A Place to Call Home (8 page)

He’d only been in Mirror Lake a week but was already overwhelmed by the monumental task of repairing all the things that
had suffered due to his father’s neglect. The house. The business. A needy cocker spaniel. A stunted, dried-up rhododendron bush planted next to the front door of the office that looked to be in the same shape as everything else he’d inherited.

While Quinn had been kneeling in front of the rhododendron, examining it for signs of life, someone’s finger had tapped his shoulder with the force of a woodpecker searching for its next meal.

It had been years since he’d seen her, but Quinn recognized Faye McAllister immediately. She was one of the people he’d told Abby about, a member of a family who could trace their origins to the founders of Mirror Lake. She’d driven a Cadillac almost as long as Main Street and made a full-time career out of being a doctor’s wife.

Everyone in Mirror Lake respected Faye—although Quinn suspected there was a thin line between respect and terror. If she was a little brash and outspoken, people were willing to overlook it because Doc McAllister was just the opposite. A quiet, even-tempered man who made house calls.

Shortly after his return to Mirror Lake, Quinn had heard that Doc had passed away the previous fall, but he hadn’t seen Faye around.

Until she’d found him.

“You don’t answer the phone or the door,” she snapped. “Shouldn’t you be helping your paying customers?”

Quinn wanted to say that he would, if he had paying customers to help. Instead he’d asked, “Can I do something for you, Mrs. McAllister?”

“I don’t know.” Faye had glowered at him. “I locked my keys in my car. Is this place open for business or not?”

He’d almost said no.

“Yes.”

“Then why is there a closed sign in the window? Why isn’t someone in the office answering the phone?”

“Because I haven’t hired someone to answer the phone yet.” Quinn’s frustration had reached its limit and spilled over into the next question. “When can you start?”

He’d waited, expecting Faye to club him over the head with her purse. To his astonishment, a smile had spread across her face.

“Tomorrow morning.”

She’d arrived at eight o’clock the next day, a brown bag lunch in one hand and an African violet in the other, and took over the front office with the efficiency of a four-star general.

Faye had no computer skills and knew nothing about office management. Quinn kept her on anyway. Because his first two honest-to-goodness paying clients played bridge with her on Tuesday nights.

A coincidence? He didn’t think so.

Staring down at the letter in his hand, Quinn tried to figure out the best way to explain the delay to Faye. One that would convince her not to call Jeff Gaines and demand an explanation of the “extenuating circumstances” herself.

On cue, the desk phone chirped at him.

“Yeah?”

“What’s taking you so long?” Faye demanded. “Is the letter written in Chinese?”

He laughed. “No, it’s in English.”

“Then get out here and tell…wait a second. Someone is walking up the sidewalk.”

She sounded disappointed. Quinn, on the other hand, was relieved. He’d slip out while Faye was occupied with the customer. Abby had asked for two hours and it was close to that now….

As he took a step toward the door, a familiar voice made Quinn’s heart slam-dunk against his rib cage.

Abby.

She’d found him.

S
he’d gone to the wrong address.

Which meant Abby had five minutes to find the right one before it was time to meet up with Quinn again.

Plunging one hand into her purse, she tried to locate her list as an elderly woman, whose hair matched the sleeveless red blouse she wore, zipped toward her with an energy that was impressive, given the fact the building felt like a sauna.

“Can I help you?”

I doubt it.

Abby bit back the words before she said them out loud.

The address scrawled on the piece of paper had led her to a cement block eyesore two blocks off Main Street.

The sparsely furnished reception area, with its water-stained ceiling and dark paneled walls, gave Abby no clue as to what kind of business went on there but it couldn’t have been the one she was looking for.

She mustered a friendly smile, an attempt to offset the grim work environment the poor woman had to deal with. “I hope so. I must have written down the wrong address.”

“Maybe, maybe not. What are you looking for?”

“Fourteen Maplewood. There’s supposed to be a locksmith there.”

“Then you’re in the right place.”

“Really?” Abby caught herself. “That’s…great.” The floor sank beneath her foot as she took a step forward.

“Faye McAllister. Office manager.” The woman extended a hand. “And you’re in luck because the boss is in this afternoon. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Oh.” Now Abby was down to three minutes and counting. “I thought I’d make an appointment. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“That’s all right. Neither does he.” Faye McAllister tossed the cryptic words over her shoulder as she marched toward a crescent-shaped desk wedged between the counter and the wall.

Abby gnawed on her lower lip. Maybe she should call Quinn and let him know she’d be a few minutes late. As she searched in vain for her cell phone, which proved to be as elusive as her list, she heard the soft tread of footsteps coming toward her.

Abby looked up, the smile dying on her lips when she saw Quinn standing there.

Guilt zapped her conscience. She’d taken so long he’d been forced to track her down.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I was just about to call you.” Too bad she couldn’t offer her phone as proof. “I need to hire a locksmith to key the rooms in the lodge but it shouldn’t take long. I can meet you outside in a few minutes.”

