The Winter Man (24 page)

“That's odd,” Elliot said, peering out the window curtain. “It's a four-wheel drive… Oh, boy.” He glanced at Amanda. “You aren't gonna like this.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I'm not?” she asked, puzzled.

The knock at the back door had Harry moving toward it before Amanda and Elliot could. Harry opened it and looked up and up and up. He stood there staring while Elliot gaped at the grizzly-looking man who loomed over him in a black Western costume, complete with hat.

“I'm looking for Mandy Callaway,” he boomed.

“Hank!”

Amanda ran to the big man without thinking, to be
lifted high in the air while he chuckled and kissed her warmly on one cheek, his whiskers scratching.

“Hello, peanut!” he grinned. “What are you doing up here? The old trapper down the hill said you hadn't been in Durning's cabin since the heavy snow came.”

“Mr. Sutton took me in and gave me a roof over my head. Put me down,” she fussed, wiggling.

He put her back on her feet while Harry and Elliot still gaped.

“This is Hank,” she said, holding his enormous hand as she turned to face the others. “He's a good friend, and a terrific musician, and I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Quinn he was here just yet. I'll tell him myself. Okay?”

“Sure,” Harry murmured. He shook his head. “You for real, or do you have stilts in them boots?”

“I used to be a linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys.” Hank grinned.

“That would explain it,” Harry chuckled. “Your secret's safe with me, Amanda.” He excused himself and went to do the washing.

“Me, too,” Elliot said, grinning, “as long as I get Mr. Shoeman's autograph before he leaves.”

Amanda let out a long breath, her eyes frightened as they met Elliot's.

“That's right,” Elliot said. “I already knew you were Mandy Callaway. I've got a Desperado tape. I took it out
of Dad's drawer and hid it as soon as I recognized you. You'll tell him when the time's right. Won't you?”

“Yes, I will, Elliot,” she agreed. “I'd have done it already except that…well, things have gotten a little complicated.”

“You can say that again.” Elliot led the way into the living room, watching Hank sit gingerly on a sofa that he dwarfed. “I'll just go make sure that tape's hidden,” he said, leaving them alone.

“Complicated, huh?” Hank said. “I hear this Sutton man's a real woman hater.”

“He was until just recently.” She folded her hands in her lap. “And he doesn't approve of rock music.” She sighed and changed the subject. “What's up, Hank?”

“We've got a gig at Larry's Lodge,” he said. “I know, you don't want to. Listen for a minute. It's to benefit cystic fibrosis, and a lot of other stars are going to be in town for it, including a few pretty well-known singers.” He named some of them and Amanda whistled. “See what I mean? It's strictly charity, or I wouldn't have come up here bothering you. The boys and I want to do it.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you up to it?”

“I don't know. I tried to sing here a couple of times, and my voice seems to be good enough. No more lapses. But in front of a crowd…” She spread her hands. “I don't know, Hank.”

“Here.” He handed her three tickets to the benefit. “You think about it. If you can, come on up. Sutton might like
the singers even if he doesn't care for our kind of music.” He studied her. “You haven't told him, have you?”

She shook her head, smiling wistfully. “Haven't found the right way yet. If I leave it much longer, it may be too late.”

“The girl's family sent you a letter,” he said. “Thanking you for what you tried to do. They said you were her heroine…aw, now, Mandy, stop it!”

She collapsed in tears. He held her, rocking her, his face red with mingled embarrassment and guilt.

“Mandy, come on, stop that,” he muttered. “It's all over and done with. You've got to get yourself together. You can't hide out here in the Tetons for the rest of your life.”

“Can't I?” she wailed.

“No, you can't. Hiding isn't your style. You have to face the stage again, or you'll never get over it.” He tilted her wet face. “Look, would you want somebody eating her guts out over you if you'd been Wendy that night? It wasn't your fault, damn it! It wasn't anybody's fault; it was an accident, pure and simple.”

“If she hadn't been at the concert…”

“If, if, if,” he said curtly. “You can't go back and change things to suit you. It was her time. At the concert, on a plane, in a car, however, it would still have been her time. Are you listening to me, Mandy?”

