by Gina Ardito
“Quinn!” She stamped her foot, hoping to buy time to regain her emotions as she came down from the rollercoaster he’d strapped her in. “You rat! You scared the shit outta me!”
Chuckling, he stood and flung his arms wide. “Get over here, Bo.”
On a squeal of delight, she launched herself at him, and he wrapped her in a fierce bearhug.
“God,” he murmured into her hair, “it’s so good to see you.”
****
Drew watched this Quinn character hold Bo and rock her in his arms, took in the tender expression on the man’s face, and fought the urge to beat him to a pulp. Instead, he nudged Mitch with a slightly-too forceful elbow. “Who is that?”
Mitch shrugged. “I think it’s her brother.”
Her brother? “You don’t know him?”
“Never met any of them, but I know one of them’s named Quinn. The others are Malcolm, Seamus, and Patrick. I’m guessing that’s Quinn.”
“Good guess.” He winced at the sharp edge he’d used on the retort. Mitch didn’t seem to notice or care. Still, Drew had no grudge with him and no reason to snap at him the way he had. All his current anger resided with Bo and the thought she suddenly saw him as an enemy. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Mitch shrugged.
Bo and her jokester brother finally broke apart, and based on the color in her cheeks, Drew surmised she realized what she’d done. “It’s okay,” she said with a relieved sigh, her arm wrapped possessively around Quinn. “False alarm. This is my brother, Quinn. Quinn, that’s Mitch Underhill and beside him is Drew Garwood.”
Like it was going to be that easy for her.
Quinn stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Mitch, I’ve heard of,” he said, clasping Mitch’s hand. “Good to finally meet you.”
“Same here,” Mitch replied with an enthusiastic shake.
“Sorry if I worried you,” Quinn added. “Bo’s used to practical jokes from all of us, but I assume you two aren’t.” Before receiving an answer, or perhaps not caring how his malicious sense of humor might have affected any of them, he turned to Drew and clasped his hand, his smile broad. “Drew. Nice to meetcha. How are you involved with this place? You one of the brewers?”
Now, it was Bo’s turn to wince. “No, Quinn, umm…Drew’s our attorney. And…” She took a deep breath. “He and I are dating.”
Well, at least she was still willing to give him that much credit.
Quinn quirked a brow. “Is that right?”
He kept his response curt as he shook Quinn’s hand with a firm grip. “Yeah.”
Now that Drew saw them together, he noted the obvious similarities in the siblings. They had the same strong features, same tall build, and used some of the same expressions. They also had the uncanny ability to insult him on the slimmest evidence without a twinge of guilt.
“Dating Bo. Wow. You got a death wish?” Quinn said in a stage whisper.
“I’m beginning to think so,” Drew murmured, his scrutiny shooting darts at Bo.
“Knock it off,” she demanded and shifted her weight to one hip. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Uh-huh.”
He spread his hands wide. “Really.” At her continued stare, he dropped his gaze to his feet and added in his jovial manner, “The fact that Dad sent me to the neighborhood is completely coincidental.”
She shot upright, her spine stiff. “Dad sent you? To what? Check up on his investment?”
“To check up on his daughter,” Quinn replied, his tone losing all hints of humor. “Mal told him you know about the appeal.”
Drew looked between the two and then at Mitch. Appeal? What appeal? All three seemed to know a secret he wasn’t privy to, and his resentment simmered at the thought.
Bo shot a pleading look in her brother’s direction while her head gestured ever so slightly to Drew. If he hadn’t watched her so carefully, he would’ve missed it. “Have you tried the brews yet?”
Not the subtlest deflection, in Drew’s estimation, but he could practically smell her desperation. She wanted her brother gone before he said too much. Since it served his purposes as well, he stepped in. “I bet he hasn’t. And I bet he hasn’t seen Connie and Ian yet, either.”
“Uncle Ian’s here?”
