Enough of this.
One attempt on Quinn’s life was too many. And now with the attack, West felt certain Tia’s killer would try again soon as she was alone.
Outside Finn Colton’s office the following morning, West paced with restless energy. Right now her business partner was Quinn-sitting until West got home. He refused to take chances and leave her alone.
Taking Quinn away meant she’d be safe. He planned to stick to her constantly and take her to visit Pine Paradise. With Tia’s death, the cabins were empty and the property in dispute with Tia’s heirs.
If he took Quinn there, perhaps it would jar her into remembering.
The door opened and Finn Colton gestured. “Come in, Brand.”
Once inside, Colton pointed to one of two chairs set before the desk. “Sit.”
I’m not my dog. But he sat, hands folded on his lap, waiting. Watching.
What the hell did Colton know? Did Quinn and Demi’s cousin, the police chief of Red Ridge, hide knowledge of Demi’s whereabouts?
His boss, Mike, thought as much. The Coltons in town were thick, she’d told him. But after living in Red Ridge for more than a month, he knew better. Rusty Colton barely spoke to his offspring and Rusty was considered the lowlife in town. Finn Colton might be related to Demi, but the man had honor.
He studied the desktop. Clean, neat, photos in frames. Not too many. Files piled to one side, pencil cup holding several pens and pencils. An American flag standing beside the credenza behind the desk.
Colton’s office was functional, no real hint of the steely personality.
Colton might be his temporary boss, but when it came to Quinn’s personal welfare, West had decided he was in charge. And he would not tolerate interference.
“I need three days off. I’m taking Quinn out of town.” West tightened his jaw. “She’s not safe here and unless she’s with me 24/7, she’s in danger. Whoever attacked her will try again, and this time, he won’t stop until he finishes the job.”
“Let me talk some sense into you.” Colton began to walk around. Brand knew the maneuver, had done it several times himself.
Circled the subject, tossed him off guard, made him sweat, wonder what your next move was.
Moved so he couldn’t read your expression. Power play.
Colton stopped. “Let’s say you do take Quinn away to protect her. In the meantime, you’re not doing your job. You’re a top-notch field investigator, Brand. You came highly recommended by your district supervisor. That means for every day you have away from the crime scene, away from the office, protecting my cousin, it’s another day the killer has to slip further away.”
He’d already prepared for that question.
“Jogging her memory so Quinn remembers everything is pertinent. She’s our only witness. Last night’s attack caused her to remember the unsub smoked cigars that smelled like burned coffee and spice. Details like that are critical.”
Finn said nothing, only kept pacing. Finally he stopped, turned.
“I need to know exactly where you’re headed. Name, contact information.”
Fair enough. “A friend owns a cabin in the canyon, near Pine Paradise Cabins. Secluded, ingress and egress limited from the main road. And there’s an electric fence around the property.” West did not smile. “Problems with poachers on the land.”
Colton’s mouth thinned. “This isn’t a field trip merely to hide Quinn. You’re going to take a second look at Pine Paradise while you’re there. We already checked out the property. You think it’s worth a second look?”
“Yes. A much more thorough look.” He watched his boss, saw Colton mentally size up the idea.
“You don’t have a search warrant. I could get you a bench warrant, but there’s no need.” Colton considered. “I’ll talk to the attorney handling the estate, who gave us the keys to the cabins, have it on the QT that you’re headed there and get you the keys.”
The rigid tension gripping him eased a little. “Do any of her relatives know why the sale to the Larson brothers went south?”
“They didn’t even know Tia was selling the property. Tia had two brothers, both Realtors in Colorado. They’d planned to stay there for a week in September and do some fishing.” Finn considered. “The property’s been in the family for generations. They were shocked she even considered selling. Her grandfather left it to her in his will because she spent all her summers there growing up.”
And yet Tia was willing to sell it for a fast buck. Tia kept secrets of her own, it seemed. “How well did the Larsons and Tia get along? Other than romantically?”
Finn walked over to the desk, leaned against it. “Not well. They were competitors in a sense. Maybe why Noel Larson started dating her, figured he’d marry the competition. But Tia was too smart for that. I didn’t know her well, only her reputation. She was a shark.”
