A Place to Call Home (6 page)

As she got dressed, she heard the staccato tap of a hammer outside the window. For some reason, it didn’t surprise her that Quinn was an early riser, too. She resisted the urge to look out the window and went downstairs to the kitchen.

She filled a thermos with coffee and grabbed one of the biscuits she’d made. When she opened the door, two dogs stood there, looking up at her with hopeful expressions.

Abby smiled.

“The more the merrier, I suppose. Let’s go.”

“W
here is my sister?”

“Porter.” Quinn removed the nail pinched in the corner of his lips. He wouldn’t have answered his cell except for the fact he’d decided to allow Abby’s brother one phone call a day. He’d also decided to get it over with as soon as possible. “What’s wrong? Your satellite imagery isn’t working this morning?”

“Funny,” Alex growled. “Now answer the question.”

“Is this a test?”

“Yes.”

Quinn eyed the board, held the nail in place and gave it a solid whack with the hammer. “I haven’t seen her yet, so my guess is that she’s still sleeping.”

“Your guess.” Alex repeated the words. “It’s your job to
know.
It’s seven-thirty and Abby’s routine is to be awake and going by five.”

“I’ve been here twenty-four hours,” Quinn pointed out mildly. “Not quite enough time to get to know her routine.” Other than forcing her way into his kitchen and offering her opinion about grocery lists. Breaking and entering, armed
with macaroni and cheese…Quinn stuck another nail between his lips to circumvent a smile.

“She goes for a walk around the lake every morning.”

“If you’re six hours away and you know that, what do you need me for?”

“The only reason I know is because Abby
told
me she does. A prayer walk, whatever that is.” Alex’s tone made it clear he didn’t much care. “And you should be with her.”

“Abby is fine.” Quinn might not be sure where Abby was at the moment, but he was convinced of that much. “And you’re spending an awful lot of money for no reason.”

“I have a reason.” Alex’s voice tightened. “It’s called peace of mind.”

Quinn’s gaze drifted to the curve of the shoreline, where the trees formed a living wall that blocked out the sunlight. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll check on her.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Sarcasm leaked into Alex’s voice. “Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t taking this seriously, O’Halloran.”

“You’re taking it seriously enough for both of us. If you aren’t happy, maybe you should find someone else.”
Sorry, Faye,
Quinn thought.
I’ll get you a bigger fan.

“You agreed to keep an eye on Abby. You can’t do that unless you’re
with
her.”

Quinn didn’t appreciate the reminder. Because it was true.

“Is your private investigator having any luck?”

“He’s narrowed it down to three possibilities.”

“No kidding? Only three?”

Alex laughed. “O’Halloran…”

“I’m fired?” Quinn interrupted hopefully.

“You’re quite the comedian.”

“But still employed?”

“Yes.”

Quinn was afraid Porter was going to say that. What he didn’t understand was why. So he asked.

“I told you. I wanted the best.”

“You didn’t ask Ken Raynes for a reference, did you?” Quinn dropped the question like a gauntlet.

Alex didn’t pick it up. “I hired the right person.”

Quinn wished he felt the same way.

“‘The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous runs into it and is safe.’”

Abby said the words out loud, letting them soak into her soul.

For too long, she’d taken refuge in the Porter name. Hidden behind the wealth and privilege—and protection—it afforded. Although both she and Alex worked hard to ensure the success of the business their parents had started, Abby knew their inheritance gave them access to resources most people didn’t have.

It was the reason she’d been determined to do things on her own when she purchased the property on Mirror Lake. And why she hadn’t told anyone in town about her connection to Porter Hotels.

Alex thought she’d lost her mind, but Abby knew that something different had happened. She’d found
peace
of mind.

She wasn’t going to trust the Porter name to keep her safe anymore. Or to define who she was. There were other names she put her hope in now.

Savior. Deliverer. Prince of Peace. Shield. Fortress.

Reading through the Psalms and discovering the names of God was like panning for gold. The verses helped her sift out her old way of thinking—the doubts and fears and insecurities—until the truth remained.

It felt like an adventure. One she wouldn’t have had the
courage to embark on without finding strength in God’s promises.

Her thoughts drifted back to Quinn. Something that had been happening on a frequent—and rather disturbing—basis over the past twenty-four hours.

Was he a believer?

