by Nora Roberts
Now, she was avoiding him.
They didn’t have time for games, for bruised feelings and sulks. There were more important things at stake. Which, he was forced to admit, was why he shouldn’t have touched her in the first place. By adding sex to the mix, they’d clouded and complicated the issue, and the issue was already clouded and complicated enough. They had to be practical; they had to be smart. Objective, he added as he pulled up in front of the rental house. Cold-blooded, clear-minded.
Nobody was any of those things when they were having sex. Not if they were having really good sex.
He jammed his hands in his pockets as he walked up to her door, then dragged one out to knock. The fact that he’d worked himself up to a mad might not have been objective or practical, but it felt absolutely right.
Until she opened the door.
Her hair was damp. She’d pulled it back from her face in a sleek tail, and he could see it wasn’t quite dry. He could smell the girly shampoo and soap, and the scents wound their way into him until the muscle in his gut tightened in response.
She wore fuzzy purple socks, black flannel pants, and a hot pink sweatshirt that announced: T.G.I.F. THANK GOD I’M FEMALE.
He could add his own thanks.
“Hi!”
The idea she was sulking was hard to hang on to when he was blasted by her sunbeam smile and buzzing energy.
“I was just thinking about you. Come inside. Jesus, it’s cold. I’ve so had it with winter. I was about to treat myself to a low-fat mug of hot chocolate. Want in on that?”
“Ah—I really don’t.”
“Well, come on back, because I’ve got the yen.” She rose up on her toes to give him a long, solid kiss, then grabbed his hand to pull him back to the kitchen. “I nagged Cyb and Layla into going to the gym with me this morning. Took some doing with Cyb, but I figured safety in numbers. Nothing weird happened, unless you count watching Cyb twist herself into some advanced yoga positions. Which Matt did, let me tell you. Things have been quiet in the otherworldly sense the last couple days.”
She got out a packet of powdered mix, slapped it against her hand a couple of times to settle it before ripping it open to pour it into a mug. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“We’ve been a busy hive around here,” she went on as she filled the mug, half with water, half with two percent milk. “I’m waiting to hear something about the family Bible, or whatever else my grandmother might dig up. Today, maybe, hopefully by tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve got charts of family trees as we know them, and Layla’s trying to shake some ancestry out of her relatives.”
She stirred up the liquid and mix, stuck it in the microwave. “I had to leave a lot of the research up to my partners in crime and finish an article for the magazine. Gotta pay the doorman, after all. So?” She turned back as the microwave hummed. “How about you?”
“I missed you.” He hadn’t planned to say it, certainly hadn’t expected it to be the first thing out of his mouth. Then he realized, it was obviously the first thing on his mind.
Her eyes went soft; that sexy mouth curved up. “That’s nice to hear. I missed you, too, especially last night when I crawled into bed about one in the morning. My cold, empty bed.”
“I didn’t just mean the sex, Quinn.” And where had that come from?
“Neither did I.” She angled her head, ignoring the beep of the microwave. “I missed having you around at the end of the day, when I could finally come down from having to hammer out that article, when I wanted to stop thinking about what I had to do, and what was going to happen. You’re irritated about something. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”
She turned toward the microwave as she spoke to get her mug out. Cal saw immediately she’d made the move as Cybil was stepping through the kitchen doorway. Quinn merely shook her head, and Cybil stepped back and retreated without a word.
“I don’t know, exactly.” He pulled off his coat now, tossed it over one of the chairs around a little cafe table that hadn’t been there on his last visit. “I guess I thought, after the other day, after…what you said—”
“I said I was in love with you. That makes you quiver inside,” she noted. “Men.”
“I didn’t start avoiding you.”
“You think—” She took a deep inhale through her nose, exhaled in a huff. “Well, you have a really high opinion of yourself, and a crappy one of me.”
“No, it’s just—”
“I had things to do, I had work. I am not at your beck any more than you’re at mine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You think I’d play games like that? Especially now?”
“Especially now’s the point. This isn’t the time for big personal issues.”
“If not now, when?” she demanded. “Do you really, do you honestly think we can label and file all our personal business and close it in a drawer until it’s convenient? I like things in their place, too. I want to know where things are, so I put them where I want or need them to be. But feelings and thoughts are different from the goddamn car keys, Cal.”
“No argument, but—”
“And my feelings and thoughts are as cluttered and messy as Grandma’s attic,” she snapped out, far from winding down. “That’s just the way I like it. If things were normal every day, bopping right along, I probably wouldn’t have told you. Do you think this is my first cannonball into the Dating and Relationship Pool? I was engaged, for God’s sake. I told you because—because I think, maybe especially now, that feelings are what matter most. If that screws you up, too damn bad.”
“I wish you’d shut up for five damn minutes.”
Her eyes went to slits. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. The fact is I don’t know how to react to all of this, because I never let myself consider being in this position. How could I, with this hanging over my head? Can’t risk falling for someone. How much could I tell her? How much is too much? We’re—Fox and Gage and I—we’re used to holding back, to keeping big pieces of this to ourselves.”
“Keeping secrets.”
