Rainbow Hill (6 page)

Quinn nodded slowly, dropping his gaze to the surface of the table. “I see that same look with Dad, but I’m convinced that we can snap him out of it if we keep him busy. Give him a future and a sense of purpose. Every man needs one.”

“How about you? Do you need a sense of purpose?”

“I’ve always had one.”

“But why did you leave your job, your life out west to come here and do this?”

“How could I not? If I didn’t, the end result would be knowing that my father was committing suicide, slowly. Painfully. I lost one parent, and I’m not ready to lose another.”

“I had no idea he was so bad off,” Ethan said. “He was always such a stable and strong man.”

“Mom kept him that way. She lifted him up and kept him going.” Quinn’s voice sounded strained with emotion. “I hate to see him this way.”

Ethan wanted to reach out and take Quinn’s hand, assure him that everything would be all right, but he wasn’t sure that it would be. “I’m sorry” was all he could muster.

“Not your fault. No reason to apologize.” Quinn shrugged. “But what we can control is the vision and renovation of Oak Hill.”

“This is still a little rough,” Ethan began, “because I haven’t had a lot of time to figure this out, but first thing Monday, I’ll hit some of the local shops to see what’s selling in the area. We shouldn’t offer things that all the others sell. Keep our products unique, if not entirely exclusive. I remember going to a craft fair when Mom was alive, and I was actually pretty surprised with some of the talent. There was this incredible potter, and I think I still have his card up in my room…uh, Frank’s room, that is.”

“I’m sure we can get your room back if you really miss it.”

“I’m fine,” Ethan assured. “I’m a grown man and don’t need it anymore.”

“I hit a craft fair last week also. Collected a few cards. Needlepoint, quilts, ceramics. Really cool stuff. Some of those quilts were selling well into the hundreds, and people were lined up. Those ladies are astute businesswomen.”

“Don’t let the coral lipstick and roller-set hair fool you. They like cold hard cash just like the rest of the world.” An idea hit Ethan when he spied an ornately carved decorative wooden spoon hanging on a wall. “I heard that Edward Cunningham became a furniture maker. He’s selling in Los Angeles and New York.”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, obviously reminiscing on a distant memory. “Damn, no shit.” He let out a small laugh. “He was always cutting class and getting stoned behind the dumpsters by the basketball courts.”

“I guess it worked for him because New York Magazine dubbed him the modern day Michelangelo of handcrafted furniture.”

“Go figure. Who knew that killing brain cells would get you ahead in life.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, or all the mothers in hearing distance will take you out back, hog-tie you, and chuck
you
into the Dumpster.”

“You’re probably right.”

Quinn nodded in the direction of the approaching waitress, two plates piled high with food clutched in her hands. Once plates were set on the table, she turned to Quinn and smiled. “Here you go, sweetheart.” Quinn winked, coaxing a giggle from the woman before she headed to take another order.

“Let me work on Cunningham,” Quinn said. “He owes me several favors.”

Ethan wondered if he wasn’t the only guy in high school that had shared a kiss with Quinn.

After picking up his fork and shoveling a generous portion of creamed chip beef into his mouth, Quinn still managed, “Keep it clean, Stokes. I see where your thoughts are headed.”

Ethan blushed, stabbing at his Mexican omelet.

“I covered for that stoner too many times,” Quinn clarified. “If it wasn’t for me, he would’ve never graduated high school and never got into art school.”

“Have at it. Edward Cunningham never said a word to me.” Ethan began to lightly butter a crusty piece of five-grain bread, the smell intoxicating. “I don’t think he liked me.”

“He was too baked to talk.”

Ethan chuckled and took a bite of bread. He chewed, getting lost in the dense texture and succulent taste. “Damn, this is the best bread I’ve ever tasted.” He took another bite, filling his mouth. “This is nothing like I remember. Didn’t they used to serve those mushy potato rolls that got stuck to the top of your mouth and the only way to dislodge it was to drink a glass of water to wash it down?”

“You’re right, they did. But that was before they hired Antonio. He’s from Rome."

“Italy?” Ethan asked in disbelief.

Quinn jerked his head toward the kitchen, and Ethan followed his lusty gaze. A surly, dark-haired man with a body that screamed better-naked-than-clothed was standing by an eight-person counter, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.

“Is that him?” Ethan asked, spying the Roman’s generous bulge hiding behind his baker’s apron.

“Oh, yeah.”

“He’s tastier than his bread.”

“Oh, yeah,” Quinn repeated, but this time with more of a throaty growl added in.

“Maybe we should ask him to sell his goods.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Realizing what he had said, Ethan half sputtered, half choked a response. “You know what I mean.”

“Amigo, do I ever.”

“Get you mind out of the gutter, Kincade. Keep it clean.”

“I’m trying, but it’s really hard while looking at that.”

“Hello, boys.”

Nikki Carmichael’s squeaky cadence cut through their slobbering silence. Ethan tore his gaze away from Antonio to see his local BFF, her curly blonde hair springing outward at every angle, a Cheshire cat-like grin painted across her freshly glossed lips.

“I knew I’d find you two here.” She looked at Antonio. “That boy is fine.” She sighed. “And that accent.”

“He has an accent,” Ethan cooed, scooting over to make room for Nikki.

“Of course he does.” She took the seat offered and plucked a french fry from Ethan’s plate. “But fellas, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that fine piece of Italian man-flesh is straight.”

“Nooooo,” Ethan and Quinn protested in unison, their eyes now firmly planted on Nikki’s knowing face.

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Fact.”

Ethan nudged her. “Spill, chickadee, or I’m going to tell everyone you dye that mop of yours.”

Her mouth fell open. “But I don’t,” Nikki lied.

Ethan shrugged his shoulders and pulled a coy look. “So.”

