A Small-Town Homecoming (7 page)

Charlie’s frown deepened. “Which makes me think you’re suddenly interested in a certain difficult single father.”

“Which makes me wonder why you invited us both to dinner tonight.”

“Jack’s idea.” Charlie leaned an elbow on the counter and watched Tess layer thin cheese and tomato slices over the crushed herbs and sea salt she’d sprinkled on the bread. “Although we both figure you know what you’re doing. If anyone knows how to handle a challenging professional relationship with a complicated, attractive man, it’s you.”

“Nothing like a little pressure.”

Charlie grinned. “What are friends for?”

Hardy raced around the side of the house, barking with his stranger-near-the-gate voice. Seconds after, Jack strode inside and grabbed the platter heaped with steaks. “According to the alarm dog, our other guest has arrived,” he said on his way back toward the patio. “I’ll get these started and be right in.”

“I’d better get the door,” Charlie said.

“Wait.” Tess pushed the baking sheet into her hands. “Stick this under the broiler and set the timer for a couple of minutes. Then go see if Jack needs any help outside.”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m going to handle the uncomplicated social duties and answer the door.”

Tess smiled as she passed through the high-wainscoted dining room, noticing Charlie’s attempts to improve her surroundings. The antique oak table looked fairly
presentable tonight, set with china instead of the usual paper plates. The front room’s walls had been freshened with a pretty sage green and the windows hung with new tab curtains. A group of large throw pillows did their best to dress up the dull brown sofa.

Tess straightened the hem of her sweater, testing and rejecting a few snotty greetings as she neared the door. But then she remembered her intention to be charming, and she plastered a cordial expression on her face to hide her misgivings about the evening’s possibilities.

As soon as she opened the door, her negative attitude evaporated. Quinn stood in the center of Charlie’s tiny front porch, a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery-stand bundle of pastel-blue irises in the other. He treated her to one of his long, penetrating looks, and she stared right back, noting the shower-damp hair curling at the ends, his freshly shaved jaw and a trace of some woodsy cologne. In his faded chamois shirt and worn leather jacket, he looked as sinfully delicious as a dark chocolate truffle with a buttercream center.

“You changed,” she said.

“Not entirely.” He edged past her, into the front room. “I’m still the same thorn in your side I’ve always been.”

“The flowers are beautiful.”

“They’re not for you,” he said when Tess reached for them.

“I figured.” She gently pried the ribbony blooms from his grip. “I’ll put these in water for Charlie. She’s got her hands full.” She glanced up at his shuttered expression. “Thoughtful of you.”

He grunted in response.

“Hey, Quinn.” Charlie walked into the room wearing
one of her sunny grins and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invitation.” He handed her the wine. “Stan Kessler recommended this.”

“Then I’m sure it’ll be great. Thanks.” She studied the label. “I guess I’ll go ahead and open this. Let it breathe awhile. We can have it with dinner.”

“None for me,” Quinn said. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Okay. More for Jack and me.” Charlie glanced at the stems in Tess’s hands, and her grin widened. “Flowers?”

Quinn cleared his throat. “They’re for you.”

“Did Stan recommend these, too?” Tess asked sweetly.

Charlie shot her a warning look.

“They’re great.” Charlie said. “Thanks, Quinn. What can I get you to drink?”

“Water.”

“Ice?”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” he said.

“No trouble. I have to add it to Tess’s, anyway.”

“You’re not having any wine?” Quinn asked Tess when Charlie had left the room.

“I rarely do. Long story.”

Tess led him into the kitchen. Charlie handed him a glass and then pulled the bruschetta from the oven. “I’ll be right back. Jack’s nearly finished at the grill.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Quinn asked.

“Got it under control, thanks.” Charlie stepped outside.

Tess rummaged through Charlie’s odds-and-ends drawer, looking for some scissors. “I hear you have a daughter,” she mentioned casually. The statement was a legitimate conversation starter. Not an interrogation.

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten.”

Tess waited for him to offer more information, but it wasn’t coming. She found a pair of shears and glanced around the room, wondering where Charlie kept her vases. No use spending too much time looking. Charlie probably didn’t own a vase.

Tess searched the cupboards, hoping for a pitcher or a jar. “What’s her name?”

“Rosie.”

