But she must not have felt the same way, because she slipped away from his questing hand, then patted his shoulder and moved away, humming.
So she wasn’t thinking of climbing into his bed the way he was hoping to climb into her shorts. He was okay, for now, with the kind of appreciation that filled his belly if not his heart, that satisfied his hunger if not his libido. He could get used to this. He hadn’t realized that this sort of food even existed outside of fancy restaurants. (Melissa’s idea of breakfast-making had consisted of putting slabs of frozen bread products into the toaster and keeping them there until the edges were charred. He hadn’t minded; she made excellent coffee, and McDonald’s was on his way to work.)
After breakfast, Quinn planned to head back to the estate, where for the past few days, he had been clearing out the undergrowth with the help of Reva’s tractor and bush-hog attachment. The pool house was completely renovated now; late nights sitting up looking out at Abby’s bedroom window—not being creepy…for real, just making sure she didn’t need help—had given him plenty of time to finish the tile-and-grout work in the kitchen. The pool water was looking good, but the water level concerned him. It seemed to lose water much more quickly than the pool at Bayside Barn. Something he’d have to keep an eye on.
“Did you ever find out whether your pool is leaking?” Abby asked, apparently reading his mind.
“I think it might have an issue where the steps meet the side of the pool. I’m keeping an eye on it.”
“So what’s next on your renovation agenda?” Abby took his empty plate to the sink and started running water.
“Gonna start on the old house today.” He thought—for a millisecond—about telling her his plans to flip the estate once he’d completed renovations. After all, she hadn’t made any secret of the fact that she was looking online for office-manager jobs. He thought about confessing, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he got up and took his cup and glass to the sink, where she was washing dishes by hand. Coming up behind her, he put his arms around her waist. Her hair smelled like lemons or limes or something citrusy. He breathed in, getting a little whiff of bacon, too. “Mmmm. What’s for dinner?”
She laughed. “You only just now finished breakfast, and you’re thinking about dinner?”
He moved her hair aside and nuzzled her neck. It smelled good, too, soapy and clean. He kissed her neck, openmouthed so he could taste. Salty and sweet. “Mmmm.” Maybe he could have her for dinner.
But no. He knew she wouldn’t allow that, and he didn’t dare voice his thought out loud. They hadn’t done more than kiss so far; she had set some pretty firm boundaries. Not with words, but with actions. Every time he tried to corral her for more than a kiss, she squirmed away. Even now, with her knee propped on a scooter and her hands buried in dishwater, she managed to maneuver herself out of his reach.
Strangely, her reluctance fueled his desire to push for more, even though he had decided months ago that sex without love or commitment was inherently unsatisfying. Now, he was learning that these homey little interludes with Abby were much more dangerous to his peace of mind than outright lovemaking. Everything about her, even the boundaries she set between them, made him want more.
He moved around to her other side and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. The fact that her skin tasted like honey didn’t help.
“What do you think Sean would like for dinner tonight?” Abby asked. “Hamburgers? Pizza? I want to make a good first impression.”
Abby had filled the refrigerator and the cabinets in advance of Sean’s first weekend visit with Quinn. Though Quinn and Sean would be sleeping at the pool house, when Quinn mentioned Sean’s upcoming visit, Abby had reminded him that she planned to cook all their meals. “Anything you make will be a step up from what he’s used to, believe me.”
Abby pushed her butt back against his hips in a teasing way. Because of the scooter under her injured leg, her aim wasn’t quite square, but maybe that was a good thing. “I was thinking of twice-boiled broccoli and blanched parsnips with a side of spinach. Maybe some slow-cooked beef liver for protein.”
He slid his arms around her waist and settled his hands on her belly. He barely resisted the urge to let his fingers glide upward—accidentally, of course—to caress her breasts. “Whatever you just said—sorry, I wasn’t listening—sounds amazing. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Abby must’ve read his mind, because she scooted away and swatted him with a damp dish towel. “Get out of here. You’ve got work to do at your place, and I’m sorry to tell you this, but you smell kind of sweaty.”
