In Too Deep (3 page)

“Max?” Lily finally inserted.

“Yeah. Maybe he can look after Quinn tonight.”

“No,” Quinn said. “I don't need a nursemaid.”

Lily looked at him as though she knew differently. “Ready?”

He nodded and sat up. Surprisingly, he didn't feel nearly as bad as he had a few minutes earlier. “Take me home and let me down a couple of aspirin. By morning, I'll be good as new.”

“And ready to kayak over to Foster Island,” Hilda said, her voice dry. She took off a pair of latex gloves and dropped them into a trash can. “Stay away from the aspirin. Do you have any Tylenol?” When he didn't answer right away, she added, “I'll give you some. And I want to see you back here in the morning.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Agreeable, now.” Hilda smiled. “Keep that up and you could tarnish your swashbuckling reputation.”

He stood and took step toward the door. “Like I said, tomorrow I'll be back to normal.”

“I'll get Annmarie and be ready in a minute.” Lily picked up the red sweater she had been wearing earlier and disappeared through the doorway.

He watched her walk down the hallway toward the door to Hilda's apartment. Lily might be small, but the curve of her bottom was all woman, round and sexy despite the full cut of her slacks. The lady looked damn near as good walking away as she did coming toward him.

Hilda cleared her throat and he turned around. She handed him a small bottle. He glanced at the label and put the bottle in his pocket. When he looked up, he found her watching him.

“So that's the way the wind blows,” she said.

“What?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Don't you ‘what' me. I see how you look at her.”

“Last I heard, looking wasn't a crime.” He didn't add that
Lily had been looking back. In fact she was the one who'd started it.

“She's still getting over the death of her husband.”

“She told me.”

“She's not the type to have a fling.”

Quinn pressed a hand against the bandage at his hairline. “Do you always fight her battles?”

Hilda grinned suddenly and the heat disappeared from her voice. “Since we were seven years old. She'd take in a stray and never check to see if he had rabies.”

“Talking about me behind my back again?” Lily asked, coming down the hallway from Hilda's apartment, Annmarie holding her hand. “I haven't picked up a stray since Sly Devious Beast.” She grinned at Quinn. “He turned out to be a great dog and quite without rabies.”

“I'm worried,” Annmarie said. “We've been gone a long time and Sweetie Pie is probably missing me.”

“Most likely.” Lily urged her daughter toward the outside door and gave Hilda a quick hug. “I promised Thad that I'd bring caramel corn when we come down for videos tomorrow night.”

“You're spoiling my son rotten.”

“I know.”

Lily opened the exterior door and waited for Quinn. Annmarie ducked under her arm. He followed her outside where she said, “I'm driving.”

“Okay.”

She held open the car door for him, which made him feel like an old man, then waited until he was settled into the passenger seat before going around the vehicle to the driver's side.

“I live up the hill from the dock. Second house from the end,” he said after she got in the car and was scooting the driver's seat forward to accommodate her shorter frame. “You live with your sister, right?”

“That's right.” Lily started the car.

“Then you should take the car after dropping me at home.”

She smiled at him. “Does your head still hurt?”

He nodded. “Like hell.”

“He said a bad word, Mommy,” Annmarie said.

“Sorry.” Now that they were moving again, his brief surge of feeling better had all but disappeared.

Lily drove right past the turnoff to his street.

“You missed the turn.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm not taking you home. Like Hilda said, you need someone to check on you tonight, and you yourself said there's no one to do that.”

“I'll be fine.”

“I'm sure you will,” she agreed.

“But you're not taking me home.” He really ought to be more upset about that, he decided. Instead the idea of being babied somehow appealed more than being one of the strays she took in bothered him.

Again she smiled. “I'm not.”

“Who would have thought you're stubborn?”

As they headed south from Lynx Point, he figured his brain cells were still mostly intact. He didn't have to be a genius to figure out they were on their way to Lily's sister's house. There were only a couple of places out this direction, and the nursery was at the end of the road.

On the drive to her aunt's house, Annmarie maintained a running monologue, informing Quinn how impressed she was with his car, which was green like hers only much nicer and with lots of dials and stuff, pointing out the turnoff to the house where she and her mom were going to live only couldn't right now because the house had no walls yet, and relating how her kitten tormented the dog.

He'd seen the house the last time he had been kayaking, the straight lines of new lumber standing out from the surrounding forest.