“That’s right,” he said equably. “That’s exactly right. Because it’s safer that way. How could I ever think about falling in love, getting married, having kids? Bringing a kid into this nightmare’s out of the question.”
Those slitted blue eyes went cold as winter. “I don’t believe I’ve yet expressed the wish to bear your young.”
“Remember who you’re talking to,” he said quietly. “You take this situation out of the equation you’ve got a normal guy from a normal family. The kind who gets married, raises a family, has a mortgage and a big sloppy dog. If I let myself fall in love with a woman, that’s how it’s going to work.”
“I guess you told me.”
“And it’s irresponsible to even consider any of that.”
“We disagree. I happen to think considering that, moving toward that, is shooting the bird at the dark. In the end, we’re each entitled to our own take on it. But understand me, get this crystal, telling you I love you didn’t mean I expected you to pop a ring on my finger.”
“Because you’ve been there.”
She nodded. “Yes, I have. And you’re wondering about that.”
“None of my business.” Screw it. “Yes.”
“Okay, it’s simple enough. I was seeing Dirk—”
“Dirk—”
“Shut up.” But her lips twitched. “I was seeing him exclusively for about six months. We enjoyed each other. I thought I was ready for the next stage in my life, so I said yes when he asked me to marry him. We were engaged for two months when I realized I’d made a mistake. I didn’t love him. Liked him just fine. He didn’t love me, either. He didn’t really get me—not the whole of me, which was why he figured the ring on my finger meant he could begin to advise me on my work, on my wardrobe, habits, and career options. There were a lot of little things, and they’re not really important. The fact
was we weren’t going to make it work, so I broke it off.”
She blew out another breath because it wasn’t pleasant to remember she’d made that big a mistake. That she’d failed at something she knew she’d be good at. “He was more annoyed than brokenhearted, which told me I’d done the right thing. And the truth is, it stung to know I’d done the right thing, because it meant I’d done the wrong thing first. When I suggested he tell his friends he’d been the one to end it, he felt better about it. I gave him back the ring, we each boxed up things we’d kept in each other’s apartments, and we walked away.”
“He didn’t hurt you.”
“Oh, Cal.” She took a step closer so she could touch his face. “No, he didn’t. The situation hurt me, but he didn’t. Which is only one of the reasons I knew he wasn’t the one. If you want me to reassure you that you can’t, that you won’t break my heart, I just can’t do it. Because you can, you might, and that’s how I know you are. The one.” She slipped her arms around him, laid her lips on his. “That must be scary for you.”
“Terrifying.” He pulled her against him, held her hard. “I’ve never had another woman in my life who’s given me as many bad moments as you.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
“I thought you would be.” He laid his cheek on top of her head. “I’d like to stay here, just like this, for an hour or two.” He replaced his cheek with his lips, then eased back. “But I’ve things I have to do, and so do you. Which I knew before I walked in here and used it as an excuse to pick a fight.”
“I don’t mind a fight. Not when the air’s clear afterward.”
He framed her face with his hands, kissed her softly. “Your hot chocolate’s getting cold.”
“Chocolate’s never the wrong temperature.”
“The one thing I said before? Absolute truth. I missed you.”
“I believe I can arrange some free time in my busy schedule.”
“I have to work tonight. Maybe you could stop in. I’ll give you another bowling lesson.”
“All right.”
“Quinn, we—all of us—have to talk. About a lot of things. As soon as we can.”
“Yes, we do. One thing before you go. Is Fox going to offer Layla a job?”
“I said something to him.” Cal swore under his breath at her expression. “I’ll give him another push on it.”
“Thanks.”
Alone, Quinn picked up her mug, thoughtfully sipped at her lukewarm chocolate. Men, she thought, were such interesting beings.
Cybil came in. “All clear?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“No problem.” She opened a cupboard and chose a small tin of loose jasmine tea from her supply. “Discuss or mind my own?”
“Discuss. He was worked up because I told him I love him.”
“Annoyed or panicked?”
“Some of both, I think. More worried because we’ve all got scary things to deal with, and this is another kind of scary thing.”
“The scariest, when you come down to it.” Cybil filled the teakettle with water. “How are you handling it?”
“It feels…great,” she decided. “Energizing and bouncy and bright, then sort of rich and glimmering. You know, with Dirk it was all…” Quinn held out a hand, drawing it level through the air. “This was—” She shot her hand up, down, then up again. “Here’s a thing. When he’s telling me why this is crazy, he says how he’s never been in a position—or so he thinks—to let himself think about love, marriage, family.”
“Whoa, point A to Z in ten words or less.”
“Exactly.” Quinn gestured with her mug. “And he was rolling too fast to see that the M word gave me a serious jolt. I practically just jumped off that path, and whoops, there it is again, under my feet.”
“Hence the jolt.” Cybil measured out her tea. “But I don’t see you jumping off.”
“Because you know me. I like where my feet are, as it turns out. I like the idea of heading down that path with Cal, toward wherever it ends up. He’s in trouble now,” she murmured and took another sip.
“So are you, Q. But then trouble’s always looked good on you.”