Quinn seemed so…guarded. And a flicker of doubt had appeared in his eyes when she’d told him that Alex thought he had a better plan for her life than God did.

Jessica’s husband had mentioned that some men had a difficult time surrendering their lives to God because it was hard to relinquish control. Abby had discovered the irony in that when she’d examined her own heart. She
didn’t
have control. Accepting that hadn’t been scary, it had set her free.

She’d been praying for months that Alex would discover that same truth….

And Quinn, Lord. If he doesn’t know You.

Rounding a corner, Abby stepped off the worn path that meandered along the shoreline to follow the one she’d discovered a few weeks ago. Mulligan, who knew their destination, played tag with Lady through the underbrush.

As the trees opened into a clearing, Abby’s heart lifted at the sight of the chapel. It hadn’t been listed in the property description, so when Abby had stumbled upon it one day while chasing after Mulligan, who’d been chasing after a rabbit, it felt as if she’d been given a gift. The tiny, fieldstone building was empty except for six wooden pews arranged in front of a cross fashioned from rough-hewn timbers.

Along with the kitchen, it had become one of her favorite retreats.

“Sorry, you two. No dogs allowed.”

Mulligan and Lady, who’d been waiting for her to catch
up, seemed to understand because they flopped down in the grass a few feet away from the weathered door.

Abby left the door open a few inches to let some fresh air circulate inside the building as she slipped past them.

The scent of lemon oil lingered in the air. She’d polished the pews until she could see her reflection, but other than that she’d left the chapel the way she’d found it. Even though it would benefit from some simple repairs, Abby was reluctant to change a thing. At first she wasn’t sure she wanted to let the guests know about it, but decided it would be selfish to keep it a secret.

She slid into the first pew and closed her eyes, trying to remember her walking verse.

The name of the Lord is a strong tower…

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and Abby surged to her feet, her instincts fueled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

In the time it took Abby to draw her next breath, she had flipped the person onto his back, neutralizing the threat.

Quinn.

Quinn lay flat on his back, staring up at the beamed ceiling.

A blurry image of Abby’s face appeared above him, the silver-green eyes wide. He blinked. Because incredibly enough, it looked as if she were…

“Smiling,” Quinn groaned. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because it worked.” Abby dropped to her knees beside him.

He tried to lift his head but little white spots danced in front of his eyes. Suddenly there were two Abbys. And
both
of them were smiling. “What worked?”

“The takedown. It’s a self-defense move—”

“I know what it is.” Quinn pushed his fingertips against the
floor to get some leverage so he could sit up. And chase the spots away. “But why did you practice it on me?”

Abby looked a little uncertain now. “You…surprised me.”

“I surprised
you?
”

When he looked through the opening in the door and saw Abby sitting in the pew, he’d thought she was crying. Her head was bent, chin against her chest. Shoulders slumped. It had propelled him to her side in an instant.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Are you all right?”

“Too late,” Quinn muttered. “I think those are the first words I should have heard. Not ‘it worked.’”

“I’m sorry.” Abby tried unsuccessfully to subdue her excitement. “It’s just that I studied that move in a book and I wasn’t sure it would really work.”

“Glad I could help…
Ouch.
” Quinn pushed himself into a sitting position and lifted a hand to explore the lump he was sure had to be sprouting from the back of his head. But Abby’s hands got there first, tunneling through his hair. Exploring his scalp.

Making him see spots all over again.

Quinn swallowed hard. “Next time just knock me unconscious.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Time for a countermove. He inched away.

Abby scooted closer. “No blood. I don’t think there’s any swelling, either.”

Quinn gaped at her. She actually sounded a little disappointed. “Just a mild concussion, huh? I guess I’m lucky this concrete floor has some give to it.”

“It’s pine, not concrete.” Abby leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. Close enough for Quinn to see an intri
guing emerald fleck in one of her silver-green eyes. Breathe in the fresh scent of her shampoo—along with that intriguing hint of cinnamon. “Your pupils aren’t dilated.”

The side effects from being so close to Abby were proving to be greater than any caused by a bump on the head.

Ignoring the pain that streaked up the back of his neck, Quinn lurched to his feet. “Thank you, Dr. Porter. Did you read a book on how to diagnose the damage you caused after you read a book on how to cause the damage?”

“Okay, maybe you do have a concussion.” Abby reached for him and Quinn drew back. “I won’t flip you again. Promise.” The engaging smile she flashed in his direction was more dangerous than her amateur ninja skills.