They came around a final bend and the road ended at a gate with a hand-painted sign above it that read Comin' Up
Rosie. Quinn had ridden his mountain bike out here a couple of times, but he'd never been through the gate, which framed a traditional Tlingit totem in the middle of the yard. Beyond the house was a gorgeous yacht anchored next to a pristine dock.

As Lily parked the car, a woman clad in jeans and a dark green apron came out of the greenhouse. She was followed by the ugliest dog he had ever seen.

“Do you have a totem pole in your yard?” Annmarie asked him.

“Nope.”

“In California, we didn't have one, either.” Annmarie sat up straighter and waved. “That's my aunt Rosie,” she informed him. “She's going to have a baby real soon. Did you know that?”

“No.” Or maybe he did—something about her having morning sickness. She showed no sign of an advanced pregnancy despite her niece's assertion.

The instant that Lily shut off the ignition, Annmarie scrambled over her and bounced out of the car. She skipped across the yard and threw herself into her aunt's arms.

“Guess what happened? Mommy's car was in a crash and Mr. Quinn, he got stitches from Hilda, and Thad and me, we found lots of stuff in the tide pools.”

Quinn's impression was that anyone could tell Rosie, Lily and Annmarie were related. Rosie was taller than Lily, but not by much. All three had blond hair and dark eyes. Even without the similarities in their coloring, the family resemblance would have stood out.

“What's all this?” Rosie removed her work gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of the canvas apron.

When Quinn walked toward them, the dog sniffed his hand, then ambled toward the wide porch that wrapped around the house.

Lily briefly related what had happened with the accident. At the end, she glanced toward Quinn and introduced him.

“I think we met once last spring when you moved your
lab to the new place.” Rosie shook his hand. “You probably want to go sit down somewhere.”

“Yeah.” He remembered how surprised he had been when about forty people showed up to help him move. A job that he had anticipated would take a week had taken, instead, hours. It was his first experience with the neighbor-helping-neighbor support commonplace in Lynx Point. Given the independent nature of the people who lived here, their generosity and support had been a surprise and had proven to be an integral part of the character of these people.

“You might as well stay for supper,” Rosie said.

“Actually, he's staying a bit longer than that,” Lily said, taking him by the arm and steering him toward the house. “He has a concussion and needs somebody to keep an eye on him tonight.”

“He's spending the night?” Rosie's eyebrows rose and she gave Quinn an even more thorough look.

Hilda's comment about strays struck home. He was done with being the odd man out, the stray, the one nobody really wanted. God, but he was tired.

“Lily was driving—”

“Which put me in the driver's seat.” She led him up the steps to the porch. “So, yes. He's staying.”

“I never agreed to that.” He stepped around the dog, who was sprawled in front of the door.

Somehow he found himself led into the house. Lily came to a halt, then gave him a long, considering glance. “You're not as tall as my brother-in-law, but I bet he has something you can wear. The blood on your shirt—”

“Isn't that bad. I'm fine.” Quinn didn't tell her that he'd made a point of never wearing anyone's else's clothes since he'd gone off to college when he was eighteen. By then he'd had more than enough of hand-me-downs.

Annmarie came from somewhere in the house, carrying an apparently boneless calico cat in her arms that she held up for his inspection. “This is Sweetie Pie. Would you like to hold her? She purrs and everything.”

“Maybe later.”

“This way,” Lily said, urging him toward a doorway. Through a short hallway, he found himself in a comfortable-looking living room. As with the kitchen, the walls were a cheery yellow. The sofa and chairs were large enough to accommodate a man of his size. Lily pointed toward one of the blue-upholstered chairs in front of a large television. “That one is a recliner.”

“You're going to let me sleep?” When she looked up to meet his gaze, he grinned. “I still haven't agreed to stay.”

To his surprise, she handed him his car keys. “If you feel well enough to drive, go.”

No one had ever called his bluff as neatly. He gave her back the keys. “Maybe after a nap.”

“I'll get you a glass of water so you can take the Tylenol that Hilda gave you.” She went back to the kitchen, and a second later he heard the sound of running water.

A poster-size photograph over the mantel caught his gaze—a family gathering. He wanted to look away, hating the feeling that always wound through his chest with the whole family thing. Other people took pictures like that for granted. Easy if you had a family…and he didn't.

This photograph chronicled a wedding, he realized a second later. Right away he recognized Lily and Annmarie wearing traditional Norwegian dress. Rosie stood next to a tall man in a tux and another woman looking much like Rosie and Lily stood next to another tall man, this one in a full dress uniform. Annmarie hadn't changed much, so he figured the photograph had to be a recent one.