A shark in a pool infested with bigger sharks.
The phone on the desk rang. Finn picked it up. “Send him in.”
West raised his brows.
“I asked Shane Colton to join us.” Finn folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve asked him to check deeper into Tia’s history and talk with her clients and contacts. That angle you mentioned the other day about Pine Paradise is all we have to go on for motive right now.”
Shane came in, sat in the chair near West. “I got more dirt on Tia Linwicki.”
They waited.
“She wasn’t selling Pine Paradise for two million,” Shane told him. “She wanted to sell it for two million. The Larsons told her they’d give her three.”
Stunned, West reeled back in his chair. “They offered more money than the asking price?”
“Too much. The land is valuable, but not that valuable. Cabins need updating, renovating.” Shane drummed his fingers on the armrest.
West’s mind clicked over the new facts. Too much money for a real estate transaction meant one thing. “The Larsons needed to dump cash and quick. Money laundering.”
Shane and Finn exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Shane said. “Except we can’t prove it. They may have even wanted the place for cooking heroin. Cabins are off the beaten path, no one would investigate. They could renovate, say they were remodeling and close the place down for a long time.”
“Or instead of cooking heroin, they could want to make bombs for another attack. It’s secluded and remote, and no one would know. No nosy neighbors to make inquiries.” West leaned back in his chair.
The tentacles of the investigation got longer. West thought in patterns, because human behavior could be quite predictable. An unsub’s motivations, methodology tied to the victim of the crime not in straight lines. More like building blocks intersecting. And at the foundation was a crime organization run by twin brothers no one had managed to pin anything on.
Yet.
Finn frowned. “If something shady is going on at Pine Paradise, you shouldn’t investigate on your own, Brand. I’ll send backup with you.”
“No. Too many people will jar Quinn.” He gave his boss a level look. “I’m taking her to Pine Paradise to see if she can remember anything. Being in Red Ridge hasn’t worked. Going back to a place she loved to stay may work.”
“All right, but I don’t feel comfortable about this. Don’t take any chances.” Finn frowned. “I’ve already lost one good man on this force to injury. I don’t want to have to drag you home in a body bag.”
“I’m not taking any chances with Quinn. Rex and I will check it out first before she gets near the property. And you have nothing to worry about. I’m the best. If there are explosives anywhere near Pine Paradise, Rex will find them.”
* * *
Three days in a forest in a secluded cabin sounded like heaven to Quinn. After the latest attack, she didn’t feel safe in her own apartment.
She’d kept checking the windows, the locks, and staring out to see who came close to her shop. Nerves shattered, she felt like a poster child for paranoia.
West was mainly silent on the long drive south. Quinn stared out the window, wondering when her memories would return. She’d lived in Red Ridge a long time, but nothing looked familiar.
She shot a quick glance over at the grim-faced West. “Where is your friend’s cabin?”
“West of Rapid City. But I have another intention, Quinn. We’re also visiting a place where you once stayed. In fact, Tia gave you a key to stay there when the cabin was vacant.” West inclined his head to the cup holder, where a key rested. “I got a key from the lawyer in charge of the property. I’m hoping visiting it will trigger your memory.”
Quinn tilted her head at him. “Is this a place where we once stayed together?”
He drew in a deep breath. “You mentioned it before the explosion. It was the most serene, peaceful feeling you had in a long time. It’s a place where you can forget yourself, and all your troubles.”
“Sounds like some place over the rainbow.” She began humming a few bars, stopped. Quinn pressed her fingers to her right temple. “How can I remember a song from a movie I watched as a child, and I can’t even recall my own brothers?”
“It’ll come back to you. You had quite a nasty blow to the head, sweetheart.” He slid his hand over to touch hers, but she pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I just...can’t.”
West gave an abrupt nod. Quinn rubbed her hands together, wishing she didn’t have to hurt him this way. She could only imagine what he must think—having a girlfriend/fiancée who held no memory of being with him.
Now was a good time to ask, without her brothers hovering. “How long ago did we get engaged?”
