If Quinn ever had to go to war about anything, he wanted Edna to be the general leading the charge. But this particular war might be unwinnable. Both Abby and Edna held starry-eyed views about right winning out over wrong. They were both too innocent to realize that they could get all the signatures in the world and still lose.
Abby held up a hand and she and Edna did a high five. “Hosting an open house is a great idea, Edna. I’ll pick a date and start planning.”
Edna stirred her margarita and took another sip. “I’ll call up all my old students and get them to write letters about what the animals at Bayside Barn meant to them. The folks on the city council will need wheelbarrows to hold all the mail they’ll get between now and next month.”
Abby clinked her glass to Edna’s. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Edna.”
Quinn clinked his glass to theirs, hoping they didn’t notice his lack of enthusiasm. The waiter brought their food, and Quinn dug into his steak fajita dinner, hoping that Abby and Edna would eat quickly so they could get out of here. He knew that Abby planned to call Reva once they got home. Knowing that she’d be sitting all comfy and staying off her foot till he got back, Quinn would go to the pool house and call Delia. And this time, if she didn’t answer, he’d have to make some excuse and go to her house so she’d have to talk to him.
He sipped his drink—just one, knowing he’d be driving Edna and Abby home after dinner—and hoped to God that his complaint to Delia hadn’t alerted JP to an opportunity he wouldn’t have known about otherwise. If JP had gotten a whiff of it, it must have come from Delia, and she only knew about JP because of Quinn’s pillow talk about his failed construction business back in NOLA.
The top-shelf tequila burned in his stomach, because he had a bad feeling that he had set this downward spiral into motion.
Chapter 20
After Quinn dropped off Edna at her house, Abby relaxed in the passenger seat of Reva’s car and indulged in a tequila-induced rose-colored-glasses glow. She knew she’d probably wake up at 2:00 a.m. and lie there till dawn worrying, but for now, everything was fine. Tomorrow, she’d get busy planning the open house. Quinn would dig into Miami Vice Ken’s motives, and Edna would gather enough signatures and solicit enough letters to bury the city council in an avalanche of public opinion.
At this moment, with her body sinking into the soft leather seat and her face and lips tingly and numb from one more margarita than was strictly necessary, Abby knew everything would turn out all right.
“You okay over there?” Quinn asked.
“Mmmm.” Better than okay, but she didn’t want to make her mouth work too hard to form those words just now. She closed her eyes and floated, obligingly wrapping her arms around Quinn’s neck when he carried her into the house, undressed her, and tucked her into bed. She’d planned to call Reva, but decided tomorrow would be soon enough.
“I’ve got some stuff to do next door,” Quinn’s voice said from high above her in the darkened bedroom. “Your scooter is next to the bed, and your cell phone is plugged in on the bedside table.”
“Mmmm.” She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Mmm-kay.” The bed was so comfy, the sheets so cool and soft on her bare skin, the summer-weight quilt so perfect. “Mmmmm.”
“You know,” Quinn’s voice said, interrupting her blissful sinking down into sleep, “I’ve changed my mind. You and that scooter might not be the best combination right now, so I’ll stay close by in case you need anything.”
“Mmmm-kay,” she answered, resisting the call of the pleasant swimmy-headed feeling that lured her into waking dreams of her and Quinn, their hot, damp bodies tangled together in the cool sheets.
Quinn sighed, and Abby felt him kiss her forehead. “Call out if you need me.”
I need you, she thought, but the lure of sleep pulled her in before she could say the words out loud.
* * *
Quinn tucked Abby into bed with Georgia—who’d been quick to snuggle down next to her—then stepped outside onto the dark patio, leaving the back door cracked open so he could hear if Abby called out.
Gardenia blossoms scented the air with their thick, sweet vanilla scent. A shooting star arced across the night sky, and a warm, muggy breeze embraced him as he sat in a lounge chair and took out his cell to call Delia.
He’d expected that she wouldn’t answer, but the message he’d been prepared to leave died in his throat when she picked up. “What now, Quinn?” she snapped. “I do have a life, you know. And yet, somehow you always manage to call me outside of office hours.”