The other picture that snagged his attention was one of Lily with a man and a baby—clearly one of those portraits that had been taken to commemorate the beginning of a family. The man and Lily cradled the baby, but their eyes were on one another. Their expressions made Quinn feel as though he was peeping through a window at something too private to be shared. Lily's husband…. No matter what kind of signals she had given Quinn this afternoon, no man could com
pete with this dead husband she obviously adored. Him least of all.

He fished the bottle of pills out of his pocket and sat down. The chair was as comfortable as it looked. He had just lifted the footrest when Lily returned. She waited for him to take the pills, then covered him with a knitted blanket. The novelty of it all had him searching her gaze and snagging her hand when she would have stepped away.

“Hilda was right, you know.” When she raised an eyebrow, he added, “About checking for rabies.”

“If you were some stray, she might be right, but you're not.” She pulled her fingers from within his and brushed his hair away from his forehead, lightly skirting the bandage that covered his stitches. “You belong here more than you realize.” Patting his shoulder, she walked away. “Rest.”

Rest? Not likely. He fingered the handmade blanket, his thoughts following the woman. Of all the words he'd wanted to hear his whole life and never had, hers were the ones.
You belong here.

A
loud rhythmic rumble made Quinn open his eyes. A pair of brown eyes within a pixie face peered into his. Annmarie. He turned his head slightly and found her cat resting on his chest, her paws kneading. The source of the rumble, her purr, was loud, satisfied and inviting.

“I'm s'posed to wake you up when the timer rings,” Annmarie said, lifting a handheld timer for him to see. According to the dial, he had less than five minutes.

“Looks like I woke up just in time.” He pushed the recliner into a sitting position, and the cat slid to his lap. He glanced at his watch, surprised that nearly two hours had passed. He'd slept, and he hadn't intended to.

“Sweetie Pie likes you.”

“I can see that.” He petted the cat, discovering that she was far smaller than he had imagined, her long calico coat disguising her size. He'd forgotten how soft cat fur was. She opened her green eyes, her expression one of complete contentment.

Quinn glanced around the room, which was bathed in the
light of early evening. Everything about the room suggested this was where Lily and her family spent a lot of time—books stacked on one of the end tables, a basket filled with skeins of yarn, and a coloring book and crayons on one end of the coffee table. Again, his gaze lingered on the family photos on the mantel.

This place was a home, in all that word conjured. And, as always, he was the outsider.

If asked, he'd deny he had ever wanted this, but for a moment he allowed himself to imagine being right here enjoying one of the Alaska's long winter nights with a family—a woman like Lily and a little girl like Annmarie.

The timer pinged and Quinn gave himself a mental shake. e had tried the family thing right after college and it hadn't lasted a year. No way was he repeating that experience. Bad as it was for him, he wouldn't subject anyone else to his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde behavior ever again. The honeymoon period, doing everything he could to please. The rebel-without-a-cause period, being a royal pain and sabotaging the very relationships he wanted. He'd finally grown up and admitted the obvious. Wanting a family and having the goods to make it work…those didn't come in the same package—at least, not with him. End of story.

He lowered the footrest and handed the cat to Annmarie. She grinned at him, then skipped toward the kitchen, the cat draped over her shoulder.

“He's awake, Mom. Guess what? He snores. I heard 'em.”

Quinn grinned at that. Annmarie really was a pistol. He stood, deciding he really did feel better, not good enough to whip anyone, but at least his still-aching head didn't feel as though it would fall off when he moved it.

“And snoring sounds like?” Lily asked from the kitchen.

“Like Sweetie Pie when she purrs, only louder.”

Nothing had ever been more inviting than Lily's soft, answering laugh. Or maybe it was the mouthwatering aroma coming from the kitchen.

At a slower pace, Quinn followed Annmarie. Lily stood at the stove, her back to him. She had changed out of the tailored slacks into a print skirt that skimmed her ankles. An oversize towel was wrapped into an apron around her slim waist. Her feet were bare and tapping to the rhythm of a Country tune on the radio. The scientist had been replaced by an earth mother cooking in a cheery yellow kitchen.

“Are you making cobbler yet?” Annmarie pulled a chair across the floor toward the counter. “I want to help.”

“Fine, but put the cat down and wash your hands first.”

“Hi,” Quinn said.

Lily turned around, her smile welcoming, her gaze frankly searching his face. There it was again…an invitation in her dark eyes that he found all too tempting.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” She came toward him and pulled one of the chairs away from the table in the center of the room, motioning for him to sit down. “What can I get for you—a soda, milk, coffee?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

She wiped her hands on the makeshift apron and returned to the stove where something sizzled in a large cast-iron skillet.

