Patchwork Family (7 page)

“What— I mean, hello, Mr. Spencer.”

“Hello, Molly.”

When he stood there, saying nothing else, she asked, “Did you want to come in?” She couldn’t imagine why, but politeness demanded that she offer.

With a smile he went past her, already removing his overcoat. He planned to stay?

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said with a smile. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d check on arrangements for Sunday. I feel sort of responsible since it was my idea.”

She stared at him. “But you offered it as a suggestion. It was my decision to go ahead with it,” she assured him, frowning. “You have no reason to feel responsible.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. But I hear a lot of people are coming. I thought I should warn you you might have a crowd.”

“But I haven’t even advertised it yet. How could you hear—”

He chuckled, almost a rusty tone, as if he didn’t often laugh. It was an entrancing sound. “This is a small town. I certainly mentioned it to my father. It seems he’s visiting with Lydia a lot. He discussed it with her. She, of course, told the ladies at Worthington House, who in turn told—”

“I get the picture.” Molly nodded. “Well, I appreciate your letting me know.”

After a pause, he said, “I wouldn’t turn down a cup of coffee, if you have any made. It’s been a long day.”

Molly was horrified by her lapse in good manners. The man threw her off track every time. “Of course. Do you mind the kitchen?”

“I love your kitchen,” he assured her with a smile.
“You don’t happen to need any muffins tasted, do you?”

She couldn’t hold back a return smile. “No, but you could test the oatmeal-raisin cookies. I put pecans in the recipe this time.”

“I’ll sacrifice myself for the good of science,” he agreed with a heavy sigh and a grin that signaled his playacting.

“How big of you,” she agreed solemnly, and led the way to the kitchen.

“It probably will be,” he said, following her. “I’ll probably put on unwanted pounds with all this testing.”

With a quick look over her shoulder, she muttered, “I don’t think you’re in any danger.” In fact, he looked just about perfect from her point of view. Not that she was interested, of course. She’d looked for the sake of science.

Seated at the table with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of cookies in front of him, Quinn asked, “Aren’t you going to join me?”

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “I’ll let you do the tasting, since I’ve already tried a few too many.”

He bit into the first cookie and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Then he finished that one and reached for another. “I’d better try more than one. For quality control, you know. That one could be a rogue cookie that didn’t conform to the rest of them.”

“True,” she agreed, and nudged the plate closer to him.

“So how are plans shaping up for Sunday?”

“I’m pretty much on schedule. Oh, here’s the ad that will be in the paper. I’ve decided to run it Friday,
Saturday and Sunday, so everyone will see it.” She proudly displayed the paper Jenna had brought by earlier. “Jenna—I mean your sister-in-law—did it for me.”

“Very nice.”

“Yes, she’s been a real godsend. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find what I needed in such a small town, but she’s designed my stationery, my invoices, my business cards, everything I’ll need. And once I finalize my menus, she’ll do those, too.”

“Are you serving anything but breakfast?”

“Not really. But I figured offering a late-night snack, like a pot of coffee and cookies or something like that, might be a good idea. And on Sundays, maybe a brunch that would be open to the public, too.”

“That’s pretty ambitious,” he said, a frown on his face.

Molly felt herself stiffen and drew a deep breath. “I’m an ambitious person. I want my business to succeed.”

He reached for another cookie. “I don’t see how it could fail. And if it does, you can open a bakery. We don’t really have a first-class bakery in town.”

About to answer him, Molly froze. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Friday, when she made Sara’s birthday cake, she could show off her skills. And the Christmas cake she intended to make for her open house. If she printed up a notice about special occasion baking, she might be able to generate more income. And she loved baking.

“Molly? Molly, did I say something wrong?”

She beamed at him. “No! You’ve given me another idea! I can offer special occasion baking to
order. After all, I’ll have my afternoons free even after I open. I could use that time to— I’ll call Jenna and get her to make me a sign for Sunday that discreetly advertises my services. What a wonderful idea!”

“I didn’t mean you should do more work. You’ve already taken on a big job, Molly. I’m not sure—”

The sound of a car horn interrupted his warning.

“Sara’s home! I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the front door. When she came back in with Sara, Quinn still sat at the table. Somehow, she’d expected him to disappear.