“Rosie Quinn. I like it.” She discovered a fat ceramic mug and decided she could cut the stems shorter than usual for a compact bouquet. “Where is she tonight?” Tess asked in an offhand manner.

“With a friend.”

Tess wondered if the friend was a classmate of his daughter’s or a grown-up acquaintance of Quinn’s, and then she decided she didn’t really care. She didn’t need to know all the details of his personal life in order to work with him. And she didn’t like to snoop, not really. It wasn’t her style.

She filled the mug with water and picked up one of the stems, gauging the best spot to make the cut. She’d merely been making an attempt at a casual conversation, using one of the oldest tricks in the social manual: getting the man to talk about himself. If he wouldn’t cooperate, they wouldn’t have a conversation.

Or they could have a conversation of a different kind. They could talk about her. Or she could choose a topic he’d be in a big hurry to change.

She turned with the flower in her hand and an overly bright smile on her face. “It looks like all that’s left is the flower arranging. You can help with that…while we get to know each other better.”

Q
UINN SLICED
through one of the stems the way Tess had shown him while she fussed over the cut flowers in the mug and babbled about Charlie’s upcoming wedding. He had a suspicion she was going on about flowers and cake and other girl-talk just to give him some grief, but he wasn’t sure why. Not this time.

She usually gave him grief because he wasn’t the one she’d wanted working with her on Tidewaters. That was too damn bad, because he wasn’t going away. He thought they’d make a good team, if she could ever manage to pull that length of rebar out of her butt.

Until then, he’d just have to shut up, wait her out and get his part of the job done.

“Are you from around here?” she asked in another sudden shift in topic.

“Yeah.”

She gave him a look that let him know there’d soon be more grief headed his way, but then her mouth curved again in that creepy smile, the one she’d been wearing since he walked in the door.

“Were you born here, then?” she asked.

God. More small talk. The from-the-beginning stuff. He stared out the window and took another gulp of water, hoping the steaks would be ready soon. “Yeah.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t.” She crammed the flowers into the fat mug and leaned back against the counter, facing him. “I was born in a circus wagon somewhere on the road between Budapest and Paris.”

He glanced over at her, trying to ignore the witchy challenge in her eyes, wondering what had inspired that off-the-wall comment, while waiting to find out what crazy thing she’d say or do next. Hoping for a clue to her mood.

“Hell of a long stretch of road,” he said at last.

“Not for us traveling circus performers.”

He tried to remain motionless, but his mouth twitched at one corner. “This must be part of that long story you mentioned.”

“Yeah,” she said.

Jack entered with a platter held high, out of reach of the drooling black Lab at his heels. “Evenin’, Quinn. Good to see you.”

“Good to be here.”

And it was. It was pleasant, for a change, to visit with grown-ups in an informal social setting. He returned Charlie’s smile as she passed by with a bowl of potatoes, and he chatted with Jack about the day’s pour, and he chuckled at the dog’s attempts to beg without getting caught. And he ignored Tess while she made a fuss over placing the flowers precisely in the center of the big, round table.

The flowers did look good, though. Pretty, especially the way Tess had arranged them. Dinner looked good, too. Simple, mouthwatering food. Except for those fancy little tomatoey things on the snack-size pieces of bread. Those seemed like something Tess would come up with.

A few minutes later, with a steak on his plate and the conversation flowing comfortably around him, Quinn began to relax. The camaraderie of this group of old friends made it easy for him to fade into the background, where he preferred to be. And the fact that Charlie and Jack were keeping Tess on a short leash helped, too.

He glanced across the table at her, watching those long, lovely hands gesture and her expressive eyes darken as she argued with Jack about Little League snack-shack politics. Vibrant and passionate, she was the kind of woman who liked a lot of drama in her life. The kind of woman who could wear a man out, in bed and out of it. Quinn sure didn’t need any more drama in his life, but damn, a taste of Tess might be worth the exhaustion.

He wondered if he’d get a chance to ask her about her childhood circus experiences. He was looking forward to it.

“Here, Quinn.” Jack offered a second serving of salad and then helped himself to another scoop. “You know, I was surprised it took Geneva as long as it did to get the city council to grant her Tidewaters permit.”

“There’s been a history of opposition to any development along the waterfront.” Tess shrugged. “It’s a handy location to spotlight. An easy focal point for the anti-growth crowd to use to drum up support for their cause.”

