CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AN HOUR LATER, Quinn stared at the delicious but half-eaten food on his plate. He felt as though he were a bone being tugged and gnawed at both ends by a couple of nasty-tempered terriers. Rosie had been surprisingly talkative throughout the meal, politely asking Tess all sorts of embarrassing questions. And Tess hadn’t batted an eye as she provided equally embarrassing answers.
“That’s enough,” he said after Rosie’s latest poke at their guest. “Tess and I have work to do, and you have homework to finish up.”
“Already done.” Rosie set her napkin by her plate and stood. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“Thank you,” said Tess. She lifted her plate, but Rosie ignored it, passing her by to take Quinn’s things from the table before heading to the kitchen.
“Don’t say it,” Tess said before he could apologize again.
He stewed in another awkward silence as Rosie returned to collect the serving pieces and made another trip to the kitchen, leaving Tess’s place setting behind.
Tess nonchalantly stacked her things and shoved them to one end of the table. “Is it okay if we work right here?”
“This is the best spot.” He brushed a few bread crumbs aside while she reached for her briefcase.
Rosie strolled through the room and sprawled on the sofa. A moment later, the television screen exploded with color and noise. Damn. He’d forgotten about the remote.
He glared at his daughter. “I thought you were doing the dishes.”
“I’m letting them soak.”
“Turn down the volume. Please,” he added in a tone one inch shy of a snarl.
Tess rose from her seat and carried her water glass to the kitchen.
“Maybe I should go to my room.” Rosie switched off the TV and stood, sparing him a wounded look as she straightened the cushions. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”
“Maybe Rosie could sit and read while we work.” Tess flashed one of her dangerously sweet smiles in Rosie’s direction as she carried the bakery box and a short stack of dessert plates out to the table. “Reading is so important to a child’s development.”
She opened the box and reached for a knife. “And I’m sure Rosie doesn’t get to spend much time with you, Quinn, considering the long hours you work. Besides, I’d hate to think I’d had a part in driving her from her own front room.” She paused and gave his daughter a terrifyingly brilliant smile. “And I’d really enjoy her company.”
Rosie stared at the cake. And then she leveled a slitty-eyed look at Tess.
Quinn’s gut twisted up so tight he feared his dinner might get stuck in some knot and sit there, festering, for the few remaining days of his life. He knew how to wedge himself, without getting clobbered, between two men facing off for a fistfight. He had no clue how to break up this female war of wills raging through his apartment without destroying them all in the process.
“Reading sounds like a good idea,” he lied. He offered his daughter a weak smile. “Grab one of your books and join us. I’ll build a fire.”
It was summer, for crying out loud, and he had no idea if he had any kindling or if a blocked flue might fill the room with smoke. On the other hand, asphyxiation might be preferable to the dessert course.
“Sounds cozy,” Tess said.
“I’ll be right back.” Rosie shot him her death stare, marched from the room and slammed her door.
He winced. “Do you think she’ll come out and have some cake?”
“Not a chance. I wouldn’t.” Tess gathered the rest of her dinner things and took them to the kitchen.
She didn’t come back.
A few seconds later, the kitchen plumbing wheezed and sputtered, and the sounds of dishwashing filled the kitchen. He stole a moment to shut his eyes and wallow in self-pity, wincing again when a cupboard door banged shut.
What a disaster. He should have figured Rosie would resent him bringing a woman—any woman—into their lives. Hadn’t her mother dumped her on his doorstep because she had a new man in her life? If Quinn were to get involved with another woman, where would Rosie end up? Who would want her?
God. His daughter probably felt like the booby prize in the life of every adult who was supposed to care for her.
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He had no idea how to give Rosie the reassurance she needed. He’d had plenty growing up—his parents had loved and supported him in a simple, settled life. Even now, though they’d retired to Arizona and he seldom saw them, they’d stayed in touch. He knew he could count on them.
But his daughter had learned the hard way that she couldn’t count on him.
Weighed down with guilt and regret, he hauled himself out of his chair and trudged to the kitchen doorway. Tess was wiping down the counters, her lips set in a thin, grim line. She’d stuck her short, jagged hair behind her ears, but her bangs were slipping loose, one soft strand at a time, to sway with each jerky movement. A pretty smudge of pink highlighted her curved cheekbone.
Even in a temper, she was gorgeous. Tantalizing. After all that had happened this evening, with all the obstacles that lay between them, he itched to take her into his arms and—
No. Not tonight. Not in Rosie’s home.
He leaned a shoulder against the jam. “Were you like this when you were this age?”
“Worse.”
“How did your parents survive?”
She dropped the sponge in the sink and twisted the tap. “They chose not to deal with me. Or with my brother. They passed us off to the servants.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was better off with the servants.” She squirted soap into her hands and scrubbed furiously. “My father had his work. My mother drank.”
“Then I’m twice as sorry.” He stepped into the room to hand her a towel.
She dried her hands, carefully folded the towel and draped it across the edge of the sink, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t like pity,” she said at last. “I don’t want it, especially from you.”
