Rainbow Hill (2 page)

“That’s what I needed to tell you before you went all glazed eyed on me.”

“Well, I’m not now,” Ethan grumbled. “You have my undivided attention.”

“You remember the Kincades?”

“Of course I do. I went to school with their son. Why?”

“Last year, Mister Kincade…Frank,” Tucker clarified, continuing, “his wife died.”

“I heard through the grapevine. Leukemia?”

Tucker grunted in acknowledgement, taking a seat at the table. “He had a bad time with it. Connie was sick for a while. Everything the doctors tried failed.” He shook his head. “Sad. She was a nice lady.”

Ethan had thought so too. He remembered Connie Kincade as a vivacious woman who, along with his mother, attended every PTA meeting and participated in every church bake sale that Saint Peter’s Episcopal had, which was many. He could still taste her prize-winning pineapple upside-down cake that she was famous for countywide, the cake always pulling in the biggest donation, much to his mother’s dismay, while Judith’s vanilla coconut cupcakes always came in several dollars short.

“I’m really sorry to hear that. I’m glad Mom didn’t have to suffer like Mrs. Kincade. I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

“Me either,” Tucker admitted. “Being sick is not only a tremendous emotional strain on everyone, especially the one suffering from illness, but it’s a strain financially, too.”

“Are the Kincades not doing well….you know, financially?”

“They didn’t have sufficient coverage. Insurance the way it is today, it’s expensive.”

“Tell me about it,” Ethan agreed. “Where’s their son, Quinn? Isn’t he in the area?”

“You could say that. He moved back from out west when Connie got sick. Good son.”

Ethan couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. “It’s what you do for family, isn’t it?”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

Jealousy was replaced with hurt. “Of course I do, Dad. I can’t believe you would think otherwise.”

“Nothing against you, Ethan, but you have your life, and it’s not all that close either.”

“I’m fifty miles away.”

“Fifty very long miles.”

Ethan shrugged, dismissing the comment. And from out of nowhere it hit him. “Did you ask me here to help you because you’re sick?” An escalating sense of panic started to fill his chest. “Is that why I’m here?”

Tucker tapped Ethan’s hand that was resting on the table. He sighed. “No, Ethan, I’m fitter than a forty-year-old. Had my yearly last week. The doc suggested I take a multivitamin. That’s it. Not many people my age can say that.”

“It’s funny that you think forty is considered young.”

“It is when you’re sixty.”

“Not when you’re twenty-nine.”

“When I was twenty-nine, I had just met your mother and you were a while off yet.” Tucker’s eyes glowed as if reliving a pleasant memory. “Your mother was the prettiest in the state. You look a lot like her, you know. Same nose, same chin.”

Ethan couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, I think. It’s not every day I’m told I’m pretty.”

“You always have to find the sarcastic side of everything, don’t you?” Tucker returned the smile. “You’re like your mother in that respect too. She could turn my words around on me in seconds flat.” His smile faded around the corners. “I loved her.”

“Can I be frank?” He didn’t wait for Tucker to respond. “Why are you telling me about the Kincades’ problems? And why can’t I sleep in my old room?” Ethan gazed around the kitchen. “And who painted this room? I know you didn’t. You hate to paint.”

“Maybe I hired someone to do it. Did you ever think of that?”

“No, I didn’t because you’re too damn cheap. Let me jar your memory a little, but wasn’t I the one who painted both bathrooms and the living room senior year high school?”

“You were paying off the repair bill to the car.”

“A deer ran out in front of me.”

“And so did a few Bud Lights.”

After all these years, Ethan refused to admit that his father was right. He intended to stick to the deer story until his last breath. “Whatever you want to believe. Bottom line is, you didn’t paint the kitchen by yourself and you sure as hell didn’t hire somebody to do it, so who did?”

“I did.”

Ethan turned and gazed into the deepest chocolate-brown eyes he had ever seen. The same eyes he had stared into the night he received his first kiss, which made his head spin, stomach flip, and every remaining body part tingle. It was that kiss by which he had measured all others, none ever coming close.

“Quinn?” Ethan attempted to catch his breath. “Kincade?”

The attractive man wiped his hands over his denim-covered thighs before proffering a hand. “In the flesh.”

Shit
.

Chapter Two

“What are you doing here?” Ethan asked, confused. He shot a questioning glance at Tucker, but his poker face gave away nothing. Redirecting his gaze back to Quinn, Ethan accepted the man’s warm, callused hand and shook.

“Painting.” Quinn flashed the smile that had stolen Ethan’s heart long ago.

Ethan released Quinn’s hold. “You always were a vague one. I mean—”

“I know what you meant.” Quinn straightened his spine and crossed his tanned arms over his muscular chest. “I’m staying here.”

“Where?”

Ethan was lost. Completely lost. It was probably due to the lack of blood in his brain. Apparently, another part of his anatomy decided it needed the blood more.

“Here.” Quinn raised a sun-bleached eyebrow. “We’re going to be roomies?”

Ethan knew he was blinking like a mental patient in need of some strong meds, but that was all his body could manage at the moment.

“Son, are you all right?” Tucker leaned in. “You’re looking a little…”

“Psycho?” Quinn finished, a sly smile sliding over his sexy lips.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Manners.” Tucker’s voice was stern.

“Manners my ass,” he shot at Tucker. “For the last time, would you please tell me what’s going on here?”

“What’s going on is the Kincades have lost their farm, and I thought that the neighborly thing to do was to invite them to live here.”

“W-w-what?” Ethan sputtered. “Have you finally gone soft in the head?” Ethan jerked out of the chair to pace across the linoleum floor. “You can’t just ask anyone to move into this house?”