“Abby—”

“Abby?” Faye McAllister jumped into the silence and her eyes narrowed. “Abby
Porter?
”

“Y-yes.” Abby’s heart pitched. Was it possible the woman had recognized her name? She hadn’t deliberately tried to keep it a secret, but she hadn’t gone out of her way to tell
people about her connection to Porter Hotels. She liked having people treat her the same way they would anyone else.

“And you need a locksmith.”

“Y-yes.”

“This is
O’Halloran
Security,” Faye said.

“O’Halloran…” Heat that Abby couldn’t blame on the sweltering air branded her cheeks.

There wasn’t a sign in the yard. No logo on the door. Not even a number on the mailbox. As a newcomer to the area, how was she supposed to know who owned what?

Her gaze slid to Quinn. “One of your relatives is a locksmith?”

Absolute silence followed the question.

“She doesn’t know?” Faye aimed an accusing look at Quinn.

Abby looked from one to the other. “Know what?”

“You didn’t
tell
her?”

“Tell me what?”

Quinn finally looked at her, the expression on his face similar to the one she’d seen earlier that morning. When he’d been lying on his back in the chapel.

“I’m the O’Halloran in O’Halloran Security.”

Quinn saw the confusion darken Abby’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Get in line,” Faye grumbled.

“Come back to my office so we can talk.” Hopefully he’d come up with an explanation on the way there. But the first order of business was to separate Abby from the thoughtful gleam in his secretary’s eyes.

“Office?” Abby repeated the word. “You have an
office?
”

“This way.” With a stern look at Faye—who looked ready to follow—Quinn ushered Abby down the dim hallway.

He’d considered his office fairly passable but as they stepped inside, Quinn tried to see it through Abby’s eyes.

Plaster and a fresh coat of paint didn’t completely conceal the outline of fist-sized holes in the walls, evidence of Mike O’Halloran’s frustration when things didn’t go his way.

The oak desk was scarred but solid—and no one but Quinn would ever know that his initial sweep had revealed a cache of empty vodka bottles in the drawers.

The curtains Faye had strung up—without his permission, of course—not only provided color but concealed the hairline cracks in the glass that fanned out like a spider web along the top of the window casing.

Quinn had done what he could to make the office more customer-friendly, but replacing the business’s outdated technology had been more of a priority than replacing the carpeting. Or the furniture….

“Abby, wait. Don’t sit—” Down.

Before Quinn could finish the sentence, Abby had dropped into the captain’s chair opposite his desk. When it immediately began to tilt like a faulty amusement park ride, she anchored one sandaled foot against the floor and looked up at him, waiting for an explanation.

Because Quinn was still working on that, he tried to stall.

“You didn’t mention that you needed a locksmith.”

“Maybe if you would have mentioned you
were
a locksmith, I would have mentioned that I needed one.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic.

“I can’t believe—” Abby shook her head and Quinn sucked in a breath, waiting for the barrage of questions he knew would follow “—how amazing God is.”

He blinked. “How what?”

“Amazing God is.” Abby grinned. “I shouldn’t be, should
I? Amazing is just part of who He is…It shouldn’t surprise me when things like this happen. I mean, think about this.”

Quinn had been. And all those thoughts centered on how to convince Abby that there was a valid reason why he was moonlighting as a carpenter.

She opened her arms and kicked off with her foot, sending the chair spinning in a wobbly circle.

Quinn would have leaped forward to stop her if he hadn’t been so mesmerized by the sight. And the sound of her laughter.

“Every time I start to have doubts that I’m doing the right thing, He shows me that I’m on the right path.” Abby planted both feet and stopped the chair midspin. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

“You. A locksmith. I can’t believe it. You’re already working on-site and you’re familiar with the lodge and the cabins.” Abby shook her head in wonder. “I don’t have to meet with someone new and go over what needs to be done. You’re there all day anyway. You can take some time to put new locks in, can’t you?”

The chair had stopped spinning but Quinn still felt dizzy. Lack of oxygen prevented a person from thinking clearly, didn’t it?

“Sure.” The word almost got stuck in his throat. He’d expected Abby to be suspicious as to why he’d left his business to help get hers off the ground. But she was looking at him as if…

“You, Quinn O’Halloran, are an answer to prayer.”

Quinn stared at her in disbelief. He wasn’t an answer to prayer. In fact, he wasn’t sure a man whose future at the moment was one big question mark could be an answer to anything.

He rejected the claim with a shake of his head. “I’m just the hired help.”

Alex Porter’s
hired help.

“That’s not true.” Abby said it with so much sincerity that for a moment, Quinn was actually tempted to believe her. But what shook him even more was the realization that he
wanted
to believe her. “And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“What do you believe?” The words were out before Quinn could prevent them.

Abby’s gaze locked with his, as if she were trying to decide whether he really wanted to know. And then she nodded once—and smiled—as if she’d gotten the answer. “That God has a plan—a purpose—for our lives.”

The simple response tugged at Quinn’s soul in a way he hadn’t expected it to.

