Perfect Timing (24 page)

As they left the restaurant, Quincy very casually slipped an arm around her shoulders. She shot him a suspicious glance. “The sidewalk may be a little icy,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie, because the night temperatures in Crystal Falls often dipped below freezing at this time of year. “I don’t want you to slip and fall.”

Instead of protesting, she relaxed against him, her hip bumping his thigh as they walked toward his truck. Again, very casually, Quincy let his hand dangle forward over her slender shoulder so his fingertips could
accidentally
feather across the upper swell of her breast. He felt goose bumps rise on her skin, but maybe they were from the cold air.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked. “That lace shawl is pretty for dinner out, but it can’t offer much protection from the chill.”

“’Tis fine I am.” Her lips curved in a sweet smile that dimpled her cheek when she glanced up at him. Her eyes shimmered in the moon glow and light spilling from the windows of businesses they passed. “’Tis only a short way to your truck.”

All Quincy’s instincts told him she was giving him the green light. So why wouldn’t she just say so, damn it? Call him old-fashioned and too much of a gentleman, but he couldn’t take this to another level until he knew with absolute certainty that she wanted him to.

As he assisted his wife into his truck, he glimpsed a flash of bare leg where her skirt rode up. His guts knotted with burning desire. He decided then and there that it would be another cold shower for him tonight. If this kept up, he’d catch pneumonia.

* * *

All the way home, Ceara chewed the inside of her cheek, so frustrated with Quincy that she wanted to reach across the truck and whack him on the thigh. She’d leaned against him. She’d smiled at him. She’d tried countless times to issue him an invitation with her eyes. He acted as if he noticed none of it, and yet he continued to assault her senses with soft caresses—toying with her hair, lightly trailing his fingertips down her arm, teasing the sensitive spot just below her ear, and sometimes resting a hand over her shoulder, as he had moments ago, to make her nipples throb with yearning for his touch.

The man was driving her to the brink of madness. When they reached the house, he would leave her alone in their bed to take an impossibly long shower, and when he finally joined her under the blankets, he’d settle as close to his edge of the mattress as possible. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected and he’d issued an unspoken rule that neither of them should climb over it.

Oh, how Ceara wished she could talk with her mum. How did a wife encourage her husband to bed her without speaking and behaving like a tavern wench? Ceara struggled to fall asleep each night, her mind filled with memories of their wedding night—the slow glide of Quincy’s hands over her skin, the jolts of pleasure he’d sent coursing through her body, and the feverish need that had come over her when his hard shaft had plunged deep into her core. She wanted—no,
needed
—to experience all those feelings again, only she didn’t know how to persuade Quincy to accommodate her.

Tonight would end no differently, Ceara thought drearily as she trudged up the stairs to their bedchamber, and the realization had her clenching her teeth. After cleansing herself, she donned her flannel gown, then climbed into bed to await the sound of her husband’s footsteps ascending the stairs. When he finally entered the room, he spoke softly to the dogs, telling them to go to their beds, and then, just as Ceara expected, he went into the bathroom and closed the door. Soon she heard the shower come on and Quincy making gasping, shuddering sounds, which told her the water was cold.
Why
would a sane man stand under a stream of freezing water when warmth was a turn of the faucet handle away?

Mayhap, Ceara mused, Quincy simply didn’t desire her. She wasn’t plump and well-rounded like the dairymaids that her older brothers had found so attractive before they settled down into marriage. Quincy might have similar tastes, preferring accommodating females with lush, generous curves who were free with their favors prior to wedding. Be that the case, Ceara was stuck. She’d not been born a dairymaid who had been taught little if anything about ladylike behavior, and she could think of no way to make her figure more buxom. She ate goodly amounts of food, but none of it ever seemed to add extra padding. Her da had often said his daughters could eat him out of house and home with nary an ounce of fat on their bones to show for it.

Sighing wistfully, Ceara turned onto her side. She felt the mattress give and smiled when her reaching hand settled on a furry ruff.
Billy Bob
. He’d come to comfort her. She curled her arm around the dog’s neck and pressed her face against his forehead. At least one male in the house found her appealing.