Bo placed her hands on her brother’s shoulders to nudge him toward the door. “Yup. Ian’s at the bar, and Connie’s floating around somewhere. And there’s food down there, too. You should probably eat. Mitch, take Quinn downstairs and let him see the place so he can put my father’s mind at ease. Make sure he finds the Merricks and help him pick a brew.”
Poor Mitch looked as confused as a rat who couldn’t find the cheese at the end of the maze. “Oh, yeah, sure. Okay. Come on, Quinn.”
Bo kept her gaze pinned on Drew, and he returned her stare. Neither said a word. Once the two men left, Mitch, showing some awareness of the tension in the air, pulled the office door closed behind them.
Unable to hold it back any longer, Drew let the accusation fly. “You thought I did it intentionally. You thought I sabotaged you.”
To her credit, she didn’t deny it. “I was scared, yes.”
“Why? What have I ever said or done to you that would make you think me capable of—”
“It’s nothing you did,” she interjected, her fingertips rubbing circles into her temples. “I’m sorry. I panicked, and for a minute, I thought I’d been taken for a ride again.”
“Again.” He understood the significance of the word. “Your ex?” At her nod, he took her in his arms, and his anger deflated. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.” When he tried to argue, she placed a finger to his lips. “Not right now. I have to get back downstairs. And I’m betting Quinn will probably come home with me tonight so this conversation is going to have to wait at least a day or two. In the meantime, can I just say I’m sorry?”
His annoyance lingered, but he forced the black mood into the recesses. This was supposed to be her big night. He wouldn’t ruin it with an argument and give her another reason to think the worst of him. Instead, he brushed her hair from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her brow. “You already did.” He took her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s go back down there so you can knock ‘em dead tonight.”
Chapter 9
On Tuesday, Bo grabbed her toolbox and Quinn’s keys to head to the Sugar Shack. “I should be back in about an hour. Two, tops.”
“When are you going to get your own wheels?” he demanded from his chair at her kitchen table, his daily issue of The Wall Street Journal spread out on the oaken surface like a table runner.
“When are you leaving?” she countered. As if he didn’t trust her on her own, her brother had made himself at home both on her couch and in her brewery. Having him constantly underfoot was seriously messing with her head.
He looked up from his newspaper to glare at her. “Seriously, Bo, you can’t keep depending on other people to get you around. This isn’t Manhattan with mass transit on every corner. You need your own reliable method of transportation.”
“I’m working on it.”
He harrumphed and flipped to the next page with a series of crinkles. “Not hard enough.”
“Look who’s talking. I don’t see you packing up your bags to go home. Seriously, when are you leaving?”
“Soon as I can find a decent place to stay.”
Hope flared, and spurts of joy burst inside her. Oh, happy day. He’d be out of her home—out of her hair—soon. “I thought you loved your place in Greenwich.”
“I do. I’m looking for a house here in Silverton.”
Joy flipped to dread, and she dropped the keys on the tile floor with a clatter. “Here? You’re buying a house here?”
He didn’t even look up from the paper. “Maybe. Unless I can find a decent place to rent.”
“For how long?”
“A year.”
“You’re
gonna be here a whole year?!” God, she’d go nutty if he stuck around that long. “Why? Dammit, Quinn. Go home. I don’t need you here.”
“That’s not up to you. Only Dad can tell me when I can leave.” He folded his paper and clasped his hands atop the stack of stock futures and business news. “I’ll make a deal with you. Show me you’re okay on your own, I can report that back to him, and be out of here that much sooner. But if you give me a bunch of reasons to stay, you’ll never get rid of me.”
She sighed her exasperation. “Come on, Quinn. You don’t have to stay here for a year. I’m fine. I’ve got Ian and Connie looking out for me, Mitch looking out for me, even Drew is looking out for me. I don’t need you, too.”
“Okay, prove it. What’s the deal on a car for you?”
Yeah, well, umm… To buy time, she bent to pick up the dropped keys. “As soon as I scrape up enough money for a set of decent wheels, I’ll get something.”
