Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Oh, dear girl, you’re underestimating yourself.”

  Penny didn’t know how to respond to that. She disagreed. Of course she disagreed. She had a lifetime of proof.

  “Well. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Vivian leaned forward and picked up her cup and saucer. “Now. About our Pittsburgh trip. I’d like the same pilot and crew that we had for Las Vegas. If they’re otherwise committed, tell them I’ll pay double. That tends to get schedules rearranged.”

  Penny was relieved at the change of subject. Suspicious over it, yes. But relieved nonetheless, and she quickly began taking notes. “I’ll call the charter service immediately.”

  * * *

  The following several days passed in a whirlwind of activity, with Vivian anchored firmly at the center.

  By the time Penny and Vivian returned to Wyoming, Penny was exhausted. She wasn’t sure what that said about her level of stamina that a woman well into her eighties could run circles around her. But she could say that the three-day visit to Vivian’s Pennsylvania estate had been eye-opening.

  When Vivian talked about her home in Wyoming being scaled back from what she’d been used to at Templeton Manor, she hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Without seeing the palatial estate for herself, Penny would never have fully understood just how little an exaggeration.

  And though the prospective buyer hadn’t quite made up his mind yet to buy the massive estate, after personally meeting twice with him, Vivian felt confident that he would. Penny supposed that it was because of that certainty that her boss had decided to return to Wyoming with a few more mementos from her old home than she’d originally planned.

  Namely, two large oil paintings of Quinn’s grandfather, Sawyer.

  Vivian wanted the paintings to go to her sons. And since neither David nor Carter wanted anything to do with her, she tasked Penny with the job.

  Which was why Penny was pushing one of the massive paintings carefully up the walkway outside Dr. Templeton’s house on the morning after she and Vivian had returned from Pittsburgh.

  She’d already delivered the first painting to Carter’s house. Fortunately, Vivian’s younger son hadn’t been there. Dealing with his wife, Meredith, had been far easier. Meredith had helped Penny haul the massive thing into the house where they’d propped it against the fireplace.

  Then they’d both stood back to study it.

  “Carter’s going to hate this.” Meredith coiled a long, dark curl around her finger as she stepped closer to the painting. The ornate gilt frame stood as tall as she did. “He’ll hate the fact that his mother gave this to him at all.” Then she sent Penny a mischievous smile. “Definitely going to be an interesting day when he comes home to see it.”

  Penny had met Carter Templeton only a few times. In sharp contrast to Meredith’s engaging ways, he struck Penny as stern and usually unsmiling. Personally, she was glad she didn’t have to be around to witness his reaction. She was just the delivery-and-run person.

  She’d left shortly after that and driven to Dr. Templeton’s house.

  It was Friday, and as she slowly pushed the tall cardboard box containing the well-wrapped painting toward the door, she could see the cars parked next door at the house her former boss had long ago converted into his pediatric offices.

  She was tempted to leave the boxed painting leaning against the front of the house and go over to say hello to everyone. But after she finished delivering the paintings, she was driving back to Weaver to meet Squire Clay.

  Hopefully.

  The rancher still hadn’t agreed to the debate. Penny hadn’t gotten the slightest hint that he was softening to the idea, nor—despite Vivian’s prediction—that he was growing annoyed enough to say he’d do it.

  Penny was giving up on phone calls, though. Which was something Squire’s wife had suggested when her husband had been avoiding Penny’s most recent attempt to reach him. Gloria Clay had told Penny that a face-to-face meeting might have more effect. Squire’s wife had even gone so far as to tell Penny exactly when and where she should broach him.

  She’d reached the porch steps and she went around to the end of the painting, going up onto the steps. She pushed back on the cardboard box, angling it onto the edge of the first step so she could pull it up the rest. It was awkward and heavy, and given that this was her second such delivery, she was beginning to feel like she’d have to go home for a shower before she dared to approach Squire Clay.

  Finally, though, she had maneuvered the painting up onto the porch. She leaned it against the nearest stone-covered pillar and rang the doorbell. She knew that Season Templeton was home. Penny recognized her car sitting in the driveway.

  The door opened a moment later and she had a smile ready for Dr. Templeton’s wife.

  “Penny!” Season looked delighted. “What a surprise. David told me he saw you last week. Come in.” She pushed open the screen door and her eyebrows went up when she saw the big box. “The last time I saw a box like that, David was bringing home a flat-screen television that he insisted was not too big for our family room. Now the behemoth takes up nearly an entire wall. Please tell me it’s not another one.”

  Penny chuckled. She was a little surprised that Meredith hadn’t called and warned her sister-in-law what was on its way. “It’s not a television. But it’s entirely possible you might wish it were once you see what’s inside.”

  “Now you’ve got me really curious.”

  “You want to open it here, or shall I bring it inside?”

  “Inside.” Season reached out to help guide the oversize thing through the front door and into the foyer. As soon as it was, she went to get something sharp to help cut the packaging.