Now that the spots had begun to fade—and Abby no longer had her hands in his hair—his thoughts began to clear. “I’m not sure why you
flipped me
in the first place.”

“I told you. You surprised me.” Abby bit her lip and turned away. “How did you find me up here? Did you need something?”

An explanation, that’s what he needed.

Quinn stared at her; the instincts he no longer trusted kicked into red alert. Most people, even if startled, would have reacted differently. An involuntary jerk. A gasp. Abby, on the other hand, had felt his hand on her shoulder and treated him as a…threat.

Why?

“A how-to book on self-defense,” he ventured casually. “Is that what you consider light reading?”

“Oh, you know…” Abby’s gaze slid away from him. “Because you never know.”

As far as explanations went, it meant nothing. And everything.

Quinn rubbed the back of his head, wondering if he should push the issue.

Abby noticed the gesture and had the good sense to at least
pretend
she felt guilty about tossing him onto a hardwood floor. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only my pride.”

Abby smiled again. “If that’s all, then
Dr. Porter
guarantees you’ll make a full recovery.”

Quinn wasn’t so sure. The damage to his head was minimal. At the moment he was more concerned about the potential damage to his heart.

A
bby spent the remainder of the morning staining trim in the library and berating herself for her response when Quinn had shown up at the chapel and touched her shoulder.

She wouldn’t have blamed him if
his
response had been to quit on the spot.

If Quinn questioned her sanity for converting a dilapidated former Bible camp into a bed-and-breakfast—and there was evidence to support that theory—then what did he think of her now?

All he’d done was put his hand on her shoulder to get her attention and she had sent him sprawling.

And then, to make matters worse, she’d smiled.

Smiled.

And touched him,
an inner voice reminded her, adding another item to her list of crimes.

Checked for bruises, Abby corrected, even as a memory pushed its way in. The silky slide of Quinn’s hair between her fingers. The warmth of his skin. The way his eyes had darkened to charcoal—okay, possibly due to pain—when
she’d knelt down next to him to see if he was showing signs of a concussion.

Stain dripped off the end of the foam brush and landed on her shoe instead of the drop cloth.

That did it.

A change of scenery was in order. Something to keep her mind off Quinn O’Halloran. Maybe it was time to devote some attention to the list of errands she’d been putting off for the last few days.

Abby poked her head out the door and called for Mulligan, jingling her car keys as an added incentive. He loved to sit in the passenger seat and stick his head out the window, lips turned inside out in a grin, while his ears flapped in the breeze like miniature wind socks.

After waiting another sixty seconds, it was clear that her faithful companion had abandoned her for the adorable cocker spaniel that had moved in next door.

Abby paused on her way to the garage, wondering whether she should walk down to the cabin and let Quinn know she would be gone for a few hours.

Since she’d barely seen him after they’d parted company that morning, she decided against it. He wouldn’t even notice she was gone.

Coward.

True. But in this situation, Abby decided she could live with that. Her formal apology was cooling on the kitchen counter, so although she knew she had to face Quinn sooner or later, Abby picked later. She couldn’t face him at the moment.

“Going somewhere?”

Abby froze. And turned toward the familiar voice. Quinn stood several yards away. Looking better than anyone had a
right to in a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. His hands were raised above his head as if he were surrendering.

A bubble of laughter escaped before she could prevent it. “Not funny.”

“Who said I was joking? Never let it be said that Quinn O’Halloran doesn’t learn from his mistakes.” Something moved through Quinn’s eyes like sunlight skimming the surface of the water. On anyone else, Abby would have recognized it as amusement. On Quinn…

No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t actually be
teasing
her.

While she was trying to wrap her mind around that, his lips hitched up at the corners.

Abby’s heart did a free fall to her toes.

It wasn’t the polished, make-sure-you-get-my-best-side kind that she was used to having bestowed upon her. Not even close. And as far as smiles went, it probably wouldn’t even register on a smile scale. If there was a smile scale. But none of that mattered because even the
hint
of a smile on Quinn O’Halloran’s face packed enough punch to steal the breath from a woman’s lungs.

While Abby struggled to draw a breath, the pointed look Quinn aimed at the keys dangling from her fingers reminded her that he’d asked a question.