“Two things, and then I’ll let you go.” He took a breath and let it out. “I want the name of the person you took my complaint to, and the names of anyone you told about the bay parcel.”
She heaved a martyred sigh. “Okay, fine. I took your complaint to Jefferson Pearson. I told him about the bayfront land and put a bug in his ear about how valuable that property could be if it didn’t have a rinky-dink wannabe zoo in its backyard. I knew from what you told me about him that he and his incredible greed would handle everything. Are you happy now?”
Quinn’s mouth went dry, and a triple shot of hot liquid regret poured through his veins. “Shit.” This whole thing was his fault.
Which meant he had to fix it, starting with making sure JP didn’t get his hands on the bayside marshland. “That acreage is an integral part of my plan,” he reminded her. “We can’t let it slip away.”
“When it goes on the market,” Delia insisted, “you’ll be the first to know, because I’ll tell you. You can make an offer before the sign goes up, so whether or not JP knows anything will be a moot point.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “We’ll be in a bidding war before the listing goes up on Zillow.”
“Not if you make an offer before then, which I’ll give you the opportunity to do. So I’m not sure what you’re going on about. JP will be the bad guy, and you’ll get exactly what you wanted.”
“How can you be sure I’ll have time to make an offer before anyone else gets wind of it?” His imagination tried to come online with visions of staying and living at the estate himself, but he turned out the light on that glowing image. He couldn’t buy the marshland if he didn’t sell the estate. It was a simple math equation.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten the bonus you promised me. It’s in my interest as well as yours. We’re in this together.”
Something brushed against his hand, and Griff jumped into his lap. He stroked the cat’s soft fur and felt his ire seeping away. “Fine. I guess it doesn’t matter that JP knows about the bayfront property.”
Visions of him and Abby living next door to her aunt Reva kept intruding, and he knew it was because his new relationship with Abby had shifted his priorities. Maybe if he didn’t sell the estate, he could still advise all the homeowners on the street to get together and buy the bayfront parcel, just to keep a big development from ruining their view. Though if he didn’t flip the estate, he couldn’t afford that, either… “But here’s the thing, Delia. I’ve rethought my objections to the farm. I don’t want to have anything to do with this campaign to ruin Bayside Barn.”
“Well then, don’t,” Delia snapped. “In fact, if you want to come out in opposition to it, come on out. It’s too late to stop this snowball from rolling downhill, but you can protest all you want. It won’t make any difference.”
It better make a difference, or Abby’s aunt Reva would lose her livelihood, and the animals at Bayside Barn would lose their home. “But Delia, don’t you think that with enough community involvement—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t. Community sentiment whispers. Money talks. And the potential of making even more money hollers out loud. Now, I’ve gotta let you go. And as a friendly reminder, my office hours are Monday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Feel free to call me anytime during thos
e hours. Unless you are ready to buy or sell a property. In that case, call me anytime.”
“Wait. Does anybody—”
The line went dead, cutting off the question he’d been about to ask: Does anybody know that he was the one who’d asked her to get rid of Bayside Barn? If she hadn’t told JP or anyone else that Quinn’s complaint to her had started this whole ugly mess, then no one need ever know that he was to blame.
He wished that thought were as comforting as it should be.
He petted Griff and looked out over the moon-silvered landscape. “You’re not such a bad cat, are you?” he asked the purring feline, who dug sharp claws into Quinn’s thighs and lifted his face for more attention. Then, without warning, Griff stiffened and stared into the darkness. With a deep-throated hiss, the cat dug in his claws and leaped off Quinn’s legs—giving a new meaning to the word catapult. “Okay, yes, you are bad.” Quinn rubbed his stinging thighs; that cat’s claws had penetrated his jeans and latched into skin.
The dog door bumped; the spooked cat skedaddling into the house. Quinn narrowed his eyes and tried to see into the shadows. More raccoons?