“Tess.” He simply surrendered to the longing, drawing her close and then rationalizing the move after he’d made it, telling himself he could offer her some bit of comfort in his embrace. And if he happened to find his own comfort—and a world of pleasure—in the contact, it was a bonus that had sprung from pure and honorable intentions. “I didn’t think you’d take my pity or my apology if I offered it,” he said. “So I won’t make that mistake.”
“Again.”
He grinned and lifted a hand to cup her chin. “Lady, you are one tough customer.”
Her answering smile looked a little wobbly around the edges. “And don’t you forget it,” she whispered.
She pulled away and moved into the front room, where she placed her things back in her briefcase and zipped it shut. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
“We have work to do.”
“It can wait.” She clenched her fingers on the top of her case and then smoothed them over its edge. “The truth is, I’m ashamed of my behavior tonight. I’ve got twenty years on your daughter, and I used every one of them against her. I didn’t fight fair.”
“She started it.”
“A handy excuse. But a mighty sorry one.” Her eyes, when she lifted them to meet his, were shadowed. “I’m not usually this awful, Quinn. But I can be, at times.”
“I’m nothing to brag about, either.”
“I know. Your reputation precedes you.”
He shook his head. “What a sorry pair we make.”
“We have no business making a pair at all.”
He panicked and scrambled for an answer, but then a depressing calm settled over him as he realized she was right. Hadn’t he just been thinking the same thing? He had no business getting involved with this woman. No matter how much he wanted her.
And like everything else in his life he couldn’t have—booze, tobacco, peace of mind—as soon as he’d decided to let go, the craving increased
painfully. Tess understood his daughter in a way he never would. She understood him, too, in some mysterious way that allowed her to look past his faults and accept what was left. The fact that she was willing to walk away from something they both hungered for, for the sake of his daughter, made her more desirable than ever, for reasons he’d find impossible to resist.
Impossible. Hopeless. “I’ll see you out,” he said.
He opened the door for her and walked beside her down the hallway. “Thank you for dinner,” he said. “It was good.”
“Of course. I’m a terrific cook.” She tossed her head in that way of hers to make her bangs fly and settle back where they belonged. Everything under control again.
“You didn’t get any cake,” he pointed out.
“I don’t need the calories. I lied about my metabolism.” She paused at the top of the stairs. “I told you—I’m a terrible person.”
“I already knew that. Your reputation precedes you.”
Her lips turned up at the corners, and then she leaned in and pressed a quick, casual kiss to his cheek. “Hang in there, Quinn. Your daughter cares enough about you to put up a pretty tough fight. She wouldn’t have been giving me such a hard time if she didn’t want to keep you all to herself. She doesn’t want that part of her life to change.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s had too much change lately.”
“And maybe it’s because she likes things just the way they are.” Tess tilted her head to the side and gave him one of her witchy smiles. “Smart girl.”
She walked down the steps to the first landing and then turned to give him a flirty, friendly goodbye wave. He lifted a hand in response, but she’d already disappeared around the corner.
He stood where he was, staring at the empty landing until he heard the muffled whump of the street-level door closing behind her. Nothing had changed since dinner. He was still trapped in the middle and pretty much chewed out.
TESS KEPT BUSY on Sunday planting annuals in her front yard and berating herself for her behavior at Quinn’s, including her cowardly retreat. She spent most of the holiday Monday washing windows and reminding herself it had never been the smartest move to consider getting involved with Tidewaters’ contractor on a personal basis.
By Tuesday, she was congratulating herself on a narrow escape from a sticky involvement with a recovering alcoholic and his troubled preteen daughter. Tess knew herself well enough to admit she didn’t want to change her lifestyle or sacrifice her pleasures to suit the needs of an instant family. When she got married—and she was in no hurry to make that commitment—it would be to a man who’d continue to spoil her in the manner to which she’d accustomed herself.
By Wednesday, she was missing Quinn. Missing his tall, rangy form, and his long, intense stare, and his reluctant half smiles and his scorching kisses. She rubbed her arms as she stared out her Main Street office window, wishing she could rub away the lingering tingles and the unease that trailed closely behind the memories.
She had the perfect excuse to go to him—she had Tidewaters to supervise. And he had the perfect excuse to come to her—he had those specs to discuss. But those kisses and that dinner stood like twin barriers between them.
“Idiot.” She stalked to the rear of her office, swept her lime-green linen jacket from one of the pewter knobs and pulled it over her lemon-print sundress. She flipped over her sign and locked her door, sighing over the quarters she’d wasted a half an hour ago on that gluttonous meter, and stepped into her car to head to the construction site. She had a job to do.
She passed her usual drive-through coffee place, since she already had enough jitters. And she nearly pulled into Bern’s for a snack to ease her way with the crew, but decided Quinn might see that as a sign of weakness. “Stupid,” she muttered. “I’m the one who’s making the first move here.”
And wasn’t it monumentally stupid, she thought as she pulled through the gate at Tidewaters a few minutes later, that she was thinking in relationship phrases instead of business terms? “Snap out of it,” she ordered herself.
