by Tamara Sneed
Quinn turned to Wyatt. The sympathy in his eyes actually made her want to crawl into his arms and just be near his warmth.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Quinn’s world collapsed to Wyatt’s mouth as cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades. “So that’s it?” she asked, hoarsely.
“I told you to let me handle it. I told you that she needed some time to get used to the idea,” he said quietly.
She clutched his arm and tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, as she said, “I need this, Wyatt.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know what to tell you. Mom says no.”
“Who’s house is this? Hers or yours?”
His discomfort magnified. “Both of ours.”
Quinn didn’t realize that she was squeezing his arm until she saw a wince cross his face. “Then tell her that you want me to use it. You have to tell her.”
He gently disengaged himself from her grasp and still did not meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I really am.”
Quinn’s mouth flapped open in disbelief. And then the anger started. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she accused in an angry whisper. “You knew She-Dragon would say no, and you’re doing this to punish me.”
His eyes widened in surprise as he finally looked at her. “Punish you?”
“For not wanting you as much as you’ve wanted me all this time.”
He actually looked amused as he said, “That’s not what’s happening. Trust me.”
She squared her shoulders and said in her best Sephora voice of promise of retribution, “This is not over, Wyatt.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to tell your mother that you want the movie to be filmed here.”
He released an impatient sigh. “Quinn, I told you to wait. You didn’t listen to me. It would have taken a while but I could have talked her into it. Now her position is set. She’s not going to budge.”
She narrowed her eyes and said threateningly, “I will make your life hell until this is resolved, Wyatt.”
He stared at her for a moment and then smiled. She resented him even more for making her stomach strangely clench. It was that damn smile. He was much too sexy when he flashed that smile. And because he did it so rarely, the smile and her reaction to it always took her by surprise.
“What are you going to do, Quinn? Toilet paper the house?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but thanks for the idea.”
He rolled his eyes in frustration. “Mother doesn’t change her mind.”
“Neither do I. This is not over, Wyatt. You may as well surrender now because a Sibley always gets what she wants.” She flipped hair over her shoulder and stalked to her car.
She turned back to yell at him again and was rendered breathless when she realized that he had been staring at her ass as if he could find the answers to life. He didn’t even seem embarrassed when she caught him.
Normally, such blatant male hunger would have annoyed her, at the least pissed her off. But for some reason she became nervous. There was something about the frank male appreciation in his eyes that made her uncertain. As if no man had ever stared at her ass before.
As he stared at her expectantly, Quinn realized that she couldn’t speak. Her throat was clogged with nerves. She sat in her Mercedes convertible and jerked the door shut angrily. Her tires squealed as she stomped down on the gas pedal. She really needed to get the hell out of this town if Wyatt Granger was making her speechless.
Ten minutes later, Quinn stormed into her house and slammed the front door. She kicked off her heels and smiled in satisfaction as they flew across the room into a wall. She paced the length of the living room. She couldn’t return to L.A. without the location. Helmut had made that clear. And Helmut had only given her a week. It would take longer than a week to convince Beatrice Granger that Quinn was not the devil; it would probably take about a century.
Not that Quinn blamed her. Quinn had never been very good with mothers. It was something about the miniskirts and halter tops. Most moms didn’t like a woman like her around their precious sons.
Quinn rolled her eyes in annoyance. Beatrice Granger was not standing in the way of her career comeback. She needed a plan, and she needed a plan fast. Quinn suddenly smiled. Only one person she knew was evil enough and brave enough to take on the likes of Beatrice Granger. Kendra. Beatrice was no match for Kendra. Hell, a Roman legion would have been no match for Kendra.
Quinn plopped onto the sofa in the living room and grabbed the telephone. She dialed her sister’s telephone number in New York.
“Hello,” Kendra mumbled into the telephone.
Quinn glanced at the clock on the VCR. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, which meant that it was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon in New York. She had never known Kendra to sleep past six o’clock in the morning or to take naps. Something had to be wrong.
“Are you asleep?”
“I was,” Kendra snapped, sounding like her usual annoyed self.
Quinn instantly dismissed her worries. “I need your help, Kendra.”
“What? Why?” Kendra asked, suddenly sounding wide awake and concerned. “Are you hurt? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank God. I’m in Sibleyville.” There was a long pause on the phone line. “Kendra? Are you still there?”
“Are any limbs broken?” Kendra demanded.
“No.”
“Are you in jail?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Kendra—”
“Then I’m not coming to Sibleyville and I have to go—”
“Kendra, wait,” Quinn ordered. “I need you.”
“What in the world do you possibly need from me that involves me traveling from New York to that hellhole?”
“It’s almost Christmas, and Charlie and I will be here for Christmas. You can’t spend Christmas alone.”
“I won’t be alone. There are almost three million people in Manhattan, and I’m sure there are one or two of them who hate the holidays almost as much as I do. If I hear ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Kendra, I need you here by tomorrow.”
