A Place to Call Home (5 page)

“It’s chicken noodle.”

“So?”

“If you put chicken and water and some noodles into a pot, it turns into chicken noodle soup. Homemade. Which means it tastes better.”

“That takes time.”

“So?”

Quinn resisted the urge to smile when Abby tossed the word back at him. “So I work a lot. It’s easier to open a can.”

Both were the truth. He didn’t work full-time as a carpenter, which was what Abby assumed he did for a living, but the long hours spent rebuilding O’Halloran Security called for sacrifices in other areas. Like his entire life. But that didn’t
appear to matter. Abby rolled her eyes and put it in the cupboard next to a box of generic macaroni and cheese.

“Macaroni. Cheese. This isn’t hard to make, either,” she muttered.

“Really?” Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Because I would think it’s extremely challenging to locate fluorescent orange cheese, grind it into a powder and seal it in a tiny foil package.”

Abby laughed. The lilting sound poured through the tiny kitchen. And swept right through his defenses. Fortunately, Abby’s cell phone chirped, granting him a few moments to shore them up again.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced at the number and a shadow skimmed through her eyes. “I should take this.”

“No problem.” Quinn retreated to the cabin deck and picked up one of the windows. Through the screen, he could hear one side of the conversation.

“I don’t care and I don’t think my attorney will, either.” A long silence followed before Abby spoke again, her tone glacial. “Did he mention that Abby Porter is the one who called? No? Well, you might want to mention my name…yes. Thank you.”

Quinn’s lips twisted.

He’d never have put that autocratic, hand-me-my-crown-and-scepter voice with the woman in the paint-splattered T-shirt who’d offered to make him dinner.

What’s the matter? You expected to see this side of her.

That was true. But he hadn’t expected to be so disappointed.

“I
n other words, the Lord is giving you another opportunity to trust Him. And to grow.”

Abby sighed, knowing her friend was right. Jessica always had a wonderful way of cutting to the heart of an issue and letting God’s light shine through the cracks.

“With all the opportunities He’s been giving me lately, I should be growing as fast as Jack’s beanstalk,” Abby grumbled good-naturedly.

Jessica chuckled. “No one said opening a bed-and-breakfast would be easy. But do you still think it’s worth it?”

“Yes.” Abby didn’t hesitate.

“There you go, then.” Jessica’s smile was evident in her voice. “So, what happened today that made you doubt it? Another pleasant phone call from Alexander the Great?”

Abby choked.
“Jessica.”

“Sorry. Did I say that with a lack of proper reverence? I didn’t mean to.”

She had and they both knew it. Abby grinned. “I’m surprised Alex didn’t fire you after I left. He suspects you were
the one who put the idea of a bed-and-breakfast into my head, you know.”

“But if he fires me he’ll also lose one of his best managers. Who, by the way, happens to be my loving—and very loyal—husband.”

“You’re right about that.”

Alex, for all his controlling ways, depended on Tony Benson to keep the cogs in all four hotels running smoothly. If he ever decided to leave, Abby knew that her brother would feel as if he were missing his right arm.

“Of course I am,” Jessica said smugly. “So if I can’t blame Alex, what was the challenge of the day?”

An image of Quinn’s face flashed in Abby’s mind before she could prevent it.

“I told you that Daniel Redstone won a vacation and took two weeks off, right?” Abby plucked a wooden spoon out of a ceramic crock on the counter. “His replacement showed up this morning.”

“And you don’t think he’s going to work out?”

Abby hesitated. So far, she couldn’t complain about Quinn’s work ethic. The last time she looked outside, he’d already moved to the windows on the other side of the cabin.

Out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

“I’m sure he’ll work out…fine.” Abby dumped out the contents of the bowl and a cloud of flour rose into the air. She wrinkled her nose to subdue a sneeze.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“You’re making bread, aren’t you?”

Abby put her hands protectively over the mound of yeast dough, as if Jessica was looking over her shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Jessica repeated. “So that’s a big yes. You know you only make bread when something is bothering you.”

“That’s not true.” At least, not always. But Jessica was right. There was something very therapeutic about pummeling—
kneading
—bread dough.

“So, what’s this new carpenter like? What’s his name?”

“Are we playing Twenty Questions?” Abby asked. “Because I prefer I Spy. Or Scrabble.”

“Hold on a sec, Abbs.” Jessica didn’t bother to muffle her voice. “I’ll be right there, honey. I’m on the phone with Abby. She’s making bread.”

“Uh-oh.” Tony’s baritone boomed in the background.

“Okay, I’m back. Continue. New carpenter…”

“Quinn O’Halloran.” Abby punched down the dough with a little more force than necessary.

“What’s he like?”

