She wanted to believe she would have stayed happy with Dean. That she wouldn’t have looked up one day, met Quinn’s eyes across the room, and realized that she’d fallen in love with her husband’s best friend. But she couldn’t imagine that happening; Quinn, too, had changed. All she had to do was recall the cold, critical man determined to do his duty by her after Dean’s murder. She’d come close to hating him!
Mindy was starting to find peace in the knowledge that she’d never know how their lives would have turned out if only Dean had waited for the police that night instead of swaggering in to confront the intruders himself. Just because now she loved Quinn with a frightening intensity didn’t mean she would have betrayed Dean had he lived. She was a different person. Quinn was a different person. And Dean was dead.
But she did hate knowing how quickly she had been willing to replace her husband. So, she was in love; did that make her any better than her mother, who had probably just been frightened of being alone?
As she went to order the pizza, she thought with profound depression that all of her attempts to reconcile her wedding vows with her deep, passionate feelings for Quinn were irrelevant, anyway. He obviously wasn’t interested in her. Not that way. She should just be grateful that he plainly intended to continue to be a presence in Jessamine’s life.
And surely, surely, these visits would get easier with time.
* * *
HE SHOULDN’T HAVE STAYED for dinner, Quinn thought during the lonely drive home. All he’d done was torture himself.
Quinn wasn’t sure he should remain in Mindy’s life at all, but some temptations were too great for a man to resist. Yeah, he was the closest thing Jessie had to a daddy, and he told himself she needed him. But he knew he was there as much to see her mommy.
Just to make sure she was all right, that she didn’t need him. Maybe to give himself an early warning should she start to date someone. A wedding announcement without the chance to inoculate himself might kill him.
These few hours with her and Jessie, snatched a couple of times a week, were lifesaving if painful at the same time. Quinn could hardly bring himself to go home anymore. His house was worse than the morgue: dark and silent and empty. He’d really hoped that, as the weeks went by, he would find he was glad to regain his solitude.
Grind that hope under his heel. All he wanted was to have Mindy and Jessie back.
Except he knew that, too, was a lie. Because he wanted a lot more from Mindy than her cheerful presence as a roommate. He wanted promises and passion from her. He wanted her in his life every minute. He wanted the illusion that she and Jessie were his to be reality.
And that made him feel like scum.
If there’d been one constant in his life, it had been Dean. Dean had never let him down. Quinn would have died before he let Dean down.
But here he was, wanting to step into Dean’s shoes and have his wife and kid.
He tried not to think about that kiss and what it might have meant. His worst fear was that Mindy had intended to peck him on the lips in gratitude. Friends kissed lightly.
But, he thought in anguish, there she’d been in his arms. Every dream come true. Desire had smashed into him with the force of a semi speeding on the freeway.
Until he’d felt...something. A ghost behind him. A hand tapping his shoulder. A voice threaded with amusement and anger saying, “Hey, buddy, she’s mine, remember? Find your own woman.”
He still wasn’t sure he would have had the self-control to stop if he hadn’t seen Mindy’s face. Her mouth had looked swollen, her eyes huge and dilated and wet with tears. Revulsion at what he’d done had sent him staggering back, especially when he saw her fall across the coffee table in her haste to escape him.
At home tonight, he parked in the garage, stopped to look at the birdhouses she had in various stages of completion, and went on into the house, where he sank into his easy chair without turning on lights.
Was it possible to go on like this, half living? Maybe he should say to her, “I don’t want to let you down, I don’t want to let Jessie down, but I love you and if I can’t have you I think we’re all better severing this relationship now.” Given a few months, a baby Jessie’s age wouldn’t remember him, wouldn’t miss him.
But then he wouldn’t even have this half life. He’d be left in the dark for good. Once upon a time, he might have been content to exist that way, but he wasn’t anymore.
He made an animal sound of pain and continued to sit without moving for a long, long time.
* * *
REPLETE WITH THE LUNCH Nancy had put on the table, Quinn lifted his brows at George. “Like to walk down to the dock?”
“Wouldn’t mind if I do.”
After extracting a promise from Nancy that she would let them wash the dishes, they left her clearing the table. George pulled a heavy Irish-knit sweater over his head and Quinn shrugged on his leather jacket. They stepped out the back door to find that the day had remained chilly but fine, clouds scudding across a pale blue sky. Spring might actually be arriving. Quinn had spotted some crocuses about ready to open near the front porch.
The two men walked slowly down the long flight of wooden steps toward the narrow inlet, Quinn keeping the pace slow.
“Watch that one,” he said once. “Board’s getting rotten.”
He noticed the handrail, constructed of two-by-fours, was getting shaky, too. Seemed to him Dean had meant to get over here last summer and do some work. Quinn felt bad that it hadn’t occurred to him to come in Dean’s stead.
“Don’t get as much done as I used to,” George said regretfully. “I can replace that board, though. I’d hate to have these stairs rot away.”
“Once spring comes, I’ll come over and give you a hand,” Quinn said. “I’m pretty well done with my house. Wouldn’t want to forget how to saw a board.”
