Thankful for Love (8 page)

He struggled to get his mind, and his eyes, off that tempting bit of flesh. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I tried to make some noise when I came in so you'd know someone was in the house.” It was a lie, but he didn't want her to know he'd been staring at her.

“Well, I didn't hear you.”

“Would you mind putting the knife down? I'd rather continue the conversation without worrying you're about to use it on me.” He smiled.

She looked down at her hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Aiming a weapon at your employer is probably not listed as acceptable behavior in the nanny handbook.” She dropped the knife onto the kitchen island. “I'm sorry. But you did frighten me. I didn't think you were coming back until Monday.”

“And I didn't think anyone would be here when I got home. What're you doing here on a Sunday? Didn't we agree before I left for Portland you had some down time coming? I thought you were only working Tuesday and Thursday this week.”

“I wanted to finish up the laundry from last week and prep some meals so you wouldn't have to cook when you got home.” She waved in the direction of the bowl she'd been dumping onions into. “I was working on potato salad.”

“I'd have thought you had your fill of cooking for the Richardsons over the last two weeks.”

She laughed. “Luckily, I'm used to cooking for boys—I have two brothers. I know how much it takes to keep them from being hungry. And doing this today means it'll be easier when I'm here again.”

“You've worked your tail off the past two weeks. You've earned a few days off.” He went to the refrigerator and opened it. “But as long as you're here, how about joining me in a beer or a glass of wine? At least I can offer you that.”

“Thanks, but as soon as I finish this and clean up, I have to drive home.”

Still staring into the refrigerator so he didn't have to see her reaction when he asked the question, he said, “Or I could pour you a glass of wine and you could stay for dinner with me. I bet there's enough for both of us in what you've stocked up for me.”

“I don't want to impose. I'll finish up...”

“You're not imposing. I'd like the company. Your company,” he hastened to add as he turned around. “Please?”

He was relieved to see a small smile. Even more relieved when she said, “When Lucas asks me to stay for dinner, there are usually four or five pleases.”

“True, but I have more dignity than he does. Although if I have to, I can whine with the best eight-year-olds. I'd prefer it doesn't come to that, however.”

She laughed again. “All right. I won't make you stoop to his level. I'll graciously accept your invitation for dinner.” She joined him at the refrigerator. All the cold it generated couldn't keep him from feeling the heat of having her so close as she reached around him and grabbed a paper-wrapped package. He could smell the vanilla spice aroma he associated with her and could feel his body's response to her nearness. Which meant he had to move away quickly before it became obvious to her, too.

“If you're in the mood,” she said, “I pulled these steaks from the freezer a while ago and they feel like they're defrosted. And there's the potato salad and tomatoes from the boys' garden.”

“I'm always in the mood for steak. Especially when it's from my own cattle.” He took the package from her. “Wine or beer?”

“A little wine please. I'm not much of a drinker.”

“Yeah, I noticed at Cowboy Up you barely touched your glass.”

“I've seen too many people get into trouble with it. It's not worth it.”

He poured her a half glass of wine and handed it to her, trying not to notice the way she licked her upper lip after she took the first sip. He tried not to think about what she would taste like with a rich, red wine on her lips.

Dinner. Focus on dinner. “If you're about ready to eat, I'll take those steaks out to the grill.”

“Perfect. I'll get the table set and the potato salad and tomatoes ready.”

 Grilling the steaks gave him time to collect his thoughts, to talk himself back from the edge of the cliff he'd impulsively walked out onto when he asked her to stay for dinner. It had been so long since he'd had dinner with a woman not related to him that he was as nervous as a teenager. Which, come to think of it, was the last time he'd asked a woman out for the first time. The realization made him even more edgy. Would Quanna consider this a date? Was it? He wasn't sure. If she did, how should he handle it? Had dating rules changed? What would a woman expect these days?

Oh, hell, date or no date, one rule hadn't changed, he was sure. He forgot to ask her how she liked her steak cooked.

He returned to the kitchen, the two steaks on a platter. “I hope you like medium rare. I forgot to ask. If you want it cooked some more...”

“No, medium rare is fine. Thanks.” She grabbed another beer for him and her wine and headed for the dining room.

As they were about to sit down to dinner, Jack asked, “You probably would like some music, wouldn't you? You always seem to have some playing.”

“That would be lovely.”

He swapped the kids' iPod for his in the dock on the sideboard. The sound of classical music played softly as he settled himself at the table.

“I wouldn't have imagined you for a classical music fan,” Quanna said as she dished up the salad.

“Not much choice in this house growing up. My mother was a classically trained pianist and taught all three of us—my brother, sister, and me. None of us had much talent for it. We did learn to love the music, however.”

“I've wondered about the piano in the living room. Do you still play?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “Haven't for a while.” There was another pause before he continued, not sure what the protocol was for discussing your late wife with the woman you'd invited to have dinner with you. “Actually, Paula was the one who played most often. She was one of the other kids my mother taught. Only one with any talent.”

Both of them applied themselves to eating for a few minutes then Quanna asked, “Do you mind talking about Paula? I'd like to know more about her. The boys sometimes talk about her, and I've wondered. I mean, if it doesn't bother you.”

“No, it doesn't bother me.” He laid down his fork and knife and stared out into the room. “She was smart and talented. Loved music, obviously. Loved this part of the world. She never wanted to go anyplace on vacation because she was so happy being here.”

“Lucas said she was a teacher.”

“Yeah, kids were her greatest love. She taught first and second grade. There were dozens of her former students at her memorial service. Some of them were almost as broken up by her death as Daniel and Lucas were.”

“Did you meet in college?”