Reserved
came immediately to mind. Confident.
Incredibly good looking…

Abby put the brakes on her thoughts, refusing to let them continue down that path. Too dangerous. “He works faster than Daniel, so the cabins might be ready for the grand opening.”

“Then what’s the problem…” Jessica’s voice trailed off, replaced by an audible smack as her palm connected with her forehead. “I’m sorry. Stupid question. Sometimes I forget.”

“Don’t apologize,” Abby said quietly. “I want you to forget.”

She
wanted to forget.

“Does he make you uncomfortable?”

“Daniel recommended him.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Abby hesitated. She knew what Jessica was really asking but wasn’t sure how to answer. Did Quinn make her uncomfortable? Yes. But not in the way her friend assumed.

“I’ll talk to Tony.” Jessica drew her own conclusion from the silence. “We can take a few days off. Drive up for the weekend.”

Abby was touched by the offer. “And if you looked in the rearview mirror, you’d see Alex’s Viper right behind you. We can’t let him think that I’m afraid and calling for reinforcements.”

“You’re right,” Jessica muttered. “He’d dispatch the deprogrammers and you’d be back in Illinois before sunset.”

Somehow, her friend always managed to make Abby smile. “You should get back to Tony. He must be feeling neglected.”

“It makes him appreciate me more.”

The distinctly masculine snort that followed the comment made them both giggle.

“I’m praying for you,” Jessica whispered.

“I know. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“You give me way too much credit. You’re there because you listened to God and faced your fears.”

Listened to God, Abby hoped so. Faced her fears? That was more difficult. Especially when they kept popping up like targets in a shooting gallery.

“One step at a time, remember?” Jessica said, as if she’d read Abby’s mind. “And if this O’Halloran guy makes you nervous, you can find someone to take his place. It’s okay.”

“He doesn’t make me nervous. Not like that.” Abby had worked hard to overcome her wariness of strangers but there were times it crept back in, especially if she was in a confined space with someone she didn’t know. Or if someone turned up when she wasn’t expecting them.

With Quinn, it had been both.

The strange thing was, Abby had felt as if he’d somehow sensed her unease. There were times she could have sworn that he’d stepped away from her on purpose. Given her some
space. And the few times they had been in close proximity, instead of feeling vulnerable, Abby had felt…safe.

She hadn’t experienced that before.

That
was what made her nervous.

Quinn flipped over on his back and swam leisurely to shore, letting the cool water flow over the kinks in his muscles. He’d replaced the last window in the cabin as the sun began to sink into the horizon, making the trees look as if they’d been planted in liquid gold. Venus, the first planet to appear in the evening sky, winked at him through a tear in the bank of apricot clouds above his head.

After working in the hot sun all afternoon, Quinn had looked forward to cooling off in the lake with a relaxing swim. The cooling off part was successful. The relaxing part, not so much. His thoughts weren’t cooperating.

Not with Abby Porter all tangled up in them.

Two weeks. That’s all I can spare.

The words he’d said to Alex came back to mock him. Because less than eight hours later, he was ready to bolt. Faye would understand about the air conditioner….

Who was he kidding? If that was the only thing at stake, he would be on his way back to town by now.

Reaching the dock, Quinn grabbed on to the ladder and pulled himself up. By the time he toweled off and started back to the cabin, the low drone in the bushes made him glad he’d repaired the hole in the screened porch.

There was no sign of Lady. She’d wanted to swim out to the raft with him but Quinn had made her stay behind. Because what the little dog lacked in size, she more than made up for in volume. If a car pulled into the driveway, Lady let him know about it. No one could get past her without
sounding the alarm. Because she rivaled the best system O’Halloran Security had to offer, Quinn was willing to turn over guard duty to her for a while.

He’d never worked as a bodyguard with the intent of staying as far away as possible from the client before, but Quinn was up to the challenge this time.

Whenever his traitorous thoughts had started to conjure up Abby Porter’s smile or her laugh, all Quinn had to do was squelch them by recalling the phone conversation he’d overheard through the cabin window. A glimpse into the woman’s true nature. She was like so many of the people who’d hired him when he was with Hamlin. Sweet and personable as long as everything went their way. Ready to use the weight of their name and bank account number when it didn’t. Like Serena Raynes.

Quinn’s stomach rumbled suddenly, chiding him for turning down Abby’s offer to cook for him. He ignored it. There was nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned can of sodium-saturated broth with pieces of mystery meat floating in it.

He stopped short as he entered the kitchen. And then looked around to make sure he hadn’t walked into the wrong cabin by mistake. Nope. The canvas duffel bag containing his clothes was on the floor where he’d left it; flannel shirt tossed over the back of the sofa.

