A Small-Town Homecoming (14 page)

“That means you’re a batter, too, right?”

“Cleanup.”

“My, my.”

Mick’s smile widened. “You’re just what I expected.”

“And what’s that?”

“Easy on the eyes and hard to get.”

Tess tilted her head to the side. “Are you trying to ‘get’ me, Mick?”

“No way. I want to keep this job. Mostly ’cause I happen to like the boss.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “He’s watching us right now.”

She didn’t need to check. Once Mick mentioned it, she could feel Quinn’s gaze on her as if it were a sunlamp. Still, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon’s glare, looked toward the partially-clad skeleton of the top level and spied Quinn’s motionless form, a dark shadow against pale plywood. An uncomfortable blend of lust and longing welled up inside her, complicated by Mick’s assumptions. If a newcomer had paired her with Quinn, everyone else in the Cove must have figured the relationship was a done deal.

“Jack Maguire tells me you’ve got a good friend who’s just as easy on the eyes,” Mick said.

Tess managed to work up an encouraging smile. “That would be Addie.”

“Sweet name.”

“Sweet woman.”

“So I’ve heard. Maybe one of you could bring her around the ballpark some time.”

“Better ask Jack,” she said. “He’s Mr. Little League these days.”

Mick’s laugh was charming, too. “Yeah, he mentioned something about that.” He pulled a set of keys from a jeans pocket. “Better get going—don’t want to be late to practice. See you around, Tess.”

She trudged toward the north end and entered the building. Shafts of afternoon light stretched across the concrete, and the odors of freshly sawn lumber and oily solvents competed with the bay’s brine. Comforting, settling odors. She breathed them in deeply and prepared to deal with Quinn. “Hello,” she called.

“Up here.”

Careful to avoid slivers or catch her sandals on the raw edge of one of the subtreads, she climbed the open stairway. The view was fantastic at the second level; it was even better on top. A sparkling bay, a quaint town and two strong men in T-shirts, jeans and tool belts. “Hi, there.”

“Hi, Tess.” Phil cocked up the toe of one boot to brace a two-by-four against his ankle and settled his circular saw over the edge. “Bring anything to eat?”

“She’s not the snack wagon.” Bent at the waist, Quinn pulled his tape measure from his belt and hooked it over another two-by-four.

Behind Quinn’s back, Phil gave her an apologetic shrug.

She waited until she could be heard over the shriek of the saw. “Where is everyone?”

“Mick has practice,” Phil told her. “Rusty left early for a dental appointment and Tom’s still out of town.
His family had a reunion over the holiday weekend. We’ve been—”

“Three, six and three-eighths,” Quinn said, cutting short the conversation. Phil dutifully picked up another piece of lumber and measured for the cut.

Tess examined the rough plumbing stubbed up through the subfloor while the men worked together to lay out and nail in the studs and header for a window in a short section of wall. “Guess you’re a little short on help today,” she said when the hammering had stopped.

“Is that why you’re here?” Quinn lifted one end of the wall with a grunt. “To help out?”

She glanced at her canvas espadrilles and form-fitting clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for the job.”

Muscles bulging, he gave her one of his shuttered glances.

“Okay, so I forgot my hard hat, too. Bite me.”

“Not while I’m on the job,” he said.

On the other end of the wall section, Phil made a quiet choking sound as he helped Quinn walk the studs upright.

Tess folded her arms across her chest, ridiculously pleased with Quinn’s teasing but embarrassed that she’d set herself up for it. “We never discussed those specs.”

“You said they could wait.”

“I didn’t mean indefinitely.”

“I was the one who wanted to discuss them, not you.” Quinn helped Phil heft the wall into place.

She shrugged and turned to go. “Some other time, then.”

“What time is it?” Quinn asked.

“Five after three,” she said.

“Shit.” He strained to hold the wall steady while Phil reached for a piece of bracing.

“What?” Tess stepped forward gingerly and grabbed two of the studs. “It’s not going to fall, is it?”

“It’s not the wall,” Quinn said. “It’s Rosie. I was supposed to pick her up from school five minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t she take the bus?”

“Long story. Damn,” he said as he shifted his grip and then lifted a shoulder to blot a streak of sweat from the side of his face. “It’ll be at least fifteen minutes before we get this thing secured and braced.”

“I’ll go get her,” Tess said.

The look Quinn shot at her made her wonder if she appeared as dismayed by her offer as she felt. “I can’t let you,” he said.