“Better than a makeover at the Mac counter at Saks.” Quinn answered the kitchen phone on its first ring. “Hello. Hello, Essie. Oh. Really? No, it’s great. It’s perfect. Thanks so much. I absolutely will. Thanks again. Bye.” She hung up, grinned. “Essie Hawkins got us into the community center. No business there today on the main level. We can go in, poke around to our hearts’ content.”
“Won’t that be fun?” Cybil said it dryly as she poured boiling water for her tea.
ARMED WITH THE KEY, CYBIL OPENED THE MAIN door of the old library. “We’re here, on the surface, for research. One of the oldest buildings in town, home of the Hawkins family. But…” She switched on the lights. “Primarily we’re looking for hidey-holes. A hiding place that was overlooked.”
“For three and a half centuries,” Cybil commented.
“If something’s overlooked for five minutes, it can be overlooked forever.” Quinn pursed her lips as she looked around. “They modernized it, so to speak, when they turned it into a library, but when they built the new one, they stripped out some of the newfangled details. It’s not the way it was, but it’s closer.”
There were some tables and chairs set up, and someone had made an attempt at some old-timey decor in the antique old lamps, old pottery, and wood carvings on shelves. Quinn had been told groups like the Historical Society or the Garden Club could hold meetings or functions here. At election times it was a voting center.
“Stone fireplace,” she said. “See, that’s an excellent place to hide something.” After crossing to it, she began to poke at the stones. “Plus there’s an attic. Essie said they used it for storage. Still do. They keep the folding tables and chairs up there, and that kind of thing. Attics are treasure troves.”
“Why is it buildings like this are so cold and creepy when no one’s in them?” Layla wondered.
“We’re in this one. Let’s start at the top,” Quinn suggested, “work our way down.”
“ATTICS ARE TREASURE TROVES,” CYBIL SAID twenty minutes later, “of dust and spiders.”
“It’s not that bad.” Quinn crawled along, hoping for a loose floorboard.
“Not that good either.” Courageously, Layla stood on a folding chair, checking rafters. “I don’t understand why people don’t think storage spaces shouldn’t be cleaned as regularly as anyplace else.”
“It was clean once. She kept it clean.”
“Who—” Layla began, but Cybil waved a hand at her, frowned at Quinn.
“Ann Hawkins?”
“Ann and her boys. She brought them home, and shared the attic with them. Her three sons. Until they were old enough to have a room downstairs. But she stayed here. She wanted to be high, to be able to look out of her window. Even though she knew he wouldn’t come, she wanted to look out for him. She was happy here, happy enough. And when she died here, she was ready to go.”
Abruptly, Quinn sat back on her heels. “Holy shit, was that me?”
Cybil crouched down to study Quinn’s face. “You tell us.”
“I guess it was.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Damn, got one of those I-drank-my-frozen-margarita-too-fast-and-now-have-an-ice pick-through-my-brain headaches. I saw it, her, them, in my head. Just as clear. Everything moving, like a time-action camera. Years in seconds. But more, I felt it. That’s the way it is for you, isn’t it—going the other way?”
“Often,” Cybil agreed.
“I saw her writing in her journal, and washing her sons’ faces. I saw her laughing, or weeping. I saw her standing at the window looking into the dark. I felt…” Quinn laid a hand on her heart. “I felt her longing. It was…brutal.”
“You don’t look well.” Layla touched her shoulder. “We should go downstairs, get you some water.”
“Probably. Yeah.” She took the hand Layla offer
ed to help her up. “Maybe I should try it again. Try to bring it back, get more.”
“You’re awfully pale,” Layla told her. “And, honey, your hand’s like ice.”
“Plenty for one day,” Cybil agreed. “You don’t want to push it.”
“I didn’t see where she put the journals. If she put anything here, I didn’t see.”
Seventeen
IT WASN’T THE TIME, CAL DETERMINED, TO TALK about a broken stone or property searches when Quinn was buzzed about her trip to the past with Ann Hawkins. In any case, the bowling center wasn’t the place for that kind of exchange of information.
He considered bringing it up after closing when she dragged him into her home office to show him the new chart Layla had generated that listed the time, place, approximate duration, and involved parties in all known incidents since Quinn’s arrival.
He forgot about it when he was in bed with her, when she was moving with him, when everything felt right again.
Then he told himself it was too late to bring it up, to give the topics the proper time when she was curled up warm with him.
Maybe it was avoidance, but he opted for the likelihood it was just his tendency to prefer things at the right time, in the right place. He’d arranged to take Sunday off so the entire group could hike to the Pagan Stone. That, to his mind, was the right time and place.
Then Nature screwed with his plans.
When forecasters began to predict an oncoming blizzard, he kept a jaundiced eye on the reports. They were, in his experience, wrong at least as often as they were right. Even when the first flakes began to fall midmorning, he remained unconvinced. It was the third blizzard hype of the year, and so far the biggest storm had dumped a reasonable eight inches.
He shrugged it off when the afternoon leagues canceled. It had gotten so people canceled everything at the first half inch, then went to war over bread and toilet paper in the supermarket. And since the powers-that-be canceled school before noon, the arcade and the grill were buzzing.
But when his father came in about two in the afternoon, looking like Sasquatch, Cal paid more attention.