  Penny had always thought Dr. Templeton’s house was pretty swell. Now, having seen the lavish mansion in which he’d grown up, it seemed extremely modest. And a testament to his determination to eschew anything to do with his mother. Even his rightful inheritance.

  His brother clearly felt the same way.

  Season returned, holding a box cutter aloft. “Here we go.” She put the edge of the blade against the cardboard. “Are you going to tell me, or just let me find out?”

  “What do you prefer?”

  “For Mom? Surprises, always.”

  Penny’s mouth went dry at the deep voice.

  She looked up the wide staircase to see Quinn descending. He was dressed in camouflage pants and a tan T-shirt that molded his broad shoulders. Overlooking the absolute hotness of the man—which was a worry in itself—he looked very soldier-y. And that caused another worrying level of apprehension.

  It had been six days since she’d seen him last. A lot of things could change in six days. A lot of things could change in six minutes.

  Which was about the length of their wedding video that she’d furtively watched. About a couple dozen times now.

  “He’s right.” Quinn’s mother was busily slicing open the cardboard. “I like surprises best.”

  Penny wasn’t so sure that would be the case if Season knew that her son and Penny were married.

  She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him when he reached the bottom of the stairs and joined them.

  “Long time no see,” he murmured.

  She swallowed. And considering the desert-like nature of her mouth, it was a wonder she could swallow at all.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Season had finally succeeded in peeling away the protective layer of cardboard and cushion wrap and was staring at the elaborately framed oil painting.

  “Looks like Dad.”

  Fortunately for Penny’s peace of mind, Quinn moved closer to the painting, which allowed her to edge farther away. Where she could maybe breathe in some air that didn’t feel all used up. Where she could remind herself that just because Quinn was wearing fatigues, it didn�
�t necessarily follow that he was getting ready to deploy.

  “It’s your grandfather,” Season murmured.

  “I’m guessing this is Vivian’s doing.” Quinn slid a look toward Penny.

  Even though he didn’t need confirmation, she nodded. She felt chilled and rubbed her hands down her arms. Season was probably running the central air conditioning. “We brought some things back from Templeton Manor.”

  His attention left the painting of his grandfather and landed on Penny in full. “We? You went to Pittsburgh with Vivian? When?”

  Goose pimples skidded up and down her arms. “Tuesday. We got back last night.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere. How long was this little plan in the works?”

  She stiffened. “I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to report in to you. Not that I knew where you were, anyway.” She certainly hadn’t expected to see him at his parents’ house when he was supposedly staying with his cousin. Knowing there was no likelihood of running into him was the only reason she’d felt comfortable bringing the painting there. “And you know Vivian. She decides these things at the drop of a hat!”

  She suddenly realized that Season was staring at them as if they’d both grown tails.

  “Quinn? What’s going on?”

  Penny could see the consternation in Quinn’s eyes. The only reason he hadn’t told anyone about their Vegas escapade was because she’d made him promise not to. And the only reason his grandmother knew was because she’d overheard them.

  Now they were giving his mother ample fuel for conjecture?

  Quinn’s eyes held Penny’s captive. “Penny was supposed to tell me if Vivian did anything crazy.”

  He’d lied for her.

  To his mother.

  And Penny figured there would come a price for that. Sooner or later.

  Her goose pimples multiplied.

  “You know I don’t like that word, Quinn.” Season was still watching them too closely for Penny’s comfort. “From the stories your father tells about Vivian, it’s a foregone conclusion that she’ll do something outrageous. It doesn’t mean she’s not perfectly sane. Why are you suddenly so interested?”

  He still didn’t look away from Penny. “She’s my grandmother. I want to get to know her before I go back. That’s why I went to Vegas. Remember?”

  Before I go back.

  Penny went from feeling chilled to outright cold and she finally broke free from his mesmerizing gaze. Thanks to Vivian, Penny had learned what the “PJ” meant on Quinn’s ball cap. It was the term that pararescuemen still used. They were guys that went straight into danger if it meant saving someone else.

  Being intimately familiar with the scars on Quinn’s body, she figured there’d been plenty of danger. And he was going back to it.

  And it terrified her. There was no other word for it.

  And no explanation for it, when it shouldn’t matter as much as it did.

  She brushed past him toward the door, gesturing at the painting. “Vivian is selling the estate in Pennsylvania and she wanted Dr. Templeton to have it,” she told Season. “She sent a similar one to your brother-in-law.” The paintings had matching frames. But the portraits of Sawyer Templeton were from different times in his life. Vivian had told her the one for Carter had depicted his father shortly after Carter’s birth. This one, for David, showed him as a much younger man.

  In both, it was obvious that Sawyer Templeton had been a handsome man. He’d passed on those genes. David clearly favored him. And Quinn favored him.

  She felt something inside her jiggle around nervously.

  If her cycle held true—like it had done for the past umptysquat years—she should be getting her period that very day. But she was increasingly conscious that she hadn’t been experiencing her usual PMS.

  She also was increasingly anxious to leave.