Easier said than done, she thought a second later when she got a good look at the gorgeous shell of the building they were creating together. He’d made a start on the third floor, and the added height made the bays and angles soar. She noted the spots where corner towers would overlook the bay, where gracefully curved corbels would accent the eaves. Where tall glass doors would open to a stunning balcony.
Beautiful. And now that the boxy basics were behind them, each addition would layer on finishing touches like icing on a fanciful cake: clever rooflines, sparkling windows, inviting porches, decorative trim boards.
It might be her design, but Quinn was bringing it to life with relatively few grumbles and no flaws in the execution. Great team, great building.
She parked beside his big black truck and started toward the trailer door. It swung open, and Rusty jogged down the short metal steps, followed by a tall, good-looking man with sun-streaked hair and impressive biceps.
“Hey, pretty lady.” Rusty stopped and made a show of eyeing her tote. “Bring anything good with you today?”
“No. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” Rusty snapped his gum. “I’m headed out early. Just didn’t want to miss out on one of your treats.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to the pretty lady?” asked the stranger. His deep voice carried a trace of Texas.
“You mean you haven’t met Tess yet?” Rusty waved a hand in her direction. “Mick O’Shaughnessy, Tess Roussel.”
“The architect.” Mick extended his hand. His grip was a pleasant combination of firm and gentle. His smile was a lethal blend of masculine ease and charm.
“The ball player.” She wondered if he was single and how quickly she could drag Addie to the site without making the matchmaking obvious.
“Quinn’s up on the northwest corner,” Rusty said, “in case you’re looking for him.”
“I am. Thanks.” Tess returned Rusty’s wave as he headed for his pickup.
“I like your design.” Mick studied her, his manner as casual as a stroll on the beach. “It works.”
“High praise, coming from a carpenter.” She brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Quinn tells me you’re pretty good with finish work.”
“I’m better in left field.”
“That means you’re a batter, too, right?”
“Cleanup.”
“My, my.”
Mick’s smile widened. “You’re just what I expected.”
“And what’s that?”
“Easy on the eyes and hard to get.”
Tess tilted her head to the side. “Are you trying to ‘get’ me, Mick?”
“No way. I want to keep this job. Mostly ’cause I happen to like the boss.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “He’s watching us right now.”
She didn’t need to check. Once Mick mentioned it, she could feel Quinn’s gaze on her as if it were a sunlamp. Still, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon’s glare, looked toward the partially-clad skeleton of the top level and spied Quinn’s motionless form, a dark shadow against pale plywood. An uncomfortable blend of lust and longing welled up inside her, complicated by Mick’s assumptions. If a newcomer had paired her with Quinn, everyone else in the Cove must have figured the relationship was a done deal.
“Jack Maguire tells me you’ve got a good friend who’s just as easy on the eyes,” Mick said.
Tess managed to work up an encouraging smile. “That would be Addie.”
“Sweet name.”
“Sweet woman.”
“So I’ve heard. Maybe one of you could bring her around the ballpark some time.”
“Better ask Jack,” she said. “He’s Mr. Little League these days.”
Mick’s laugh was charming, too. “Yeah, he mentioned something about that.” He pulled a set of keys from a jeans pocket. “Better get going—don’t want to be late to practice. See you
around, Tess.”
She trudged toward the north end and entered the building. Shafts of afternoon light stretched across the concrete, and the odors of freshly sawn lumber and oily solvents competed with the bay’s brine. Comforting, settling odors. She breathed them in deeply and prepared to deal with Quinn. “Hello,” she called.
“Up here.”
Careful to avoid slivers or catch her sandals on the raw edge of one of the subtreads, she climbed the open stairway. The view was fantastic at the second level; it was even better on top. A sparkling bay, a quaint town and two strong men in T-shirts, jeans and tool belts. “Hi, there.”
“Hi, Tess.” Phil cocked up the toe of one boot to brace a two-by-four against his ankle and settled his circular saw over the edge. “Bring anything to eat?”
“She’s not the snack wagon.” Bent at the waist, Quinn pulled his tape measure from his belt and hooked it over another two-by-four.
Behind Quinn’s back, Phil gave her an apologetic shrug.
She waited until she could be heard over the shriek of the saw. “Where is everyone?”
“Mick has practice,” Phil told her. “Rusty left early for a dental appointment and Tom’s still out of town. His family had a reunion over the holiday weekend. We’ve been—”
“Three, six and three-eighths,” Quinn said, cutting short the conversation. Phil dutifully picked up another piece of lumber and measured for the cut.
Tess examined the rough plumbing stubbed up through the subfloor while the men worked together to lay out and nail in the studs and header for a window in a short section of wall. “Guess you’re a little short on help today,” she said when the hammering had stopped.
“Is that why you’re here?” Quinn lifted one end of the wall with a grunt. “To help out?”
She glanced at her canvas espadrilles and form-fitting clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for the job.”
Muscles bulging, he gave her one of his shuttered glances.
“Okay, so I forgot my hard hat, too. Bite me.”
“Not while I’m on the job,” he said.
On the other end of the wall section, Phil made a quiet choking sound as he helped Quinn walk the studs upright.
A Small-Town Homecoming Page 13