Having prepared Sara, she was gratified when her child greeted Quinn properly. “Hi, Mr. Spencer. You came to see us!”

Quinn returned her daughter’s big smile. “Yes, I did. How are you?”

Suddenly Molly knew what was coming, but she didn’t see any way to avoid it. She didn’t want this man involved in her life. He was too much of a temptation. Both to her and Sara. And she was sure he wasn’t interested.

But Sara, a beaming smile on her face, was about to make it difficult to keep him away.

“I’m having a birthday in two days,” Sara exclaimed. “Will you come to my party?”

Quinn stared at the little girl. She was as bright and charming as he’d remembered. Just like her mother. “Your party? You’re having a party for your birthday?”

“Yes. On Friday. And we’re having hot dogs!” Sara announced, obviously considering the menu to be the pièce de résistance.

“No!” Molly began.

“I’d love to,” Quinn said at the same time. How could he turn Sara down?

“Mr. Spencer, you’re not thinking. Sara, Mr. Spencer will have to be at work. He can’t come to the party.”

“But he said yes, Mommy. Didn’t you, Mr. Spencer?”

“Yes, I did. What time is your party?” Molly’s obvious reluctance to have him come to Sara’s party only made it more important for him to be there.

“When we come home from school,” Sara informed him.

He looked at his watch. “Of course I can leave work a little early.”

“On Fridays, school lets out at noon. And there will be twelve four-year-olds, Mr. Spencer. I don’t think you want to be a part of that.” Molly kept her voice low, as if hoping her daughter wouldn’t realize she was discouraging him.

“I’ll get presents and everything. I’ve never had a party before!” The excitement built in Sara’s voice.

“I can’t wait,” Quinn assured her with a wink. He thought about his own childhood. There had been only a couple of birthday parties, where his father took him and several friends to a pizza place for a brief marking of his special day. He was pleased that Sara would have a real celebration.

And he was surprised at how much he wanted to be a part of it. If the decision had been left to Molly, he knew he wouldn’t be invited. But she loved her child too much to deny her invitation to Quinn.

Molly poured a glass of milk for Sara and got her her own saucer of cookies. Then she put her at a small table in front of a portable television over near the window. “It’s time for
Sesame Street,
sweetie.”

“Okay. Do you like Cookie Monster?” she asked Quinn before she sat down.

“Uh, yeah,” he assured her with a smile.

Beside him, Molly muttered, “You have no idea who that is, do you?”

“Not a clue,” he whispered. “Is he bad or good?”

She shook her head in despair. “When you get back to the office, call and tell me you’ve got to see a client on Friday afternoon. I’ll explain to Sara.”

It took him a minute to realize she was giving him
a way out from attending the party. “Are you taking back my invitation?”

She plopped down onto the chair next to him, a disgusted look on her face. “Quinn Spencer, I’m trying to give you an out to make up for your monumentally bad decision to accept Sara’s invitation.”

“Bad for me, or bad for you?”

Stunned, she stared at him. “Bad for me? Why would your coming to Sara’s party be bad for me?”

“I have no idea, but you sure are working hard to discourage me.”

“Didn’t you hear me? There will be twelve four-year-olds, all eating sugar. You’ll hate it.”

“How do you know?”

“You hate kids! I heard you!”

He was growing tired of the conversation she’d overheard being used to condemn him. “I did not say I hated kids. I said I didn’t have room for them in my life.”

“Well, there you go. Obviously, Friday will be inconvenient for you.”

“But I hadn’t met Sara,” he added, as if she hadn’t spoken. “She’s—she’s special. And I want to come to her birthday party.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Put on something wash-and-wear and take two aspirin before you come. And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

A
FTER
M
OLLY’S CHALLENGE
, Quinn was prepared to show her he could handle something as innocuous as a child’s birthday party.

And he was sure he could. The big difficulty wouldn’t be the party, but what present to buy. After discarding a lot of different ideas, on Thursday he
took his problem to the one group of people on whom he could always rely.

The Quilting Circle.

“Sara’s having a birthday party?” Martha exclaimed. “I bet my great-grandson, Jeremy, will be there. He and Sara are best friends, don’t you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Quinn said. “Would you like to go to the party with me? I’m sure Molly wouldn’t mind.”

Martha’s face lit up. “Me? I’d love to— Oh, no, it’d be too much trouble for you.”