“I can handle it, just this once.” She backed away and brushed her hands over her dress. “I’m a big girl, Quinn.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

She gave him a sly smile. “You’re going to owe me, big-time.”

“Not the R-factor.” He grimaced as the wall shifted. “Anything but that.”

“Anything?”

“Damn.” Another bead of sweat snaked down Quinn’s temple as Phil worked to set a brace. “I’m not in the best position to bargain, am I?”

“No.” She stepped in close to torture him with a preview of the debt he’d owe and blew in his ear. “But I can only think of one other position I’d rather see you in.”

“God.” He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened one to leer at her. “Only one?”

“Well…”

“Tess,” he said. “Rosie. Please.”

“All right.” She straightened and gave her head a
shake to jostle the bangs from her eyes. “Don’t worry, Quinn. I’ll bring her back. Scout’s honor.”

She clambered down the stairs, moving quickly to her car. Above her, Quinn bellowed for Phil to hurry the hell up. He yelled a few other things, too, when Tess turned to wave and blew him a farewell kiss.

T
ESS FLINCHED
at the shrill whistle of a sash-wearing traffic director and swerved to follow a series of fat white arrows painted on the Adams Elementary School parking lot pavement. Several yards ahead of her, a row of silver and pastel SUVs and minivans inched along one by one into a wide parking area like a herd of placid cows plodding into a milking barn.

To her right—and much closer to the school buildings—beneath a spreading, leafy maple, several empty parking spaces angled toward a curb marked green for visitors and loading. And there sat Rosie Quinn, leaning against the tree’s trunk, cross-legged and frown-faced.

Ignoring the frantic waves of a busty, tanned blonde wearing one of the hideous sashes, Tess cranked her steering wheel to glide into one of the handy shady spots and switched off her ignition. Blondie approached her car and halted near the front fender, arms akimbo, glaring at Tess through the windshield.

“What?” Tess muttered. “Does my car clash with the family-themed decor?”

She climbed out and nodded at Blondie with an aggressively pert smile. “How’s it going?”

“Can I help you?”

Tess gave Blondie’s sleeveless striped tank, tight
white shorts, bony knees and questionable flip-flops a slow once-over. “I doubt it.”

“Visitors have to check in at the office,” Blondie said.

“I’m not visiting.”

“Are you here to pick someone up?”

“Yeah.” Tess pointed at Rosie, who’d stood and lifted her backpack when Tess had exited her car. “Her.”

“Then you’ll have to move your car to the pick-up area,” Blondie said.

“That won’t be necessary.” Tess crooked a come-here finger at Rosie, who continued to stand and stare at her. Damn that family trait. “I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Blondie crossed her arms and thrust her D-cups in Tess’s direction. “Do you have permission to take this child from the premises?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Rosie slid her pack from her shoulder and let it drop to the ground beside the car. “Why isn’t my dad here?”

“He got held up,” Tess said.

“Why did he send you?” Rosie’s frown was hostile and suspicious.

“Because I said I’d come and get you.”

Two taller girls had wandered toward the base of the tree, watching the scene. “Who’s she?” the one wearing braces asked.

“Nobody,” said Rosie.

“You can’t take this child off campus unless you’ve signed in at the office,” Blondie said.

Tess shifted to face the woman with the bad-sash attitude. “Listen. I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know who you think you are. But I know who this kid’s dad is, and he asked me to come and pick her up. So that’s what I’m doing. Picking her up.”

“I’m not going,” Rosie said.

Tess stalked to the passenger side and opened the door. “Get in the car.”

Another Stepford traffic cop had joined Blondie. “What’s going on here?”

“Stay here,” Blondie said. “I’m going to report this to the office.”

Rosie gave Tess a sharklike smile of her own.

“Big mistake.” Tess picked up Rosie’s pack and slung it onto the passenger seat. “You don’t want to play this kind of game with me, kid.”

“Are you threatening that child?” Stepford asked. A small crowd of kids had gathered around Rosie. Two women stood nearby, arms crossed, heads tilted toward each other, whispering while they watched.

“No,” Tess said. “I’m taking her to her father. He’s the threatening adult in this situation.”

“That’s what you think.” Blondie pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “I’m calling for backup.”

“Bimbo wimp,” Tess muttered.

“I heard that,” Stepford said. “That was extremely rude. What kind of an example is that to set for these children?”

The children in question grinned at Tess. A plump boy in camo and navy gave a thumbs-up.