“One day, before you...”
He fell silent, as if talking about the explosion proved too painful.
A secret engagement that was practically nonexistent. She didn’t know West Brand, didn’t remember anything about him. But those flashes of memory—teasing and seductive—of having amazing sex...
Surely that was West. Because Quinn felt certain she was a one-relationship kind of woman.
Maybe if she got this taciturn man to talk about his past, his childhood, it would trigger a memory of their own relationship. Because surely West Brand had a better childhood than the one she recalled—a flurry of stepfathers blowing in and out of her life, her mother desperately searching for the one man who would make her happy, fulfill all her dreams.
Quinn was pretty sure that a man wasn’t the answer to fulfilling dreams. She remembered even telling her mother that at one point. Not that her mother had listened. A flash of memory surfaced—a pretty, but faded brunette woman looking at her with hurt eyes, and then shrugging as she applied lipstick, picked up a short jacket and told her to get into bed by nine o’clock.
A lump formed in her throat. There seemed to be more of those memories, along with the smell of cheap beer and wine and cigarettes, than there were of her mother tucking her in at night, reading to her, hanging her childish artwork on the refrigerator.
“What was your childhood like? Do you have sisters and brothers? Are your parents still together?”
West stiffened. Every muscle in his body seemed to turn to stone. His grip on the steering wheel became white-knuckle.
“Why are you asking?”
His voice was low and gravelly, carrying a hint of anger.
Quinn tensed, as well. “I thought...it was something we’d talked about before.”
He turned the truck left onto a dirt road, stopped and shifted the gears so the truck was in four-wheel drive. One hand on the wheel, West turned toward her.
“We didn’t. And I never talk about my family. They’re dead. An accident.”
Quinn felt a surge of horror and pity. This time she was the one putting her hand over his. “I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know... I don’t remember.”
He gave a curt nod. “No problem.”
As they climbed upward, she struggled to come up with conversation that wouldn’t involve families, friends or delicate subjects. It was so hard. Quinn felt as if she treaded on emotional land mines—his and hers.
She gazed out the window. Weather and scenery seemed safe enough. “It’s very pretty here,” she noted, looking at the sweep of tall pines, white birch and cottonwood trees.
Odd how she could remember the types of trees, but couldn’t remember her own fiancé.
West nodded. “I used to come out here sometimes, relax and do some fly-fishing.”
Another memory struck her—sitting in flannel polka-dot pajamas before a stone fireplace, the flames flickering, as she dealt a deck of cards out on the floor. There was a redhead there, whose smile seemed strained.
“I have been in this area before,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Maybe a year ago.”
When she opened her eyes, West parked the truck in a gravel recess between two pine trees. He shut off the engine. “Here we are.”
Rex gave an approving bark from the back seat.
The pine-log cabin looked less rustic than she’d anticipated. Colorful pots of geraniums decorated a front porch, and pink and purple petunias filled a small planter set near the entrance. Inside, she examined the living room with its satellite television, comfortable sofa and chairs set before a rock fireplace, and the kitchen with a gas stove, refrigerator and microwave. There was a dining table for four, and the bathroom and bedroom looked remodeled.
As West dragged their suitcases into the cabin, she folded her arms. “This is how guys rough it?”
He grinned. “My friend’s idea of roughing it includes heat and hockey games.”
After they unpacked, they sat on the sofa, looking at the view from the floor-to-ceiling window. Rock canyon walls and pine trees surrounded them.
Rex nosed around the living room and jumped onto the sofa between them, wagging his tail.
“Off,” Quinn ordered.
West shrugged. “My friend won’t mind.”
“I wasn’t talking about the dog. I meant you, West.”
For a moment, she feared he’d take her seriously. And then he laughed, a deep sound that rumbled out of his chest. It sounded sexy and earthy and all natural.
“Did I used to make you do that before? Laugh?” she asked.
West studied her. “All the time. It’s one of your charms.”
His voice deepened. “It’s why I fell in love with you, Quinn Colton. You make me laugh when there’s too much damn sadness and suffering in my world.”
