"You may be giving them too much credit," he said with a wry smile.
"They're just little boys, Cale."
"Quinn, my sons are spoiled, undisciplined little hooligans," he told her bluntly. "And while I find it all too easy to blame their mother, I can't deny that I've had as much of a hand in their turning out to be hellions as she did."
Quinn leaned back, watching his face.
"I spent very little time at home, Quinn. I played ball during the season, then spent the off-season rehabilitating whatever injuries I had accumulated over the previous few months. Then it would be time for spring training, then the season would start all over again. I spent no more time with them than their mother did. I hardly knew them at all, so it really isn't fair for me to place all the blame on her."
"And you're trying to make up for it now."
"I'm all they have, Quinn." He ran nervous fingers through his dark brown hair. "She left them months ago and has never looked back. She has not asked to see them, hasn't even called."
"That's so difficult to understand, why a woman would leave her children___"
"It's probably a lot easier when you never wanted them in the first place," he said, his eyes turning grim. "And when you don't care much for their father, I guess it's even easier."
How could any woman not love you, the thought rang in her head, so loudly she startled, certain he must have heard.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly, wondering what the confession might have cost him.
"Marrying Jo Beth was a mistake. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. The boys were the only good thing that came out of the relationship."
"They must miss her."
"Actually, I dont think they do," he said, adding, without apology, "any more than I do." "That's very sad for them."
"I can't argue that, but that's how it is." He tried to lean back in his chair, tried to act real casual, telling himself that she was just any old friend from high school that he happened to run into. His pounding heart and frazzled nerves told him otherwise. "But I am determined to make up for all the time I didn't spend with them. If that's possible. Sometimes it's a little difficult to keep them busy. More than a little, actually. They've had years of electronic baby-sitters. I'm trying to wean them from the television, as you've probably noticed."
"I guess taking them to the wilds of Montana must have sounded like a good idea."
"It did when Val suggested it. Now I'm not so sure. It gets harder every day to find something new for them to do. But what about you, Quinn? Any spouse or children waiting for you back at the High Meadow?"
"No," she said, not bothering to elaborate. Why bother telling him that she had never fallen in love with anyone else? Oh, there'd been a few close calls, but nothing that had set her heart and blood on fire the way he had, but why go into that?
"You write children's books and live... where?"
"Right now I'm renting an apartment in Missoula. I'm substituting at the university this semester through the end of January."
"And then...?"
"I'm not sure." She shrugged. "I might stay in Missoula, I might come back to the ranch. I might go someplace else. I haven't decided yet." This isn't really so difficult after all, Quinn told herself. If I just look at that spot on the wall behind him, right there above his head, instead of at his face, I'll be fine.
"I guess that's an advantage of doing the type of work you do. You can live just about anywhere."
"Anywhere there's postal service and electricity for my PC." She nodded. "How 'bout you? What are your plans?"
"You mean beyond accepting the fact that my ball- playing days are over?" His eyes darkened and the crevices near the corners of his mouth seemed to deepen.
"It must be very difficult for you to have to start over."
He stood up and paced just a little, like someone who had been confined to a very small space for far too long. "Everyone says, you can coach. You can get a job with radio, or TV. You can be a broadcaster."
''It's not just about a job." She stated what to her was obvious.
"No. It's not just about a job. Baseball is so much a part of what I am, that I don't know who I am without it." He paused, then added, his voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe I'm afraid to find out who I am now. Maybe I'll find out that I'm really no one at all."
His solemn candor stunned her and took her breath away.
Before she could reply, he turned his back and said, "I guess it's a good time to turn in. You must be tired from walking through the storm."
She could only nod, suddenly grateful to know that within a few more minutes, she would be alone, away from his haunted eyes and the sorrow that seemed to overtake him, away from her sudden urge to put her arms around him and comfort him, to reassure him.
"You can have my room. I'll sleep out here."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather sleep out here. I don't want to put you out of your bed," she said, knowing there was no way she would be able to sleep in a bed where he had lain. No, thank you. Sleeping in Papa Bear's bed might have worked for Goldilocks, but Quinn Hollister would stick to the sofa.
"I really don't mind..." "I'd really rather," she said firmly.
"I'll get some blankets." He nodded as if he understood and went off down the hall, returning a few minutes later with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which he dropped on the sofa.
"I thought maybe you might be more comfortable sleeping in these." He handed her a dark gray thermal shirt and a pair of light gray sweatpants. "Val left a few nightgowns, but I doubt they'd be warm enough."