A Place to Call Home (12 page)

“Because…” Abby wasn’t sure she wanted to confess it was because she’d read that an evening campfire was considered standard entertainment for any respectable country bed-and-breakfast. “The guests are going to expect a campfire. For sing-alongs. Roasting marshmallows. I figured I better practice so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Well, in front of anyone else, Abby silently amended. It was too late for that with Quinn.

She was thankful the shadows hid her face. She couldn’t blame the heat in her cheeks on her pitiful attempt to start a fire. Once again, discouragement punched holes in her confidence and drained away some of the initial enthusiasm she’d felt while following the step-by-step directions in the manual.

“I know. I’m a city mouse in the country.” Abby’s attempt at humor fell flat. She fiddled with the knot at her waist where she’d tied the tails of her shirt together.

“You don’t look like a city mouse.” Quinn’s gaze swept over her and Abby cringed.

She could only imagine what she looked like. Her faded cutoff jeans and denim shirt were more white than blue. She’d stuffed her bandana in her back pocket when it got snagged
in a branch—the same branch that didn’t want to let go of her hair when she’d searched for sticks to burn.

“You look more like…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Thank you.” Abby smiled.

“Most women wouldn’t take that as a compliment.” He rose fluidly to his feet and studied the smoldering logs.

“That’s good. I don’t think I want to be
most women.
”

“You’re not.” A reluctant smile tugged at Quinn’s lips.

She took that as a compliment, too.

“The book doesn’t say you have to use dry wood, not green,” he said after a moment. “You wouldn’t know that by looking at a picture.”

There was not an ounce of condescension in his voice.

“Oh.” Abby didn’t know why, but that made her feel a little better. A smile tipped her lips. “So maybe I
can
survive and thrive in the woods?”

Quinn’s gaze shifted back to her.

“I think…” He paused and Abby braced herself to accept his criticism. “That Abby Porter can survive and thrive anywhere.”

Q
uinn couldn’t believe he’d said the words out loud. But he must have, because Abby lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler.

His pulse, which had finally started to even out after discovering the source of the smoke, picked up speed again.

That was his cue to leave. Retreat.
Escape.

Maybe a few hours of sleep would restore the ten years that had been stripped from his life when he’d seen the smoke and thought Abby’s house was on fire.

Somehow, he doubted it.

Four years in the U.S. Marines and seven as a bodyguard with one of the most prestigious personal security firms in the Midwest and he’d practically collapsed in the dirt at the bright yellow daisies on Abby’s sandals.

Practically?
An inner voice gibed.

Okay, he
had
collapsed in the dirt at the bright yellow daisies on Abby’s sandals.

That was another thing Quinn couldn’t explain. He’d been in dangerous situations before, but his knees had never turned to liquid the way they had when he’d spotted Abby, safe and sound by the fire pit.

Quinn wasn’t sure if he could thank Sergeant West or Alex Porter for his overreaction to a nonexistent threat. What he
was
sure of was that he wouldn’t get any sleep until Abby was in the house for the night.

“The fire will go out on its own,” he said. “There isn’t much of a breeze tonight, so the sparks shouldn’t be a problem.”

Abby kicked at one of the logs with the toe of her shoe, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Good night.” Quinn waited for her to take the hint.

“’Night.” Abby dusted her palms against her jeans. And glanced toward the woods.

He should have known. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Quinn knew he was going to regret this.

“To find some dry wood.”

“No wonder people like campfires. I didn’t understand it until now.”

Not content simply to prove that she could start a campfire, Abby had settled down to enjoy it, too. She leaned forward, holding her palms out to capture the heat. The firelight played over her features, turning her porcelain complexion to gold.

Quinn cast a longing look in the direction of his cabin and lowered himself onto one of the wool trapper blankets Abby had spread out next to the fire instead.

For a few minutes, the only sound was an occasional snap as the flames spread through the kindling.

Abby put a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. And failed.

“You’re tired.” Quinn wasn’t surprised. She rose at dawn and lights glowed in the windows of the lodge well past midnight.

“Yes.” Another yawn slipped out. “But I don’t want to move.” She drew the corners of the blanket over her legs and
scooted closer to the edge of the stones. A blissful smile stretched across her face. “This feels too good.”

Quinn silently agreed. Which was another reason to call it a night.