“Not a good answer. How much are we talking about?”
“None of your business.”
He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “Bo…”
“Don’t ‘Bo’ me like I’m a disobedient toddler. I didn’t lose my money due to some bad investments or because I blew it on shoes and pretty dresses. Yes, I’m stretched a bit tight financially at the moment, but I’ll survive. I’m cutting back until the brewery starts showing a profit and I’ve finished paying Dad back what he invested in me.”
“That’s going to be years. Are you really thinking you can get away without a car for that long?”
She gripped the keys in her hand tight enough for the metal to cut into her palm. “I told you. I’ll buy something as soon as I scrape up the money.”
“Fine. Tell me how much you need, and I’ll give you the money.”
She sighed. He meant well. They all did. None of them understood her need to do this on her own. “I’m not going to take money from you or Mal or Patrick or Seamus. I’m a grown woman. I can handle doing without for a while until I can afford what I need. You all have to stop treating me like the naïve victim who can’t survive without a bunch of big, strong, smart men around me. I’m a capable, adult woman. I won’t die if I miss a meal and I don’t need a babysitter reporting back to Daddy every time I falter. I’m perfectly capable of picking myself up when I stumble. I think I’ve proved that by now.” He started to say something, and she held up a hand. “I’m willing to put up with you a little while longer to assuage Dad’s fears, but a year is out of the question. So if you’re going to be here more than a few weeks, you better find a new hobby besides me. I’m nobody’s charity project.”
Before he could continue the argument, she strode out the door and into the car. At only nine-thirty in the morning, the sun had already baked the leather seats to scalding. Thank God for jeans that kept her legs protected from third-degree burns. Her hands had a tough enough time holding onto the steering wheel and for the first mile or two while she waited for the air conditioning to kick in, she drove with her fingertips.
The Sugar Shack’s pink siding was even more visually offensive in daylight. And Tiny was even larger on his feet, if that were possible. Like all the other men she came across here, he reached for her toolbox, and as she had every other time, she pulled it out of his reach.
“Careful,” she told him. “It’s fragile.”
“Oh, sorry.” He backed off, and she hid a smirk.
When she told men her case was heavy, they seemed to feel the need to prove their masculinity to her by grabbing the handle. Tell them it was delicate, and they reacted as if it were nuclear.
He opened the door to the honky-tonk and ushered her inside. “You’re even prettier today than you were when I first clapped eyes on you.”
She sashayed past him and into the darkened room while he flipped on the lights. The same mismatched furnishings greeted her like old friends. This time, she recognized their quirkiness as charm. “Funny, I was going to say the same about you.”
He slammed the door with a loud thwack and wagged a finger at her. “Don’t sass me, girl. I was running this show when you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”
Chastised, she ducked her head. “Sorry.”
His fingers came in contact with her chin and nudged her head up to meet his curious gaze. “Who beat you and when?”
“Huh?”
“Someone tried to break your spirit and almost succeeded. It wasn’t Drew, was it?”
Her spine stiffened. “No! God, no. Drew would never…” When his scrutiny intensified, she waved a hand and murmured, “It happened back in New York. I’m over it now.”
“Uh-huh.” He managed to pound a lot of doubt into those two syllables, but he didn’t ask for details, much to her relief. “Well, you’re not in New York anymore,” he summed up instead. “This is Texas, darlin’. We like our women fiery. So you dig up that spark you had the other night, and you keep nursing it until it turns into a full-blown blaze. You hear me?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Speak up, girl! Years of sitting in front of a jukebox has ruined my eardrums.”
“I get it,” she said, louder and firmer.
He gave her a curt nod. “That’s better. Now, let’s go fix my valves.”
****
Over the next several days Drew buried himself in work to help him forget about Bo’s silent condemnation. If she didn’t trust him, could so easily jump to the wrong conclusion about him, then maybe she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. He’d already become involved with one woman in his life who turned out to be the polar opposite of what he expected her to be. He didn’t need another.