He did believe that God had a plan—for other people. People who amounted to something. That was the reason, when Quinn turned eighteen, that he’d felt responsible for coming up with one of his own.

In Chicago, no one had known anything about his background. They hadn’t known that Mike O’Halloran was drunk more than he was sober. They didn’t know Jean O’Halloran had walked out on her husband. Not that Quinn blamed his mother for leaving—it just would have been nice if she’d taken him along.

No one in Chicago was watching, waiting for him to make a mistake that would prove he was destined to “turn out just like his old man.”

When Hamlin Security hired him, Quinn felt as if he’d been given the second chance that Abby claimed everyone deserved. His colleagues respected him, his employers trusted him…until circumstances had forced him to return to Mirror Lake.

Ken Raynes, the CEO of a software company, had con
tracted him to provide personal security for his youngest daughter, Serena, who was being harassed by a former boyfriend. The seventeen-year-old was spoiled and rebellious, a potentially combustible combination. Although it was company policy to keep a professional distance from his clients, Quinn had felt sorry for the girl. Serena’s parents didn’t have time for her and her friends seemed to come around only when they wanted something.

He’d befriended her. Listened to her problems. And when he discovered Serena was hooked on prescription drugs, Quinn went directly to Ken, hoping her father would get Serena the help she needed. When Serena’s family confronted her, not only had she denied ever using drugs, she’d informed her parents that Quinn was the one who’d offered to score some for her if she was interested.

In a perfect world, Quinn’s word would have carried more weight than that of a troubled teenager. But he didn’t live in a perfect world. Ken Raynes traced Quinn’s roots back to Mirror Lake and found Mike O’Halloran. An alcoholic. The town troublemaker. It didn’t matter that Quinn had a spotless record.

Quinn wanted Serena to get help, but Ken Raynes, who had political aspirations, didn’t want a scandal. The only way to make his family look good was to make Quinn look bad.

Quinn had tried to do the right thing and it cost him his career. Not only that, it had forced him to return to the place where he’d always felt he
didn’t
belong.

Was he supposed to believe God had a purpose in that?

“So…” The lilt in Abby’s voice nudged Quinn out of the shadows. “What do we do now?”

I have no idea,
Quinn wanted to say. Until he realized she was asking about locks for the inn, not his past. Or the con
dition of his soul. “Tell me what you want and I’ll write up an estimate.”

“Don’t bother with an estimate. I trust you.”

Why?

The question ricocheted around Quinn’s head. Because she believed he was an answer to prayer?

In the past, he would have deliberately tried to gain Abby’s trust. It came with the job. Quinn had found when his clients trusted him, they were more willing to listen to his instructions. Follow his recommendations.

If anything, Quinn knew he should feel relieved—not guilty—that Abby’s initial reticence toward him seemed to be fading.

Unless she discovers the reason you’ve been helping her.

For the first time since Quinn had agreed to Alex Porter’s terms, fear skated down his spine as he considered how Abby would react if she discovered the truth.

No more trusting looks. No more heart-stopping smiles….

She won’t find out,
Quinn told himself.

Alex’s PI would figure out who was harassing him and realize there was no threat to Abby. Daniel would come back to finish the cabins and Quinn would return to his real job. Abby would be none the wiser. No harm done.

Now all Quinn had to do was believe it.

“How long have you been in business?” Abby asked.

“About a year. Why?”

Color tinted her cheeks. “I can tell you’re in the process of…fixing things up. And you work with Daniel, too. I thought…”

He was an answer to prayer who was having trouble making ends meet.

Quinn tried not to wince. Now it made sense. Why she hadn’t peppered him with questions about the reason he was dividing his time between O’Halloran Security and the inn.

Abby’s next question confirmed his suspicions.

“Do you require a deposit?” Her slender fingers traced a crescent-shaped gash on the corner of his desk. “For materials?”

Quinn frowned. “That’s not necessary.”

“But—”

“We can hash out the details later.”

“Translation—we can argue about it on the way home.” Abby flashed an impish smile.

It wasn’t the smile that got to him this time. It was the word
home
that opened the door to a host of images Quinn hadn’t known lay buried in his subconscious.

What was more unsettling was that he’d never experienced the kind of pictures his imagination was painting. They weren’t memories of the ramshackle house he’d grown up in a few miles outside of Mirror Lake. These were different—and yet all too familiar.

In his mind’s eye, Quinn saw a fire crackling in the great room. A sunlit kitchen with yellow walls. A nest of cushions in the hammock near the deck…and Abby. In every single one.

Quinn pushed the thoughts from his head before they could take root in his heart.

The future was too uncertain. If O’Halloran Security didn’t start turning a profit, he would have to sell it and move on. Quinn was already halfway into his two-year plan.

God has a purpose. A plan.

The conversation he’d had with Abby cycled through his mind again.

She believed that God’s plan included converting a rustic camp into a bed-and-breakfast.

Quinn didn’t know if that were true or not, but he did know one thing.