“I have some errands to run in town.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

It was the last thing she expected Quinn to say. And the last thing she wanted him to do. After all, the whole point of putting some distance between them was so she wouldn’t think about Quinn for a few hours. It defeated the whole purpose if she actually brought him with her.

“I need a few things from the hardware store if I want to start the roof this afternoon,” he added. “I was going to drive in later, but when I saw you walking to your car…”

He knew it would be silly to take separate vehicles to the same place. Abby knew it, too. That’s why she gave in.

“I suppose.”

Some of her reluctance must have crept into her voice because Quinn’s eyebrow lifted. “Can you give me five minutes to wash up and put Lady in the cabin?”

“I don’t mind if you bring her along.”

The elusive smile came and went again. “You’d have her on your lap. Lady doesn’t like the backseat.”

“Neither does Mulligan. If we take your truck, we can all fit in front.”

“My truck?” Quinn’s expression was as astonished as if she’d suggested they fly to Mirror Lake.

“What’s wrong with your truck?”

“Nothing. Except it’s probably not as comfortable as your vehicle.” The pointed look Quinn aimed at her lipstick-red convertible severed the connection his unexpected smile had created between them.

Before Abby could explain that the car hadn’t been her choice, but a gift from Alex on her twenty-first birthday, Quinn was already striding back to the cabin.

Five minutes later, the four of them were wedged together into the cab of Quinn’s pickup. Lady curled sedately up in her lap while Mulligan sat in the middle, content to give up his usual window seat for the entertainment of watching the tree-shaped air freshener dance from Quinn’s rearview mirror.

Abby pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and skimmed the contents. “Have you lived in Mirror Lake very long?”

Quinn didn’t answer so Abby wasn’t sure he’d heard her. She tried again. “Have you—”

“A while.”

A while.

What did that mean? A month? A year? Ten years? The shuttered expression on Quinn’s face made her curious.

“How much time will you need in town?” He neatly tried to change the subject. Which made Abby even more curious.

“Not more than two hours. A friend of mine recommended that I buy from local artists when it’s time to put the finishing touches on the inn. Do you know anyone in the area I could talk to?”

“Artists? Not that I can think of.” Quinn slanted a look at her over Mulligan’s bushy head. “Stop in and ask at the Grapevine Café. I’m sure someone there would know.”

“I love that place.”

“Why?”

“It reminds me of the diners on those old TV shows. Vinyl booths. Plastic ferns in the window. An old-fashioned soda fountain. A jukebox. Everyone talks to everyone else. It’s like stepping back in time.”

Exactly why Quinn avoided it.

What he had a difficult time believing was that Kate Nichols’s café appealed to Abby, whose last name opened doors to the best of the best. The Porter Hotels’ in-house restaurants boasted four-star ratings and required a tie to get past the mâitre d’.

Abby might view the “everyone talks to everyone else” as a quaint, small-town feature but from Quinn’s perspective, it was gossip, plain and simple.

The locals loved the café because a cup of coffee was cheaper than subscribing to the
Mirror Lake Register
and the news more timely. They also had the place to themselves, as the tourists who migrated north in the summer usually bypassed the Grapevine on their quest to find something a little more upscale.

It had also become a popular teenage hangout over the years, even before Kate’s parents had turned the place over to her. Quinn had avoided it back then.

The same way he did now.

He shouldn’t have suggested to Abby that she go there for the information she was seeking. Not that Quinn expected his name to come up, but it had before. Thanks to his father, the O’Halloran name had been the topic of conversation more times than Quinn wanted to remember.

“I have to talk to Mayor Dodd.” Abby nibbled thoughtfully on the end of a pen. “Something about a community celebration that’s coming up.”

“Labor Day weekend. Reflection Days,” Quinn muttered, barely avoiding another pothole as he tore his gaze away from the velvet-soft curve of her lower lip.

Laughter flowed through the cab of his truck. “Clever.”

Quinn wasn’t surprised Abby had made the connection so quickly, but a lot of people didn’t get it. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“What would you call it?” She tilted her head and a wisp of hair drifted across her cheek. Quinn tightened his grip on the steering wheel so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Like brush it away.

A two-day forced march down memory lane, that’s what he would call it. But he couldn’t tell Abby that. Not without opening a Pandora’s box full of questions he didn’t want to answer.

“An excuse for the Chamber of Commerce to increase their annual budget.” There. That was safe. It also happened to be the truth.