On Wednesday afternoon, his intercom buzzed, and he looked up from the plaintiff’s affidavit to frown at his phone. He’d told Rosa he didn’t want to be disturbed. Why would she interrupt him? A sudden worry entered his mind, and his annoyance deepened to concern. Bo. Had something happened to Bo? “What’s wrong, Rosa?”
“Sorry, boss.” Her voice crackled through the speaker. “It’s a Mr. Carpenter on the phone. He’s extremely agitated. Says he needs to talk to you right now about the letter you sent him. He won’t take no for an answer.”
Carpenter? He didn’t remember anyone named Carpenter involved with any of his current cases. “Did you look him up in the database?”
“Yes, and I can’t find his name anywhere.”
Curiosity got the better of him. He flipped to a clean sheet of paper in his legal pad. “Okay, Rosa. Put him through.”
Seconds later, his phone rang, and he picked up the receiver. “Drew Garwood.”
“Mr. Garwood, this is Hamilton Carpenter. What the hell is this nonsense about my taxes?”
“Your taxes?”
“Yeah. This letter you sent says I’m in arrears on my property taxes and that I could be forced to forfeit ownership if I don’t pay up. I called the town hall, and they say my taxes are fully paid. There ain’t no arrears. What kind of game are you playing?”
A hot ball of lead dropped in his stomach. Wade. It had to be Wade. Dammit, he’d warned his brother not to pull this scam! And he’d not only gone ahead anyway, he’d dragged Drew into the mess.
“I believe there’s been a mistake, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Gee, ya think?” the man retorted. “I’ll be reporting you to the state bar association, Mr. Garwood.”
“No, Mr. Carpenter, what I mean is I didn’t send you any such letter.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, sir, I surely didn’t. I even had my assistant double-check our files. We have never sent any kind of correspondence to a Hamilton Carpenter—or any other Carpenter, for that matter.”
“It’s got your letterhead.”
“Which I believe was either stolen from my office or copied without my knowledge or permission.” He sucked in a deep breath. Once he took this step, there’d be no going back. “I wonder if there’s a way you can send me a copy of this letter. I’d like to report this personal
ly.”
“Well, I don’t know…” Carpenter mumbled.
“Please. It’s important to me that I find out who’s behind this theft and how many other innocent people might have received such letters.”
“I guess I can understand that. But I don’t have a copy machine, and I don’t drive anymore. Cataracts.”
“If it’s all right with you, I could stop by and pick it up.”
“Hmm…I guess that’d be all right.”
Drew relaxed his posture and stifled a sigh of relief. “I just need your address.”
“I’m at the Kingman Ranch. You know, that’s how I knew something was off. You got my address wrong—not by much. You just transposed the numbers. It’s 4516 Kingman Lane. The letter said 4561. There ain’t no 4561.”
He wrote down the address on the pad with violent strokes. Any sliver of hope left in Drew closed up and died. “Kingman Ranch. 4516.” He underlined the numbers. Twice, for emphasis. “Got it. I was actually about to leave the office. I’ve got some errands to run that put me pretty close to your neck of the woods. Would it be all right if I stopped by your place while I’m out?” Before you have a chance to change your mind?
“Yeah, I suppose. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Thanks. I should be there in about…” He glanced at the big numbers glowing on the clock on the wall. “…twenty minutes.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Drew said goodbye and hung up. Closing the file folder regarding Sanders versus Ward, he rose from his desk. He gathered his things, ripped the page with Mr. Carpenter’s address from the legal pad, and left his office. “Do me a favor and refile the Sanders case for me?” he told Rosa as he passed her desk. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Can you hold down the fort ‘til then?”
She looked up from her computer screen, eyes rounded. “You’re leaving?”
He understood her reaction. He never left the office before she went home at five, usually staying hours later. “Yes, but I’ll be back. I have a client to meet who can’t drive here.”