A Week From Sunday (29 page)

“Serious talk?” she echoed.

“I wanted to wait until you were better before I mentioned this particular subject again,” he said sheepishly. “The last time we talked about it, we never really got a chance to finish it properly.”

Adrianna’s breath caught in her chest. Her heart pounded so loudly that it rang in her ears. She knew Quinn was talking about their discussion at the doctor’s office and his marriage proposal. Much like her thoughts of Richard Pope, the events of that particular morning had stayed with her, picking at her whenever she let her guard down. She still wasn’t certain if the offer had been genuine.

You’re not sure of your answer, either,
she thought, and held her breath waiting for him to speak.

“I want to tell you the truth about the loan I took in order to keep the Whipsaw afloat,” he said solemnly. “You need to know why Dewey Fuller is trying to use you to get to me.”

Slowly, Quinn got up and moved to where he could stare out the window. For a moment, he stood silently, his strong profile reflected in the glass. When he finally spoke, Adrianna hung on every word.

“When my father passed away,” he said, his voice strong and steady, “I didn’t give the Whipsaw much thought. I was going to sell the damn thing. Looking back, I suppose the last thing I wanted to do was to follow in John Henry’s footsteps. The way I saw it, he spent his life slaving over that bar, so why would I do the same?” He paused for a moment before adding, “All of that changed when my mother died and Jesse was hurt.”

At that moment, Quinn turned to face Adrianna. She swore that she could see a wetness in his gaze. She wanted to soothe him, to reach out to him and give him comfort, but she bit her lower lip and let him continue.

“By the time I gave a damn about that bar, a lot of damage had been done,” he explained. “The fella that helped my father had been a no good son of a bitch who drank as much as he poured. Even after I got rid of him, one look at the books told me it was only a matter of time before I’d have to lock it up and put the place up for sale.”

“Why didn’t you?” Adrianna asked, unable to hold her tongue any longer.

“Because of Jesse,” he said evenly. “Even if I’d been able to find a buyer, there would scarcely have been enough to cover what was owed. Nothing would have been left over to provide him with a start. I’d made my own way in life, even if I’d gone against my father’s wishes, but Jesse wasn’t old enough to make his own choices. I wanted to be able to give him something. I wanted him to have the means to provide for himself once he got out of that chair and started walking again.”

As Quinn spoke, all that Adrianna could hear were the words Jesse had spoken to her earlier in the evening. Unbeknownst to Quinn, even as he poured all his heart and soul into providing his brother with a legacy he could use to support himself, his gift had already been rejected. She wanted to tell Quinn what Jesse had told her, but she couldn’t speak the words.

“I tried everything I could think of to raise the money without putting the house up for collateral. But finally I had to and then the worst thing happened. Old man Fuller bought up the bank loans,” Quinn went on. “I swear I went to every damn bank in the whole county, but no one would give me a dime without the house. Times were tough all over, so I can’t say I blame the bank.”

“You’ve had trouble making the payments?”

Rejoining Adrianna at the side of the bed, Quinn looked into her eyes. In the piercing gray of his she could see his despair and his embarrassment. “Yeah. Now I’m at the point where I could lose the house. All that Fuller would have to do is take the contract to court, and we’d be out on our ears.”

“That’s awful!”

“I don’t have anyone to blame but myself,” Quinn sighed.

“It had to have been difficult,” she offered.

“I was just a young kid who didn’t know any better. I figured that we’d get the Whipsaw up on its feet and be making money hand over fist. But I’d let things go too long. Fuller even let me slide on a payment or two, but now he’s ready to foreclose. That’s why Dewey came sniffing around the bar the other day. That’s also why he talked to you.”

“What does he think I can do?”

Quinn shrugged. “Quit playing at the bar. I suppose he figures that if you do, I’ll lose business and fall further behind on my payments. He’ll have a better reason to foreclose.”

As Adrianna watched Quinn bare his secrets, she was again reminded of how different her life had been while she lived in Shreveport. She had never gone without, had never known what it meant to have to struggle to come up with money, and she knew that she had been spoiled by her luxury. Even now that she had lost her father’s money, she still didn’t
really
know what it meant to go without. The thought of what Quinn had gone through, was still going through, pierced her heart. Before she was even aware of it, her hand moved up his arm and she hugged it to her.

Gently, he pushed a couple of stray strands of hair from her face and planted a soft kiss on her lips. As if he had brought a flame to dry kindling, a blaze erupted in Adrianna’s heart and she leaned into him, needing to feel his body against hers.

As she had the night she had sat beside him on the porch, Adrianna felt her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps. Even though there were many ways in which their lives were different, there were others in which they were close, ways that pulled her toward him with a strength and intensity that shocked her.

“Quinn, I . . .” she began, but that was all she could say before he kissed her again. Deeply.

The touch of his lips against hers stirred up a torrent of feeling inside of her. Tentatively, her mouth explored his before opening into fevered passion. Distantly, she was aware of her hand moving to caress the side of his face as she strove to meet him, her body melting into his own. She was poised on the brink of giving in, of giving herself to Quinn completely, when he suddenly lifted his head.

As he moved his face away from hers, she could see the slightest curl of a smile at the corners of his mouth. His gaze was penetrating; if she were to get lost in those eyes, she might never find her way out.

“Remember this moment,” he said softly. “When you’re back on your feet, when the doc gives you a clean bill of health, I’m going to kiss you as much as I want to. Don’t forget.”

Not for my whole life,
she thought.

Chapter 24

D
AMN
! D
AMN HER
!

Lola rubbed the dishcloth roughly over a plate as she tried to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of food. Its tenacity angered her, and she rubbed ever harder. Her muscles ached and her brow furrowed, but her mind was elsewhere.