“Whatever you're cooking smells great.” What he had intended was to make his excuses, thank her for her hospitality, and leave. Instead he moved closer, drawn by both the woman and the tantalizing aroma of her cooking.

She flashed him another smile over her shoulder, then expertly turned over the pieces, cooked to a crisp golden brown. “Comfort food—fried chicken. I thought you might enjoy that.”

“Sounds great.” The same thing as agreeing that he'd stay for dinner. Then he'd go home.

“And smashed potatoes,” Annmarie said from the sink where she was washing her hands. “Uncle Ian says they're his favorite, did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer she added, “And he likes cold pizza, too, but Mommy thinks that's yucky.”

Quinn caught Lily's gaze. “What about cold fried chicken?”

“On a picnic…”

“With potato salad…”

Lily shook her head. “Cole slaw and chocolate cake.”

“Sign me up.”
The way to a man's heart,
he nearly said, which was the same as admitting he wanted more from this surprising woman. He merely offered, “Your picnics sound better than mine.”

“Aunt Rosie and me, we planned lots of picnics, and then it always rained,” Annmarie said, once again pulling her chair toward the counter. “Can we make cobbler now, Mom?”

“Yes.” Lily set a mixing bowl in front of Annmarie.

The little girl looked at Quinn. “You could help, too, Mr. Quinn. Mommy measures and I get to put everything in the bowl. But I can share.”

“Thanks, but I think I'll just watch.”

Annmarie grinned. “And you get to put your finger in to see if it tastes good.”

He laughed. “Would I have to wash my hands?”

“Certainly,” Lily said, giving him a mock frown that he didn't believe for a minute.

Within seconds he figured out that he was in the way by simply standing around, so he retreated to the kitchen table and sat in the chair that Lily had pulled out. He had never imagined that he'd find watching a woman and a little girl so fascinating, but it was. The flour that ended up on the floor instead of in the bowl didn't seem to bother Lily a bit. She was patient and funny with her daughter, both of them clearly enjoying the process.

Throughout the interplay, Lily somehow managed to maintain a running dialogue with Quinn, eliciting from him that his head still pounded and bringing him a Dr Pepper after he mentioned that was what he liked.

“Where's your sister?” he asked as Lily slid the raspberry cobbler into the oven.

“I have two. Rosie is on a walk with Ian. And Dahlia is in Colorado.”

“With Uncle Jack,” Annmarie piped in. “He was Mr. Jack and Uncle Ian was Mr. Ian and then there was the wedding and I got two uncles on the same day.”

“I see,” Quinn said.

Lily smiled. “Can you believe we planned a double wedding in less than two months?”

It was the sort of question that required a “No, I don't believe it,” so he shook his head.

“We had a great time. Lots of family, lots of food. And perfect for Rosie and Dahlia.”

Family. That again.

“Mommy says just because Aunt Rosie is having a baby doesn't mean Aunt Dahlia is,” Annmarie offered. “I really, really want a baby sister or a baby brother, but Mommy says she won't be having any because that takes a mommy
and
a daddy.”

“Aha.” Quinn had the feeling this was part of an ongoing conversation between the two when he noticed the chastising look Lily gave Annmarie.

She tousled her daughter's hair. “Time to help me set the table, sweetie.”

Quinn stood. “That's something I can help with.”

“Okay.” Lily pointed to where the plates and flatware were kept, then returned her attention to the stove and the dozen things that suddenly all needed to be done at once.

In the middle of setting the table and smiling at Annmarie's direction where the forks and knives should be placed, the outside door opened. Rosie and the dog Quinn had seen earlier came in, followed by a tall, rugged-looking man whose gaze lasered in on him.

“I'm Quinn Morrison.” He offered his hand. “You must be Rosie's husband.”

“Ian Stearne,” the man said, shaking Quinn's hand. “Rosie tells me you've been playing chicken with Lily's car.”

“Chicken-brained is more like it,” Quinn said. “I had the dumb-ass idea that I could catch it.”

“And he would have, too, if it hadn't been locked,” Lily offered. She carried a steaming platter of crispy fried chicken to the table.

Ian gave her a sharp look. “Your car rolled down the hillside, and it was locked?”

“And the keys were in the ignition.” Lily returned to the stove where she poured steaming green beans into a serving bowl. “I would have sworn I put them in the drawer of my desk, but I must have left them in the car.” As had happened before, Lily's casual words belied the pain in her eyes, which gave Quinn the impression she didn't want anyone to know how frightened she had been.

