At First Touch (7 page)

“Nothing is going on with Quinn and me,” he said firmly as he leaned against his truck.

“I know you're lying. Your left eyelid is twitching. It always twitches when you lie.”

Wyatt instantly touched his eyelid, which made Graham howl with laughter. Wyatt rolled his eyes annoyed. “What are you? Twelve?”

“No, I'm actually thirty-three,” Graham said, attempting to keep a straight face. “Now, you and Quinn. Spill it before Charlie realizes how strange it was for you and Quinn to be alone together and she comes out here to investigate. Trust me, she won't be as nice as I'm being.”

“Quinn wants to film a movie in Sibleyville, and, for some reason, she thinks the funeral home would be perfect for it.”

“The mortuary?” Graham asked perplexed.

Wyatt shrugged in response. “I'm as shocked as you. Quinn, in her usual Quinn way, asked my mother, and Mom, in her usual Mom way, won't even entertain the idea. And, of course, Quinn won't take no for an answer and has decided that it's all my fault and is now relentlessly harassing me.”

“Of course,” Graham said with a grin. “And what exactly does any of this has to do with you being here making goo-goo eyes at her in my kitchen?”

“I'm a grown man. I don't make goo-goo eyes at anyone.”

“Then I'll just say there was some serious silent movie action going on in that kitchen when I walked in. Quinn didn't even look at you when you left. Usually, she at least manages to sneer at you.”

“For the last time, Graham, nothing is going on between Quinn and me. She's an attractive woman. Downright, drop-dead gorgeous. I won't deny that. But I'm interested in someone else. In fact, I plan for her to be my wife. And I won't let Quinn stand in the way of that.”

“Marriage?” Graham choked out. “Who? When I was here for Easter, you were complaining that you may as well join the priesthood for the action you get around here.”

“And then I went to a church picnic and had one of Dorrie Diamond's famous chocolate almond balls.” Wyatt sent Graham a silent grin of male appreciation. “It could make a grown man weep. I hear that her meat loaf is even better.”

“Meat loaf? Chocolate almond balls?” Graham shook his head in disbelief. “Do you want a personal chef or a wife?”

“She's a good woman, Graham.”

“Dorrie Diamond, huh? That's the new accountant on Main Street who never looks anyone in the eye.”

“She looks me in the eye,” Wyatt said defensively, then added, “sort of.”

Graham wisely chose not to comment further and, instead, asked, “Why do you think that Quinn wants to stand in the way of your relationship with Dorrie?”

“That woman has no respect for anyone or anything. She practically demanded that I turn over my house to her for her movie. As if I owe her.”

Graham hesitated before muttering, “It's not like you have a full house over there. When was the last time you had a funeral?”

“That's not the point,” Wyatt snapped, irritably. “I'm operating a funeral home. A respectable establishment. We've been serving Sibleyville's dead since—”

“Since 1919,” Graham intoned dully. He rolled his eyes. “I know, Wyatt, I know. I was the one standing next to you when your dad would go on and on about the importance of the Granger Funeral Home. You would think he was solving world hunger.”

“He was proud of the Granger legacy,” Wyatt said, defensively.

“And he should be,” Graham quickly agreed, then asked, “but is allowing a movie to be filmed there really damaging that legacy? No one has died in town in over eight months. It's not like you have a line of funeral goers waiting to use the space.”

“You don't understand, Graham. This is not a carnival ride. This is a funeral home. People come here to bury their loved ones. We have to make certain that the absolute solemnity of that occasion is never compromised.”

Graham rolled his eyes once more, and Wyatt resisted the urge to roll his eyes himself. He had heard that speech so many times from his mother and father over the years that he couldn't believe that it had somehow transfered into his own speech.

Wyatt shook his head and admitted, reluctantly, “I actually don't have a problem letting her film the movie there, but Mom nixed the idea. I haven't been home since the meltdown this morning.”

“I wouldn't have gone home, either.”

“I can change Mom's mind. It won't be pleasant, but I can find a way to do it.”

Graham laughed and shook his head. “You better find a way because Quinn does not like being told no. She's going to hound you unmercifully until you relent.”

“I know, I know. I can handle Quinn.”

Graham suddenly became extremely still and said quietly, “She may annoy the hell out of me and she could possibly drive a monk to drink, but Quinn is Charlie's sister. Charlie loves her, so I love her. You hurt Quinn, you hurt Charlie, which you definitely don't want to do if you want to be able to walk upright for the rest of your life.”