She dabbed her eyes with the hem of her blouse. “Yes, I'm listening.”

“Come on, girl. Buck up. You can get over this if you set your mind to it. Me and the guys miss you, Mandy. It's not the same with just the four of us. People are scared of us when you aren't around.”

That made her smile. “I guess they are. You do look scruffy, Hank,” she murmured.

“You ought to see Johnson.” He sighed. “He's let his beard go and he looks like a scrub brush. And Deke says he won't change clothes until you come back.”

“Oh, my God,” Amanda said, shuddering, “tell him I'll think hard about this concert, okay? You poor guys. Stay upwind of him.”

“We're trying.” He got up, smiling down at her. “Everything's okay. You can see the letter when you come to the lodge. It's real nice. Now stop beating yourself. Nobody else blames you. After all, babe, you risked your life trying to save her. Nobody's forgotten that, either.”

She leaned against him for a minute, drawing on his strength. “Thanks, Hank.”

“Anytime. Hey, kid, you still want that autograph?” he asked.

Elliot came back into the room with a pad and pen. “Do I!” he said, chuckling.

Hank scribbled his name and Desperado's curlicue logo underneath. “There you go.”

“He's a budding musician,” Amanda said, putting an arm around Elliot. “I'm teaching him the keyboard. One
of these days, if we can get around Quinn, we'll have him playing backup for me.”

“You bet.” Hank chuckled, and ruffled Elliot's red hair. “Keep at it. Mandy's the very best. If she teaches you, you're taught.”

“Thanks, Mr. Shoeman.”

“Just Hank. See you at the concert. So long, Mandy.”

“So long, pal.”

“What concert?” Elliot asked excitedly when Hank had driven away.

Amanda handed him the three tickets. “To a benefit in Jackson Hole. The group's going to play there. Maybe. If I can get up enough nerve to get back onstage again.”

“What happened, Amanda?” he asked gently.

She searched his face, seeing compassion along with the curiosity, so she told him, fighting tears all the way.

“Gosh, no wonder you came up here to get away,” Elliot said with more than his twelve years worth of wisdom. He shrugged. “But like he said, you have to go back someday. The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be.”

“I know that,” she groaned. “But Elliot, I…” She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “I love your father,” she said, admitting it at last. “I love him very much, and the minute he finds out who I am, my life is over.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “You've got another week until the concert. Surely in all that time you can manage to tell him the truth. Can't you?”

“I hope so,” she said with a sad smile. “You don't mind who I am, do you?” she asked worriedly.

“Don't be silly.” He hugged her warmly. “I think you're super, keyboard or not.”

She laughed and hugged him back. “Well, that's half the battle.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Harry asked from the doorway, “who was the bearded giant?”

“That was Hank Shoeman,” Elliot told him. “He's the drummer for Desperado. It's a rock group. And Amanda—”

“—plays backup for him,” she volunteered, afraid to give too much away to Harry.

“Well, I'll be. He's a musician?” Harry shook his head. “Would have took him for a bank robber,” he mumbled.

“Most people do, and you should see the rest of the group.” She grinned. “Don't give me away, Harry, okay? I promise I'll tell Quinn, but I've got to do it the right way.” “I can see that,” he agreed easily. “Be something of a shock to him to meet your friend after dark, I imagine.”

“I imagine so,” she said, chuckling. “Thanks, Harry.”

“My pleasure. Desperado, huh? Suits it, if the rest of the group looks like he does.”

“Worse,” she said, and shuddered.

“Strains the mind, don't it?” Harry went off into the kitchen and Amanda got up after a minute to help him get lunch.

Quinn wasn't back until late that afternoon. Nobody
mentioned Hank's visit, but Amanda was nervous and her manner was strained as she tried not to show her fears.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked gently during a lull in the evening while Elliot did homework and Harry washed up. “You don't seem like yourself tonight.”

She moved close to him, her fingers idly touching the sleeve of his red flannel shirt. “It's thawing outside,” she said, watching her fingers move on the fabric. “It won't be long before I'll be gone.”