George glanced at him, blue eyes faded but shrewd. “You wouldn’t want to do that,” he agreed. “I’d appreciate it, son.”
Years ago, Quinn and Dean had helped their foster father build a bench along one side of the small floating dock. It, too, was gray and beginning to rot in places. Choosing their spot carefully, the two men sat, lifting their heads to smell the salty breeze.
“What’s on your mind?” George said after a long pause.
Nice to know he was transparent, Quinn thought. Or maybe he only was to this man.
The question that came out of his mouth wasn’t the one he’d intended to ask. Where it came from, he had no idea. “Did you and Nancy ever think about adopting Dean and me?”
“Sure we did. But it was pretty clear neither of you would have it. Dean would have felt he was abandoning faith in his mother, and you’d have thought we were trying to hog-tie and brand you. You didn’t want to be claimed.”
Quinn shook his head. “I must have been crazy.”
“Just scared.” George laid a hand gnarled with arthritis on Quinn’s for a brief moment. “I’m glad to see you’re not running so scared anymore.”
Quinn gave a grunt that could be interpreted as a laugh, by a charitable man. “I’m not so sure about that.”
George studied him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been seeing Mindy and Jessamine.”
“Dean’s little girl. Of course you are.”
Voice thick, Quinn confessed, “I’m in love with Mindy.”
The gnarled hand patted his knee. “I know you are.”
Quinn turned his head to stare at his foster father. “You know?”
“The way you looked at her... Nancy and I could tell.”
Quinn groaned.
“Oh, I don’t think Mindy noticed, if that’s what worries you.” George sounded quietly amused. “It’s outsiders looking in who see that kind of thing.”
Bracin
g his elbows on his thighs, Quinn let his head fall. “She’s Dean’s wife.”
“She’s Dean’s widow,” the older man corrected.
“Does it matter?” Quinn asked, with near violence.
“Sure it matters. He’s gone, Quinn. You can’t bring him back. None of us can. You and Mindy and Jessie, you have to go on with your lives. Have you got yourself convinced Dean would mind if you and Mindy fell in love now?”
“I thought...” His throat closed. This sounded stupid. “I felt him.”
“Ghosts are mostly the voices of our conscience. That’s my suspicion, anyway.”
Quinn hunched his shoulders.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
This grunt was closer to a real laugh. “You haven’t noticed I dragged you down here for a talk?”
George chuckled, deep and satisfied. “I noticed.”
“Yeah, I want to know what you think.”
“Well, then, here it is. I think Dean would be cheering you on. There was nothing in life he wanted more than for you to like Mindy. Maybe even to love her, in a way.”
“That’s...different.”
“But he’s gone, so everything is different.”
Quinn scrubbed a hand over his face. Was it that simple?
“Who would he want raising his daughter? Some man he didn’t know? Or you?”
This part he could buy. “I love her like she’s mine.” He paused, examining his powerful emotions for the little girl with her blue eyes, milk-pale skin and huge toothless smile. “But maybe because she’s Dean’s, too. I see him in her sometimes. That smile, as if she is absolutely, one hundred percent sure the whole world will love her.”
“Mostly, the world did love him.”
They sat silent for a moment, both remembering.
“For what it’s worth,” George said finally, “nothing would make Nancy and me happier than to see the two of you married.”
“I don’t know how Mindy feels.”
“Sometimes, you just have to step off the cliff and ask.” George slapped his back. “Now, what say we go clean that kitchen?”
Quinn did help. Then he kissed Nancy’s cheek, accepted a handshake from George, and walked out to his car. He stood there for a long moment, his hand on the open door, gazing back at the house.
How many hours had he and Dean spent shooting hoops there in the driveway? The ball thudding against the backboard must have driven Nancy crazy, but she never said a word. There were the hours out in the small boat on the inlet, too, when they pretended to fish. Sitting in the boat, rocking on gentle waves, they’d used a pocketknife to cut their fingers and rub them together to share their blood.
“So we’ll really be brothers,” Dean had said, his face crinkled earnestly. “Then when my mom comes, I can ask her to take you, too.”
Quinn hadn’t believed in Dean’s mother; he’d never been able to believe in his own. But by then he understood that Dean needed this faith, so he kept silent. He’d gone along with the whole “blood brother” thing even though he was too old for it, too, because it seemed to matter to Dean.
He glanced down to see that he was rubbing his thumb against the pad of the forefinger he’d cut open that day. When he looked carefully, he could still see a faint white scar. The blade had sliced more deeply than he’d intended. He was pretty sure he’d washed Dean’s blood away with his own when they went back to the house, that none of it had actually run through his veins even briefly, but their intentions had been heartfelt. Face it, he thought: it had mattered to him, too.
Shaking his head, he got in the car. For just an instant, before he slammed the door, he thought he heard the thud of a ball hitting the backboard and a faraway, laughing taunt.
