A Place to Call Home (9 page)

God’s plan for Abby didn’t include him.

A
bby pushed the heels of her hands into the bread dough and heard an air bubble pop.

Quinn had lied to her.

He didn’t “hash” out the details on the drive back to the lodge. He didn’t argue about them, either. Because in order to do those things, a person had to be willing to
talk
first. And Quinn hadn’t.

Abby didn’t count two growls and a harrumph as meaningful conversation.

When they’d arrived back at the inn, Quinn dropped her off at the house and drove down to the cabins. With
her
dog.

She knew he was sensitive about having to work two jobs, although Abby didn’t think that was anything to be ashamed of. It proved he wasn’t afraid of hard work. That he was committed to making his business succeed.

Come to think of it, they had a lot in common. Quinn would recognize that if he’d put his male pride aside and…

And what?

Smile at you again. Admit it, you want him to like you….

She wasn’t going to admit anything. Abby pushed that thought away, only to have another one take its place.

Because you like him.

Over the next hour, three dozen cloverleaf rolls, a chef’s salad and a lemon torte formed a line on the counter. Sorting through her recipe card file proved to be much easier than sorting through her feelings for Quinn.

That she even
had
feelings for Quinn was disturbing.

Abby had never been in a serious relationship. In her social circles, she’d never been sure if men were as attracted to her as they were to her last name. And the fortune that went with it.

If, in some rare instance, she did show a spark of interest in someone, Alex swooped in and circled the poor guy like a hawk until he ran for cover.

If a girl mixed those things with a troublesome tendency to be leery of strangers, it added up to a lot of evenings alone.

Not exactly the kind of lifestyle the average person who saw Abby’s face on a Porter Hotel brochure would assume she was living.

Although there was a certificate on the wall of her “office” proving she had a business degree, Alex brushed aside her suggestion that he let her take a more active role in the hotels’ day-to-day operations.

Six months ago, a feeling of discontent had seeped in. She was tired of being the poster girl for Porter Hotels.

As the corporation’s official spokesperson, her face was featured in all the marketing campaigns. A symbol of the type of person who chose to stay at one of their hotels.

Sophisticated. Discriminating. Refined.

Frequent appeals to Alex, asking for more responsibility, fell on deaf ears. He didn’t understand her frustration. Tried to assure her that her role as the company spokesperson was
important. Abby knew it also served another purpose, although Alex wouldn’t have admitted it. It cut down her interaction with people. A billboard was as close as anyone could get to her.

Abby had wanted more. And then she felt guilty for wanting more because she already
had
so much.

Restlessness with life in general drove Abby to her favorite place to reduce stress—the kitchen.

Jessica Benson was the first person who had recognized Abby’s restlessness for what it really was. Not a search to “find herself,” but to find God. The One who’d created her.

The day Abby surrendered her heart to the Lord and took that first tiny step forward in faith, she hadn’t expected to begin a journey that would change the entire landscape of her life.

Skyscrapers for towering white pine. A penthouse apartment for a room tucked under the sloping eaves of a former attic. A small town where people recognized her face—but not because they’d seen it on a billboard. Where they called her by her first name—and weren’t intimidated by her last.

Abby had lived in Chicago all her life, but the first time she’d visited Mirror Lake, there had been a heart-to-heart connection.

A place she’d lived for a little over a month now felt like home.

It was no coincidence that she’d found the perfect piece of property to convert into a bed-and-breakfast inn. Or fallen in love with the sleepy little town that curved around the shoreline on the opposite side of the lake.

When doubts crept in, all Abby had to do was look back and count what Jessica called “spiritual signposts.” Evidence that she was following the right path. God’s path.

The road had its share of potholes, bumps and curves, but
whenever she was discouraged, it seemed as if God was ready with a new signpost.

Like the amazing discovery that Quinn was a locksmith.

Once again, Abby’s thoughts moved back to him like a needle seeking North on a compass.