“Not at all. In fact,” he said, leaning closer, “I need a friend. Molly didn’t think I should come. Is it that bad? I never— I mean I haven’t attended a children’s party in years.”

“Of course not. They’re just noisy. Can’t keep little kids in their chairs,” Martha told him.

“Then I’ll pick you up at noon on Friday. And we’re having hot dogs. Sara seems to think it’ll be a prime treat.”

“Wonderful.”

“Now, here’s my real problem. What do I get her for a present?”

Martha and Quinn, along with some input from the others, discussed the perfect gift for at least half an hour. Then, promising to find a gift for Martha, too, and get it wrapped, he headed for Gates Department Store.

That evening, with his purchases sitting proudly wrapped in the den, he called Molly.

It was eight o’clock, after Sara’s bedtime, so he expected to have Molly’s full attention.

Instead, she answered the phone as she always
seemed to do when he talked with her. Breathless. “Hello?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Quinn? Um, yes, well, just a minute.”

He sat in silence, straining to hear what was going on. It relieved him that he could hear no voices, particularly male voices, in the background.

Finally she returned to the phone. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Do you need help? Should I come over?”

“Come over? Help with what?”

“I don’t know,” he growled. “You sounded like something was wrong.” He didn’t like not knowing what was happening to Molly.

“No, I had Sara’s cake in the oven and it needed to come out. I couldn’t let it burn, that’s all.”

He noticed that she seemed less breathless now. More in control. “Okay, sorry, bad timing.”

“That’s all right. Are you calling to tell me you can’t make it tomorrow?”

She sounded pleased. Did she want him to stay away that badly? Well, too bad. He wasn’t disappointing Sara. “No. I’m calling to ask if I can bring a date.”

“A date?”

She sounded shocked. Did she think he couldn’t get a date if he wanted one? Or maybe, just maybe, she didn’t like the idea of him with another woman. That thought pleased him a lot more than her not wanting him in her house did.

“Yeah. I was talking to Martha about the party and she said her great-grandson would be there.”

“Yes, of course, but—but what does that have to do with you bringing a date?”

She still sounded upset.

He chuckled. “Martha. I asked her if she wanted to come.”

He waited as she remained silent.

Finally she said, “You’re asking if you can bring Martha to Sara’s party?”

“Yes.”

“And a date?”

His smile grew wider. “I meant Martha would be my date.”

“Oh. We’d be delighted to have Martha come to the party.” She cleared her throat. “Are you still coming?”

“Of course I’m coming. I’m bringing Martha. And we’re both counting on hot dogs.”

“I’ll be sure to buy extras,” she said, a touch of something he couldn’t recognize in her voice. “But there will also be chicken casserole and salad if you’d prefer.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, and was sure it would be. “Anything I can do to help?”

“When you get here, you can unload the little tables and chairs Kaitlin is loaning me.”

“Martha and I will get there early, about noon. I’m looking forward to it. Is Sara excited?”

Molly groaned and Quinn’s stomach clenched. “Oh, yes. It’s all she can talk about.”

“And you?”

“And me, what?”

“Is everything okay with you? Everything still on track for Sunday?”

“Yes. This afternoon, the columnist for the ‘Life-styles’ section at the paper, Gina Santori, called and came over to interview me about the bed-and-
breakfast. I thought that was a good thing, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Gina will do a nice job writing you up. Did she like everything?”

“Oh, yes. I made some more muffins, the strawberry ones, to serve her. She wanted the recipe.”

“I’m not surprised. Everyone reads her column. That will be great advertising. Did she see the bedrooms?”

“Yes. Sara led the tour,” she added.

He chuckled. “I bet she helped eat the muffins, too.”

“You know she did,” Molly agreed with a laugh that sent shivers through Quinn. He wished he could see her smile.

“Did Gina say she’d come Sunday?”

“Yes, she did, and she’s going to bring a photographer and do a complete article for the paper to run after Christmas, which will help me fill up for the inn’s opening in February, for Valentine’s day weekend. I want my place to be the first thing to come to mind when someone is planning a romantic getaway. A place where lovers meet.”