Kendra sighed. “I know that you wouldn’t be in Sibleyville unless your life depended on it, and since your life is solely focused on acting, I’m going to assume that all of this has something to do with that movie you’ve been talking about nonstop for the last few weeks.”
“Not just a movie, but the movie. My come-back movie. All I have to do is convince this town and Wyatt Granger to go along with it.”
“Quinn, quit the dramatics and give me the short version,” Kendra snapped.
“I finally got Helmut Ledenhault to let me audition for his movie. It’s a great role. The character is—”
“You’re giving me the short version, remember?”
“I’m trying. After reading the script for On Livermore Road, I knew that Sibleyville would be perfect for it. I talked Helmut into driving to Sibleyville because he needs a cheap location. Anyways, Helmut saw the town, fell in love with the price and in particular fell in love with the Granger Funeral Home. He’s given me one week to get the approval and permits, and I have one huge, unsightly obstacle blocking my way to future Oscar renown. Wyatt Granger.”
“I’m not sure what I’m having more trouble understanding. The fact that you’re actually acting again, or the fact that someone believes that Sibleyville is good for something.”
“Kendra, this is serious,” Quinn snapped.
“I’m still not sure how I fit into all of this.”
“Wyatt wants to give me the house, but his mother doesn’t. I need some way to force Wyatt to make his mother agree.”
“Just bat your fake eyelashes and wiggle your fake breasts at him. Doesn’t that usually do the trick?”
“Wyatt is different from most men,�
� Quinn said, frustrated. “He doesn’t want me. He’s convinced that he wants to marry some Pollyanna here in town, and he plans to be married to her and popping out little Sibley-villians—if that’s a word—by next year. I have no practice in convincing a man who doesn’t like me to do something I want, so I need your help. I’m sure you’ve found yourself in this situation numerous times.”
“If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, it’s not working,” Kendra replied dryly.
Quinn ignored her sister’s sarcastic tone. “What should I do, Kendra? The director won’t make this movie without Wyatt’s house, and Wyatt refuses to talk his mother into doing it.”
“As you remind me every five minutes, you’re Quinn Sibley. Daytime Emmy winner and one of People’s 50 Most Beautiful People three years in a row. You can convince a man to do anything, Pollyanna or not.”
“Usually, that’s right, but Wyatt…he’s not exactly normal. He’s a funeral director.”
“You have a point,” Kendra agreed, which instantly annoyed Quinn. There was nothing per se wrong with being a funeral director. Quinn would put Wyatt up against any of those suit-wearing losers that Kendra used and abused and dumped climbing up her corporate ladder.
“Regardless of Wyatt’s supposed Pollyanna fixation, he’s obsessed with you. He’ll do whatever you want,” Kendra said firmly.
“You think so?” she asked uncertainly.
“Put on a tight dress, shake your ass and your breasts that you’ve certainly paid enough for, and get that house.”
“It’s not that simple, Kendra.”
“Of course, it is. Or, maybe, you need to go about it another way,” Kendra said with a short burst of laughter.
“What do you mean?”
“Are Wyatt and his Pollyanna actually dating?”
“Not yet.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t think about this. What did Sephora do when her sister—the nun, not the ex-secret agent—met that rebel in the Colombian jungle?”
“She came on to the priest whenever Elizabeth was around because she knew it would make Elizabeth jealous and hate the rebel, and then Elizabeth would return back to the convent and Sephora could take over the family business—”
“Precisely. Sephora drove a wedge straight between the couple, even though she and the rebel never even touched. But the sister wouldn’t believe him, and he got angry that she wouldn’t believe him and went back to the Colombian jungle where he was eaten by a crocodile.”
“It was an anaconda, and his death led Elizabeth to leave the convent and to move back to town, where she locked Sephora in the dungeon built behind the wine cellar of the family mansion for a month. That was such a horrible time. I had to wear the same hideous fuchsia dress for four months—”
“Quinn, focus.”
Quinn was silent as she squeezed the telephone receiver. She suddenly grinned. “Kendra, you’re a genius. Or, more accurately, the writers of Diamond Valley are geniuses.”
“You become Wyatt’s worst nightmare. You’re on him like white on rice. Flirting, laughing, whispering in his ear, wanting him like Sephora wanted that Bulgarian prince. Pollyanna will never believe Wyatt when he claims there’s nothing going on. Of course, you’ll stop the campaign of terror just before Pollyanna vows to never speak to him again if he lets you film the movie in his house. And the perfect part is that Wyatt will have no control over the situation. No one will believe that he’s not into it.”
“You’re evil, Kendra.”
“Thank you.”
Quinn laughed. “Only you would take that as a compliment.”
“Glad to help, and don’t lay it on too thick. You wouldn’t want the poor thing to self-combust. Remember this is Sibleyville.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Kendra squeaked. “You don’t need me there. I’ve give you the perfect plan. All you have to do is execute it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, or I’ll sic Charlie on you.”