Quinn turned back to the old trestle table. It was covered with a crisp, white tablecloth that hadn’t been there when he’d left the cabin to go for a swim. Someone—and he had a pretty good idea who that someone was—had also taken the time to artfully arrange a place setting that rivaled the ones he’d seen in four-star restaurants. China plate. More silverware than Quinn knew what to do with. A crystal decanter filled with ice water.

The centerpiece was a covered casserole dish. Which
Quinn eyed as if it were a ticking package that had been delivered in the mail.

Cautiously, he lifted the lid. And choked on a laugh.

Macaroni and cheese. At least Quinn figured that’s what it was. It didn’t look quite the same as what he was used to.

“Lady!” Quinn bellowed.

She appeared in the doorway, stubby tail wagging. A dog biscuit roughly the size of Quinn’s tennis shoe clamped between her teeth. Still, Lady managed to make a noise that sounded more like a quack than a bark.

“Your timing is a little off.” Quinn rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to make a ruckus before someone breaks in, not after.”

Not in the least concerned by the reprimand, Lady turned and trotted off to finish her supper.

Quinn decided it would be foolish of him not to do the same.

It didn’t mean he’d changed his opinion of Abby Porter.

Abby’s alarm clock—the dozen crows that perched in the pine tree outside her bedroom window every morning—went off at quarter to five.

Right on schedule.

Ordinarily, she loved to wake up to the sound. As soon as the sky began to lighten, they met in the branches and held what would probably be considered a lively coffee clutch in the aviary world. Minus the coffee. The noise level reminded her a little of the people who crowded into the booths at the Grapevine Café to exchange news. Abby relied on the birds to wake her up every morning but in this instance, morning had come way too soon.

Rolling over, Abby fought the temptation to pull the quilt over her head and close her eyes for a few more minutes. She could blame the total absence of sleep on the gigantic bowl
of Moose Tracks ice cream she’d eaten at midnight…or on Quinn O’Halloran.

The ice cream was the obvious choice. Quinn the more honest one.

Abby shifted restlessly as she recalled the abrupt change in his attitude after she’d excused herself to speak to Derek Carlson’s landlord.

A month before she’d left Chicago, Tony and Jessica had introduced her to Derek, a young man who had recently joined their congregation and was trying to turn his life around after serving time in jail for theft.

Abby had not only arranged for the hotel to hire Derek as a line cook but she’d found an apartment for him in a building near the hotel so he could ride his bicycle to work. Unfortunately, when Derek’s record came to light, the landlord had changed his mind about renting to him.

Derek had left a message on her phone, telling her the landlord had added an amendment to the contract. He wanted a year’s lease, backed up by a two-month security deposit, or he wouldn’t let Derek take the apartment.

The landlord’s latest obstacle forced Abby to perform her best imitation of Alex at his most autocratic, hoping she could pull it off. But when she ended the conversation and had gone outside to find Quinn, he barely spared a glance in her direction.

On her way back to the lodge, it occurred to Abby that he might have taken offense at her less than enthusiastic response to what he considered edible food.

Abby groaned and buried her face in the pillow, once again scolding herself for her lack of sensitivity.

Quinn had come right out and said he wanted to work as many hours as possible because he needed the additional income. If a man was forced to be frugal with his finances,
then canned soup was not only easy but it didn’t strain the budget, either.

Abby believed that actions spoke louder than words but she had her own little twist on the saying.

The best kind of apology was served warm from the oven.

Hence the double batch of gooey, homemade macaroni and cheese.

There’d been no sign of Quinn when she’d knocked on the door of the cabin, so she’d bribed her way past Lady with a jumbo, whole-wheat dog biscuit.

A single bare lightbulb flickering in the kitchen ceiling was the only thing holding the evening shadows at bay. The room looked so stark and unappealing that Abby hadn’t been able to resist the urge to spruce things up a bit. She’d set the table, left the casserole dish where Quinn couldn’t miss it and then spent a restless night wondering how he felt about the peace offering she’d left.

“You’re
still
thinking about it,” Abby muttered.

Mulligan’s impatient woof at the bottom of the stairs reminded her that the grace period for delivering his breakfast kibbles had officially expired.

“Five more minutes,” Abby called, reaching for the Bible on her nightstand.

After moving into her new home, Abby had taken Jessica’s advice and started reading through the Psalms. Her friend must have known she’d find encouragement in the verses that reminded her not to be afraid. To trust God.

And there were a lot of them. She would pick one out and think about it while taking Mulligan for his morning walk around the lake.

The peaceful lap of the water against the shoreline and the whisper of wind in the trees provided the perfect start to the
day. Time to memorize one of her “walking verses.” As much as there was to accomplish, Abby didn’t want to get so focused on fixing up the lodge that she neglected to seek out the One who’d led her there in the first place.