“No, we grew up together. I asked her to a dance in, I think it was, the eighth grade and have never asked another girl out since then. We dated all through high school and went to Oregon State together. I never finished. But she got her degree, came home to teach, and we got married.” He was quiet for a few long moments, continuing to look out into the room. Finally he said, “Was that what you wanted to know?”

“I didn't mean to upset you.”

“You didn't. Not at all. I just realized I haven't talked about her with anyone outside the family in a long time.”

Quanna said, “I've seen all the photos of her around the house. She was beautiful.”

“She was a beautiful person. You'd have liked her. She would have liked you.” He laughed. “Anyone who loves her kids the way you do would have been her friend forever.” More silence.

“You must miss her.”

“Haven't thought about that in a long time either. Guess I'd say, no, not the way I did at first. Sometimes when one of the kids does something special, I think how sad it is she isn't here to see it. But, as she kept saying when she was sick, life goes on.” He shook his head. “Surely there must be something else we can talk about, isn't there?”

He could see the sympathy in her eyes and heard the soft tone in her voice when she said, “I'll change the subject, but thank you for sharing with me. I've wanted to ask, particularly because Daniel has begun to talk more about her, telling Lucas some of the things he remembers.”

“I'm glad he is. Lucas worries about forgetting her. And, truth is, he was not quite six when she died, so he has foggy memories of her before she got sick to begin with. Daniel was older, and it's easier for him to remember. But he's been pretty closemouthed about her until recently.”

“I actually think the Rose incident was healthy in a way, don't you?”

“Yes, although it was awkward when it happened. Which reminds me, I still owe you a ride around the ranch. Maybe while the boys are gone, we can schedule something. You can ride Daniel's horse.”

“Isn't this your busy season? I don't want to interfere.”

“Not too busy to keep my promises. I'll figure it out and let you know.”

She began to collect the dirty dishes, to change the subject, he thought.

“You don't have to clean up. I'm good at doing dishes.”

“You cooked...”

“I grilled. Guy stuff. Open flame. Red meat. That's not real cooking. I'll clean up.” He took the dishes from her, and their hands brushed. Maybe it was the second beer he'd had. Maybe it was hearing the sympathy in her voice when they talked about his late wife. But the slight touch affected him more than a hug would have. He could feel emotions awaken that had been dormant for a long, long time, not to mention the usual reaction of a man when he's affected by a woman. Odd how discussing his late wife with her would elicit the response. Or maybe not so odd. Maybe thinking of the happy relationship he'd had with Paula for all those years made him realize what he was missing being alone.

He wondered if Quanna's stifled gasp meant she had felt it, too. Or maybe he'd merely startled her when he grabbed the plates.

“Actually, I should get home,” she said. “I'm working the breakfast and lunch shift at the resort restaurant tomorrow and have to get there early.”

“I thought you were taking a few days off.”

“If I work extra shifts, I'll be able to take two classes this fall.”

“All work and no play...”

“I'll take that chance.”

He wanted to touch her again. Feel the jolt of electricity. But he didn't. All he did was dump the dirty dishes in the sink, walk her to her car, and tell her he'd see her on Tuesday.

After he loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen, he went upstairs and did two things. First he went to his office, found the tax forms Quanna had filled out, and copied her address onto a Post-it note, which he tucked into his wallet. He wasn't sure what he intended to do with the information, but for some reason, he wanted to have it.

Next he went into his bedroom and picked up the photograph of his late wife that had been on his bureau for years. He brushed the back of his fingers over the image of her cheek, the way he used to touch her face. “Sam's right, Paula. You made me promise I wouldn't give up on life after you were gone. I guess it's time I live up to my promise. Wish me luck, darlin'. I'm out of practice at being romantic, something you always said I wasn't very good at anyway. I hope she's as patient with me as you were.”

He took the photo out of the frame, went back to his office, and tucked it into a family album.

• • •

All the way home, Quanna told herself the goose bumps Jack's touch had raised didn't mean anything. Except she knew they did, at least to her. She wasn't sure if the electricity she felt had registered with him. She couldn't expect he'd feel the same way about her. Although he had invited her to stay for dinner.

But that was probably so he'd have someone to eat with. After all, he was now alone in the house after two weeks of having four energetic boys around. Surely he just wanted a warm body and a little polite conversation. Although their conversation had become more intimate when they talked about Paula.

Intimate conversation. A warm body. His warm body was so very, very appealing. All she could think of while they were talking about his late wife was how much she wanted to comfort him. To hold him. Only hold him. Maybe kiss him. Not passionately. As a friend.

Liar. She didn't want to kiss him to comfort him. She wanted to find out what he tasted like. What it felt like to be in his arms. She was dangerously close to thinking it might be worth it to quit her job and find a way to connect more personally.

What stood in the way of throwing caution to the wind was simply that without full-time employment, she could never hope to finish her degree, which was tantalizingly close. And she couldn't contribute to the cost of the medical care her brother could only get in Portland. Not to mention the medications he needed for his heart problems.

Another obstacle was her relationship with Lucas and Daniel. How could she walk away from them? How could she be yet another mother figure who left?

Then there was the uneasy feeling that her Indian heritage might cause a few raised eyebrows in Jack's social circles. What would Doreen Campbell and her buddies think about Jack dating an Indian? Would Jack and the boys be the object of their scorn?

Besides, she wasn't exactly the most experienced seductress. Even if she decided to take a chance and try to get him to notice her, she wasn't sure she knew how to go about it. She'd had her share of dates but only one serious, adult relationship. Not exactly a record of triumphant conquests.

Caught up in the fantasy of being in Jack Richardson's arms and her quandary about whether to do something to make it happen, Quanna arrived at her building sooner than she expected, with little memory of the trip there. When she got into her apartment, she tried to read but that didn't work so well either. Neither did trying to get to sleep. Thoughts of Jack Richardson interfered with it all.