“How the hell should I know?” Tess asked. “These aren’t my kids.”

A beefy man in a gray janitor’s shirt hiked down the walk and stopped behind Blondie. “What’s going on here?”

Stepford pointed at Tess. “This woman is creating a disturbance.”

“The only thing disturbing around here,” Tess said, “are those sashes. Butt-ugly, if you ask me.”

A few snickers and some high fives from the peanut gallery put a hint of a smile on Rosie’s face.

“No one’s asking you anything,” Blondie said, sounding a little shaky. “Except to cooperate.”

“Same goes.” Tess shot Rosie a narrow-eyed look and jerked her head toward her car. “Get in.”

“Is she here to pick you up?” one of the tall girls asked Rosie.

“Yeah.” Rosie appeared slightly less antagonistic, but she still hadn’t budged from her spot.

“Cool car,” one of the boys said. “How fast does it go?”

“I got it up to one-ten once near Vegas,” Tess replied. “But I have a fear of death caused by skidding out of control, flipping airborne, plowing into the pavement and having the skin peeled from my body by asphalt. I’m sure someone else could do better.”

“Awesome,”
another boy said.

“Do something,” Stepford told the man in the gray shirt.

He stepped from behind Blondie. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, ma’am.”

“Bet you hate having to do it, too.” Tess pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and locked her car doors. “Bet a big, strong man like you is all embarrassed about getting sucked into these ladies’ scheme for domination of the parking-lot empire.”

He coughed into his hand in a belated effort to disguise his grin and then jerked his head in the direction of the school building. “Are you coming quietly, or do I have to tie your hands behind your back with a plastic garbage fastener?”

“All right,”
said one of the boys beneath the tree. “Tie her up.”

“No need,” Tess said. “I’ll come quietly. Rosie?”

Quinn’s daughter rolled her eyes but moved to stand beside Tess. “I’d better come, too. Dad wouldn’t want me to sit out here, unsupervised, all afternoon on account of you got sent to the principal’s office.”

A
N HOUR LATER
, Tess held the passenger-side door of her roadster open for Rosie. “Get in, kid.”

“Jeez,” Rosie said as she slid into the seat. “You’re such a—”

Tess slammed the door shut so she wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of the rant and stalked to the driver’s side. The afternoon had been a huge success, as far as she was concerned. She’d touched off a small but vocal rebellion in the office against the traffic brigade. She’d scored a fawning shoe compliment from the school secretary—a woman with fabulous taste, even if she hadn’t used it for her personal enhancement. And she’d escaped from the principal’s office without suspension.

“I could have kicked her liposuctioned ass,” Tess said after the first silent mile.

The kid pressed her lips together and stared out the window. “Whose ass?” she asked a couple of blocks later.

“Blondie’s.”

“That’s Mrs. Stanton.” Rosie looked worried. “She’s Missy Stanton’s mom.”

“Poor Missy.”

The kid’s lips twitched in a younger version of her father’s almost-but-not-quite-there smile. The Quinns probably rationed their amusement to make sure it would last into the next century.

“Is Missy as stuck-up as her mom?” Tess asked.

“Worse.”

“Gag.” Tess turned down a side street. “Is she in your class?”

“No. She’s in the fifth grade.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, believe me,” Tess said. “Just making conversation. It’s something people do every once in a while. Your dad should give it a try.”

“Where are we going?” Rosie asked as Tess made another turn.

“To get some drive-through coffee.”

“You just had some coffee. At the school.”

“What—are you my mother?”

“Caffeine is addictive.”

“No kidding. Must be why I drink so much of it.”

Rosie slumped in her seat and resumed glaring through the glass, and Tess remembered, too late, how much this girl must resent adults with addictions. “I should probably quit,” she said. “Or switch to decaf.”

A skinny-shouldered shrug was the only response.

“Your dad was worried about you. That’s why he called while I was in the principal’s office. Omigod.” Tess groaned. “
While I was in the principal’s office.
It sounds like I’m twelve.”

The kid muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.

“Look,” Tess said, “I don’t care about what happened to me. Or to you, for that matter. I was looking forward to a fight, ’cause I’m in that kind of a mood today. Okay, I’m in that kind of a mood most of the time,” she admitted, “but your dad is having a rough day, and we made it a little rougher.”

“He’ll get over it,” Rosie said with another shrug.

“So kind of you to care.”

“Whatever.”