“This particular project sure has people worked up.” Jack paused to sip some wine. “I can see why they’re concerned. It’s a pretty spot.”

“I may never be able to convince the people who prefer a patch of grass to a stretch of pavement that a new building can be a good thing.” Tess twisted the stem of her water glass. “But I happen to think my design is an improvement on that vacant, weed-filled lot.”

Jack nodded. “It is indeed.”

“And when it’s finished,” Tess continued, “it’ll generate plenty of tax revenue for the community.”

“You know I agreed with all your arguments,” Jack told her with one of his easy grins.

“I think the best thing about the design,” Charlie said, “is that it won’t compete with the surrounding buildings or setting. It’ll fit right in. Look like it was meant to be there, all along.”

“It’ll look better than that.” Quinn cleared his throat as the others at the table looked in his direction. “It’ll be the most beautiful building in Carnelian Cove. Tess is going to be buried with work once people see what she can do.”

He’d been staring at her as he spoke, so he’d seen her hands sink to her lap and her cheeks turn pink with a surprising and endearing blush. She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, and then she grabbed her water glass and took a deep sip.

“You’re right,” Jack said. “It’s a clever design, as Tess has reminded us plenty of times,” he added with a wink. “An asset to the waterfront.”

“Still,” Charlie said, frowning, “some people are pretty worked up about it. I thought once the construction started, the letters to the editor would stop appearing in
The Cove Press.
I hope you won’t have any problems.”

“Any more problems, anyway,” Jack said.

“I don’t want any.” Quinn waited for Tess’s eyes to meet his. “That’s why I’m taking precautions.”

“The fence?” she asked.

“It’s a start.” He picked up his fork and poked at his salad. “I don’t usually bother fencing in my sites.”

“You told me that was for insurance purposes.”

“There’s all kinds of insurance,” Quinn said as he glanced around the table. “And all kinds of trouble.”

T
ESS DROVE
to the job site after dinner. The conversation at the table had worried her, and she wouldn’t be able to relax and fall asleep tonight unless she checked things out for herself.

A set of high-rise headlights settled behind her as she made the final turn toward the waterfront, and the deep rumble of a big truck’s engine closed in on her roadster as she pulled to the curb. Quinn. Of course.

She scooted out of her car and started toward the silvery fence, carefully picking her way over uneven ground outlined in moonlight and pockmarked with shadow. A few seconds later, the thin beam of a flashlight swept across her path.

“You’re going to twist your ankle,” Quinn said from behind her.

“I can see just fine in the dark,” Tess said, although the beam was a definite improvement.

“Like a cat.”

“Meow.”

He unlocked the gate, and they passed through. She let him take her elbow as they continued in silence toward the water’s edge. Tidal ripples lapped at water-blackened rocks, and a ship’s bell clanged somewhere near the marina. The odors of rotting seaweed trapped against the pilings and beef chargrilled at the nearby steak house hung in the shreds of bayside mist.

“It’s getting late.” Quinn bent to pick up a jagged scrap of lumber and tossed it toward his trailer. “We’d better go.”

She pulled her outer sweater more snugly across her middle. “Why did you come out here?”

“I figured you’d head this way.”

“What is this—some kind of game with you?” She turned toward him, but he faced the bay, his features obscured by evening shadows. “No matter when I drive by, you’re always here. I never get a chance to—”

“To sit and imagine how it will be?”

“That’s right.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and nudged a loose stone. “To take a few moments at the beginning of what you know will be a long, hard day. Or to sneak a few moments before you have to leave at the end of it, setting aside all the frustrations. To have a few moments for yourself. Just you and the project.”

He shifted in her direction, and she knew, without being able to see it, the precise expression he wore on his face. “To live in this place in a way no one else ever will,” he said. “To see it in a way no one else can.”

The damp night air tossed her bangs across her forehead, and in spite of her warm sweater, she shivered. She’d never heard him string so many words together before, and his eloquence—and his perception of what was inside her—caught her off guard. She didn’t know how she could possibly share these thoughts and feelings with such a rough-edged, closed-off man. She’d never felt more uncomfortable with him than at this very second, when she realized how much they might have in common.

And she’d never before craved his approval with such an overwhelming longing. She supposed a large part of her resentment was tied up in that—in her need for his appreciation of her talents, in her desire for his acknowledgment of her importance to this project. He wouldn’t be building Tidewaters without her vision.