“Okay, fine.” He took a step back. “He’ll be here this afternoon around three. I thought I’d give him a quick tour of my place, then bring him over here to help out at feeding time.”
She rinsed and stacked the last utensil in the drain rack, then turned off the water. “Don’t make him work his first day of visitation. Why don’t you let him try out your pool instead? I’ll still cook dinner for y’all.”
“I think he’ll enjoy feeding the animals.” Quinn had learned to enjoy his work at the farm. In fact, sometimes, in his most wild imaginings, he wished he could figure out a way to keep the estate himself, and maybe get a horse or something. Crazy thought, though. Flipping the estate was the first step in his business plan. Without it, he couldn’t build the construction business he dreamed of, the one he needed to support himself and his son. Though Sean lived with Melissa, Quinn wanted to pay his child support and then some. He didn’t want Sean to lack for anything, or for Melissa to lack for anything because she was raising his son. “I’ll give Sean the option and let him decide.”
“Either way, you need to get going,” Abby reminded him. “That tractor can’t run itself.”
Feeling good in spite of the fact that he’d just been kicked out, Quinn ambled up her drive and down his, then spent a few hours on the tractor, running the bush hog that impressively chewed up weeds and brush and even small trees, covering the ground with a pulpy mass of vegetative debris. When he had decimated about a half acre of overgrown underbrush, he lowered the tractor’s bucket and shut off the engine.
He used a chainsaw and hedge clippers to denude the trees of clinging vines and skin off any branches that dared to grow lower than he could reach. He stacked all the branches that were large enough to be used as firewood into a pile between two of the larger trees. Smaller branches and vines went into the tractor’s bucket, to be deposited onto a burn pile that he and Sean would set on fire Sunday afternoon.
He put his hands on his hips and admired his handiwork. Man, oh man, this property would be beautiful when he was done with it. And if he could somehow afford to buy the bayside property behind the estate and turn it into a private beach for the residences on this road, this place would be worth a million or more, and he’d make even more selling off each parcel behind the estates.
A tiny seedling of a dream—that maybe he’d stay—sprouted in his imagination, but he ruthlessly snatched it up by the roots and tossed it aside. Keeping this old house and turning it into a home for himself and his son was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
He didn’t have the expendable income to build a small office annex off the living room where he could bring his clients. He needed an office in downtown Magnolia Bay, not out here on this back road. His thought of showing off the estate as proof of his carpentry and building skills, and taking on only two or three custom-cabinet or home-building projects at a time was just plain silly and self-indulgent. Just because he’d have enough money to eke by with a few custom cabinetry jobs over the summer didn’t mean he could make an actual living at it, let alone make a name for himself, a name and a trade that Sean would be proud to inherit.
Besides, the dream of building a life on this estate was an idyllic illusion; at the summer’s end, all the school buses would come back, and so would Abby’s aunt Reva. And Abby wo
uld probably take a job somewhere else, which was all well and good. She needed to prove herself to herself, not ride on her aunt’s coattails and forever doubt her own potential.
He parked the tractor in a dilapidated pole barn behind the pool house and went inside to get cleaned up. Sean would be here in less than an hour, and Quinn wanted to be ready to give his son a quick tour of the estate before heading over to Abby’s. She had texted him while he was in the shower: Shrimp scampi, broccoli—yes, broccoli—doused in cheese sauce, Alfredo noodles, buttermilk-and-cheese biscuits drizzled with honey, side salad topped with bacon crumbles, and blueberry pie with ice cream for dessert?
The old adage of the route to a man’s heart being through his stomach took on a depth of meaning he’d never before considered. Plus, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on the parts of Abby that she hadn’t yet let him touch.
He texted back: I know you’re trying to kill me, but somehow, I don’t care.
She responded: I’ll let you make up your own mind about my motives. ;-) Everything is ready to pop in the oven; just waiting for you and Sean to arrive. Can’t wait to meet him.