He heard the faint scrip-scrip sound of a dog’s nails on concrete as Wolf crept toward him from the corner of the house. Quinn moved slowly, reaching his knuckles out toward the big dog who crouched uncertainly just inside the glow of the patio’s solar lighting.
“Come here, buddy,” Quinn called softly. The dog’s quick acceptance of Sean had not extended to Quinn, nor even to Abby, who had tried so hard to win the skittish dog’s trust. And even that acceptance had melted away the second Sean tried to get Wolf to follow him to the house. The dog had backed away, looking indecisive, then slunk off to hide in the bushes across the street. Sean had wanted to follow, but Quinn wouldn’t allow it. The dog seemed half-wild, with two feet in the wolf’s world while the other two feet yearned for the safety and security of a domestic dog’s life. Quinn didn’t quite trust the side of Wolf that didn’t trust humans.
“Come on.” Quinn snapped his fingers and made kissy noises. “I won’t hurt you.”
Wolf belly-crawled closer. Just out of reach of Quinn’s reaching fingers, the dog rolled to his back, tail thumping in submission. At the same time, the dog’s lips curled back in a menacing snarl, revealing astonishingly long, sharp teeth that gleamed in the reflected glow of the landscape lighting. Without touching, Quinn pulled his hand back. “I won’t hurt you, but I don’t want you to hurt me, either.”
Wolf rolled to his belly and crawled closer, whining softly. Quinn realized that the lip curl must have been something like Georgia’s strange little grin, another sign of submission along with a touch of nervousness and anxiety. “I won’t hurt you,” he said again, his voice low and soft. He held his knuckles out. “Promise.”
Wolf sniffed Quinn’s hand. Apparently satisfied by his scent that Quinn was trustworthy, Wolf stood and turned, presenting his back for Quinn to stroke. The dog’s fur didn’t feel at all like Quinn had expected. Rather than the rough coat of a German shepherd, Wolf’s coat was thick and soft as rabbit fur, just like Griff’s. Like a wolf, this dog had fur, not hair.
Quinn raked his fingers through Wolf’s thick, soft fur. Expecting to find matted fur, or ticks, he instead found a thick circular scab or scar on the dog’s right side, about the size of Quinn’s palm, where the fur didn’t grow. When his questing fingers touched the center of the scab where the flesh was still raw, the dog flinched but didn’t move away or offer to bite. “Poor buddy,” Quinn said. He moved his hand and went back to stroking the dog’s back. “Whatever happened to you must’ve hurt pretty bad.”
Wolf turned again, this time to sniff Quinn’s face. Quinn sat very still, his hand resting on the dog’s back as he allowed it to explore his scent. Wolf licked his cheek once, as if in thanks, then backed away and melted into the shadows.
Quinn sat for a few more minutes, listening to the crickets’ chirping and the sound of an owl calling to its mate. A warm breeze sighed through the trees with a soft shushing sound as millions of leaves brushed against each other in a quiet symphony.
Tomorrow, the fight for the animals of Bayside Barn would begin. Quinn had no illusions about his chances of winning against JP. But he had opened this can of worms, so it was on him to stuff those night crawlers back into the tin and close the lid.
Tonight, before the battle, it was enough to sit in the quiet darkness and absorb this moment’s peace. Quinn imagined that Wolf had probably bedded down for the night, curled up in his den under the porch. The dog would wake at dawn and fetch the rolled-up newspaper and leave it by the back door. After the chores were done, Quinn would take the petition Edna had crafted to each house in the area she had assigned him and solicit signatures from the homeowners.
It seemed to Quinn that Wolf and he were both struggling to find how—or if—they fit into the microcosm of this farm. Each of them needed to be of service; Wolf in order to earn a place here, and Quinn in order to make up for his mistake in not seeing the beauty of this place that existed only to educate and serve the community.
Edna had said that Bayside Barn changed people for the better. Quinn realized that was true, because it had changed him. He had moved into the estate next door feeling desperate to prove himself, and he’d thought that the only way to do that would be to make a ton of money as quickly as possible.