For a long moment, he said nothing, only studied her with such intensity, her breath hitched. Quinn stared at the sensual curve of his lower lip, wondering what it felt like to kiss him. Do more than kiss him...
West Brand had strong, masculine features, a face that could crinkle with laughter one moment, and go dead serious the next. Penetrating dark eyes that seemed to sear through to her soul. He looked like the kind of man who would pull no stops to protect those under his care, a man who could be thoughtful and gentle with the woman he loved, but ruthless with those he deemed a threat to both family and country.
Perhaps it sounded old-fashioned, but she liked the idea of a man caring for her, a man who respected her and treated her with courtesy as an equal out of bed, but wasn’t afraid to be dominant in it.
Quinn licked her mouth, feeling a flush heat her body.
Arousal rushed through her. Maybe she had no sense of the past, but the present looked like a mighty fine place to start something.
He drew in a shuddering breath. “Rex needs exercise after that long walk. Let’s go into town for groceries, and then come back and hike before it gets dark.”
* * *
This could be much tougher than he’d ever anticipated. Alone with Quinn in a cabin, no brothers to drop by, no business partner to dash upstairs and ask about catering orders.
No interruptions.
Nothing but privacy.
Every bone in his body ached to kiss her senseless, hold her tight and make love to her.
They drove back to town and bought groceries and provisions. After the truck was loaded, Quinn saw an arts and crafts shop. While she went inside, he ducked into a drugstore and bought a box of condoms. No way would he push her into sex, but if she was ready, he’d be ready, too.
Maybe a long, slow bout of lovemaking would trigger memories of him.
Back at the cabin, they put away the groceries. West fetched the gift he’d purchased for her before leaving Red Ridge.
Quinn studied it. “What is it?”
“You don’t like guns. You never did want to learn to fire one, so I bought you a Taser.”
They went outside.
“Next time someone attacks you, use this and it will give you time to get away.” He showed her how to trigger the switch and then gave her the belt and holster he’d also purchased. “Especially when you’re alone in the store, Quinn. You’re too vulnerable there.”
West watched her practice removing it from the holster for the next few minutes. Quinn handled the Taser well. She turned it over in her hands.
“You’re really protective, Agent Brand.”
West flashed a brief smile. He touched her cheek, longing to kiss her again. “Always.”
They went for a walk on the path snaking through the woods. A few minutes later, they set out on a narrow trail cutting through the woods, up the mountain. Rex bounded ahead of them, sniffing out the rabbits and squirrels hiding in the undergrowth.
In worn jeans and a soft sweater, Quinn walked alongside him as they hiked the path. Birds chirped in the overhead trees, and he heard a faint rustle in the underbrush. West clasped her arm to halt her. A black snake slithered away.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Quinn shrugged. “Bull snake. They get big, but they won’t hurt you. Not like rattlers. My father taught me that.”
“Rusty actually knows the difference between a bull snake and a rattler? I thought he had a hard time differentiating between light beer and regular.”
Quinn laughed, her first real laugh in days. It felt good to hear it from her.
He lifted a branch out of her way. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, sweetheart. I’ve missed that sound.”
“I’ll make a note to do it more often.” She took his hand as he helped her climb over a fallen tree limb. Her palm was soft, smooth, and a shudder raced through him as he recalled the feel of her hands stroking his naked body...
Easy now.
He kept a close eye on Quinn as she climbed over rocks and used the stick to playfully poke at the brush.
“Careful, you’ll upset the rattlesnakes.”
She turned, her eyes wide. “You’ve seen them?”
West chuckled and she mock scowled, swatting him with the stick. “You’re teasing me.”
“They’ll let you know when you get close.”
“They rattle.”
Quinn laughed. Man, he adored that sound of her low, sexy laugh, loved making her smile. His own smile dropped. He had a job to do—get her to remember anything and everything, especially about Demi.
“Do you remember that song?” he asked. “Our first dance?”
Confusion wrinkled her brow. “No. I’m sorry I don’t. But I’d like to remember. Tell me.”
His chest ached as he told her how he spotted her at the bar and asked her for a dance.