Quinn couldn’t speak for a moment, images of lovers under the quilts. When he realized he was picturing himself and Molly, he hurriedly cleared his throat and said, “Wow, you must’ve charmed the socks off her,” he said, teasing, but he knew he was right. Gina had discriminating taste; he wasn’t surprised she was won over by Molly and Sara.

Molly laughed again. “I doubt that, but she was very nice. I’ll enjoy reading her column even more now that I’ve met her.”

Quinn was pleased for Molly. “Anything I need to bring for tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, if you’ll help Kaitlin unload when you get here, that will be more than enough.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it,” he finished with his voice husky, thinking of being in Molly’s presence again tomorrow.

After he’d hung up the phone, he sat with his hand on it, picturing Molly in her kitchen, a big apron wrapped around her trim figure, her cheeks flushed with heat, the house smelling like heaven.

He’d vowed to stay away from her, of course, and he intended to. But not at Sara’s expense. It wouldn’t hurt to celebrate the little sprite’s birthday. Birthdays should be special.

And Sara had a mother who knew how to make each day one of a kind. She was a lucky little girl.

M
OLLY STARED AT HERSELF
in the mirror. She was getting better at duplicating the style the hairdresser had given her. She decided she looked her best this morning.

Not that her appearance mattered, she hurriedly assured herself. After all, it was Sara’s party, not hers.

She hurried out of her bedroom and down two flights of stairs before she had to admit that she’d worried over her appearance because of Quinn’s attendance at the party. Assuming he actually showed up.

If Christopher were the one Sara expected, Molly would’ve already started preparing her daughter for her father’s nonappearance. The way things turned out, she supposed she should be grateful Christopher
had spent so little time with Sara. When he died, Sara had only been two. Now she scarcely remembered the man who was her father.

And after today, she felt sure Quinn would disappear as well. She just hoped Sara wouldn’t be hurt. Maybe the excitement of the day would deemphasize Quinn’s attendance. Sara would be pleased that Martha would be there. She liked the elderly lady. Though that could be because of the candy Martha always had on hand.

Molly was almost to the kitchen when a knock on the front door stopped her. She checked her watch. It was twenty until twelve. Had Quinn come even earlier than he’d said?

Her heart sped up as she hurried to the door. Bundled up against the cold, Martha beamed at her. But no smile could outshine Quinn’s as he stood behind the elderly woman.

“Are we too early?” he asked.

“Not at all. Come on in before you freeze to death.”

She took Martha’s arm and led her into the house, then helped her out of her coat and scarf. “We’re having the party in the kitchen. If you’ll come on back, I’ll fix you something hot to drink.”

“I’m going back out to get the presents,” Quinn said as she and Martha started toward the kitchen.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have—”

Quinn looked offended. “Of course we should have. It’s Sara’s birthday.” He left without waiting for her response.

“But it’s enough that you both came. Sara is so excited about you being here,” she told Martha.

“Don’t spoil the boy’s fun,” Martha returned.
“He didn’t have a very happy childhood. I think he’s as excited as Sara.”

Martha’s words were tucked away to be examined later. “I doubt it. Sara could scarcely eat breakfast.”

They entered the kitchen.

“My, this is such a big, lovely room,” Martha said. “A perfect room for a family.”

Molly surveyed the room through Martha’s eyes. The dining area attached to the kitchen was large. She’d made it into a small family room with the television and some chairs, a comfy couch. She and Sara spent a lot of their time there.

“Thank you. I work in here a lot and Sara stays here with me.”

“You’re a good mother,” Martha said as she patted her arm.

“Where are we putting the presents?” Quinn asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Molly stared at the big box he carried, a smaller box sitting on top of it. “What did you buy? You didn’t spend too much money, did you? A small gift should—”

“I bought something I thought Sara would like,” he assured her, frowning.

Martha squeezed her arm slightly and smiled, barely shaking her head. Molly remembered Martha’s earlier words and changed the subject. “Is coffee okay, Martha? Or I can make hot tea.”

“Coffee would be wonderful. You want some, Quinn?”

“Sure do. Molly’s coffee is great.” He put the presents on the floor against the wall and slipped out of his overcoat, hanging it on the coatrack by the back door. As if he visited all the time.

She hastily poured coffee, not wanting to think about Quinn as a regular visitor. It brought too many headaches.

“No strawberry muffins?” he asked as he sat down.

“No, I’m not serving muffins today.”