Breath of Dawn, The (5 page)

“He’ll let you.” He didn’t imagine many people turned Quinn down, and Rudy was even less likely. Before he started looking for reasons to stay, he said, “I’ll see you around,” and let his daughter and himself out the back door. They started across the pasture through the trees. This time, she could take as many tiny steps as she wanted.

Quinn looked at the second check Morgan Spencer had written her and wondered if it would be worth more as a collector’s piece from the elusive success guru than at face value. The thought of auctioning his signature brought a laugh. Maybe she’d be awestruck if he wasn’t so starkly human.

She looked out and saw them under the trees—Livie staring up the white bark of an aspen to the wealth of golden leaves, Morgan staring at his child as though she were worth far more than gold. Quinn pressed a hand to her heart. How could his wife leave them? Or had he left her? No, he’d have taken off the ring. Either he hoped to reconcile, or else . . . That wasn’t possible. And if that was the case, the sorrow made sense, the loss in his eyes.

She backed away from the window when he sent a glance over his shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her watching. She went out the front door to her truck. Using the camera she kept there, she photographed the antiques, drove to her place to price the items and print the pictures, and brought them to the general store.

“Sure you can hang the pictures,” the brawny guy behind the counter told her. “Tape them to the window by the door. I’ll point them out and spread the word.”

“Okay. Are you Rudy?” And when he nodded, she said, “Thanks, Rudy.”

He must have done a good job of talking them up, because, within the hour, a woman bought two of the hutches for displaying her porcelain dolls, and a couple hours later, Rudy called to say a friend of Vera’s wanted the pressed-oak cupboard but couldn’t pick it up.

She told him, “No problem,” and for the second time that day,
sought Morgan at Noelle’s ranch. Dressed in a collared shirt and khakis, he came out on the porch as she pulled up and powered down the passenger window. “Did you mean what you said?”

“I always do.”

“Then I could use you.”

He reached inside for a coat, then moved down the steps and let himself into the truck. Not a huge man, he still seemed to shrink the space. “First sale?”

“Third, actually. The first things were picked up.”

“You must have priced them to move.”

“Anything’s more than I would have had.” She pulled out. “The oak cupboard’s going to a woman right in town.”

The thing was heavier than sin, though, both of them struggling. “If you pop your stitches I’m going to feel bad.”

He flexed his hand. “I know where to find the doc.”

Together they shoved the cupboard on the packing blanket onto the tailgate and into the bed. “This—” she huffed—“is why I don’t sell furniture.”

He eyed her. “You’re pretty strong for your size.”

The unaccustomed warmth was out of proportion to what might not even be a compliment. It just felt good to have someone in her corner. “If Minnie has stairs, we’re in trouble.”

Minnie did have stairs, but the cupboard stayed on the first floor in the kitchen, where they got it after removing the door at the hinges. She absolutely would never sell furniture online.

Going back outside as the sun sent scarlet flame across the rosy sky, Morgan raised his head. “Hear that?”

She said, “Elk.” The screeching bugle was unmistakable.

“Someone’s proud of himself.”

“That noise would make me run.”

His mouth pulled sideways. “Good thing you’re not a lady elk.”

She cast him a glance. “Thanks for not calling me a cow.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he pulled the truck door open.

She left him at Noelle’s and went home herself. The more she saw of him, the less she could imagine his alter ego. Without the Internet pictures proving his fame, he’d be just a guy—a devastating guy with as much baggage as she.

Watching Quinn leave, Morgan turned at the sound of hooves as his brother cantered into the yard on his fine roan stallion. A dark rust color and perfectly proportioned, Destiny had great bloodlines, and Rick knew how to make the most of it. With his expert training, Destiny’s foals brought top dollar.

Man and beast halted by mutual consent with a stilled power awesome to behold, especially knowing how many times Rick had landed in the dirt and gotten back on to accomplish it. “Was that Quinn’s truck?” he said.

Morgan nodded.

“Problems with the house?”

“I helped her move something.”

Rick dismounted. “It’s a huge undertaking for one person. You ought to help her out.”

“I just did.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean.”

Rick stroked the horse’s neck. “It is your house.” He was saying more than that.

“Not yet.” Unlike Rick, Quinn hadn’t made his helping personal. At one time their playful repartee would have prompted an invitation for more. Either she read his boundaries or the edges warned her off—a good thing either way.

Noelle came out with Livie and called them for dinner.

Rick said, “I’ll just see to Destiny,” and headed for the stable.

Morgan joined Noelle and reached for his child. “Hey, jelly bean.”

She smiled. “Not jelly bean.”

“Sweet pink cotton-candy bean.”

“You . . . green jelly bean.”

“No, that’s Liam. I’m black licorice.” He made his voice growly.

“Don’t like
licrish.
”

“But I do.” He dove for her neck with his mouth. Recalling the delight Quinn took in his little girl—whether he invited it or not—a smile touched his lips. She got points for spunk. And pure good taste.