Abby clucked her tongue. “Were you born this cynical?”

“You could say that.” Quinn had been born an O’Halloran, so the two kind of went hand in hand.

“Well, I think you’re blessed to live in a town like Mirror Lake. Even if it’s only been for
a while.
”

Quinn didn’t miss the emphasis Abby put on the last words and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Her sense of humor and buoyant personality continued to surprise—and, if he were honest—charm him.

Except that Quinn didn’t want to be charmed.

He kept his eyes focused on the road, hoping Abby would take his silence as an indication that he didn’t want to talk.

She didn’t.

“So what does Reflection Days involve? Other than padding the town budget?”

“Mirror Lake started out as a logging town in the 1800s. A lot of the families can trace their ancestry back to the original founders.” Quinn found it more than a little ironic that he should be the one to explain the history of Reflection Days. “There’s not much holding it together anymore. When businesses started to close and kids grew up and didn’t come back, the city council got nervous. They decided to hold an annual community pride celebration to remind people of the values Mirror Lake was originally founded on.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“You might change your mind when Mayor Dodd tries to guilt you on to one of his committees. That’s the thing about Reflection Days. All the local businesses are expected to participate.”

Except for O’Halloran Security, of course.

When Quinn had moved back to Mirror Lake the summer before, no one had approached him about contributing in some way to the weekend-long celebration. If he’d had any doubt the community wasn’t eager to throw out the welcome mat for another O’Halloran, there was his proof.

“Do you think so?” Instead of looking concerned, something Quinn would expect from a person who had enough work to keep her busy round the clock for the next year, Abby’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Quinn had never been so relieved to see the Welcome to Mirror Lake sign up ahead. “I’ll find a place to park the truck and meet you back there in a few hours. Don’t worry about the dogs. Slim Peterson keeps his Irish setter at the hardware store so they’ll have a chance to stretch their legs running up and down the paint aisle.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to take too long.” Abby slipped the list back into her purse. “I still have to finish staining trim when we get back…Quinn, look. There’s a parking space.”

Right in front of the Grapevine Café.

He cruised past it. “Sorry.” Not a bit. “Missed it.”

“Because you stepped on the gas instead of the brake,” Abby said under her breath.

Quinn found another spot farther down the street. In front of Happy’s Engine Repair and as far from the café’s enormous plate-glass windows as possible.

If word hadn’t already gotten out that he and Abby were working together, Quinn wasn’t going to deliberately provide grist for the local rumor mill.

Abby pulled down the visor and frowned. “Where’s the mirror?”

“Mirror?” Quinn echoed.

“The mirror that comes as a standard feature on every visor,” Abby said. Slowly. Enunciating her words as if explaining something to a very small child.

“There is no mirror.”

She sighed and shifted in her seat so she was facing him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You’re going to have to be my mirror. How is my face?” She stared straight ahead, schooling her features until she resembled one of the marble statues he’d seen in the Chicago Institute of Art.

Quinn eyed her suspiciously. “Is this a trick question?”

“Of course not.” Abby’s sigh stirred the wisps of sun-streaked hair on her forehead. She rephrased the question. “How do I
look?
”

Stunning
was the first word that came to Quinn’s mind before he could put it on lockdown. “Fine.”

“You’re sure?” Abby looked more anxious that a trip to the Grapevine Café warranted. “My hair isn’t a mess? My lipstick hasn’t worn off? No one knows me very well so I want to make a good impression.”

“Your hair is…fine. Lipstick…” Quinn’s breath hitched in his throat. To answer the lipstick question meant he had to look at her lips. Something he’d deliberately avoided for the entire ten-minute car ride into town. And had planned to deliberately avoid for the next two weeks. “Also fine.”

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Abby grinned, tucked her purse under one arm and hugged her smelly old dog with the other.

She had no idea.

Quinn needed to do something to restore his equilibrium and since cynicism had always worked well for him in the past…

“But if you wanted to make a good impression, you should have driven your convertible into town.”

Alone.

Abby wrinkled her nose. “Shame on you,” she scolded lightly. “That sounds like something someone who judges a person by the kind of car they drive—or don’t drive—would say.”

She marched away, the heels of her cute little sandals clicking against the sidewalk.

Quinn stared after her in disbelief.

If he wasn’t mistaken, Abby Porter had just accused him—Quinn O’Halloran—of being a snob.