“I can kick your skinny ass, too,” Tess warned.

“You’re not supposed to talk to me like that.”

“Really?” Tess maneuvered into the short line at Java Jive. “According to whose rules?”

“My dad’s.”

“You treat him like dirt and then expect him to fight your battles for you—is that how it works?”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know more than you think.” Tess pulled even with the menu board. “Chocolate or vanilla shake?”

Rosie gave her a confused stare.

“What’ll it be, kid?”

“Vanilla.”

“Excellent choice.”

Tess gave her order and then inched ahead, next in line. “My mom is an alcoholic,” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s been in and out of rehab so many times I’ve lost count. On the good days, when I was still at home, she’d stay sober long enough to pick me up from school. On the bad days, she’d forget about me, and one of my teachers would call a cab and the maid would come out and take care of the fare when I got home. Most of the time, she’d pass out right before dinner, so I’d ask my brother to help me with my homework.”

Tess paid for their beverages and handed Rosie’s shake to her. “My dad drank, too,” she continued, “but not as much. I only found him passed out a couple of times, and then he made me feel worse when he tried to apologize. He died when I was ten years old. Drove off the side of the road and ran into a tree. For years, I thought he’d done it on purpose because of something I’d said.”

She glanced toward her passenger. “Ready to break out the violin yet?”

Rosie flicked a bland glance in her direction and then focused on sucking mush up her straw.

“Your dad made you miserable for a time,” Tess said, “and you probably felt guilty for hating him. You still feel that way sometimes, so you punish him for it. But punishing him just hurts you, too.”

“You don’t know—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tess said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

What she did know was that she should have kept her mouth shut. The last thing a kid like Rosie Quinn needed was one more adult giving her grief. Or pity. A delicate balance, one requiring more finesse than Tess cared to bother with.

Mémère had always struck that balance with Tess, during those long summers she’d taken her in and given her a place to find some peace. Geneva may have been unable to prevent her husband’s and daughter’s mistakes, but she’d never wavered in her love and support for her family. And if that love sometimes seemed overly stern and the support diamond-hard, well, maybe that was what it took to keep the Chandlers’ foundation from cracking.

Rosie Quinn could probably handle the tough stuff, too. Tess had a sneaking suspicion that beneath the hands-off attitude and slightly grungy exterior the kid was okay. Rosie’d probably clean up well at some point down the road, just like her dad.

They drove in silence for the remainder of the short trip and made the final turn around the corner of Quinn’s block. At a third-floor window, framed by the drab brown curtains of his apartment, stood a familiar silhouette.

“Shit,” Tess said. “Drink up fast, kid.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Your dad’s home early. And I just realized I’ve probably broken some parental rule about right-before-dinner snacks.”

“He’s not going to care about a bunch of milk. It’s got calcium.” Rosie slurped loudly. “He’ll probably be more upset about me ending up in the school office.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about—you were a mere bystander.” Tess maneuvered into a parking space. “I’m the one who blew it.”

“Jared Medvedev said you kicked Mrs. Stanton’s butt.”

“Yeah, I did—and it needed to be kicked—but it was still a waste of time.” She switched off the ignition, picked up her toffee-and-vanilla latte and sipped. “You’ve got to pick your battles. That’s what Mémère always says.”

“What’s a
mémère?
”

“A scary old lady. I’d tell you more about her, but you’re too young. I don’t want to give you nightmares. Come on, drink up,” Tess said as she leaned toward her window and peered at the third floor. “I think we’ve been spotted.”

“Is that what you do with my dad?” Rosie asked. “Pick your battles?”

“Your dad’s an exception to that rule.” Actually, Quinn was turning out to be an exception to every rule Tess had in her playbook. “I’ve decided dealing with him requires a different strategy.”

She shifted to face Quinn’s daughter. “With your dad, everything’s a battle. Everything we discuss—no matter how small, no matter how big—is something to hit him
over the head with. Wear him down, that’s what I’m going to do. Grind him down to a little nub of no resistance.” She rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “That’s my strategy. This is an all-out war to get that building done the way I want it done, and I’m going to win.”

Rosie shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why? Don’t you think I’ve got what it takes?”

“Probably.” Rosie finished her shake and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “But you don’t know my dad. He’s stubborn.”

“I’m stubborner.”

Rosie dragged her pack into her lap. “My mom says my dad is like one of those big rocks off shore. Storms and surf beating at him all the time, and he just sits there and takes it.”