As he leaned back in the chaise, he wondered if he could entertain the two opposing visions for the estate—flipping it for a profit or finding a way to keep it and put down roots—without pushing either option away. Could it be possible, in some future universe he hadn’t yet considered, that he could keep the estate and still buy the marshland? The only thing he knew for certain was that Abby’s aunt Reva must be allowed to continue the legacy of Bayside Barn, and it was on him to figure out how to make that happen.
His brain started to spin out scenarios and plans of attack, ruining the peace of the starlit patio. At the same time, the mosquitoes found him. He slapped at a particularly noisy one that insisted on whining in his ear, then stood. “Time to go in, anyway.”
He showered and brushed his teeth, then padded quietly into the bedroom where Abby slept. The soft sound of her breathing assured him that she was sleeping, so he turned to go.
“Hey.” Her sleepy voice snagged him, made him turn back. “Where you goin’?”
“Thought I’d sleep in the other room tonight. Just checking on you first. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
She pulled the covers back, inviting. “Come to bed.”
He climbed in, and she scooted to make room. After a quick kiss, he turned his back to her, planning to sleep and to let her do the same. She spooned behind him, then snaked her arm around his waist. She caressed his chest, then trailed her fingers down his abs to the waistband of his boxers. “What’s this?” she asked. “Weren’t you planning to take advantage of my drunken state?”
He chuckled. “Nope, I wasn’t.”
“Shame, shame.” She slipped her hand lower, caressing lightly. “That’s a waste of good tequila.”
He rolled to his back, careful not to bump her cast. “What did you have in mind?”
Abby pushed the covers down and knelt over him to remove his boxers and toss them aside.
Georgia hopped down in disgust and left the room in a huff. “Sorry, Georgia,” Abby said, a laugh in her voice. “You can come back later.”
The dog door in the laundry room bumped open and shut; Georgia going outside.
Abby leaned over Quinn, her wavy hair brushing his belly as her lips closed over his erection.
Her mouth, still warm from sleep, drew him in while her soft hands cradled his balls, and Quinn forgot all about the dog.
* * *
Early the next morning, Abby heard a text come through, a soft buzz on her silenced phone. She eased out of bed, dragging the damned cast acros
s the sheets as quietly as possible. Quinn was sleeping so well, she didn’t want to disturb him just yet. Maybe she’d wake him up later, but first she knew she needed to talk to Reva. Hopefully, Reva wouldn’t be too busy to talk this early on a Saturday morning.
Cursing the scooter’s squeaky wheels on the wooden floor, Abby wheeled as quietly as possible out of the bedroom, then eased the door closed behind her. In the kitchen, she turned on the coffeepot and viewed Reva’s message, which wasn’t a message at all, but a photo of a tiny baby skunk curled up in Reva’s palm.
While the pulsating dots on the screen showed that Reva was typing something, Abby sent Awww, sweet! And then, Do you have time to talk? I need to tell you something.
Reva’s message came through: I got to take a baby skunk into my dorm room last night! He’s so tiny! I had to give him electrolyte water every two hours because we couldn’t feed him until he was fully hydrated. Now he’s in the infirmary with a few raccoons that are about his size.
Now, Abby felt bad about bursting Reva’s balloon with a worrying phone conversation, but it was too late, because Reva texted, Calling the house phone now.
Abby bolted to grab the landline before it could ring and wake Quinn. (Not easy to bolt with a knee scooter, but she managed to grab the phone before it made more than a short chirp.)
“Hey,” Reva said, sounding breathless. “Your timing is impeccable. Someone just got off the dorm’s phone, and I snagged it before anyone else realized it was free.”
“Yay, Aunt Reva,” Abby said quietly. She held the phone between her chin and her shoulder and headed to the patio so she could talk louder.
“What’s up? Why are you whispering?”
Abby realized she hadn’t quite thought through the mechanics of her early-morning phone call with Reva. “Well…”
“Oh!” Reva laughed. “Oh my God! Did the new neighbor sleep over? Oh my God!”
Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay Page 25