“Horace Quinn. A pleasure to meet you,” he announced in a booming voice too big for the small room as he lumbered across the carpet and grabbed her hand. Instead of shaking it, he dropped a kiss on her knuckles, leaving wetness on her skin. It was all she could do not to pull her hand from his grasp and wipe it on her skirt. She expected wet, slobbery kisses from the children, not from a grown man.
“Please, have a seat, and tell me why you’re here.” As if she didn’t already know. Her stomach clenched.
He squeezed himself into the chair, the same one Oscar had occupied just a few days ago. He, at least, did not jostle the table or knock over Miguel’s picture. “Come now, Miss Miller. You know why I’m here. Your letter stated you were looking for a husband.” He was blunt, she’d give him that. No beating around the bush, no attempt to even pretty up his words. “I’m here in answer to that request.”
“Ah, the letter. I should probably explain about that, Mr. Quinn. I actually didn’t write that letter or the advertisement that prompted your correspondence. It was my niece, Lucy, on my behalf. I had no idea she’d done such a thing. I’m not?—”
“I have a successful hardware store in Santa Fe with several employees. And a big house, fully paid for, in the nicest section of town.” He spoke over her, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “Of course, once we’re married, we can work in the store together. Why pay someone, right?” He laughed and leaned a little closer, as close as he could get with the table between them. She caught a whiff of his breath and pulled away from the offensive smell.
“Mr. Quinn, I?—”
“I’m assuming you know how to cook, yes? And keep house?”
“Mr. Quinn?—”
He kept right on talking, didn’t bother to sugar-coat his intentions at all, and the only thing she could see was that bushymustache and his wet lips. She shuddered, barely able to keep her composure.
“Mr. Quinn!”
“We can be married right away. I took the liberty of making arrangements with the Justice of the Peace in Santa Fe. He’s waiting for us.” He stood abruptly, as if by saying the words, it would be done. “We should leave now. If we do, we can be back at the store before my employees steal me blind.”
As well as being blunt, he was forceful, too. And assumed much too much. He didn’t want a wife. He was looking for cheap labor to work in his store, instead of employees who he thought would steal from him. He wanted someone to keep his house, without having to pay for it. And warm his bed, too.
He couldn’t have been more wrong—about everything—and while other women may have jumped at his offer, such as it was, she wasn’t one of them. She’d never leave Montaña del Trueno.
She was about to try to tell him that she wasn’t interested in marriage when Toughie ran into the room with a high squeal, completely naked, Hilde’slebkuchenin both hands.
“Share!” he shouted, as he jumped in her lap and shoved the cookie at her face. Evie pretended to take a small bite of the soggy cookie, much to the boy’s delight, then kissed his forehead, the only place on his face that didn’t have cookie crumbs.
She glanced over Toughie’s head. The expression of horror on Mr. Quinn’s face was almost too much. He sank heavily in the chair as if in shock, the thin spindly chair legs creaking under his weight.
“Is he...yours?” he whispered, terror in his voice.
“In a manner of speaking. He’s my grandnephew, Tomas, but we all call him Toughie.”
There was obvious relief on Mr. Quinn’s face. What was even more obvious, to her at least, was that he didn’t like children. Infact, they seemed to scare him more than a rattlesnake ready to strike. She smiled sweetly, kissed the top of Toughie’s head, and looked directly at him. “But I love children. I’d like to have a few of my own. At least half a dozen.”
And again, the terror in Mr. Quinn’s expression was back as quickly as it had been gone. Worse, Toughie chose that moment to slide from her lap and toddle over to him, cookie crumb hands and all.
“Share!” The boy shouted, and offered one of the treats to Mr. Quinn. The big man actually recoiled, trying, unsuccessfully, to pull away from the boy and the soggy cookie. His small eyes were now huge in his face, caterpillar eyebrows rising up to his hairline.
“We’re teaching him how to share. Pretend to take a bite,” she suggested, as the big man’s face paled, making his mustache and eyebrows stand out in stark relief. .
Catalina, Toughie’s mother came rushing into the room, and stopped. “Oh, I’m so sorry,TiaEvie! I didn’t know you had company.” She made a beeline for her son and scooped him up. “He escaped me. Again. I turned my back for one minute and he was gone.”
“He is fast, I’ll give him that, but it’s all right. No harm done.” She laughed and rose to her feet, tweaking the boy’s cheek with all the affection she had for him. “He was sharing.”
“He was?” Catalina asked, a little surprised, then kissed the boy’s cheek. “You were sharing?” The boy nodded eagerly and offered her a bite of the cookie.
Mr. Quinn sprang up from his chair, an expression of horror on his face. “Madam, I’m afraid we won’t suit. Good day!” He gave a slight bow, then rushed from the room like his hair was on fire. She was certain the man had never moved so fast in his life.
“Who was that man?”
Evie laughed. “That was Mr. Horace Quinn, another potential husband Lucy chose for me.”
Her eyes, framed by thick black lashes, widened. “You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m not.” Evie led the way out of the parlor, Catalina following closely behind. Evie grabbed her hat from the table and placed it on her head.