He sighed heavily. His fingers captured hers and held them. “I've been thinking about that. Do you really have to get back?”

She felt her heart jump. Whatever he was offering, she wanted to say yes and let the future take care of itself. But she couldn't. She grimaced. “Yes, I have to get back,” she said miserably. “I have commitments to people. Things I promised to do.” Her fingers clenched his. “Quinn, I have to meet some people at Larry's Lodge in Jackson Hole next Friday night.” She looked up. “It's at a concert and I have tickets. I know you don't like rock, but there's going to be all kinds of music.” Her eyes searched his. “Would you go with me? Elliot can come, too. I…want you to see what I do for a living.”

“You and your keyboard?” he mused gently.

“Sort of,” she agreed, hoping she could find the nerve to tell him everything before next Friday night.

“Okay,” he replied. “A friend of mine works there—I
used to be with the Ski Patrol there, too. Sure, I'll go with you.” The smile vanished, and his eyes glittered down at her. “I'll go damned near anywhere with you.”

Amanda slid her arms around him and pressed close, shutting her eyes as she held on for dear life. “That goes double for me, mountain man,” she said half under her breath.

He bent his head, searching for her soft mouth. She gave it to him without a protest, without a thought for the future, gave it to him with interest, with devotion, with ardor. Her lips opened invitingly, and she felt his hands on her hips with a sense of sweet inevitability, lifting her into intimate contact with the aroused contours of his body.

“Frightened?” he whispered unsteadily just over her mouth when he felt her stiffen involuntarily.

“Of you?” she whispered back. “Don't be absurd. Hold me any way you want. I adore you…!”

He actually groaned as his mouth pressed down hard on hers. His arms contracted hungrily and he gave in to the pleasure of possession for one long moment.

Her eyes opened and she watched him, feeding on the slight contortion of his features, his heavy brows drawn over his crooked nose, his long, thick lashes on his cheek as he kissed her. She did adore him, she thought dizzily. Adored him, loved him, worshiped him. If only she could stay with him forever like this.

Quinn lifted his head and paused as he saw her
watching him. He frowned slightly, then bent again. This time his eyes stayed open, too, and she went under as he deepened the kiss. Her eyes closed in self-defense and she moaned, letting him see the same vulnerability she'd seen in him. It was breathlessly sweet.

“This is an education,” he said, laughing huskily, when he drew slightly away from her.

“Isn't it, though?” she murmured, moving his hands from her hips up to her waist and moving back a step from the blatant urgency of his body. “Elliot and Harry might come in,” she whispered.

“I wouldn't mind,” he said unexpectedly, searching her flushed face. “I'm not ashamed of what I feel for you, or embarrassed by it.”

“This from a confirmed woman hater?” she asked with twinkling eyes.

“Well, not exactly confirmed anymore,” he confessed. He lifted her by the waist and searched her eyes at pointblank range until she trembled from the intensity of the look. “I couldn't hate you if I tried, Amanda,” he said quietly.

“Oh, I hope not,” she said fervently, thinking ahead to when she would have to tell him the truth about herself.

He brushed a lazy kiss across her lips. “I think I'm getting the hang of this,” he murmured.

“I think you are, too,” she whispered. She slid her arms around his neck and put her warm mouth hungrily against
his, sighing when he caught fire and answered the kiss with feverish abandon.

A slight, deliberate cough brought them apart, both staring blankly at the small redheaded intruder.

“Not that I mind,” Elliot said, grinning, “but you're blocking the pan of brownies Harry made.”

“You can think of brownies at a time like this?” Amanda groaned. “Elliot!”

“Listen, he can think of brownies with a fever of a hundred and two,” Quinn told her, still holding her on a level with his eyes. “I've seen him get out of a sickbed to pinch a brownie from the kitchen.”

“I like brownies, too,” Amanda confessed with a warm smile, delighted that Quinn didn't seem to mind at all that Elliot had seen them in a compromising position. That made her feel lighter than air.

“Do you?” Quinn smiled and brushed his mouth gently against hers, mindless of Elliot's blatant interest, before he put her back on her feet. “Harry makes his from scratch, with real baker's chocolate. They're something special.”