“You bitch,” she hissed under her breath. After a moment of contemplation, Nikki conceded. “Okay, you win. You remember Hannah Ulrich?”

“Who doesn’t,” Ethan responded.

“Wasn’t her nickname Hoover Upright because she got caught with a guy in a kitchen closet at some house party?”

“That would be the one,” Nikki answered. “And she earned that nickname. I was at that party.”

“Probably wedged in the same closet.”

Nikki slugged Ethan in his arm, hard. “Don’t be throwing stones, pretty boy, because if you want to start playing that game, I’ll win since I have an entire gravel pit in my armory.”

Ethan lifted both hands, palms out. “I surrender.”

Satisfied, Nikki continued with her story. “Anyway, Hoover—” She paused and brushed a curl out of her left eye. “—I mean, Hannah tapped that, the first hour that Adonis got into town.” She lowered her head and her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “She said he was the biggest and the best she has ever had, and let’s face it, that slut has had loads. No pun intended.”

“Hey,” Ethan began, “maybe she can be the connection we need to get to Antonio.”

“What do you mean?” Nikki asked.

“Have you tasted his bread? And before you ask, that is not a euphemism.”

Ethan handed Nikki a piece of bread and waited as she placed it in her mouth and chewed. She moaned, catching the attention of a man seated nearby, his hair pressed into a perfect part.

“It’s an orgasm for the taste buds,” she said. “It’s also going to be responsible for my future weight gain.”

“I think we should sell it at the farm,” Ethan said. “I’ll explain later.”

Nikki swallowed the contents in her mouth. She wiped away crumbs that had fallen on her
Moms Do It With Style
T-shirt. “You don’t have to. I bumped into your dad yesterday, and he said you two are going to make that place into a yuppie-slash-gay boy destination paradise.”

“Was I the last person in town to find out?”

“Not the last,” Nikki returned. “I don’t think Antonio knows yet.”

Sliding out of the booth, Quinn said, “But that’s about to change. Be right back.”

Nikki and Ethan watched Quinn’s taut, retreating backside.

“You still carrying that torch for Quinn?” Nikki asked breathily.

“I wouldn’t call it a torch.”

“A book of matches, then?”

“Somewhere between that and the torch. Just look at him. Do you blame me?”

“No, honey, I don’t. He was always one good-looking teenager, but he’s filled out to be one helluva hunk.”

Turning his attention back to his food, Ethan offered half his omelet to Nikki, but she declined, more interested in his french fries. She popped one in her mouth. “So what’s it going to be like with you and him living under one roof?”

“Our relationship is and always will be strictly platonic. I don’t sleep with my business partners.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Nikki pouted between sloppy chewing. “And that doesn’t make good telephone conversation. What will we talk about while you’re here?” She paused, her eyes darting left and right. “How long are you here for? You usually flit into town and race away again before I even knew you’re here.”

“I don’t flit.”

Nikki grabbed another fry and pointed it at Ethan. “You flit. The word flit describes you to a T.”

Ethan sacrificed his one and only napkin. “Here,” he said, handing it to his best friend. “Sloppy describes you to a T.”

Nikki took the napkin, balled it up, and dropped it on the table. “Save it for later because I plan to get even sloppier. These fries are deep fried heaven.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t do anything fried. Plus I saw Quinn shirtless today, and he doesn’t have one ounce of fat on that fit body of his so…”

Propping her elbow on to the table, Nikki leaned in and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Shirtless. I thought you said you were going to keep things platonic. Is there something you’re not telling me?” She pressed her face only inches from Ethan. “I have ways to make you talk.”

“You’ve been here less than five minutes and you’ve already threated me at least two times.”

“Well, I’m falling behind then,” Nikki teased. “It’s usually more than that.”

“He was getting out of the shower.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

Satisfied by Ethan’s answer, she relaxed into the booth. “Not to be negative, but do you think this is going to work?”

Ethan gave a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. “I don’t know. Everyone seems to think so.”

“I’m asking you,” Nikki pressed, Ethan suddenly feeling sorry for Nikki’s, no doubt, whipped husband.

“I have my reservations, but my dad needs me. The Kincades need me.”

“It’s nice to be needed for a change.” Nikki didn’t make eye contact.

Ethan’s fork stopped midair, his mouth ajar. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Oh yes, you do, Nikki Carmichael. Don’t play innocent with me because I know that you’re anything but.”

“Okay.” She pushed a clump of unruly hair from of her face, the same piece that always seemed to be there, and exhaled a long gust of air. “I’m referring to Randall. You don’t talk about him anymore. It’s like he doesn’t… exist.”

“He’s fine,” he assured. “We’re fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“That we’re fine. How can that be confusing?”

“Fine.” Nikki smiled at a passing acquaintance that Ethan did not recognize. “But if you’re not, you know you can always confide in me. You know that, right?”

“Thanks but we really are. You know how relationships are. They settle out. The passion that burns in the beginning turns into mutual respect, and you get comfortable.”

“This shirt is comfortable, Ethan. Not a relationship.”

“Correction.” Ethan flared his nostril and eyed Nikki’s faded T-shirt. “That shirt is ugly.”

“My kids gave it to me, and I like it.”

“I can tell. You wore it the last time we got together. And very possibly the time before that.”

“You better be careful because I might encourage my children to pick out your next birthday present. Maybe a plaid flannel shirt with matching boxers? I saw a very nice boxed gift set over at Walmart on clearance just the other day. I’m sure they’re still sitting there.”

“No doubt,” Ethan said, running a hand over his tailored mercerized cotton, button-down.

In a gust of Irish Spring and man musk, Quinn reappeared, an exuberant smile stretched across his masculine face. “Antonio is very interested in our proposal.” He reclaimed his seat and dug into his food.