“I should clean the fish the boys caught.” He’d had to put that task aside in order to play chauffeur. “We have to get up early for church, right?” he added, hoping Abby would take his second not-so-subtle hint.

Across the fire, he saw her catch her lower lip between her teeth.

“What?”

“I, um, let the fish go.”

“You…” Quinn couldn’t have heard her right.

“Let them go. They were still alive when I pulled the stringer out of the water so I thought—”

“You’d give them another chance,” Quinn finished.

“So they could get a little bigger.”

Unbelievable. But so…Abby.

“I am not going to tell the boys what you did.” Quinn smiled and heard Abby catch her breath. He frowned. “Cold?”

Mutely, she shook her head. Drawing her legs up against her chest, she rested her chin on her knees and met his gaze across the fire.

Uh-oh.

Quinn had been afraid of this. The intimate warmth of a campfire didn’t only lend itself to sing-alongs and s’mores. Like a quiet nook in shadowy, candlelit corner of a restaurant, a campfire also created an optimal environment for conversation.

For
sharing.

Exactly the kind of thing he’d promised himself that he would avoid when it came to this assignment.

“Do you think Cody will be all right?”

The question took him by surprise. Although it shouldn’t have. Abby, who didn’t know if the boy she’d fussed over that afternoon was guilty of breaking and entering, had fussed over him anyway.

Unfortunately, Quinn couldn’t give her any guarantees. “He has Zach and Tim looking out for him.”

“Do you know anything about his family? Sergeant West said something about him following in his brother’s footsteps.”

Apparently, Sergeant West had had a lot to say during his ten-minute conversation with Abby.

“I don’t know anything about the Langs,” Quinn said truthfully. He could make a few guesses—none that would guarantee Abby a good night’s sleep, however.

“Do you think Cody was involved? In the break-ins?”

“No.” Although Quinn wouldn’t have been surprised to find out the boy knew the names of the people who were.

He decided not to mention that, either, but Abby must have drawn her own conclusions because her eyes darkened with concern.

Not wanting her to worry that her cabins might be a future target, Quinn tried to think of something to put her mind at ease.

“I’m planning to put the new locks in on Monday. If my boss gives me a thumbs-up, that is.”

As he’d hoped, a smile worked the corner of Abby’s lips. “I suppose so. As long as you don’t shirk your other duties.”

His other duties.

Quinn closed his eyes briefly at the innocent reminder.

It was becoming too easy to forget what those “other duties” were when they were together.

“Quinn?”

His eyes snapped open. Abby was leaning forward. This time, the concern in her eyes was for him.

“You can’t even keep your eyes open.” She clucked her tongue. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Quinn should have been relieved she’d finally decided to turn in for the night…except for one nagging detail. While she was eager to send him on his way, she’d scooped up the manual and begun to page through it.

There was no telling what she was planning this time.

“I’m not that tired.” He crossed his arms behind his head and got comfortable. “In fact, I think I’m getting my second wind.”

Abby’s heart did a somersault when Quinn unfolded his lean frame next to the fire.

In spite of what she’d said earlier, her reluctance to retire for the night wasn’t only because she didn’t want to leave the warmth of the fire. She didn’t want to leave Quinn, either.

As guarded as he could be, once again she’d witnessed his softer side when he’d interacted with Cody and the Davis brothers that afternoon.

She hadn’t been spying on them, but the library windows did overlook the lake, after all.

Abby had seen Quinn patiently untangling Cody’s fishing line. Pausing in his work to admire the latest catch. Laughing at the boys’ antics.

No matter what Quinn’s father had been like, she knew without a doubt that Sergeant West was wrong about Quinn. Quinn’s actions affirmed the kind of man he was.

When he’d returned and witnessed the disaster of a fire she’d made, he hadn’t made her feel like an idiot. Or taken control of the situation, the way Alex would have.

I think Abby Porter can survive and thrive anywhere.

While she’d struggled to absorb that astonishing—and unexpected—compliment, Quinn had led her into the woods, showed her which kind of wood burned the best and then left her alone to find it. When she met him back at the fire pit with an armload of birch, Abby felt like a prospector who’d struck gold. Not only because she’d managed to start a respectable campfire, but because of Quinn.