* * *

The following morning, Quincy’s father showed up with a manila envelope clutched in one hand. Ceara opened the door to greet him, because Quincy was upstairs shaving. “A cheery morning to ye, Mr. Harrigan.”

He laughed, looking so much like Ceara’s husband that she couldn’t help but marvel at the resemblance. “Just call me Dad, honey.” As he moved into the kitchen, he hooked an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re a member of the family now.”

Ceara liked the Harrigans and wanted very much to be accepted, but Frank’s mention of family sent a pang of longing through her belly for the perfectly wonderful and much-missed kinsmen she’d left behind. “’Tis an honor.”

As Frank drew back, he thrust the envelope at her. “Your identification papers, darlin’. You’re all nice and legal now. My contact had a devil of a time finding a shady enough expert to get the job done, but apparently he chose well, because the fella even managed to use your real name. I ain’t sure how he pulled that off. I’m told that most times they have to borrow the identity of somebody deceased, and I don’t reckon there’s too many women in the States, livin’ or dead, with a name similar to yours.”

“Oh!” Ceara cried, her voice shrill with delight as she drew out the paperwork. “’Tis perfect! I wouldna have liked using a different name.” She peered at the birth certificate. “Even me age is correct.” She thanked Frank with a warm smile. “Now I can get a driver’s license!”

Frank’s dark brows snapped together. “Ah, well, now. Let’s not rush into that. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Just then Quincy’s voice rang out from behind her. “A driver’s license?”

Ceara turned and flapped the documents at him. “’Tis a real person I am now, Quincy. Yer da got me identification! Now I can begin learning all the things ye’ve promised to teach me.”

The men exchanged a long, charged look over the top of her head. Quincy said, “That’s true, but let’s not jump the gun.”

Ceara’s heart sank. “But ye said ye’d start giving me driving lessons. Did ye not?”

Quincy rubbed a hand over his hair, which was still damp from his shower. “I did, yes, and I’m a man of my word. But let’s not rush into it.”

Ceara could barely wait to drive his truck. “No rush, but ’twould be lovely to get my first lesson today.”

“That’s a rush.” Quincy sighed, but his frown softened when she assumed the crestfallen expression that had always worked well on her father. “Okay, I guess we can probably fit in a short one.”

Ceara didn’t think he looked very happy about it. Personally, she couldn’t see what the big deal was. She’d watched him drive many times now, and in her opinion, it didn’t look that difficult.

“Loni is plannin’ a hen party,” Frank informed them. “She’s still too weak to leave the house, but she’s gettin’ a bad case of cabin fever and feelin’ a little lonesome. Dee Dee is goin’ over to fix a nice lunch, topped off with her apple pie for dessert. Maybe after Ceara’s drivin’ lesson, you can take her over to Clint’s so she can get to know the girls better.”

Quincy nodded. “If Dee Dee’s apple pie is on the menu, I’ll make a point of it.”

Frank grinned. “Men ain’t invited. Maybe you and me can help Clint out in his arena. He’s been playin’ catch-up all week. Tucker is on duty this weekend at the clinic. Parker and Zach are over at Parker’s place, mendin’ some fences. It’ll only be us three not gettin’ fed.”

“Why aren’t the men invited?” Quincy demanded.

“Hen party,” Frank expounded. “You know, cluck, cluck. Maybe, if we’re lucky, Dee Dee will send us out some food and save us some pie.”

Ceara had never attended a hen party, but it sounded delightful. She hadn’t seen Loni since that awful first night when she had been hovering near death. If the woman was feeling strong enough to have callers now, Ceara desperately wanted to go.

* * *

Driving didn’t prove to be as simple as Quincy had made it look. Ceara got the truck started without a problem, but managing the gearshift baffled her. Every time she tried to move the conveyance forward, it belched like a fat man who’d gulped too much ale, and then the engine died. Either she forgot to step on the rectangular pedal protruding from the floor that Quincy called a clutch, or she didn’t maneuver the shift properly, or both. Quincy told her she was making his truck buck worse than a bronc.

“It’s all in the clutch and acceleration,” Quincy explained.

“What is acceleration?”

“It’s pressing your right foot down on the gas pedal.”

Ceara knew where the gas pedal was, but managing to accelerate as she let out the clutch was tricky.