  “Evidently they were painted by someone pretty well respected in the art world.” She pointed to the signature in the corner. “And the frames alone are valuable, too.” She gave Season the same quick spiel that she’d given to Meredith. “If you and your husband don’t want the painting because it’s too large or because it came from Vivian, she only asks that you donate it to the Weaver Hospital Foundation rather than pitching it in the trash altogether. They’ve already agreed they’ll auction it off for the money.” Supposedly there was an art expert on the foundation’s board of directors who’d said she would oversee it all.

  “And if my husband doesn’t donate the portrait?”

  Meredith hadn’t asked that question, though Penny had been prepared. When it came to her estranged sons, Vivian was careful to cross every T and dot every I. But Penny still felt odd conveying the answer. Even though she was gaining a better sense of just how incredibly wealthy her boss was, it was out of Penny’s realm to talk about money in such large terms. “She’ll donate a million dollars more than she already has to the foundation every year in which you and Dr. T maintain ownership of the portrait. The same thing goes for his brother.”

  Season looked resigned. “In other words, she’ll give a lot of money to an organization important to our entire community so long as they don’t get rid of her gifts to them.”

  Penny felt her gaze wanting to slide toward Quinn and rigidly controlled it. “I believe that’s the general idea.” She’d heard time and again from Dr. T how manipulative his mother had been. She supposed this was an example of that, though Penny was hard-pressed to see any downside by keeping the portrait. “Honestly, Mrs. Templeton, I don’t think Vivian even cares if the portraits get hung facing the wall in a garage. She just wants her sons to have the paintings of their father. That’s all.”

  She sidestepped to the front door and pulled it open. “Would you like me to take away the packaging?”

  Season had a thoughtful expression on her face as she shook her head. “We can dump it in the construction Dumpster across the street.”

  In the years that Penny worked for the doctor, she’d become practiced at ignoring the Bennetts’ house, even though it was so close by. She couldn’t stop herself from looking there now, though. And there was, indeed, a roll-off sitting to one side of the rambling house. There was also a For Sale sign in the somewhat neglected yard.

  “Who’s working on it if it’s for sale?” She knew the house had gone through a series of owners since the Bennetts.

  “From what I understand, the latest owner’s doing some refurbishing to help spur some interest.” Season suddenly reached out and gave her a hug.

  Penny was so surprised, she just stood there. Over Season’s shoulder, her eyes collided with Quinn’s.

  She quickly looked away.

  Season had already ended the hug, but left her arm around Penny as she walked with her out onto the porch. “You should go next door to the office and say hello to everyone,” she encouraged. “David often tells me how patients still ask where you are.”

  Ordinarily, Penny wouldn’t mind hearing that. “I have to get back to Weaver,” she murmured. “Otherwise I would.” Quinn was standing in the doorway behind Season. He was head and shoulders taller than his mother. He’d folded his arms across his chest, which seemed to make his shoulders look even wider.

  Wearing fatigues the way he was, he could have been a picture for a recruiting poster.

  “Take care,” she told Season and quickly skipped down the porch steps.

  But she knew by the prickling in her neck that somebody was following her.

  Quinn. He was carrying the unwieldy cardboard and cushion wrap in his arms.

  She tried ignoring him as she headed to her car. But sighed when she saw a long slice of the plastic wrapping fall loose behind him.

  She caught it before it could blow away, and ended up following him across the street.

&nb
sp; He dumped the cardboard into the open-top Dumpster and took the wrap she handed him, tossing it in, as well, over the high side.

  She knew she should turn around and get in her car, and get the heck out of Braden. Or at least away from Quinn. But she couldn’t help studying the house on the other side of the Dumpster. “That was my room.” She pointed to one of the upper-story windows.

  “I know. You liked to sit in the window and read at night.”

  She looked at him. “Who told you that?”

  “Nobody told me. I saw for myself. Because that was my room.” He gestured to his parents’ house. “When I was here visiting.” He lifted his hand and touched the hair hanging over her shoulder. “You’d read and twist your hair.” He wound a lock around his index finger. “Like that.”

  Her heart thumped unevenly in her chest. She stared up at him. He needed a shave again. His jaw was blurred by those dark whiskers that made her fingers itch to touch.

  Then he dropped his hand. “I’ll be at your house tonight,” he said. “Seven.”

  Her nerve endings jangled at the abruptness. “Why? So you can tell me you’re heading back to some godforsaken place where they throw grenades at you? Just tell me now and be done with it. How soon do you go?”

  He frowned. “I’m not shipping out. Not yet, anyway.”

  The level of relief she felt was alarming.

  “My leave doesn’t end until the end of the month.”

  So much for relief. “So soon? But what if you’re not um, not ready—” What if she wasn’t ready?

  He didn’t answer, though. “I found an attorney to handle the divorce. There’s some paperwork involved before we can get started, though. I’ll bring it by your house. So be there.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Answer the phone.” Holding the phone to her ear, Penny prowled around Margaret Ferguson’s apartment. She’d been trying to reach Quinn ever since she’d gotten Margaret’s call late that afternoon for help, but had had no luck. And now, if he hadn’t left to make the drive to Weaver, he would be soon.