He’d seemed uncomfortable when she’d shown up unexpectedly at his office that afternoon, but Abby understood why.

Kate told her that Quinn had moved back to Mirror Lake a year ago. That would have made it near the time his father had died. Abby didn’t have to be a detective to make the connection.

Not only had he inherited Lady, his father’s dog, he’d inherited his business.

Abby’s respect for him had risen another notch.

What had Quinn given up in order to revive a business that was obviously struggling? What had he left behind?

The questions plagued her as she added a dozen cookies to the already crowded wicker hamper on the table—bait to lure him down from the roof of the cabin.

The sun was setting, and in an hour Quinn would have to hold a flashlight in one hand and a hammer in the other.

Time to send him home.

Shrugging into a lightweight sweater, she grabbed the basket and started across the lawn.

The dogs dozed in the grass. Mulligan’s nose twitched as she walked past him, but he made no move to get up.

Abby’s initial confidence faded a little as Quinn pushed back the brim of his ball cap and peered down at her.

She could use one of his heart-stopping little half smiles right about now to bolster her courage.

“I brought you a little something.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted to the picnic basket she’d lugged across the yard. “A little something, huh?”

Abby relaxed when she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. She’d been afraid he would view it as charity. “All right, there’s a lot of little somethings.”

Quinn swung down from the ladder and landed right in the middle of her personal space.

Abby’s breath stalled when his fingers grazed her palm as he took the basket out of her hand. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Even though I told you that you didn’t have to go to any trouble for me.”

Come to think of it, he
had
told her that.

“You brought a lot of your food here so I wanted to make sure you had some—”
decent
“—food to tide you over until I see you on Monday.”

Quinn stiffened. “Are you going somewhere this weekend?”

“No. You are.”

His expression didn’t change.

“It’s Friday.” She tried again. “The day before the weekend. Weekends generally mean time off.”

“You’re taking the weekend off?”

“Of course not. But I don’t expect you to be here 24/7.” Abby saw some unidentifiable emotion flare in the depths of his pewter-gray eyes. “
You
have the weekend off.”

“I don’t need the weekend off.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway.” She smiled. “You’ve accomplished more in the past two days than I thought was humanly possible. You earned a break. Besides that, I’m sure you have things of your own to catch up on.”

Abby had seen his office. She knew he did.

Quinn wasn’t sure how to get past this new complication. “It’s covered.”

“Well, then—”

“Abby, I don’t
want
the weekend off.” Quinn waited until he saw understanding dawn in her eyes.

But she only
thought
she understood. And what she thought she understood was that he wanted to work as many hours as possible before Daniel came back.

“You can take Sunday off, then.”

Quinn buried a sigh. Abby was determined to give him a day off. Along with a picnic basket loaded with food to pass the time.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

To his amazement, Abby blushed. “N-no.”

Once again, Quinn tried to reconcile the woman standing in front of him with the sophisticated woman featured on the billboard advertising Porter Hotels.

It was almost as if there were two Abby Porters. He didn’t know which woman was the real Abby Porter, but decided he liked the one with the windswept golden hair and winsome smile better.

“I’d feel guilty if you worked on Sunday,” Abby continued. “Because I don’t. It’s my…rest and refresh day.”

Great. Another complication. But thanks to his agreement with Alex Porter, where Abby went, Quinn followed.

“So, what do you do on your rest and refresh day?” He hoped it didn’t include shopping. Or socializing.

“In the afternoon, Mulligan and I take a walk around the lake or I try to catch up on some reading…”

Hiking. No problem. He’d tag along. Reading would keep her close to home. It could be worse, Quinn decided. Neither of the things she’d just mentioned involved leaving the property.

“And I go to the early service at Church of the Pines.”

“Church of the Pines.”

“Have you been there?”

Abby’s innocent question opened a floodgate of memories.