“Timing,” Quincy explained. “You need to feel when the gear grabs. You’ll know when it happens after you’ve practiced. It takes a while to get it down.”

What Ceara lacked in experience she made up for with determination. Soon, even though the truck continued to belch and jerk, she got it to move forward in fits and starts. Quincy directed her to drive through the ranch proper, warning her to stay well away from other trucks, the tractor, and what he called ATVs, which were squat things with four huge wheels that the hired hands often used to get around out in the fields.

After nearly completing one pass, Ceara decided she quite liked driving. As she had suspected, ’twas simple enough to do. She needed only to work on the belching to have it down pat.

Ahead of them loomed an outdoor holding shed for horses. Ceara eyed it nervously, looking frantically for somewhere else to go, but a white fence blocked her way.

“Brake!” Quincy cried.

Brake?
She felt around the seat, groping for the handle that should be there but wasn’t.

“Brake!” Quincy yelled the word this time. “Now! Slam on the—”

The truck gave a final belch, hopped forward, and smashed into the corner of the holding shed. A piece of roofing came loose and smacked the windshield. Ceara jerked with a start, her only comforting thought that at least the beast of a vehicle had finally stopped.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Quincy said softly. He glanced over at her with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you hit the brake?”

Despite being appalled at the harm she’d done, Ceara wasn’t about to let Quincy blame her for the missing brake. “If ye’d inspect yer truck before starting it, ye’d know there
is
no brake.” She leaned forward, looking all around her legs to check. “If there’s a brake, where is it? Me father’s wagon has one near the driver’s left leg, as does every one I’ve
ever
ridden in. ’Tis not here.”

He snorted. She considered telling him he sounded like an outraged horse, but thought better of it. “This is a truck, not a wagon,” he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed out and circled the vehicle. Ceara heard him curse. She had a bad feeling that she’d brought disaster to the front of his truck. “My God, in one fell swoop, you’ve taken out the corner of a building
and
messed up my Dodge.”

Ceara couldn’t blame him for being angry, but tears stung her eyes all the same. She climbed out to assess the damage. The big silver bars at the front of the truck were all bent at the center, and the huge rectangular spool he called a winch sat crooked. “Oh, Quincy, ’tis so sorry I am.”

He planted his hands on his hips and released a taut breath. “It’s not your fault, honey. I should have thought to show you the brake pedal.” His mouth twitched at the corners. “For some reason, it never occurred to me you’d look for a wagon brake, but in retrospect, it makes perfect sense.” He shook his head. Waving a hand toward the front of the vehicle, he said, “I spent a small fortune on that cattle guard. What a piece of shit. If it folds from hitting the corner of a building, it’d crumple clear into my radiator if I actually hit a cow.”

Ceara studied the thick bars. “Do ye run into cows often? I dinna see any around.”

He chuckled. “No, never have, but with you driving, it might become a common occurrence.”

Ceara had been so excited to try driving. Now, looking at the poor shed and the truck, she wished she’d never attempted it. “’Tis me guess that ye willna be letting me drive again anytime soon.”

His chuckle became a deep, full-blown bark of laughter. He curled an arm around her shoulders to jostle her close against his chest. “Let’s just say I don’t think you’re road-ready yet. With practice, you’ll get there.”

* * *

Ceara had no idea what to expect at a hen party, except that she felt sure no chickens were involved. Ten minutes into it, she was enjoying herself immensely. Perched on a comfortable chair, she sipped wine from a glass in one hand and nibbled what Dee Dee called a finger sandwich from the other. The finger sandwich was triangular rather than finger-shaped, but ’twas delicious nonetheless, and had ample butter. Loni held court at the head of her kitchen table, her face still pale but notably sporting more color. Her lovely eyes shone with a gentle glow. She had a soft, easy smile that made Ceara feel warm and happy all over.

Dee Dee filled in as lady of the house, serving the simple lunch and getting up often from her seat to refill glasses. Ceara fleetingly wondered whether it might be the wine that was making her feel so nice, but it was berry-sweet, and so delicious that she couldn’t resist drinking more.

“Hear, hear!” Rainie said, lifting her goblet high. “To Ceara and Quincy for breaking that horrible curse, and to the good health of everyone at this table.”