Wyatt bit his bottom lip to hold back the laughter. He was being warned off by Graham Forbes, the biggest playboy that Wyatt had ever known. Or at least until Charlie entered the scene.

“You are so whipped,” he finally said, unable to control his laughter anymore.

Graham raked both hands over his hair, looking slightly embarrassed. He shrugged, even as a smile played across his lips. Then he frowned as he said, “I'm serious, Wyatt. Quinn is family now. I don't want her hurt, no matter what she says or does to you. No matter how grown-up she tries to act, she's still just a kid.”

Wyatt hid his snort of disbelief. Only a man as deeply in love with his wife as Graham was would consider Quinn Sibley a kid. There was nothing remotely childlike about that woman—or her body.

“I would never hurt Quinn. You know that.”

Graham glowered, and Wyatt glowered back. Graham finally sighed heavily and threw up his hands in surrender. “Just don't do anything that I'll have to answer to Charlie for. She's real sensitive when it comes to her sisters, especially Quinn.”

“For God's sake, Graham, you've known me your whole life,” he snapped.

“Exactly, and that's why I'm worried, because I know how long you've wanted Quinn. She's treated you like shit for a long time, and sometimes when a man gets close to a woman who's been torturing him for a year, he…well…. Just don't hurt her.”

Wyatt didn't bother to deny Graham's observation. For a spilt second in Quinn's kitchen, maybe he had forgotten that the word
gentleman
existed. He had wanted to kiss her. To devour her. And he probably would have if Charlie hadn't walked into the kitchen. And then his life would have been in a bigger mess than it was now.

“I'm not interested in Quinn anymore. I told you that. I'm looking for marriage and kids, and we both know that Quinn is about as ready for that as…any young Hollywood actress with the body and looks Quinn has.” Wyatt cleared his throat when he realized that Graham's gaze had hardened. He forced a smile and said lightly, “Quinn will be fine. Whether I will be after Mom hears that we may have half of Hollywood running around the house is another subject.”

Graham shuddered in agreement.

W
yatt sagged onto his sofa, then took a drag from a chilled bottle of beer. It had been a long day, from Quinn showing up on his doorstep to almost taking Quinn in the middle of his best friend's kitchen. So basically, Wyatt had started the day hard as a rod and was ending the day as hard as a rod. Not to mention the fact that he had to come up with a way to get Dorrie to take his phone calls again and to rub Quinn's face in it.

Wyatt flipped on the television and sighed in contentment as an NBA game filled the fifty-six-inch plasma screen. One of the things he would miss once he married was being to relax with a beer in front of the plasma without any interruptions. Basketball in high-def. It was about as perfect as a bachelor could get, without his woman sitting next to him in stilettos and little else while feeding him a plate of buffalo wings.

A knock on the front door of his apartment instantly nixed his fantasy of two uninterrupted hours of basketball.

“Come in, Mom,” he called.

Beatrice opened the door and walked into the living room carrying a foil-covered plate of food. Wyatt's stomach immediately grumbled as the smell of pot roast and potatoes assaulted his senses. His mother did not fight fair.

“I figured you were in here sulking about our little argument this morning, so I brought you dinner,” Beatrice announced as she set the plate on the wood coffee table in front of the sofa.

“I'm not sulking, and thanks for dinner,” he muttered as he reached for the food. He briefly closed his eyes in ecstasy when he saw that large piece of peach cobbler on the corner of the plate.

Beatrice propped the decorative pillows on the easy chair next to sofa and sat. She watched Wyatt inhale the food for a moment, then said evenly, “As long as I'm alive, I will not allow that woman to desecrate our business or your father's memory by making an adult movie in the house.”

Wyatt choked on his food and coughed to clear his throat. He took a quick swig of beer. “Quinn does not want to make a porno in the house. In fact, it's about as far from a porno as you can get. It's some depressing and serious independent movie. Come on, Mom. Do you really think I'd allow that? Do you really think Boyd would allow that in this town?”

“Now, that you mention it, I spoke to Mayor Robbins this morning, and he has not heard of any movie being made in town. Not only was he surprised to hear the news, but he was mortified. This is a peaceful town. The last thing we need is a bunch of Hollywood types running around here causing problems.”

“You spoke to Boyd about this?” he asked, annoyed.

Beatrice bristled. “I didn't think this movie was a secret. She does need Boyd's permission. I thought he already knew.”