G
iven the guilt Rick had spooned on like sugar when it was really cayenne, Morgan took his little girl the next morning for a drive to Vera’s house. Quinn hadn’t requested any more help, and her truck wasn’t outside, though it could be in the garage, given the bitter weather. He jogged through windblown ice flecks from a sullen sky that ached to do worse. The truck was in there, so he fetched Livie and banged on the front door.

He’d intentionally come when Rick and his family were otherwise occupied so they wouldn’t get ideas and feel freer with advice than they already were. His younger brother’s nudges irritated him, even when they sometimes happened to be right. Clearing out the house was a big job for one person.

Quinn opened the door tentatively, then, seeing them, pulled it wide and spoke to his child. “Hi, you.” She gave Livie a puckish smile, then raised her gaze. “If you really don’t want people falling for her, you ought to keep her locked up.”

“No use. She’d shine through the cracks.”

Her eyes sparkled. “No doubt. So what did you want?”

“Just seeing if you need help with cupboards or anything.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “I do know where you live.”

And thanks to Rick, he now felt stupid, a feeling he had little acquaintance with and less affection for. “Any luck with your search?” He glanced into the dining room still heaped with paper. She’d made progress but not a whole lot.

“The best I can say is I haven’t lost my mind.”

Kind of endearing how committed she was to someone else’s cause. How would RaeAnne even know if she scooped the whole mess out with a bulldozer?

She said, “I’m not bothering with the unopened mail. Anything else could be relevant.”

“Sold any more cupboards?” He moved on to the kitchen.

“As you see, we’re down to one hutch besides yours and a couple of tables. I’ll probably let the Salvation Army have the rest.”

He eyed the pieces and agreed. “Let them.”

“What are you doing for furniture?”

“Getting some.” He set Livie down.

“Mmm. Well, unless you want to dive with me into the dining room . . .”

“Not happening.”

“Yeah. If I don’t finish the stacks today I’m coming back with matches.”

Again the amusement caught him. She wasn’t trying to be funny, she just was. “Any luck with keys?”

“I told you, I haven’t—”

He walked over to the box that surely held every size and shape of skeleton key made. Reaching in, he grabbed a handful and tried them one by one.

She rolled onto the balls of her feet, eager in that childlike way she had, like Livie waiting for ice cream. “What are you going to do if it opens?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Show you the bottles you’re dying to see.”

Hyperextending her fingers, she bounced the tops of her palms together, hardly containing her anticipation. He doubted the contents could be that exciting, but the ongoing experiment with Quinn was certainly entertaining.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Livie crouch and then creep under a rickety drop-leaf table. Bending, he saw the hole in the baseboard she was making a beeline for. Every speck and crevice fascinated her, which was why she picked up more lint and fuzz than a Swiffer mop. “Don’t go there, Livie.” He bent under the table, caught her by the waist, and hoisted her to the surface.

Quinn squealed.

“What!”

“That’s it!”

“It’s what?” He looked down at the gold thing clutched in Livie’s little fist.

Quinn reached out and spoke sweetly. “May I have it?”

He knew from experience it wouldn’t be that easy. But Livie floored him by dropping the item into Quinn’s hand.

“It
is
it. I can’t believe it.” Her excitement animated each word. “I search every nook and cranny—”

“Not every cranny.”

“A mousehole? That’s diabolical.”

“Unless you’re two. Then it’s irresistible.”

Quinn squealed again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She kissed Livie’s cheek. “You’ve saved me from the dining room.”

“She doesn’t comprehend the magnitude of that gift.” Morgan said, toting his daughter to the sink and washing her hands.

“I can’t begin to express it.”

“You gave it a pretty good shot.” Killing a laugh, he dried Livie’s and his own hands with paper towels. “Is the photo inside?”

Quinn went still. “You know about the photo?”

“RaeAnne told me. At length.” Especially how overwhelmed she was by Quinn’s willingness to search, and wasn’t she just the sweetest thing, bless her heart.

Quinn stared at the locket. “I guess to be sure, I have to look.”

“To be sure,” he said. She was dying to look. “Go ahead.”

She pressed her nail into the seam, freeing the latch with her other thumb. The locket sprang open and revealed a photograph in one side, a lock of hair in the other.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Do you think that’s her dad’s?” She pointed at the hair.

“DNA would tell.”

She looked up, her striking eyes making contact. “Morgan, she could actually know.”

Emotion welled visibly in her over this thing she’d done for a practical stranger, something he and Livie had played a part in. A strong conspiratorial energy passed between them. They stood a long moment, basking in whatever this was; then he forced a neutral tone. “You should call, tell her you have it.”

She drew a breath. “I will. Right now.” Clutching the locket to her chest, she pulled out her phone.

As Morgan moved out of the kitchen with Livie, she called RaeAnne at work, laughing at the prolonged and muffled squeal. “Morgan’s little girl found it in a mousehole in the kitchen. A mousehole, RaeAnne. I’m sorry, but I would not have looked there.”

“Are you sure it’s the one?”

“It has a man’s photo.”

RaeAnne breathed hard. “How does he look?”

“I only glimpsed it to make sure he was there.”

“Oh, I can’t take it. If he’s a horror I want to know.”

“He’s not.” She laughed. “And there’s something else. A lock of hair.”

“For real?”

