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Authors: Tamara Sneed

At First Touch (8 page)

BOOK: At First Touch
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Chapter 8

Q
uinn walked into the kitchen the next morning. She sighed in relief to find it empty. She could not deal with Wyatt questions from Charlie this morning. She had too many herself to answer Charlie's questions.

She raked hands through her tangled curls and found the coffeepot still full with steaming coffee. She poured coffee into Kendra's favorite mug, which she took particular joy drinking out of, then walked to the living room. No sign of Charlie and Graham in there, either.

She pushed aside a lace curtain in one of the front windows and didn't see Graham's Porsche. But she did, unfortunately, see Boyd Robbins climbing from his truck. She quickly released the curtain, but it was too late. Boyd had seen her. It wasn't fair. She was in pajamas and a robe. Hardly proper attire for a confrontation with Sibleyville's cantankerous mayor.

Boyd pounded on the front door. “Ms. Sibley! Ms. Sibley, I know you're in there! I need to talk to you.”

Quinn grimaced, then gulped down the cup of coffee, knowing that she would need all the caffeine she could handle to deal with Boyd. She set the cup on a nearby table and opened the door.

She tried her best smile and the semblance of a country drawl, “Good morning, Mayor Robbins.”

Boyd didn't smile back. He was a former Marine and damn proud of it. He still kept his military buzz cut, lean, muscular figure and ramrod-straight posture, even decades after having retired from the Corps. The problem was, Boyd also still kept his Marine attitude. He ordered people around. And because the Sibleyville residents thought it would do more harm than good to let him run around complaining about not being mayor, he was in the middle of his fifteenth consecutive term as mayor.

“Let's cut the small talk, Ms. Sibley,” Boyd said, his country drawl thick, even though Sibleyville sat in the middle of California. He planted his feet wide apart, rocked back on his heels and hooked his hands on his oversized silver belt buckle. “I heard that you're trying to make a movie in my town. I find that damn surprising, since no one has called my office and asked for permission, and since I would never grant permission for any Hollywood types to run around my town, messing with my citizens and causing general havoc in this town.”

“Mayor Robbins, I'm sure we can reach some type of agreement—”

“That's funny because I'm pretty damn confident that we can't reach any type of agreement,” he shouted. She had been waiting for the shouting to begin. Mayor Robbins was not exactly known for his poise and grace. “In fact, I'm pretty damn confident that no Hollywood types are going to set foot in my town with any damn cameras.”

“We will not disrupt the town in any way,” Quinn spoke quickly. “We'll be filming a few exterior shots on the outskirts of town and maybe one or two on Main Street. The majority of the shooting will take place at the Granger Funeral Home—”

“Now I know you're lying,” Boyd said, with a loud guffaw of disbelief. “I heard from a very reliable source that you will not be filming at the mortuary under any circumstances.”

“I'm working on that,” Quinn conceded.

Boyd smiled in that way of his that meant he was nowhere near close to being amused. “If you get permission to film at the Granger Funeral Home, I will personally chauffer you and the film crew anywhere in this town that you want.”

Quinn lifted one eyebrow, amused. “Everyone will love being shown around by the mayor. It'll add that down-home touch that will make the cast and crew fall in love with Sibleyville.”

His smile fell, and his eyes narrowed at her. “You really are a Sibley, aren't you? Arrogance runs in the family.”

“You set the terms of the deal, Mayor, and I'm just accepting them.”

“You're awfully sure of yourself. You think you can bat your eyelashes at Wyatt Granger and he'll go against his mother. That is never going to happen. Wyatt is a good boy. He will not be tempted by you.”

“Who said anything about tempting Wyatt?” she demanded angrily. “Some people would love to have their homes featured in a movie. Only in this town is Hollywood still considered Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“We're not the only town. We're just the most vocal about it,” he said, becoming calmer the more angry she became.

“Boyd, what a pleasant surprise,” came Graham's sardonic voice from the still open front door.

Charlie quickly stepped into the house to stand by Quinn's side and to frown at Boyd.

“Are you all right, Quinn?” Charlie asked, grabbing her hand.

“Of course she's all right,” Boyd snapped. “She and I just reached an understanding. There's nothing like having a good understanding.”

“Oh, we understand each other all right, Boyd. And I can't wait to let the crew know how happy you'll be to see all of us,” Quinn replied, with a sugary sweet smile.

Boyd practically growled at her, then stomped toward the front door. He cast one look last disgusted look at Quinn and Charlie, then stormed down the porch and toward his truck.

“Always good to see you, Boyd,” Graham called after him, then slammed the door and turned to Quinn. “What did that asshole want?”

“Nothing,” Quinn said, shaking her head. She ignored both of their questioning glances and said, “I'm going to take a shower and then I'm heading into town. I have a few errands to run.”

She walked up the stairs and to her room, her nerves making her nearly break into a run. She had to convince Wyatt to give her the house, and she had to convince him now.

 

Wyatt parked his SUV in front of Dorrie's office for their lunch date. He had gotten up with a renewed purpose that morning. Not only would he woo Dorrie in a manner that this town would talk about for years, but he also would be teaching Quinn a lesson that she should have learned a long time ago: don't underestimate a determined man.

Wyatt grabbed the bunches of daffodils wrapped in green paper on the passenger seat and got out the car. Not many women could resist daffodils, especially bright pink ones that were hard to find in the middle of winter.

Fortunately, Wyatt had such daffodils in the greenhouse he had built from scratch and filled with all varieties of flowers. He could not bear to bring her boring roses.

Wyatt was not just the town mortician; he as also the town's unofficial gardener and florist. He didn't garden for the money, he did it because he loved to garden. He loved to have people visit the greenhouse and admire his flowers.