Sean texted that he was on the way, and Quinn met him at the curb. As Melissa said goodbye to Sean, Quinn took the mail from Bayside Barn’s big mailbox. Idly, while he pretended not to notice Sean leaning across the console to hug Melissa’s neck, he leafed through the neighbor’s mail.
Electric bill.
Water-sewer-trash bill.
Some bulk-mail junk destined for the trash.
Sean climbed out of the passenger seat and hitched his backpack over his shoulder. “Hey, Dad.”
Waiting for Melissa to drive away, Quinn glanced down at the last envelope in his hand. The first line of the return address made his stomach clench: Magnolia Bay Municipal Court. The bright-red stamped banner that partially obscured the barn’s mailing address made his heart skip a beat—and not in a good way: Important Correspondence! Time-Sensitive: Open Immediately.
Had Delia actually done something in response to his letting-off-steam phone call about rescinding Reva’s permission to keep farm animals?
God, he hoped not.
Melissa leaned out the car window and flapped her manicured hand to get his attention. “I’ll be back to pick him up Sunday afternoon at five. Make sure he’s ready.”
Quinn slipped the frighteningly official-looking envelope to the back of the pile. “Of course.”
Sean wrapped his arms around Quinn’s shoulders. The kid’s heavy backpack slung around and slugged him like a fist to the kidneys. “It’s great to see you, Dad. I’m sorry I haven’t come before.”
Quinn hugged his son, holding tight. His throat felt full with everything he wished he could say. “I’m glad you’re here now.”
With the back wall of his brain on fire from the Municipal Court envelope, Quinn forgot all about his intention to give Sean a tour of the estate. He clapped his son on the shoulder and led him down the graveled drive to meet Abby. He hardly knew her, but already she felt like a lifeline to him. He stuck the thick sheaf of envelopes into his hip pocket and resolved not to think about the letter until he had time to find out what it was about. Maybe it was nothing.
“We’ll be having dinner with my next-door neighbor,” he told Sean. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. She can cook like nobody’s business.”
* * *
Sean looked like a darker version of his father. Quinn’s hair was a sun-streaked light brown; Sean’s was dark chocolate with milk chocolate highlights. Quinn’s eyes were a smiling blue-jean blue; Sean’s were a deep, serious indigo. Quinn’s skin was dark-golden tan; Sean’s was Mediterranean olive.
“Man,” Sean said, just before he shoveled in another massive forkful of twirled-up noodles with a fat shrimp on the end. He chewed with gusto and swallowed, then smiled at Abby. “This tastes just like restaurant food. Even the broccoli is good, and I usually hate broccoli. I was planning to take a few bites and feed the rest to the dog, but I’m gonna eat it myself.” He reached down to pet Georgia, who sat between Sean’s chair and Quinn’s. “Sorry, girl.”
Abby had set the table with the three place settings at one end. Abby and Sean sat across from each other, with Quinn between them on the end. Georgia sat with her chin on Sean’s knee, having rightly determined which side of the table offered her the best chance of getting a handout.
Abby smiled at Sean. “I’m glad you like it.” She took a sip of wine and glanced at Quinn, who was surreptitiously texting, his phone held under the table. “Quinn, is everything okay? You seem a little distracted.”
Quinn glanced up, looking guilty. “Sorry. Work stuff.” He set his phone facedown on the table. “I’ll stop.”
Sean poked Quinn’s shoulder. “You always fuss at me for texting during dinner, Dad. Shame on you for not setting a good example.”
Quinn pushed his phone farther out of reach, as if even now, its evil lure tempted him to stray. “You’re right. Completely right. I apologize.”
Abby felt guilty herself; she had been keeping Quinn away from his own work while he tended to hers. “You know, Quinn, my foot is feeling much better. I think I can take over the chores from now on so you can get back to your own work.”
Quinn ate another shrimp and pointed his fork at her. “You heard the doctor, Abby. Two full weeks off that foot before you even think of resuming normal activities.”
