Quinn (22 page)

Had Seraphine Conway been so desperately unhappy that she had fled without so much as a good-bye to those who loved and needed her?

Or had she been taken against her will? Had she raged helplessly against the forces that had abducted her?

Was she raging still?

He blinked, struggling to banish the negative thoughts from his mind. He’d waged these arguments countless times through the years. And always, the questions had no answers. There was no logical explanation for what had happened.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

He looked over to find Cheyenne watching him.

He carefully composed his features. “Just thinking about home, and how it calls to us.”

Cheyenne averted her gaze, keeping her focus on the road ahead.

She’d been right when she’d said that he wasn’t a very good liar.

Wherever Quinn had gone in his mind, the little frown line between his eyes told her that it hadn’t been a pleasant place.

“I guess that means you wouldn’t like to take a… detour on the ride home?”

At her words his smile was back, as dangerous as ever. “If you’re offering what I think you’re offering, I’d be more than happy to take that detour, ma’am.”

“Just checking to see if you were alive.”

He pretended to take his pulse. “Heart’s beating. Trust me. I’m alive. And more than capable of handling a… detour or two.”

At his chuckle she relaxed, grateful that she’d been able to bring a smile to his lips.

She found herself hoping that the dark thoughts that had plagued him were gone for good. Just as suddenly, she found herself wondering why it should matter to her.

Though she didn’t want to probe her feelings too deeply, it occurred to her that she was beginning to care about this man’s many moods.

That knowledge was troubling. It wasn’t at all like her to want to get up close and personal with a man she hardly knew.

And yet there were times, when Quinn Conway looked at her in a certain way, that she felt as though she’d known him for a lifetime.

C
heyenne was smiling. “Remind me about that… detour, after we make a stop in Paintbrush.”

“You’re going to see the builder my father recommended?”

She nodded and veered off the road onto the highway leading to Paintbrush.

She’d always loved this little town, with its collection of stores and shops along a sleepy little main street. The older ones, many of them weathered wood buildings, proclaimed the services of Thibalt Baxter’s Paint and Hardware, Dr. April Walton’s Family Practice and Clinic, and Flora’s Diner, serving the hottest chili fries in the state. A small, square building with big glass windows overlooking the street bore a peeling sign that said: O
DDS
N E
NDS
.

Both Cheyenne and Quinn read aloud the faded words on the sign, “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it,” and burst into laughter.

Beyond that were small frame houses, and on a hill
overlooking the town stood the Paintbrush Church, an old brick building that had served the town for over a hundred years.

The Paintbrush High School sported a new football field and track, compliments of a fund drive that had spurred the citizens and surrounding ranchers into sprucing up the tired old building, as well. The bricks had been tuck-pointed, the windows replaced with newer, more efficient ones, and the newly shingled roof glistened in the sunlight.

At the very end of town was a fairground that boasted several wooden warehouses, pens, and a track with a viewing stand where an annual rodeo was held. Ranchers for hundreds of miles took precious time away from ranch chores to pit their skills against one another and the few celebrities who traveled the rodeo circuit to earn awards and enhance their chances for the big time.

The builder’s office shared space with an insurance office and a barber/beauty shop.

Cheyenne pulled the truck into a parking lot across the street, and she and Quinn made their way to the office.

The front room was empty. They followed the sound of hammering to the back room.

A man paused in his work and peered from his perch on a ladder. “Can I help you?”

“Rusty Perry?” Cheyenne asked.

“You got him.”

“I was given your name by Cole Conway.”

He climbed down from the ladder and spotted Quinn standing behind her. “Hey, Quinn.”

“Rusty.”

The two shook hands.

Quinn handled the introductions. “This is Cheyenne O’Brien.”

“Miss O’Brien.” The builder’s skin was freckled, and though his hair was threaded with gray, it still bore traces of red. He wore a faded shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. At his waist was a tool belt. “Cole phoned me this morning and told me about the fire at your ranch. He said to expect you in the next day or two.”

Cheyenne smiled. “Well, that was good timing. My crew is already cleaning up the mess. I was hoping you could take a drive out to my place and give me an estimate for rebuilding.”

“Sure thing.” He led the way up front to his desk. “Give me directions to your place and I’ll be there tomorrow.”

After a few more details and handshakes all around, she and Quinn walked from the building.

As they were making their way to her truck a figure stepped out of the barbershop and stood blocking their way.

For a stunned moment Cheyenne and the man merely stared at each other in silence.

It was Cheyenne who found her voice first. “Hello, Deke.”

“Cheyenne.”

“Deacon Vance, this is Quinn Conway.”

The two men gave a nod of acknowledgment, but neither of them offered a handshake.

Deacon Vance was tall, well over six feet, his dark hair freshly cropped close to his head. He held a wide-brimmed hat in one hand. The other was fisted at his side.

“I just left the barbershop, where Austin Baylor was busy telling everyone in the place that Chief Everett Fletcher would be paying me a call. It seems someone reported seeing me near your place just before a fire
ripped through your house and I’m now the prime suspect in arson.”