“That makes no sense,” Ian said.

Rosie motioned for them to all sit.

Quinn pulled out a chair, wondering what was behind Ian's protective attitude toward Lily.

“The handyman—Max—called,” Ian said. “Frank Talbot picked up your car and towed it down to the garage.”

“That was good of him.” Lily took the seat next to Quinn and promptly passed him a napkin-covered basket that he discovered was filled the warm corn bread. “I bet I have to send it off to Juneau to get it fixed.”

“Not as convenient as San Jose,” Ian said.

“Speaking of California,” Rosie said, glancing at Lily. “Cal called today asking for you. Said he was just checking in.”

If Quinn hadn't been watching Lily, he would have missed the shadow that chased across her face before she smiled. Old boyfriend, maybe? The twinge of jealousy over that thought surprised Quinn.

“He's been calling a lot,” Ian said. “Everything okay?”

“As far as I know,” Lily said. She gave Ian the sort of smile that suggested the subject was closed, then asked, “Did the windows for my house arrive today?”

“They did,” he said. “We're right on schedule to have the exterior weather-tight by the first of October.”

The next few moments were taken up with the discussion of Lily's house, which was under construction, while food was passed around the table. The routine was clearly ordinary to Lily and her family, but for Quinn… He figured the last home-cooked meal he'd had like this was last Thanksgiving. Lily hadn't been whistling “Dixie” when she promised comfort food. Fried chicken and corn bread. One of his favorite meals…one he'd enjoy a whole lot more if his head wasn't once again pounding.

“Any strangers hanging around the center?” Ian asked.

Lily uttered a soft chuckle, her gaze amused when she looked at Ian. “You have the most suspicious mind. No, it was nothing like that. Just a stupid accident.”

Ian's expression suggested that he didn't agree.

Quinn realized that he didn't think it was an accident, either.

With a sudden rush of clarity, Quinn remembered a conversation he'd had with Dwight Jones on the ferry yesterday. As chief geologist for Anorak Exploration, Jones's views on the natural resources surrounding Kantrovitch Island were diametrically opposed to Quinn's. Jones had been more than a little hot that Quinn had filed a request for an injunction to stop the exploratory drilling within a twenty-mile radius around the hydrothermic vent.

“If you want to play hardball,” Jones had said, “you'll be getting yourself in way deeper than you can imagine. We will be drilling. Get used to it.”

Until now, Quinn hadn't thought that anything about their conversation could be construed as a threat. Was it? He wished he didn't feel so woozy and out of it, which left him with the feeling that he had overlooked something important.

Though their professional differences kept them from being close friends, Quinn liked Dwight well enough. They had gone kayaking a couple of times, which had been fine. As
had their occasional Friday afternoon basketball games on the dock.

“That's some mighty deep thinking you appear to be doing there,” Ian said.

Quinn nodded, meeting the other man's narrowed gaze. “Just remembering a conversation I had on the ferry yesterday. I'll check it out.”

The narrowed gaze became a frown. “You bring trouble to Lily's door—”

“Stop it.” Lily flashed Quinn an apologetic smile. “You'll have to forgive Ian. He sees a boogeyman behind every bush.”

“That's 'cause there were bad mens. Lots of them,” Annmarie piped in.

“As for those bad men—” Lily said “—that's behind us, and they're in prison.” At Quinn's questioning glance, she added, “I testified in a murder case last spring, the man was convicted and he's in prison. Since then, Ian has been a little edgy.”

Quinn caught the other man's gaze, certain there was a wealth of information that Lily had left out of her light explanation. Ian Stearne didn't strike him as a man who imagined things. He did strike Quinn has the kind of man who took care of his own, though. Quinn admired that.

“Lily's car is almost identical to mine.” He cleared his throat. “If today wasn't an accident, it has to do with me…not her.”

“Something involving Anorak?” Rosie asked. “They've made it real plain to the fishermen they expect to begin drilling soon.”

Quinn knew better than to throw even the most casual of stones before checking his facts. “I don't know, but like I said, I'll check on it.”

“Eat,” Lily urged. “Our dinner is getting cold, and I've had about enough of this. Today was an accident. That's all.”

Quinn hoped she was right. He flat-out hated the idea that somebody else's argument with him could have put Lily or
Annmarie in danger. The quicker he figured out if Anorak or Dwight Jones had anything to do with today, the better.