“Yes, but—”
“You know what?” Quinn’s face lit up. “Maybe I could hire Sean to help out around here.”
A bright idea she figured he’d thought of long before now; having his son working next door would give Quinn the excuse to spend more time with Sean. “Maybe we should let him decide for himself after he helps with the evening feed.”
Sean shrugged. “I could definitely use the money. Mom doesn’t pay me for the yard work anymore. She says I ought to do it anyway, just to pitch in.”
“I agree with your mom,” Abby said. “Kids should help out around the house, because that’s what families do. Wouldn’t it be silly if your mom made you pay her for cooking your dinner or picking you up after school? What would you say if she did that?”
Sean grinned around a mouthful of cheesy broccoli. “I’d tell her it’s a sin to charge money for the crap she cooks.”
“Sean,” Quinn said in a warning tone. “You don’t get to disrespect your mother that way.”
Sean swallowed, and his olive cheeks turned a dusky rose. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Your mother and I may have our differences, but she deserves your respect—and mine, too. It’s not easy being someone’s mother, and it’s even harder now, because she has to do a lot more of the parenting by herself.”
“Sorry,” Sean said again. Shamefaced, he met Abby’s eyes. “I apologize for being rude at your table, Miss Abby. I wasn’t thinking.”
Abby’s heart melted. Quinn and his ex-wife had obviously raised a respectful teen, and the fact that Quinn hadn’t allowed Sean to bad-mouth his mother made Abby’s estimation of him rise another notch. “Apology accepted.” Abby pushed back her scooter and stood, leaning on the handlebars. “Now, who wants dessert?”
Not that Quinn’s gallant defense of his ex-wife meant that Abby would let him get past her panties anytime soon. Though she was sorely tempted to say yes to a summer fling, she knew her still-aching heart wasn’t up for it. Quinn had just now proven himself to have a measure of decency Abby’s ex had never claimed nor aspired to. But as Abby told herself on a regular basis, she had no business falling in love with any man who had a child she wouldn’t be able to keep in her life if things went wrong between her and the child’s father.
Abby had fully expected Sean to be a terrible teen, someone whose prickly exterior would easily repel any motherly feelings she might be inclined to experience. But no, Sean wasn’t a terrible teen; in fact, he seeme
d to be just the opposite. Knowing that, she had to be even more on guard against developing any deep romantic feelings for Quinn.
After dinner, Quinn topped up Abby’s wine, then he and Sean cleaned the kitchen. Griffin, shaved down and stitched up, came in from the bedroom, looking for a handout.
“Oh, wow.” Sean swiped some cheese from the casserole dish and let the cat lick a spot of cheese off the tip of his finger. “What happened to him?”
“Raccoon fight,” Quinn supplied. “It was gnarly.”
“‘Gnarly’ isn’t a word anymore, Dad.” Sean sat on the kitchen floor and petted Griff’s head. “But, how did you know it was a raccoon? Did you see the fight?”
“Yep.” He told the story—embellished somewhat, Abby hoped—while she sipped her wine and brainstormed with herself on ways to feed Wolf closer to the house. Quinn had taken over the task of putting food out by the road every night on the way back to his place. Abby didn’t want a repeat of what had happened before, but she wanted to lure Wolf closer to the house so he could join the Bayside Barn family.
But no matter how she twisted it, she couldn’t come up with a solution. The only kibble that stayed out overnight was the cats’ food in the barn. The raccoons didn’t bother those bowls, because the barn cats’ food shelf and all the food bins were near the donkeys’ stall window, and donkeys were fiercely protective of their space. According to the donkeys, cats were allowed; raccoons were not.
“Dad?” Sean’s voice sounded tentative. “Now that you’ve got your own house with a yard and everything, can we have a cat? Or a dog?”
* * *
When Sean asked whether they could have a cat or a dog, Quinn’s heart soared and then just as quickly plummeted back to the ground. He turned off the faucet, and the kitchen went quiet. “Maybe.”
Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay Page 16