Somewhere in the upstairs room, the whore rested. If that wasn’t bad enough, matters were made even worse by the fact that Quinn was undoubtedly waiting on her hand and foot. Lola had last seen him an hour earlier when he’d left to take Adrianna a tray of food; every tick of the clock marking his absence was like a blow to her face. The very thought of the attention being paid to that little bitch made her sick to her stomach. Still, she didn’t try to push the pain away; it was something that was to be hoarded and treasured. She would need it later.

“Goddamn hussy!” she hissed under her breath.

Absolutely nothing had gone according to plan!

Testing the potency of the method she had chosen to use, she’d tried the poison leaves out on Jesse’s mangy mutt. Then she’d tainted Adrianna’s food with what she had thought would be enough to make her sick and in constant pain until it was the right time to give her the final dose. The thought of the harlot writhing in sickness before she died had made Lola tingle with excitement. But her fantasy had been dashed. By some ironic miracle, the slut had not grown as sick as she had hoped. Even worse, Quinn had leapt to her aid like an angel, remaining ever vigilant at her side. At this rate, there would never be another chance. Who knew what was going on behind that door? With her imagination running rampant, her mind provided all of the sordid details; a smile here, a touch there, a glance turning into a kiss . . .

“Shit!”

Angrily, Lola dropped a plate onto the counter with a clatter. For an instant, she dreamed of taking all of the dishes and hurling them against the closed doors above until the floor was littered with debris. Of course, she was too smart for such a reckless plan of attack, but the thought gave her comfort. Still, she had to close her mind to such thinking. She would need to have a clear head with which to come up with a new way to keep Quinn away from that slut!

What bothered Lola the most was the knowledge that she was being slowly eased out. From the moment she’d come to work for Quinn Baxter, she’d done everything she could to weasel herself into his good graces, to ensure that she would never have to go back to the meager, pathetic life she had been born into. She waited on that broken excuse of a boy as if he were a king. She put up with that mutt’s barking and growling, and she had done it all with a smile. Now it looked like it would all be for naught. If things went the way they were headed, she would eventually be asked to leave, and that bitch would have everything that
she
had worked for.

As the soft sound of laughter rolled down the stairway and into the kitchen, Lola winced. They were having the time of their lives. The noise wormed its way into her chest and grated on her nerves. It was more than she could bear. Whirling on her heel, she wiped her dishwater-soaked hands on her skirt and headed for the rear porch.

Outside, the summer air was heavy with humidity. Only the tops of the trees held the colors of the sunset; darkness had begun to win out for the day. Cicadas called loudly from the trees, their incessant humming keeping time with the angry pounding of Lola’s heart. In the near blackness, nothing stirred, and that was just the way she liked it.

Certain that no one was watching her, Lola made a beeline for a rusted pot that lay haphazardly in the far corner of the porch. There, tucked securely into the corner, was a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. She didn’t want Quinn to see her smoking, but it was an indulgence she wasn’t entirely willing to give up, even for him. Striking a match, she lit the tobacco and inhaled deeply, the acrid smoke burning down her throat but calming her just the same. As she smoked, the amber glow of the cigarette’s end smoldered menacingly, reflecting its fiery nature in her eyes.

Certainly, something had to be done and done soon. She’d been confident that Reuben would scare the bitch off, but the attempt had failed. Her belief in his strength and loyalty to her had been misplaced, and it had cost her. As her tramp of a mother had once said to her,
If you want something done right, do it yourself
.

She would have to be quick and she would have to be brutal. Hesitation was not an option. There would only be one chance to do it right, so she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. An image of Quinn sitting beside the slut’s bed flashed across her mind, and she realized she would have to be patient. Now was not the time. But soon . . .

Of course, Quinn would grieve over his loss, but that could easily be taken care of. In her experience, a man was easily soothed, even from the greatest tragedy, with the right woman in his bed. All it would take would be a kind word here, a touch there, and then she’d part her legs and let his animal urges do the rest. If you could lead them by their dicks, you could heal them the same way. After that, the slut from Shreveport would be a distant memory, an episode best forgotten.

Taking one last long drag on her cigarette, Lola dropped the butt onto the porch at her feet. The end burned defiantly before she angrily crushed it out with the toe of her shoe. When she removed her foot, all that remained was a crumpled husk of what had been.

“You’re next, bitch!” she hissed. “You’re next.”

Richard Pope was angry and frustrated.

As he stood in what passed for the lobby of the Bellevue Hotel, he marveled at what the simpletons of Lee’s Point accepted as adequate accommodations for guests in their town. Grime-streaked wallpaper, some of it tattered and peeling in long strips, covered the walls. An ancient lamp hung limply from the ceiling, looking much like a man hanging from the gallows, two of its bulbs burned out. Even the beams that supported the entryway sagged as if they were as depressed with their surroundings as he was.

His room was no better. He could only hazard a guess at the multitude of sins that had taken place in his squeaky bed. Worst of all, upon entering the night before, he had been surprised to see a cockroach half the size of his fist scurry across the floor on its diseased legs before disappearing under the bed.

“Stayin’ another night?” a voice asked from behind him.

Richard turned to glare at the Bellevue Hotel’s proprietor. He was a wisp of a man; his clothes hung loosely on his skeletal frame, and his bushy mustache covered stained, chipped teeth. Richard could only imagine how many years he had managed to prop himself up behind his rickety counter, smiling his repulsive grin.

“I’m afraid so.” Richard sighed.

“Well, then, I’ll go on up and make sure your room is clean.” As the man spoke, he absently ran one hand over his whiskers. To Richard’s eyes, he looked like an old dog scratching at fleas.

“Fine.”