As a kid, Quinn had attended Sunday school there one summer. Not long after his mother left, his fourth grade homeroom teacher, Miss Anderson, had pulled him aside and invited him to go to church with her. She drove past their house on Sunday mornings and must have seen him playing outside.

Quinn, willing to grab any opportunity that would take him away from home, had said yes.

There’d been whispers and sidelong glances from the rest of the children when Miss Anderson gently pushed Quinn into the room that first day. They’d subsided when he was put in charge of smoothing tiny felt figures on a flannel board while she told a story about a little man named Zacchaeus, who climbed a tree to see Jesus.

The story stuck in Quinn’s mind because no one else liked the man and they wondered why Jesus wanted to go to his house for supper.

Quinn knew exactly how Zacchaeus felt.

After that, he’d looked forward to Sunday mornings. He listened to stories and sang songs he’d never heard before. At snack time, Miss Anderson would put extra crackers on his napkin and refill his glass of juice.

Quinn didn’t even mind sitting for another hour in the sanctuary—where the stories were longer and there was nothing to eat. Other kids grumbled and fidgeted if the sermon went longer than it was supposed to, but not Quinn. Sometimes he listened to what the pastor was saying, but most of the time he was content to soak in his surroundings.

The whole room always seemed to be filled with light. Stained glass windows painted rainbows on the gleaming
hardwood floors. Tall white candles glowed on a table by the piano.

Quinn had felt safe within the walls.

The stories the pastor told made him feel strong on the inside, too. Quinn had prayed with Miss Anderson one morning and asked Jesus to come into his heart, so he figured that was the reason he felt different. For a little while, he’d imagined it meant that things would
be
different.

They weren’t.

Because he always had to go home.

And his father, who was used to Quinn giving him a wide berth, didn’t appreciate the change in him.

“Quit pestering me about your ma. I told you, she isn’t coming back.”

“Yes, she will.”

A split second later, Quinn was yanked off his feet.

“Did she tell you that? Did she call you?”

“No.”
Quinn had gasped the word, wishing he hadn’t said anything. In the past, he would have made up a lie. He couldn’t this time. Now he knew lying was wrong.
“I’ve been praying she comes home.”

“Praying?”
His father’s scornful laugh was somehow more frightening than his rage.
“You think God listens to you?”

“Miss Anderson said He does.”

As soon as he saw his dad’s expression, Quinn knew he shouldn’t have talked back. Shouldn’t have said anything about his teacher. It had only made things worse.

“You’ve been sneaking out.”

“Miss Anderson takes me to church with her.”

The laughter faded to a sneer.
“Those people feel sorry for you. You’re like a stray mongrel dog they feed once a week so they can feel better about themselves.”

“That’s not true.”
But doubt slithered through Quinn’s mind when he remembered the extra crackers Miss Anderson gave him every week.

He tried to remember some of the verses that he’d memorized, the ones Miss Anderson said would give him strength, but Mike O’Halloran had pushed his face close to Quinn’s.
“You stick close to home from now on or I’m going to have to pay that pretty schoolteacher of yours a visit. Tell her to mind her own business.”

Quinn had recognized the look in his dad’s bloodshot eyes.

The next day at school, he told Miss Anderson he didn’t want to go to church anymore. She’d asked him why, but Quinn hadn’t told the truth that time. He told her it was boring. To prove his point, he kicked the wastebasket over on his way out the door.

The remainder of the day was spent in the principal’s office, waiting for his dad to pick him up. He’d spent the night on the roof, staring up at the heavens. The things his father had said made Quinn wonder if Miss Anderson hadn’t gotten it wrong about the kind of people God listened to.

When the snowflakes started to fall, Quinn stopped praying that his mom would come back. By the following summer, he’d stopped praying about anything at all.

“Quinn?”

The light touch of Abby’s hand on his arm made him snap to attention. “What?”

She chuckled. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.” Nowhere he wanted to revisit. And definitely nowhere he would ever take Abby.