* * *
NOTHING LIKE BEING PUNCHED in the nose to earn early dismissal. Ice pack pressed to the bridge of his nose at red lights, Quinn drove home.
He knew what he was going to look like tomorrow. He’d taken an elbow to the nose during the high-school state basketball play-offs his senior year. He’d bled what felt like a quart and woken up the next morning to grotesque swelling and two spectacular shiners. His nose had been a little crooked ever since.
Anticipation was half the fun. Boy, he hurt.
He’d forgotten Mindy would be here. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Maybe, if he parked in the driveway and scuttled in the front door, she wouldn’t know he was home at all until she went to leave and saw his car.
No such luck. She emerged from the side door before he could slam his.
“Quinn! I thought you were the UPS...” Her mouth made an O. “You’re hurt!”
“Nothing serious. Just didn’t duck fast enough.”
“Oh, no!” She hurried forward, expression distressed. “Is your nose broken?”
“No, it just feels like it is.” He tried to smile. “Listen, don’t let me bother you. My ice pack and I are going to commune.”
“You won’t choke on blood or anything, will you?” she asked doubtfully.
Touched by her worry, he said, “No, I think I’ve lost all the blood I’m going to lose. Now, breathing may be a challenge.”
“Oh, Quinn!” she said again, laying her hand on his arm.
He stiffened.
She snatched her hand back. “I’m sorry. I...”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He stepped a little closer to the edge of that cliff by taking her hand in his. “Thank you for worrying.”
She seemed to relax. “I think I owe you some worry. Can I come up and check on you later, before I go home?”
“If you bring Jessie with you.”
“Okay.” Her smile blossomed. “You look awful, you know.”
He found himself grinning back at her even though it hurt to do so. “Thanks.”
Upstairs he took the painkiller they’d given him at the hospital, then lay down on the couch instead of his bed, the ice burning his face. He could just barely hear the whine of the saw, and a little later a baby crying.
Somewhere in there, he drifted off, waking when he heard the front door open and close.
“Quinn?”
“Here,” he croaked. “In the living room.”
Mindy circled the couch and laid Jessie on his chest, then sat on the coffee table. She had a raccoon look, with a fine wood powder clinging to her face everywhere her safety goggles hadn’t covered.
He laughed. “You’re almost as cute as I am today.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I forget how awful I look!”
“Personally, I’m afraid to see myself in the mirror.”
Head tilted to one side, she inspected his face. “Um...you might want to avoid that mirror for a few days.”
“Thanks.” He lifted Jessie, whose eyes widened at the sight of him. Then her mouth opened, and she let out a wail.
With a groan he sat up and handed her back to her mother. “I scared her.”
“No, she’s just hungry. Um...” She nodded toward the easy chair. “Do you mind?”
“Help yourself.” He stood, stretched and staggered to the john, where he winced at the sight of himself. Not good, he decided, turning his head to see himself from both sides. The bruising on his nose was already creeping under the eyes.
Quinn put the ice pack back over the bridge of his nose even though it was barely chilly anymore.
“She’s asleep,” Mindy murmured. “I should get her home to her crib.”
“Don’t go.”
“What did you say?”
His throat felt raw. “Please don’t go.”
She eyed him warily. “Okay. I guess I can put her on the floor.”
“I’ll go dump clothes out of a drawer.” He stood. “Just a mi
nute.”
He set the empty bottom drawer from his dresser in Mindy’s old room and padded it with a top sheet folded over a cushy throw. Mindy appeared in the doorway with Jessie. “That looks cozy.” She laid her down on her back, then pulled a flap of the sheet over her.
Both stood looking down at the little girl, who had popped her thumb in her mouth when her mother had set her down. Frowning in her half sleep, she sucked fiercely for a moment before the thumb began to sag from her rosebud mouth.
They tiptoed out.
“Do you feel awful?” Mindy asked, when they returned to the living room.
Seeing the anxiety in her eyes, he realized she thought he wanted her to stay because he was afraid to be alone. “Not as bad as I look. The painkiller helped.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip.
He sat on one end of the couch again. After the briefest hesitation, she chose the other end. Déjà vu.
“I went over to the Howies the other day. Had lunch.”
Her face brightened, probably with relief at the innocuous subject. “How are they?”
“Good.” The same as they were a month ago. “Being there made me think about Dean. Remember some good times.”
“I’ve been doing that, too.”
“He was a good guy.” Saying that, he felt something ease inside. He wasn’t having to shoulder the hundred-pound pack loaded with conflicting emotions.
Her smile was tinged with sadness but not grief. “He was, wasn’t he? I’m glad I have some videos of him being goofy for Jessamine to see someday.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Really?” She didn’t remind him that he’d been by her place four days ago. They didn’t yet have to watch what they said in front of a two-and-a-half-month-old baby.
How did you start something like this? He’d never been slick.
Worse, he realized that not since his mother died had he said to anyone, “I love you.” Even then, it had had a quality of desperation. Mommy, I love you. Don’t go.
He set down the ice pack and wiped his palms on his thighs. “I’ve missed you. Both of you.”
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