“You should have called me first.”

“You wouldn't answer your cell phone. Besides, this is my town, and my home that that woman wants to corrupt. I had to talk to someone since you obviously don't see the danger.”

“I told you that she's not making a porno or anything close to a porno.”

“Well, I don't see what other movie anyone would put her in,” Beatrice said with a sniff.

“You know Quinn. You know her family. You always go on and on about what a lucky man Graham is.”

“Charlie is a decent, sweet woman. Eliza did not raise a fool, so I know Graham would not marry a woman who was not worthy. She's nothing like the other two sisters. Everyone in town knows that. All you had to do was watch the other two at Graham's wedding. Kendra was stumbling around drunk, while Quinn was grinding against every man she could find, married or not.”

Wyatt resisted the urge to correct his mother. Quinn had grinded against every man at the wedding except him.

Beatrice continued, “And look at the way she dresses. I'm surprised the poor thing hasn't died of pneumonia with the clothes she flounces around in this weather.”

“Her clothes are her business, and she's not making a porno. What valid objections do you have to the movie being shot in the mortuary?” he demanded.

“I know trouble, Wyatt, and that girl is trouble. I already heard about what happened today in the diner.” Wyatt groaned, then took another swig of his beer. Beatrice nodded, knowingly, “Yes, I heard how she sauntered into the diner—wearing next to nothing, I might add—and poured herself all over you while Dorrie sat on the other side of the table. How could you do that to Dorrie? Dorrie is a decent, good woman. She didn't deserve that. Not to mention that I heard she read you the riot act in the middle of Main Street.”

He set down the beer bottle a little harder than he meant to, which caused Beatrice to flinch in surprise. “I'm going to say this once, Mother, so listen closely. Quinn is my friend and the sister of my best friend's wife. As such, I expect you to be cordial to her.”

Beatrice's eyes narrowed and she said in a tight voice, “Wyatt, please tell me that you are not dating this girl?”

“Quinn is my friend, Mom. That should be all you need to know to treat her with some semblance of respect. Understand?” Wyatt waited for his mother's response, but she only stared at him in shock.

The two rarely argued. Beatrice bullied, and Wyatt didn't resist. He knew his mother was wondering why it was different this time. Wyatt wondered too.

Beatrice's expression softened as she said gently, “I'm sorry, sweetie. I just want you to be happy, and I think Dorrie will make you happy.”

“Don't count me out yet, Mom,” he said with a wink. “I haven't given up on Dorrie.”

Beatrice smiled and walked across the floor to caress his cheek. “I didn't think you'd be distracted by someone like Quinn. I raised you better than that.”

Beatrice walked out the apartment, closing the door. Wyatt covered the plate again, suddenly not hungry anymore.

 

Quinn looked up from the script she had been trying to read for the last hour as her bedroom door flew open. She couldn't help but smile as Charlie bounded into the bedroom, wearing a silly nightgown with panda bears and fluffy slippers. Charlie looked as if she were eight years old.

“You're still awake. Good,” Charlie exclaimed, climbing onto the bed next to Quinn. “Whenever we visit Sibleyville, Graham resorts back to his rancher sleep hours. Awake at the crack of dawn and in bed by eight.”

“Or maybe it's because you had him running around all day, buying Christmas trees, stringing lights on the house and baking Christmas cookies.”

“Wait until we start our Christmas shopping,” Charlie said, giggling. “He'll probably be in bed by four-thirty every afternoon just to have enough energy to keep up.”

Quinn laughed and studied the sheer happiness on Charlie's face. For a moment, she felt an intense jab of envy. She wanted what Charlie had, and she knew that she would never get it. Women like her didn't marry men who would climb on houses to hang Christmas lights. Women like her married men who paid other men to hang the Christmas lights and then left as soon as wrinkles appeared and skin started to sag.

“Do you want to run lines?” Charlie asked, while tapping the script in Quinn's hands.

“Not particularly,” Quinn muttered, tossing the script aside.

“Do you want to talk about what was going on in the kitchen with you and Wyatt when Graham and I got here?”

Quinn looked at Charlie, surprised. She had thought Charlie hadn't noticed Quinn's strange behavior that afternoon in the kitchen. If Charlie hadn't walked into the kitchen at that moment, Quinn knew that she and Wyatt would have kissed. Then Wyatt would have fallen in love with Quinn even more, and Quinn would not have been able to use his house for the movie without going on a date with him.