She’d told him she didn’t dance and he’d replied that all she had to do was follow his lead.
The country-and-western band had struck up that song and they danced nice and slow. Quinn only stepped on his toes twice, and he’d been wearing boots. They fitted together just fine and he’d wanted to stay in her arms for much longer than the song. As it ended, Quinn had lifted her head to him and told him, Hey, cowboy, don’t think that just because we shared a dance that this means we’re in love.
He’d looked down at her and said, I’ll settle for a steak dinner, rare, without sprouts.
She’d laughed. You’d stand a better chance of me learning to salsa than cooking you something that moos, Agent Brand.
From that moment on, she grabbed his heart and held on. Because Quinn Colton wasn’t into playing games as some women did. She was open and honest, unwilling to change just to please a man. She was true to herself. After dating a series of women who were not, West found her deeply refreshing.
He told her this as they navigated the pathway winding up to a splendid view of the canyon cliffs. Quinn stopped and looked at him.
The little frown dented her brow. “You’re good with animals. You treat them well and love them. I remember that now. I remember thinking that a man whom animals trusted was a man I could trust, as well.”
Pleased she’d recalled even a sliver of a memory, West touched her arm. He craved the connection between them, needing it as much as he needed to find Demi Colton.
“You can trust me, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice made husky by desire and sheer need. “I aim to keep you safe, and care for you the rest of your life.”
But Quinn only looked away. She flicked a hand upward. “If there’s a place up there with a bench, let’s stop. I need to rest.”
He didn’t want her pushing herself. West struggled between the need to care for her and the urgent need to get her to remember every damn thing about what she’d seen before the world exploded and nearly took her with it.
Because if a killer stalked her, he had to know who it was. He couldn’t keep an eye on her every waking moment.
At the plateau, there was a simple bench made from a log. Rex joined them as Quinn sat, her breath heaving in and out. West uncapped his water bottle and handed it to her.
He watched her drink, the little beads of sweat rolling down her temple.
Removing the collapsible cup from his jacket, he set it down and filled it for Rex, who gulped down the water.
“Feels like I haven’t exercised like that in a long time. But it feels good to get outside, breathe in the fresh air again.” Quinn peered at the cliffs. “So pretty up here. We’re far away from Red Ridge.”
“Town’s that way. Up north.” He felt an ache of regret. She didn’t remember her little saying, either.
You’re my West, she’d told him much later. And my north, south and east.
She was his entire world.
You have a job to do. Concentrate on finding out where Demi Colton is and what Quinn knows.
But he also needed his Quinn back, the woman who gave him slow, deep kisses with fire in her heart, the woman who made him feel like he was more than the job, and could do anything he wanted. West was beginning to tire of the Bureau. He enjoyed his job, and Mike was a damn good boss, but the politics had gotten to him. Being a canine officer limited his career choices in the Bureau.
West was good with dogs, and liked them more than people at times. Being a canine cop had saved his sanity during the times when he couldn’t take the chatter and games people played. You could trust dogs. They were loyal and honest, letting you know what they wanted.
They harbored no secrets. Not like people. Quinn liked dogs for the same reasons.
Did she know where Demi hid?
West drank from the same bottle and then tucked it into his backpack. For a moment they sat in companionable silence, listening to the birds sing in the trees, the wind rustling through the pine boughs and the distant gurgle of water gushing far below in the canyon.
“North, south, east, west.” She turned to him, a glimmer of something in her pretty eyes. Recognition at last? “You’re my West.”
Relief filled him. Finally. “You remember that.”
Quinn’s excitement died. “I remember that, but nothing else. Why can’t I recall any time with you?”
Unable to help it, he slid close and put his arm around her. “I don’t know.”
But, hell, it was a start and he’d take it.
When she scrambled to her feet, ready to hike again, he was at her side. Quinn didn’t object when he put a hand on her elbow to steady her as they climbed up the dirt trail. Switchbacks made the ascent easier, but he could tell she was tiring fast. So he turned around, and when she protested she could make it, insisted they could try again tomorrow.