There was a long silence on the telephone and then Kendra said flatly, “Apparently, I’m not the only evil Sibley sister. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” Quinn pressed the Disconnect button then ran up the stairs to her room with a grin. She had to find the perfect outfit for lunch. Wyatt hadn’t said where he was taking Dorrie for lunch, but considering the options around town, Quinn had a feeling she would find them sooner or later.
Chapter 5
Wyatt smiled across the table at Dorrie. Dorrie sent him a shy smile in return, then went back to pushing her food around her plate. Wyatt went back to his own plate. He had taken his mother’s advice. He had driven to Dorrie’s small apartment above her office on Main Street and he had fixed her drain, then he had asked her to lunch. The two had walked the few short blocks from her place to Annie’s Diner, the most popular of the town’s few diners.
It had been perfect. The men they had passed on the way to the café had smiled knowingly at Wyatt, and the women had smiled excitedly at Dorrie. Obviously, Sibleyville was ready for another wedding. Although given that Quinn was still suffering repercussions from the last one, Wyatt thought maybe it was best that weddings didn’t happen that often around town.
Wyatt forcibly pushed those thoughts out of his head. Quinn was probably long gone by now, on her way back to Los Angeles, looking for another movie director to harass. And Wyatt was here with Dorrie, the woman he could build a life with. A life of complete and utter silence, because Dorrie hadn’t said more than six words since they had sat at the table.
Wyatt didn’t necessarily need to talk for the sake of talking—he was a mortician, after all—but he didn’t think that an occasional exchange of words was asking too much. He could barely get Quinn to shut up.
Wyatt glanced around the diner and noticed more than a few of the older couples at the various tables throughout the diner staring at him. Vera Spears winked at him and gave him an encouraging nod. Wyatt inwardly groaned. Sometimes, he really hated living in a small town.
Wyatt turned back to Dorrie, who was staring at him and quickly looked back down at her plate. She really was cute. She had sun-kissed golden skin, bright brown eyes and dark hair that she wore parted down the middle. She barely reached his shoulders in her sensible pumps. The word stiletto probably wasn’t even a part of her vocabulary. She was petite, sweet and soft in all the right places. Just like a wife should be.
Wyatt cleared his throat and asked, “So—you like the pot pie?”
“Yes.”
“My mom makes a great pot pie.”
Dorrie murmured in response and continued pushing around her food. Wyatt thought about banging his head on the table. Maybe that would get a reaction beyond mild politeness. Quinn probably would have gone on a ten-minute monologue about her movie character’s dining proclivities.
Wyatt felt guilty once more. He shouldn’t be thinking about Quinn, let alone comparing Dorrie to Quinn.
Dorrie suddenly looked up at him and asked hesitantly, “Your mother said that you’re interested in plants and flowers?”
“I am,” he said, trying to hide his surprise that she had asked him a personal question. “I mean, it’s just a hobby but it’s something I really enjoy. You know, dealing with flowers kind of offsets the mortuary business. We haven’t seen a lot of deaths in the last two years, but it’s always the prospect—”
“Beatrice said that you even have a little nursery behind the house,” she interjected quickly, obviously uncomfortable with the subject of death.
Wyatt tried not to take offense at the description little. Last year, he had made more money from his “little” nursery, planning and tending the town’s landscape and growing flowers for people in the area, than his father had ever made from the mortuary in a year.
“It’s a side project,” he finally said.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Favorite flower? I don’t know.”
“I like roses.”
His voice trailed off as Dorrie put her hand on his. Her smile was gentle, which made him realize that he had been blabbing. She removed her hand and said, “Maybe you can show me some time.”
“I’d like that,” he said, grinning probably wide enough for his mother to see it back at the house. Dorrie returned his smile.
Wyatt noticed a sudden shift in the air. He also noticed that no one in the diner was staring at them anymore. Instead, they were staring at the door. Wyatt followed their stares and couldn’t suppress the cough of disbelief as Quinn stood in the door frame. She didn’t just stand. She posed, as if allowing everyone to get a full look at her. And every man in the place was incredibly grateful.
She wore a teensy-weensy, barely-there black skirt, black fishnets, black pointy-toed, calf-length boots and a sweater that dipped too low to really be considered a sweater. Wyatt supposed it was Quinn’s version of a winter outfit, but he couldn’t understand how she could prance around in so few clothes when it was close to fifty degrees outside.
Quinn flipped her now straight hair over her shoulder and sauntered across the restaurant toward Wyatt. She kept her gaze on him the entire time, ignoring everyone else. She stopped in front of his table and leaned down, giving him a view of the front and everyone else in the restaurant a view of the back. His body hardened and tightened, as if it knew what was near and didn’t appreciate Wyatt not doing what his body obviously wanted to do.
“Hi, Wyatt,” she breathed, her lips so close to his ear that he could feel her breath heat the shell of his ear.
If Wyatt didn’t know better, he would think that “Hi, Wyatt,” meant “Take me back to my house and pound into me until I can’t walk anymore.” He wanted to bury his face in her hair and smell it and touch it and pull it as he entered her—