“Looks real. I’ll mail it—”

“No! What if something happens in the mail?”

“I package very securely. I can FedEx it overnight, if you want.”

“Is that the one that crashed in that Tom Hanks movie
Castaway
?”

Quinn scratched her jaw. She shipped items all the time, and yeah, things happened, but hardly ever. Still, with the possible DNA . . . “What do you want to do?”

RaeAnne groaned. “I can’t take time off. Randy’s breathing down my neck—in a predatory way. If I don’t bring this project in on time . . .”

“I’ll keep it safe until you decide.”

“Oh, Quinn, what would you do?”

“I’d say send it insured—except compensation won’t matter if it’s lost.”

“Have you had things lost?”

“A very tiny percentage, but yes, it happens. I’d hate for it to wash up on an island and be used for cooking oysters.”

RaeAnne laughed, a hard nervous release. “Oh, Lord, what should I do?”

She couldn’t say. But then she thought of Morgan and his resources. “Let me check something and get back to you.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It may not pay off.”

“I’m just so blessed you’d try.”

A lump formed in her throat. It had been a long time since someone had considered her a blessing. “No problem.” Heading for the living room, she said, “Morgan,” then looking around, called, “Morgan?”

It seemed he’d used up his words and left before he turned into a real boy. Luckily for her, she knew where he lived.

Noelle joined Liam, who’d answered the door with greater eagerness than a butler and only slightly less noise than a watchdog. Surprised to see Quinn standing there, she smiled broadly and said, “Hi.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all. Come in.”

Stepping inside, Quinn looked up and around the high-ceilinged space dominated by the huge stone fireplace with a half-log mantel. “Wow. Feels like a giant honeycomb.”

Noelle scrutinized Rick’s handiwork. The pine log walls and ceiling were like a golden beehive, in spite of the colored throws and watercolors she’d used to soften it up and add color.

“Do you play?” Quinn indicated the grand piano in the corner.

“I do.” Music had been a huge part of her life, to a detrimental degree at one point, but now she rejoiced in the gift. “You’re welcome to join us Saturday evenings for praise and worship.” She didn’t know if Quinn shared the faith, but it never hurt to offer.

“Mo-mmy.”

When Liam gave her hand a tug, she said, “I’m making this one hot chocolate.”

“With marshmallows!”

“Would you like some?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Sure. Thanks.”

Noelle led her to the kitchen. “It’s great what you’re doing for Vera . . . well, RaeAnne. Cleaning that place out.”

“It’s a win for me, too, a wealth of things for my online store.” At the puzzled glance, Quinn added, “I’m an eBay trader.”

“Oh. I’ve heard of eBay but haven’t used it, I’m afraid.” She had charge accounts that her father funded with Neiman Marcus and Bloomingdales, and individual boutiques, even if she needed so much less than it once seemed in New York.

“It’s like other online shopping sites, except an endless cyber auction.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It’s a business,” Quinn said. “I sell things I buy from estates like Vera’s. Though I have to say, I didn’t anticipate the escalation of that job.”

Noelle handed her a mug as Liam made whirlpools in his with hard, pointed breaths. “Please sit.”

Quinn took one of the high stools around the center counter, sitting diagonally from Liam, who perched as usual on his knees. He could reach just fine if he ever sat, but he’d been assembled with a rear wiggle button.

She joined them without a mug of her own and answered the unasked question. “Punky stomach. I’m four months pregnant.”

Quinn’s eyes lit. “Congratulations.”

She formed a wan smile. “It’s a joy and a challenge. These first months anyway. The sight and smell of almost anything . . .” She shook her head, then ruffled her son’s hair. “Liam’s still considering the situation.” She eyed him indulgently, but he was busy trying to sink a marshmallow with his finger. “He’ll let me know when he approves.”

Quinn said, “I’m not sure my sister ever did, but we were eleven years apart. Not likely to become best friends.”

“That’s substantial. I’m an only child. After my mother died, my father raised me with fear and trembling. Tutors, dance, music, art, and equestrian training, with chauffeurs and a security detail to get me everywhere and back safely.”

Quinn cast her a knowing look, as though she’d guessed as much. It must be more apparent than she knew, since Morgan had guessed the same at first glance.

“It wasn’t easy for either of us. That’s why I feel so deeply for Morgan and Livie.” Love and fear were uneasy bedfellows.

Quinn cradled her mug. “Can’t be easy single parenting in any circumstance.”

Noelle nodded, unsure how much to say. Morgan had resented Rick’s nudge, yet he and Quinn seemed to have connected at Vera’s on their own, a conjoining of interests in the house, Quinn for RaeAnne and Morgan in his disconcerting decision to move there.

“I was hoping he could help me with something.”

“Well.” She’d obviously realized what everyone learned sooner or later. “Helping’s what Morgan does best.”

“Is he here?”

“His car’s here. Second cabin down.” After the first months, he’d moved there and insisted on paying the rental rate for a cabin plus expenses. Rick accepted the deal, saying Morgan had to do things his way.

“Well, thanks for the cocoa.” Quinn gave Liam a wave and smiled when he said bye into his mug with marshmallow clinging to his upper lip.