There was no denying it. She was drawn to him. And not just physically, although his rugged good looks were incredibly easy on the eyes. She was drawn to his strength, which made her feel safe rather than vulnerable. To the sense of humor that surfaced at unexpected times and made her laugh.

She didn’t feel pressure to have to conform to certain expectations when she was with him. Abby had found few people she could be herself with and it was a little unnerving to discover that Quinn, in the space of a few short days, had become one of them.

Abby glanced up and found him watching her. The intensity of his gaze made her wonder what he was thinking.

Quinn seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing her thoughts so she quickly averted her gaze and tossed a handful of pine needles into the blaze.

“Now that I know how to make a fire, I think I’m going to start one every night. This is a very nice way to end a day.”
You’re rambling again, Abby,
she chided herself. Knowing that, however, didn’t make it any easier to stop! “It’s like a little piece of paradise here. I’m not surprised you came back to Mirror Lake.”

“I didn’t plan to.”

Abby couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. “I thought you came back to take over your father’s business.”

“I came back to sell it.”

The words hung in the air between them. As tempting as it was to push, to ask Quinn why he’d changed his mind and stayed, Abby waited.

Would he trust her?

“The veteran’s hospital called to tell me that Dad’s liver and kidneys were failing,” he said at length. “I didn’t know he was that sick. Whenever I called, he wouldn’t talk to me more than a few minutes. By the time I got there, he’d slipped into a coma. Two hours later, he was gone.”

Abby felt her heart wrench as Quinn paused, knowing he was reliving that moment.

Her mind flashed back to a hospital waiting room. Alex had walked in, his face a pale canvas, shaded with gray. He’d reached for her and she’d instinctively backed away, as if she could escape the truth of what he was about to say.

Both of them. Gone.

“I know what that’s like,” she murmured. “Not to have a chance to say goodbye. There are things you wish you could have said. Things you wish you would have done. I’m sure your father felt the same way.”

“You didn’t know my father.”

There it was again. The tension in Quinn’s jaw. The bleak look in his eyes.

Mike O’Halloran was bad news. Everyone around here knew it.

“What was he like?”

“Sergeant West didn’t tell you?”

Abby caught her breath at the challenging look in his eyes. It was almost as if he’d read her thoughts.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” she said simply.

“The story isn’t all that unique.” Quinn shrugged. “Dad spent more time at the tavern than he did at home. He liked
whiskey because it made him feel powerful. But all that meant was that he had the strength to break things. Furniture. Dishes. His business.” A pause. “People.”

The shuttered look on his face warned Abby not to feel sorry for him.

His story might not be unique, she thought, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been an incredibly difficult one for a child to live out.

Alex had taken care of her after their parents died. Who had been there for Quinn? He hadn’t mentioned his mother, leaving Abby to assume that she hadn’t been a significant part of his life.

“I’d left Mirror Lake after graduation and hadn’t planned to come back. When I found out how sick Dad was, I had to. He didn’t have anyone else.”

He made it sound so simple but Abby knew it must have been difficult to come back. Even more difficult to stay, if people shared Sergeant West’s opinion about his family.

From what Quinn had told her, his father hadn’t been there for him. And yet he hadn’t let that determine his actions. Abby wondered if Quinn realized what that said about his character.

A log collapsed, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

Quinn didn’t seem to notice.

“Like I said, I got there too late. After he died, I inquired about arrangements and found out it had already been done. He didn’t even need me for that.” Quinn shook his head. “I also found out that, for some reason that only made sense to him, Dad had left everything to me. A house on the verge of foreclosure. A business about to go bankrupt.”

The undercurrent of bitterness in his voice told Abby that he hadn’t welcomed the news.

“But you accepted the challenge. You stayed in Mirror Lake.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. A week before Dad died, I…lost my job.” Quinn shifted, as if to dislodge the memories pressing in on him. “When I found out he’d left everything to me, it was as if he had the last laugh. Like having someone toss you an anchor when you’re out in the middle of the lake, treading water.”

Abby moistened her lips. Quinn’s body language warned her that he wouldn’t welcome someone else’s perspective on the matter but she had to obey to a soft, inner prompting.

“Your dad might not have had your best interests at heart, but you have a heavenly Father who loves you and He does,” Abby said softly, feeling her way. Praying for wisdom. “Maybe inheriting the business wasn’t an anchor meant to drag you down. Maybe it was God’s way of giving you a lifeline.”