He talked about the canyon, and how the Badlands got its name from the pioneers and Native Americans who forged lives in this land. “Weather here gets unpredictable, too. Temperatures drop into the forties in summer.”
“Sounds divine after cooking all day. Sometimes I would get so hot I’d dream of the winter, and then when winter came, I’d be glad for the heat of the ovens.” Quinn stopped on the trail, her stick held aloft. “I do love to cook. I think I started my own business because my mother left me on my own a lot, and I had to fend for myself. She was always searching for a new guy to marry. My mother... She didn’t like being single.”
Something new he didn’t know about his Quinn, now that memories of her childhood surged. West ached for the little girl whose mother was too busy to care for her, more concerned with her own personal life than her daughter.
“Did your mom like to cook?” Quinn asked.
An innocent question, one that caused the familiar guilt to surface. But if talking about his childhood helped Quinn recover her memory, he’d go down that painful path.
“My father said my mother could burn water.” He smiled, the memory not quite so painful now. “When they got married, he did all the cooking. Later, when the job meant he’d work long hours, she took classes so she could have a hot meal waiting for him when he got home. Mom taught me to cook, and my sisters. She said a man should learn to make meals and not rely on a woman to do it for him. And then Dad would wink at me and say that he didn’t marry Mom for her talent in the kitchen, and he could still turn out a better rump roast than she did.”
Quinn laughed. “Your parents sound wonderful.” Her expression turned sad. “I’m sorry you lost your family. Even though it feels like I’ve lost mine as well because I can’t remember them, I can’t imagine how horrible it is to lose all of them in an accident.”
An accident. West rubbed his chest, remembering the flames, the sirens, the horrified looks of neighbors as his home, his family and his life went up in flames.
“Let’s get back. Going to be dark soon.” He stood, offered his hand, which she took, giving him a puzzled glance.
Damn, he was not ready to discuss his own past, his life. Too busy trying to live in the present, trying to reconcile himself with the only woman he vowed to love for the rest of his life.
A woman who had no memory of him, but trusted him enough to come here alone. Her level of trust astounded him. Quinn’s values hadn’t changed. She’d always been optimistic, determined to see the best in everyone.
Even a cynical FBI agent who shied away from most people, devoting himself to his work and his canine.
* * *
West Brand was a total enigma. She’d tried to coax out details of his past, his childhood, and he’d shut down like a machine.
Maybe he didn’t have a nice childhood and didn’t want to discuss it. But it couldn’t have been as hectic and unsettled as hers, always moving from one home to another, a nomadic lifestyle she detested.
Moving until she’d gone off on her own, determined to settle in one place, find one special man to love and marry.
She’d agreed to settle down with West before the explosion. Maybe it was time to see what kind of man he really was.
Clearing her throat, she pointed at his cell. “Does that even work out here?”
West thumbed through his phone, put it away. “Sometimes. More of a habit than anything.”
“Good. No more phone time. I need your help.” Quinn looked at the oven. “Special Agent Brand, I’m going to make you a special dinner.”
West’s nose wrinkled. “Tofu again?”
She grinned. “No. I’m setting aside my usual vegetarian preferences for tonight. But I’ll need you to make another trip into the grocery store. And I do hope you like bacon.”
His dark eyes lit up. “Real bacon? Not that fake stuff?”
“Real bacon.” She handed him a list. “Be prepared to exercise tomorrow ’cause, honey, you won’t want to stop eating.”
While he took the truck into town, she took her journal from the suitcase and began jotting notes. Bits of memory, slices of childhood.
Nothing from the present.
Now was not the time to recall her attacker’s hot breath on her neck, the hissing words he spat at her, the ill-concealed fury in his rough hand as he clapped it over her mouth...
As if sensing her distress, Rex pushed his nose into her lap. Quinn patted his head. The dog proved himself an excellent caretaker and guardian. Almost as nurturing as West himself.
Needing to stay busy, she started gathering the pots, pans and mixing bowls she needed for dinner. The cabin was surprisingly stocked, but West had mentioned his friend rented it out sometimes during the summer to vacationing families.
By the time West returned, her aplomb had, as well. Rex greeted him at the screen door with a happy woof and wagging tail.