“What do you see, when you look?” she asked.

“The angles of the walls. The glass in the panes. People moving along the walk, going into the shops. A nice tree somewhere along that curved drive you insist on having.”

She smiled at his mention of the tree. And at the thought of the people who’d use the space—odd that she’d never pictured them in her daydreams. Now that she did, the image warmed her. “Some colorful planter boxes in front of the windows would be nice.”

“Yeah. If they’re like yours.”

“Why, Quinn, how sweet.” She raised her hand to brush her hair from her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

He circled her wrist with his strong, rough fingers and slowly guided her hand from her face. He’d never touched her before; she’d never imagined his first touch would be one like this, oddly gentle and tentative. She thought, for an instant—no, she hoped he’d continue the soft pressure, continue to pull her toward him until their bodies touched. She imagined the feel of him against her, solid and steady and male, and oh, my, a part of her wanted that, so very much.

But the desire, the insistent, warm beat inside her, reminded her of her lingering resentments—wanting him, and knowing he wanted her, and dealing with the fact that he could control or ignore these same urges, this shared awareness.

“I notice plenty,” he said as he held her awkwardly in place, his voice a low rumble that seemed to set off vibrations as it moved through her. And then he dropped her hand and took her by the arm again.

“Time to go back,” he said as he led her away. “It’s safer here in the daylight.”

T
HE DAWN FOG
floated across dark bay ripples Monday morning to shroud the construction site in a ghostly haze. Quinn lugged a bundle of rebar toward the masonry wall rising above the second-floor level as Ned climbed the scaffolding to begin placing another stack of blocks. In the two weeks since the foundation had been poured, they’d forged ahead of schedule. Good thing, too, because a storm was forecast for the end of the week. In spite of the delay the rainy May weather would bring, he figured they’d still manage to have the south wall finished by this time next week, and the west wall framed and ready for—

An ominous crack echoed like gunfire across the bay, followed an instant later by a man’s high-pitched yowl of panic and pain.

“Watch out!” Tom scrambled past the mortar mixer and dived beneath the planking as concrete blocks and a bright yellow hard hat tumbled to the muddy ground behind him.

Quinn dropped his load and raced toward the scaffolding.
No.
Not again. Not another man down. Not another nightmare ready to suck him down, too.

Rusty and Phil beat him to the ladder, clambering up to the spot where Ned lay, sprawled across two thick planks spanning the iron supports, cursing and panting and gripping a rail. Ned’s legs dangled through the space where a third plank should have been. Rusty locked an arm over the scaffolding, bracing himself before he grabbed hold of Ned’s belt to keep him from slipping over the edge.

“Hold still,” Quinn ordered. He’d already flipped open his cell phone and punched a direct-dial number for emergency dispatch.
Come on, answer, damn it.

“Don’t worry.” Ned cut off a groan with a grimace, his chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What happened?” Tom swung up on the opposite edge.

“Board snapped.” Ned muttered a curse, his face white with strain. “I grabbed for the rail and hit the edge on the way down. Think my leg’s broke.” He gasped. “Maybe a couple of ribs.”

Quinn gave the emergency dispatcher their location and told her to send an ambulance. “Did you see what happened?” he asked as he flipped the phone shut.

Phil shook his head. “I was strapping on my tool belt. Next thing I knew, Tom was yelling, and I took off running.”

“I heard the snap and saw the boards come down.” Rusty glanced at the rest of them. “I thought for sure Ned was going to come down with ’em.”

Quinn knelt beside Ned. Near the far side of the marina, a siren’s keening horn cut through the smothering mist, momentarily blotting out Ned’s short, heavy pants. “Think you can roll over a bit? We can try sliding in another plank to support you until help arrives.”

“Sounds like a plan.” With Rusty’s help, Ned eased onto his back with a low grunt.

A fire truck lumbered through the gate and jerked to a stop beside the scaffolding. Emergency supplies in hand, a paramedic swung down and jogged toward the ladder.

“Let’s give this guy some room,” Quinn said. “Tom, wash out the mixer. Phil, go ahead and start in on the rebar on the west side. Rusty, call Gus at Keene’s and see if you can get him to postpone the plaster sand delivery.”

Quinn had a tougher call to make—one to Ned’s wife, Sylvie—as soon as he got the chance.