She could imagine trying to force Wyatt to talk for two hours while he stared at her with those beautiful eyes and the occasional dimpled smile…. Quinn frowned, not at all pleased about the direction of her thoughts.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Quinn said, simply.

“The sexual tension in the air could have been cut with a knife.”

Quinn laughed too loudly, then stood from the bed and walked to the dresser. She picked up a hairbrush and began to brush out the tangles in her hair as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. “My pores are looking large enough to swallow a makeup brush. How about we give each other facials?”

“Now I'm intrigued. You're avoiding the subject,” Charlie noted, sitting up on the bed to cross her legs. “Are you attracted to Wyatt, Quinn?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped, more heatedly than she intended.

“Wyatt is a great guy. He's gorgeous, kind—”

“A mortician who lives with his mother.”

“He lives in an apartment over the garage—”

“So he has even less money that I first thought.”

“In case you've forgotten, you're not exactly rolling in dough, either, dear sister.”

Quinn set down the brush and turned to Charlie. “Which is exactly why I need a man who makes more in a year than what I used to tip my valets in a month. I can do poor on my own.”

Charlie continued to grin as she said, “I think you're protesting a tad too much.”

“Oh, please,” Quinn huffed in indignation while rolling her eyes. “As if I'd be interested in him. He wouldn't know Versace from Prada. He's probably never even flown first-class.”

“All definite strikes against his character,” Charlie agreed, then coughed to hide her obvious laughter.

“Definitely,” Quinn agreed.

“Now that you've unsuccessfully tried to change the subject, can we get back to what I really wanted to know? What happened between you and Wyatt in the kitchen? And you can also throw in an explanation about what happened at Annie's Diner.”

Quinn froze, then asked hesitantly, “You heard about the diner?”

“You know how Sibleyville is,” Charlie responded with a shrug, then ordered, “now, spill it.”

Quinn blurted out, “Wyatt won't let us film in his house.”

“Have you gotten filming permits yet from Boyd?”

“Just a technicality.” Quinn cleared her throat at the alarm that crossed Charlie's face and said quickly, “I have an appointment with him tomorrow…or maybe the day after.”

“Quinn—”

“I'm taking care of it.”

“What does any of this have to do with the scene in the kitchen?”

“As I said, Wyatt won't let us film in his house. And the Granger Funeral Home is the only place where Helmut wants to film. Without the house, Helmut doesn't want the town…or me. I told Wyatt all of this, and he could give a damn. Since he has little regard for my future, I've chosen to have little regard for his future.”

Charlie lifted one eyebrow suspiciously. “What is that supposed to mean, Quinn?”

“Don't worry about your precious Wyatt, Charlie. He'll be just fine…as long as he does exactly what I want.”

“Quinn, Wyatt is not like the usual men you date…”

Now Quinn didn't have to act to pretend indignation. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Sibleyville is Wyatt's home and my home, too, for that matter. Don't embarrass him.”

Quinn felt hurt by the suspicious note in her sister's voice. She stretched her arms over her head and murmured, “I'm bored by this conversation. I need my beauty rest. Can we finish this titillating conversation tomorrow?”

Charlie slid off the bed and crossed the room to Quinn. Concern was etched on her face as she studied Quinn. “Did I offend you? You know that I would never purposely hurt you.”

“I really am tired, Charlie. Can we—”

Charlie continued, undeterred. “I'm sorry, Quinn. I just don't think you realize how much Wyatt likes you—”

Quinn couldn't disguise her snort of disbelief. “
Likes me?
He barely talks around me. All he does is stare. I'll agree that he's attracted to me and acts like a lovesick idiot around me, salivating over my breasts. All heterosexual men—and most gay man—do, but I highly doubt that Wyatt likes me.”

“He does, Quinn. I think he…” Charlie's voice trailed off and she averted her gaze.

“What?” Quinn prodded, interested despite her attempts at aloofness.

Charlie shook her head, then forced a smile. “Nothing. You're both adults. It's none of my business.”

Charlie pecked Quinn on the cheek, then walked out the room. Quinn sat on her bed and stared at the closed door. Now she would never be able to go to sleep tonight, wondering what her sister had been about to say about Wyatt's feelings for her. And wondering what had been in Wyatt's eyes when he had leaned toward her in the kitchen. She knew lust. And there hadn't just been lust in his eyes. It had been something more.