West unpacked the bag, set down the bacon, spices and okra, and put the chicken in the refrigerator. “Can’t I get some idea of what you’re making?”
“Creole chicken.” Quinn pointed to a handwritten recipe. “My special mixture I made when I was a teen.”
“Can I help?”
She liked this about him. He didn’t nose around the kitchen, like Rex was doing, but offered. “Start slicing the okra after you wash it. And then get a cookie sheet. I bake my okra. Makes it less gooey.”
Soon they stood side by side in the kitchen, working in a comfortable rhythm as bacon sizzled in the big cast-iron skillet on the stove. She washed and cut the chicken into smaller slices, dried them with a paper towel and rubbed the garlic clove onto the skin.
Cooking soothed her, and she needed something familiar after being alone in this big cabin with West. No need to instruct him either, for he was turning the bacon, making sure it didn’t burn.
Next, he finished slicing the okra. She told him to set it on the cookie sheet, sprinkle it with salt and pepper, and add a little olive oil.
After he did, West slid it into the oven. He watched her work, his gaze thoughtful. “You never did tell me when and why you fell into catering.”
Funny, that was a memory she did recall.
“I started cooking to nurture my mother.” Quinn crumbled the bacon and added it to the chicken, tomatoes and Tabasco. She sprinkled in parsley. “I remember parts of my childhood. She worked hard and came home so exhausted. Food was my outlet, my way of telling her I cared. She’d sit, eat a few bites, and her whole face would light up. That meant the world to me.”
“You put your love, your caring, into your creations.” West slid his arms around her midsection. Quinn stiffened but did not pull away.
She kept working. “Those were the good times, in between all the steps.”
West kissed the top of her head. “Steps?”
“Stepfathers. One after another. Mom was a single mother, and she wanted to settle, find a good man to care for her, and me. It never worked out. So I kept cooking. Each time I heard her fighting with a new step downstairs, I’d climb out of bed, scribble in my journal. Not my emotions, but recipes. Ways to make a new dish fun, exciting. I’d close my eyes and remember the aroma of freshly roasted peppers or the fragrance of blueberries bubbling in a pie. Hear the sizzle of bacon-wrapped asparagus. It was my way of self-soothing.”
“Most kids that age turn to alcohol, drugs or worse,” he murmured.
“I had enough of that with my father, seeing how people regarded him. I needed something more, something that I could claim myself. Cooking taught me patience. You can’t be in a hurry if you want to create something wonderful for someone you care about.”
When dinner was ready, they set the table together. West fed Rex and then sat at the table, doling out a portion of chicken for her, and helped himself to a larger one.
When he tasted it, his dark eyes sparkled. “Wow. This is really tasty.” He chewed some more, looked hopeful. “Can we make another recipe like this tomorrow night?”
Quinn laughed. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like what I usually make for customers?”
“I’m a guy. Meat and potatoes. He-man chow.” West winked at her.
She found him utterly charming. No wonder I fell in love with you. I wish I could remember that.
“Maybe I’ll let you cook tomorrow night. All those he-man genes must mean you carry the dominant Grill Man gene, as well.”
A quick, knowing grin. “There is a nice gas grill out back. I bought some ribs, and the sauce I make will turn you back into a carnivore for good.”
Quinn forked another piece of chicken. “You can try.”
She needed to know more about their life, their relationship, before the explosion. “Did we set a wedding date yet?”
West’s dark gaze fell on her bare left hand. “We didn’t plan yet because of the Groom Killer and we’d only just become engaged. We had agreed to keep our relationship secret.”
“Too bad. No wedding cake talk, flowers, dresses. That romantic stuff brides love.” Quinn fluttered her lashes and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
But instead of laughing, he looked solemn. “If it made you happy, Quinn, I’d have invited the whole damn town. All that mattered to me, still does, is making you happy.”
Such devotional talk warmed her, and made her uncomfortable because she couldn’t demonstrate the same to him. “Why did you ask me out in the first place?”
Maybe a memory of their dating would surface. She could hope.