Wyatt grinned as he checked his reflection in the sideview mirror. He wasn't usually a vain, check-himself-in-the-mirror type of man, but a man had to look his best when he was wooing, and Wyatt would definitely be wooing today.

“Flowers?” came a deep drawl behind him. “Nice touch.”

Wyatt turned to face Graham's father, Lance, and Lance's best friend and partner in crime, Angus Affleck. The two men could have been advertisements for cowboys. Their weathered, lined faces were usually covered by hats, their attire was denim, boots and plaid shirts, and their legs were bowed from being more comfortable on a horse than in a car. They were tough, old-time cowboys with ranches and farms, and the deep lines etched in their leathery brown skin reflected that. Wyatt could not have asked for better substitute fathers after his own died.

Lance touched the rim of his Chicago Cubs baseball hat and said, “From what I heard about the row you and Dorrie had in the street yesterday, I don't think those flowers are going to be enough.”

Angus laughed and added, “Not to mention the little scene in the diner with the Sibley girl.”

“That's right. Quinn. You are in trouble if that one has you in her sights,” Lance said, an amused twinkle in his brown eyes.

“I definitely wouldn't mind being in her sights. I can tell you that much,” Angus said, causing both the men guffaw in laughter.

Wyatt hid his own smile and said dryly, “If you two are done with the Laurel and Hardy routine, I have some wooing to do.”

“Now that sounds downright serious,” Lance said, while nudging an obviously amused Angus.

“We definitely wouldn't want to get in the way of wooing,” Angus managed to agree, without laughing too much.

“But, let's not be hasty, young buck,” Angus said, while placing a firm grip on Wyatt's arm. “Talk to two old men for a moment.”

“Yes, talk to us,” Angus said.

Wyatt narrowed his eyes suspiciously then glanced from one man to the other. “What is this about?”

“Dorrie is a sweet girl, but if Quinn is as lovestruck for you as people say she was in the diner—”

Angus interrupted Lance to say, “I think the most popular description so far is lovestruck calf—”

“Then you need to reassess the situation,” Lance concluded.

Angus added, “There's nothing like a good reassessment of the situation.”

“Because Quinn is a wonderful woman,” Lance said, finishing Angus's sentence. “Not saying that Dorrie isn't, but you and Quinn would be good together.”

“And not so much with Dorrie…as great as she is,” Angus murmured.

“Because we've watched you watching Quinn for the last year, and now that you're getting your chance, we'd hate to see you blow it,” Lance concluded, followed by a confirming nod from Angus.

Wyatt gently extracted his arm from Angus's grip and said, “Have you two thought about joining the local quilting circle? I'm sure you could add valuable gossip and meddling.”

“Easy there,” Angus growled as Lance laughed.

Wyatt ignored Angus and said to Lance, “There's nothing to reassess. Quinn likes to play games and, because she's bored, I'm her plaything for right now.”

“I would pay money to be that young girl's plaything,” Angus said, sounding a tad too serious. Lance stared at him surprised, and Angus shrugged innocently. “I watched
Diamond Valley
. She's a pistol.”

“The point is,” Wyatt continued while shooting Angus an annoyed look, “Quinn was putting on a show in the diner because she knew that people were watching. I'm not going to let her distract me from trying to build a relationship with Dorrie.”

Angus and Lance stared at each other for a moment, speechless. Then they both simultaneously began to laugh. Wyatt stared at them, confused.

“We obviously can't do any good around here,” Lance said, shaking his head. “Let's grab some lunch.”

“Poor idiot,” Angus muttered, glancing at Wyatt.

The two men walked down the street still laughing and jabbing each other in the sides.

Wyatt shook his head at the two men, then walked into the accountant's office. There was a large desk in the center of the room, several chairs and a sofa against the wall. A door led to a private bathroom. She had numerous pictures of her nieces and nephews in Seattle and their drawings framed on the walls, not to mention the stitched pillows. Anyone who walked into the office would instantly feel at home. Comfortable. Wyatt could imagine that their home would feel like this too.

Dorrie stood at a filing cabinet at the back of the room. She turned when she heard the door open and smiled in welcome. She looked the picture of small-town beauty in dark gray slacks and a crisp white blouse. She even wore pearls. Perfect and feminine and sweet. Wyatt waited for that unsteady, rock-the-world sensation he got whenever Quinn smiled at him, but he felt nothing.

“Hi, Wyatt,” she greeted. “I was just about to call you.”

He walked across the room and offered her the flowers. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

She looked at them, as if they were snakes. Then her eyes welled with tears and she sneezed. Loudly.

“Excuse me,” she said then grabbed a tissue from the box on the top of the desk.

Wyatt offered her the flowers again. She sneezed again. Louder.

“You're allergic,” he guessed with a grimace.

“Notice the plant-free, flower-free decor,” came Quinn's loud voice from the door leading to the bathroom.

Wyatt's mouth dropped open as Quinn sauntered into the room. Wearing skin-tight corduroy pants, equally tight turtle-neck sweater and knee-high boots. In theory, it was a conservative outfit, but on Quinn…He hadn't heard the door open or noticed that someone else had been in the office. Quinn sent Wyatt a smug smile, then beamed a supposedly sympathetic at Dorrie, who was sniffling into a tissue.

“What are you doing here?” Wyatt demanded.

“Talking to Dorrie, silly. Why else would I be here?” she asked with a carefree laugh.

She crossed the room to loop her arms through one of his. He glared down at her and asked suspiciously, “What in the world do you have to talk to Dorrie about?”

“I just wanted to tell her that whatever she heard about you and me is a complete lie,” Quinn said, then became distracted as she brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder. Once that was done, she met his gaze and said sweetly, “I told Dorrie that you and I are strictly friends and she has nothing to worry about.”

BOOK: At First Touch
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