“Deke…”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Just a yes or no.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Is that true?”

Cheyenne swallowed. “If it’s arson…”

“Yes or no, Cheyenne.”

She looked away, hating the mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. “Yes.”

His furious gaze swung to Quinn, then back to her. “He said you’re now staying at the Conway ranch until your house can be restored, and that he and your crew are running things while you’re away. Austin even bragged that he’s family now. He referred to your father as his dad.”

She nodded. “Deke, I want you to know—”

He raised his hand, still clenched into a fist, stopping short of her face. His voice was tight with barely contained fury. “I guess I know all I need to.”

He started away, then turned back to add, “Cheyenne, the day will come when you’ll be sorry.”

Quinn took a menacing step toward him, his eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?”

Before Quinn could reach out a hand to him, Cheyenne caught it between both of hers and held tight.

Deke barely glanced in Quinn’s direction, keeping his gaze fixed on Cheyenne. “Just stating a fact. You’re making a big mistake.”

He crossed the street and climbed into a battered red truck.

Quinn looked down at their clasped hands, his frustration evident in his tone. “Why did you stop me? That guy was making threatening noises.”

“The last thing I wanted was an ugly scene right here in the middle of Main Street. Deke’s hurt and angry. It can’t be easy to learn about something like this in front of half the town.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I wish Austin hadn’t gone public with this. If Micah had been there”—she nodded toward the barbershop—“instead of ordering supplies, he wouldn’t have allowed Austin to broadcast the news.”

“I agree that this should be Chief Fletcher’s job, not Austin’s.” Quinn followed the direction of her gaze and could see the object of their discussion seated in the barber chair, laughing with the customers. “It’s too late now. He’s let the genie out of the bottle. There’s no way to put it back.” He touched a hand to her shoulder. “You want a coffee or something before we head home?”

She shook her head, unwilling to glance right or left at the people who passed by. She felt sick at heart, and more than a little dazed by this unexpected public confrontation.

“I’ll drive,” Quinn said.

Numbly she handed him the keys. He held the passenger door and she climbed in.

As their truck moved along the main street, she stared at the shops and buildings without really seeing them. All she could see was the pain and anger etched in the face of a man who had once been her brother’s best friend.

When had it all gone so terribly wrong?

“Want to talk about it?” Quinn asked quietly.

She spoke haltingly, as she struggled to sort out her feelings. “Even after all that’s happened, I’ve been trying to defend Deke. It isn’t easy believing that a lifelong friend of my family could betray us. But there’s no denying his anger. Deke really wanted to lash out at something.”

“Or someone,” Quinn muttered.

Her head came up sharply. “Are you suggesting that he might have hurt me if I’d been alone?”

Quinn shook his head. “I’m just saying that I saw a man ready to explode.”

They drove in silence as they left the town behind and found themselves once more on the open road.

The melting snow was now a river, running along the edges of the highway, flooding across the pavement in spots.

Cheyenne slipped on her sunglasses, telling herself that the moisture in her eyes was the result of too much sunlight.

Quinn fiddled with the radio until he found some soothing oldies. With the windows down and the fresh air blowing about the cab of the truck, Cheyenne couldn’t help keeping time with Neil Diamond singing about sweet Caroline.

Quinn changed the words, replacing them with
sweet Cheyenne
until she could no longer hold on to her sad thoughts.

“Feeling better?” He tugged on a lock of her hair.

She gave a nod of her head. “Life is crazy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He carefully avoided any mention of their encounter with Deke Vance. “What did you think of Rusty Perry?”

“A really nice guy. I don’t know why, but I’d been expecting to have to answer a hundred questions before getting started on rebuilding.”

“Don’t worry,” Quinn said with a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be sick of all the questions before it’s over.”

As they started along the highway he said, “Now, about that… detour we were talking about earlier.”

She made a great show of checking her watch before saying, “Darn. It’s too close to dinnertime. If we don’t speed things up, we’ll risk Phoebe’s wrath.”

“I’m willing to make the supreme sacrifice.”

She laughed. “You may be willing, but I’m a houseguest. I don’t dare break any rules or I could find myself out in the cold.”

They were still laughing easily together an hour later as they drove under the arch that proclaimed to all who entered that they’d arrived at the Conway ranch.

After parking the truck in the vehicle barn, Quinn retrieved Cheyenne’s suitcase and they walked side by side toward the back door and up the steps.

Phoebe and Ela were busy at the stove while the family had gathered around the fireplace at the other end of the kitchen, sipping beer and talking about ranch chores.

“Here you are.” Phoebe shot them both a smile when they stepped into the kitchen. When she spotted the suitcase, her smile grew. “I guess that means you’re not ready to leave us yet. I was afraid that once you got home you’d change your mind and decide to tough it out. I hope this means that you’re planning on a much longer stay.”

“I’ll probably be here so long you’ll be sick of me.”