“Your personality and being genuine. You say what’s on your mind and what you want, instead of what you think I want. You’re not ostentatious. You care more about what’s inside a person than the outer shell. It’s one trait that attracted me to you.”
Such quiet admiration in his voice. “I must have some negative traits that you dislike. No woman can live on a pedestal.”
West speared a forkful of chicken, lifted it to regard it thoughtfully. “Your vegan cooking. But after this, wow, I may have to put you back on your pedestal.”
She laughed.
They talked about cooking for a while. West made a gesture with his fork and she saw the unmistakable sign of scar tissue. Nasty burn. She had a few minor ones on her right arm, but nothing like his.
“How did you get that?” She pointed to his right hand. “Was that something that happened while we dated?”
She doubted it. But maybe he’d open up about his family.
West barely glanced down. “It was a long time ago, when I was a teenager. Say, this is really good with the flavoring. Not too spicy, but tasty. Did you have other recipes with Tabasco?”
So it was cooking talk. Safer, not the morass of the past. Quinn let it slide and told him about the composition book and the recipes she’d collected.
He sipped the water they’d drawn straight from the tap. Cold, refreshing. Nothing bottled here. “Tomorrow, we’ll go fishing. Before we leave, I’m taking you to Pine Paradise, the vacation spot you once stayed at with your sister.”
A cold shiver raced down her spine, not caused by the chilly breeze blowing in from the open living room windows. “Is it safe enough, after what happened to Tia?”
His gaze met hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you, honey. That’s a promise.”
* * *
A promise he intended to keep.
Doubts had flickered on her face. West didn’t know what hurt more, her failure to trust him fully, or the memories she’d kicked up with her questions about his childhood.
And his burned palm.
He’d hoped being alone out here would ease her back into the relationship they once shared. Instead, no memories surfaced. It was starting all over again, with Quinn getting to know him, except for his faint, deep fear that she’d change her mind.
Decide she didn’t want to get married, decide she never wanted to see him again. West didn’t want her to know about his family, the circumstances surrounding their deaths.
Not now. Those wounds ran too deep and Quinn had wounds of her own to heal.
And once she discovered his true assignment in Red Ridge?
Would she kick him to the curb, or forgive him for hiding the truth from her?
West felt confident the old Quinn would lean toward forgiveness. This Quinn, who hardly knew him, might not be so merciful.
After dinner, she headed into the bedroom. West washed up, thinking of this area, these woods that could hide Demi Colton herself.
He finished washing the dishes and went into the bedroom. West ground to a halt, seeing Quinn stretched out on the bed in her fleece pajamas.
She looked defenseless, young and vulnerable in her sleep. For a moment he felt tempted to bend over, kiss her awake. Like Prince Charming to Sleeping Beauty.
This was no fairy tale, and he needed to remember Quinn had a long recuperation period ahead of her. She required rest, not long, loving kisses.
No matter how passionate those kisses were.
West covered her with a thick wool blanket. Sighing, he headed into the living room to resign himself to another night sleeping on the sofa.
First, he went outside, taking Rex with him. The Lab bounded off toward a tree. Bracing his hands on the porch railing, West relaxed. The woods always comforted him, solitude never bothered him. He preferred to be alone. Until Quinn had come along.
Sounds of the night greeted him, insects humming in the nearby field, an owl hooting close by...
Gunfire.
He listened.
Far off in the distance came another series of shots. Large caliber, perhaps a rifle. Gunfire in these mountains wasn’t unusual. Probably some drunk taking potshots at a tree trunk.
But the gunfire came from the direction of Pine Paradise Cabins.
West circled around the cabin, checked the property. Phone lines and electrical were underground and protected by ridges of razor wire, and couldn’t be easily cut by intruders. It was why he’d elected to stay here with Quinn. Security was tight.
Still, unease pricked his skin. West whistled for Rex, who came running, and then locked the dead bolt after they went inside. He shut and locked all the windows, checking the bolts.
Before getting ready for bed, he took his pistol, made sure it was loaded and set it on the end table by the sofa.
If someone found out Quinn was here and came after her, that bastard would have to go through him first.