn't take my finely honed investigative skills to figure that out. What's going on?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” Jack concentrated on the dog's head, avoiding his brother's eyes. “I'm not much of a city guy, I guess. I love your house, but I'm happier at the ranch.”

“I get it, but this is more than wanting to be home in the wide open spaces of Umatilla County.” Sam cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “It can't be money troubles. The last accountant's report on the ranch looked healthy. Is there something going on with the wheat crop this year?”

Jack shook his head, still not looking at his brother.

“Not money. Not wheat. Haven't heard of any cattle disease. And your boys are healthy and happy. That leaves woman troubles. You got something you want to talk about?”

Jack had never hid his personal life from his siblings, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be totally open with his brother right now. So he just kept scratching the dog's head and looking down. “Not really.”

“Jack, I'm a cop. Every damn day of my life, I get lied to or have to put up with people trying to avoid telling me what I want to know. That's why we're given this bullshit meter when we graduate from the Academy. And right now, mine is pegged out at the high end of the scale. You might as well tell me so I don't have to resort to the thumbscrews we're also given along with our badges.”

“There's nothing to tell. Nothing I want to tell, anyway.”

“Who's this woman who finally got to you? Is it what's-her-name—Doreen—who's been running after ...? Wait, of course not. It's the pretty nanny, isn't it?”

Jack sighed and finally met his brother's gaze. “Leave it, Sam. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, because stewing about it and wearing a rut in our wood floors is gonna solve the problem. Talking can't help.”

“Jesus, what are we a couple of middle school girls? I can figure this out by myself.”

“From where I'm sitting, you're not making much progress on that front. And, FYI, Chihuly needs the fur you're scratching off the top of his head.”

“Shit. Sorry, boy.” He discontinued his attention to the dog and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. “How cliché can you get? The only woman who's interested me in God knows how long turns out to be my kids' nanny. Not only that, but she's so young, she could be my daughter. I've turned into a dirty old man.”

“Oh, come on. Unless you hooked up with someone while you were dating Paula and have a daughter I don't know about, she couldn't be your daughter. Although if you did do something like that, Barb might know. I'll ask her.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it. And for God's sake, don't bring our sister into this. If she ever found out...”

“If she found out you'd finally decided you're too young to be alone and started looking at an attractive woman the way a man should look at her, she'd be happy for you.”

“Or ream me out.”

“Come on, Jack. We all know Paula made you promise you wouldn't be alone after she was gone. When are you going to stop looking out for everyone else and start looking out for yourself? And why would you want to fly solo when you have a pretty woman who might want to fly with you?”

“Quanna's not merely pretty. She's beautiful. And smart and funny and warm and...” He shook his head at the smirk on his brother's face. “Leave it, Sam. She's too young. Not only that, but she works for me and has shown no interest in me as anything more than her employer.”

“She doesn't seem too young to me. And from the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention, she's interested.”

“You met her for all of, what, ten minutes when you brought the boys to the ranch. That makes you an expert, does it?”

“More like twenty-four hours and, again, I refer you to how I make a living. I know how to read people. She's interested. I'd bet my retirement on it.”

“I notice you have nothing to say about her being my employee. An employee my kids love. The last thing I want to do is screw up the relationship she has with them.”

“I agree it could be tricky. But thanks to me, you have two weeks without them to see if there's anything there.” Sam leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “Seriously, Jack. I know you. You wouldn't say you were interested if this was only a passing fancy. Hell, you never asked another woman out after the first time you asked Paula for a date in eighth grade. You're a one-woman guy. Once someone catches your interest, that's it. If she's the one, you have to give it a chance to see if you can find something like I have with Amanda. Which, I'd remind you, occurred after a lot more complications than an age gap and an employment contract.”

His brother had a point. Having the woman you love accused of murder so you had to help prove her innocence before you could tell her how you felt, as Sam had done, was considerably more difficult than anything he was dealing with.

“Maybe you're right. Maybe I should do something about it.”

“Maybe your baby brother is right about what, Jack?” Amanda asked as she came into the living room. “You might as well tell me because he'll be bragging about it for weeks. He's so rarely in the driver's seat with his siblings.”

Sam pulled his wife down onto the couch next to him. “Leave him alone, pretty lady. He's mulling over what to do about a woman.”

“My two cents, for what it's worth, is that it's about time you did something about some woman, Jack. So stop mulling and start acting.” She kissed her husband on the cheek. “Are you packed to go to the beach?”

“Yup. And so are our boys. I don't think Jack's boys even unpacked; they're so psyched to head for the ocean.” He turned to his brother. “You coming to the coast with us?”

Jack didn't answer for a few moments. Then he slapped his hands on his knees and said, “You know what, I think I'll head back home today. No sense in driving to the beach only to turn around and drive home tomorrow.”

“Right,” Sam said. “It's the driving that decided it.” He grinned before adding, “Good choice, brother. And good luck.”

During the four-hour drive from Portland to the Richardson Ranch, Jack had time to think about a lot of things. Like how he loved his brother and sister-in-law but didn't like urban life and didn't understand why Sam did. Like how much worse this visit had been than ones in the past because he not only missed the ranch, but he missed the woman he'd gotten used to seeing five days a week. Like how he didn't know what to do about wanting her to become more than merely the kid wrangler he paid to cook his meals and take care of his kids.

His kids. The only source of life in the house after Paula died wouldn't be there when he got home. He'd be alone for the first time since she'd gone. Not even Quanna would be there every day to keep him company. Would he be alone or lonely?

Quanna. He swore he could remember every conversation they'd had, every smile she directed at him, every joke of Lucas's she laughed at. It was hell that she was the only woman he'd met in years who attracted him. And doing anything about the attraction had the potential for being a complete disaster.

As he drove the last ten miles to the ranch, he concluded that maybe being in an empty house would give him the time to do what he'd told Sam he would do—figure it out. Maybe alone was the best thing to be at the moment.

Except when he opened the front door, he discovered that the house wasn't empty. He wasn't alone. Quanna was in the kitchen. She was at the sink, her back to the door from the living room, chopping something, onions he thought, and putting them into a bowl. She was singing. He listened for a few seconds, trying to identify the song but couldn't. Probably something someone his age wouldn't know.

He walked quietly toward the kitchen door, enjoying what he saw, not wanting her to know he was there quite yet. Dressed in a tank top and shorts, not her usual jeans and T-shirt, she had what seemed like miles of coppery skin on display. She was so damn beautiful it made his heart ache. In the months she'd been working for him, her open and loving ways with his sons had made her such an integral part of the family he didn't know what they would do if she left.

Which made his attraction to her dangerous. Not only was she young but she was too important to him, to his kids, to risk it all because he found her so alluring. His sons had already lost a mother to cancer and a grandmother to hip surgery. Thanks to Quanna, they were finally getting the stability they'd needed for a couple years. He couldn't risk screwing that up, no matter how attracted he was.

Besides, maybe she'd get pissed if he asked her out. Maybe she'd be repulsed. Okay, he knew that probably wasn't true. Even if he wasn't about to confess it to Sam, once or twice he thought he'd seen her look at him as more than her boss. Maybe more than once or twice, although it could have been his imagination. Or wishful thinking.

Either she sensed his presence or his jumbled thoughts had resulted in some noise emanating from him because without warning, she whirled around, the knife she was using pointed at him.

“Oh, God, Jack. You scared me.” One hand held the knife; the other was covering her heart. Which, of course, drew his attention to her breast. Her nipple peeked through the thin cotton of her top, daring him to reach out, to touch.