“Why not?” Tucker inclined his chin, eyeing Ethan. “It’s my house, and I can do whatever the heck I want.”

“What would Mom say about this?”

“She would say I was doing the right thing. The Kincades needed my help so I offered.”

“But why? You don’t need theirs.”

“How would you know? You’re never around long enough to find out.”

“Well, do you?” Ethan stopped pacing and waited for an explanation.

“Ethan, it takes a lot to run a farm. There are crops to plant, animals to tend to, buildings to repair, and that’s just the first hour of every day.”

“I know all about it,” Ethan began. “I grew up here. And no matter how much I want to forget it, I can’t.” He started pacing again, clenching and unclenching his fists to his side. “I thought you wanted to sell this place?”

Tucker’s mouth fell open, and his eyes looked north. He took in an audible breath. “How did you come to that conclusion? I don’t remember telling you I wanted to sell the farm.”

“But I thought when you called it was because you needed my help listing it.”

“Any fool can make a phone call to a real estate agent, son. I can manage to open a phone book. I’m not that feeble.”

“Questionable,” Ethan mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that, and I forgive you.” The look in Tucker’s eyes told a different story.

Rocking in his boot-clad feet, Quinn tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Ethan, I know this comes as a bit of a surprise—”

“Bit? You and your father have taken over my room, my house, and you have the balls to say ‘bit’?”

“We have not overtaken anything.”

A chill raced along Ethan’s spine, Quinn’s resonating baritone voice unnerving him.

“Tucker invited us.”

“Tucker?” Ethan asked.

“Yes, Tucker,” Tucker seconded. “I figured that since we’re living together we could drop the formalities.”

Ethan made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “God forbid if we should be formal.”

“Glad to see that you agree,” Tucker responded.

Exhaustion overcoming him, Ethan stopped pacing to lean against the closest kitchen cabinet that was available. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and blew out. “So let me get this straight. Dad, you’re not sick.”

Tucker nodded. “Correct.”

“The Kincades have lost their farm and now live here…with you.”

“Right again.”

“So what exactly do you need me here for? Quinn appears to have everything under control. And if Mister Kincade—”

“Frank,” Quinn said.

“F-F-Frank.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Since he’s here too, he knows what to do, I mean, being a farmer an all.”

“I need your expertise,” Tucker said.

“In what? Scraping cow patties? I left that shit, quite literally, behind when I left this farm.”

Tucker patted the table and repositioned the neighboring chair with his foot. “Sit down, Ethan. We have to explain a few things.”

“We?” Ethan groaned.

Quinn claimed a seat, straddling it, his arms draped across the back. “Please sit down so we can talk this out.”

He didn’t know if it was that voice, those eyes, or those thighs, but Ethan did what was asked.

“When my father—”

“Frank.” Ethan smiled tightly.

“When my father, Frank, lost my mom, his world collapsed. The love of his life was gone, but the medical bills continued to pile up. He couldn’t cope.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed, and he lowered his head. “When Dad was young, he had a drinking problem, and with Mom’s help, he got sober. My entire life, I never saw him take one sip of alcohol. Since the funeral, he hasn’t stopped. I suspect he believes he doesn’t have anything left to live for.”

To say that Ethan felt like an asshole was the understatement of the century. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course not,” Quinn said. “Why would you?”

Tucker leaned back against his chair. “It’s my mission to give Frank something to look forward to. He needs my help, and I need his.”

“Are you in financial trouble?” Ethan asked Tucker.

Tucker began to explain. “There are very few working farms left in the area. Every day more are selling out. Did you see that eyesore of a development outside of town? Cookie-cutter houses with cookie-cutter cars where the Browns’ cornfields used to be. They got too old and tired to continue. One son’s in California being a lawyer, and the other is a big shot at the FBI. They have families of their own to take care of.”

“Where are the Browns now?”

“Don’t have a clue? It’s not like our set texts on our smart phones, Ethan. Wherever they are, I’m positive they’re missing here.”

“And how am I supposed to help, exactly?” Ethan couldn’t help but feel suspicious with Quinn staring a hole right through him.

“Since we last saw each other, I’ve been busy.” Quinn’s gaze intensified.

“And when was it we last saw each other?” Ethan knew the answer, but he wondered if Quinn did.

Quinn stroked his stubble-covered jaw with the backs of his fingers. “I vaguely remember the sounds of a marching band and people cheering. It was cool that night.” A knowing smile spread across his lips. “But it got warmer.”

Heart lurching, Ethan felt his pants tighten. “Um, yeah. That would be about right,” he said, his voice catching ever so slightly. “I believe we had a good time that night.”

“Quinn here has a degree in farming,” Tucker said.

“Agriculture,” Quinn corrected.

“That, too.”

Tucker continued. “And we thought we would put his fancy education, mine and Frank’s years of experience, and your,” Tucker paused, brows knitted together, “that thing you do, and turn this place around. Make Oak Hill a destination.”

“Destination,” Ethan choked out. “For what? To what?”

“For starters, people like you?” Tucker grinned, Ethan noticed his father’s gold crown usually hidden in the far reaches of his mouth. “And him.” He cocked his head toward Quinn.

“Gays,” Quinn explained.

“I know what he meant,” Ethan clarified, “but the last I heard, you were batting for the other team.”

The slightest hint of a blush colored Quinn’s cheeks. “Not anymore.”

God oh god oh god!

“You can turn it off and on that easily?” Ethan said.

“This little get-together isn’t about my homosexuality.”

“Shouldn’t that be bisexuality since you were married once?” Ethan asked. For some reason, he was taking intense pleasure in turning the proverbial knife in Quinn’s muscular back. He deserved it for marrying a woman when he was gay.