The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(10)

She took the box, and before she opened it the aroma told her all. She swept the lid from the box. “Chocolate! Quillan!”

His beard was heavy around his buccaneer smile. He was obviously pleased with himself. “Of course, if you’d prefer èmie had it . . .”

Carina clutched the box to her breast. “I haven’t tasted chocolate since San Francisco.”

Alex cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be going on to my room. But you should know I feared for our lives more than once on the road home.”

Carina tore her eyes from Quillan’s face and smiled at Alex. “I’m thankful you’re safe. Make Mae give you your table, and if she’s given it away already, have èmie feed you in the kitchen. It’s Mamma’s tagliatelle alle acciughe, pasta with anchovy sauce.”

Alex beamed. “Carina, I’d have braved any road to hear you say that. May I?” He motioned toward her side door, which would save him going back out into the storm.

“Of course.”

He crossed the room and went out. She turned back to Quillan’s scowl. What now? Would he stalk away to sleep in the livery?

He stood a long moment, then seemed to draw himself in. His eyes softened, and the hard line of his mouth eased. “I hate that.” He tugged his gloves off and stuffed them fiercely into his coat pocket.

“What?” she almost whispered, fearful to know the answer.

Quillan stooped beside the bed and took her hand. “You don’t just cook, Carina. You create, you put yourself into it. I’ve watched you, seen the magic your hands work on ordinary ingredients.” He turned her palm over and ran his finger across it.

A powerful sensation passed through her.

His brows drew together. “I don’t want other men to know you that way.”

She stared into his face. It was the restaurant he hated? That she fed hungry men something special? “But . . . you have Mae and èmie running it.”

“That’s not what I just saw. If Makepeace wasn’t already in love with you, he is now.”

“He’s not—” But now that it was said, what use was there denying it? She dropped her gaze to her palm lying in Quillan’s. “èmie cooked it. I only told her how.”

His hand was cold from hours in the elements, but there was nothing cold in his expression. It burned. What were these feelings that cracked Quillan Shepard’s hard veneer?

She didn’t know what else to say. The restaurant was more than an enterprise to win men’s acclaim. It was . . . a mission. She had done so much good with the monies earned through her cooking—which, yes, was more than just making a meal. Why should that offend her husband?

Quillan cupped her hand with his other chilled palm and forced a smile. “Don’t you want to know what I did in Leadville?”

“Of course. You told me nothing.” She tipped her chin toward him. “And if I asked, you would tell me less.”

“I sold the New Boundless.”

Her gaze jumped to his face. “You—”

“Horace Tabor fronted Makepeace a loan.”

“You sold it to Alex?”

He pressed her hand to his throat. “You wanted to go home, didn’t you?”

She felt his rough whiskers against her fingers. “I do. But Dr. Felden—”

“I know you can’t travel yet. But we need to get things in order. I think you should sell your restaurant. Or give it away, turn it over to èmie or Mae.”

So there it was. Until that moment she hadn’t thought through the details of leaving. She had only longed to see Mamma and Papa and everyone in Sonoma. She had wanted to flee the place where her baby had been beaten from her body. Tears sprang again from her eyes. Was there no end to them?

Quillan brushed them away with his thumb. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

“It is, but how can I leave Mae? And èmie and . . .”

“Alex?” His tone was caustic.

She glared. She had not intended that. “Alex Makepeace is a friend to me. If you were so concerned—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He dropped her hand, stood, and paced to the wall. “But it’s like a sword inside me every time he looks at you. Knowing he sent your attackers running—”

“You should be thankful.”

His fists clenched at his sides. “I am. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Carina tossed her head back and flung her palm upward. “First you don’t want me—”

“That’s not true!”

“You told me every time you came, ‘Go away, end this marriage.’ ”

Quillan pressed his fingers to the sides of his head. “Not because I didn’t want you.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice was firm, insistent.

She sighed, letting her hand fall. “I don’t know where to start.”

He came and dropped to one knee beside the bed. Carefully he unfolded the paper from one of the chocolates in the box. He held it up and met her eyes. “Start here.” He brought the candy to her lips, and she bit the edge, tasting the rich, velvety confection.

It melted away in her mouth, and she licked her lower lip. “Start with chocolate?”