by Jane Porter
He’d felt protective of her at Little Teton, and he’d been drawn to her a little more every day until that last night when he kissed her, and knew that she was why he was there.
It wasn’t the struggling resort that needed him. It was this beautiful woman who called herself the queen of bad decisions.
Kissing her, he’d felt hope, but also conviction. The kind of knowledge he’d felt growing up playing ball. He knew he was supposed to play. He knew what he was supposed to do. He felt that now.
If they weren’t standing in the middle of Sam Melk’s office Quinn would kiss her again. Being near her made everything seem possible. “No,” he said with a wry smile, “not a sportswriter, but weirdly, we’re both from the same small town. It’s too coincidental, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I don’t like it.”
Quinn glanced from her to Sam Melk who was rapidly approaching. “Hello, Sam.”
The realtor extended his hand. “Quinn, good to see you. What can I do for you?”
“Just stopped by to see Charity.”
“I didn’t know you’d stayed in touch with Charity.”
Quinn shot a warm smile in her direction. “Thanks for giving her time off so we could catch up in Wyoming.”
“Uh, that’s—” Charity started to protest.
Quinn continued, ignoring her interruption. “We had a fantastic time. Great steaks at the Grizzly Den. Amazing fondue at the Ice Shack. A sleigh ride around the lake. I highly recommend Little Teton Resort.” He glanced from Sam to the dark-haired guy hovering in the background. “I don’t think I’ve met you,” he said to the other man. “Quinn Douglas,” he added, extending his hand.
“Greg Bartlett,” the realtor answered, coming forward. “I’m newer to Marietta, but of course I’ve heard all about you. The Mariners aren’t my team but you’re a legend around here.”
“Let me guess? Cubs fan?” Quinn asked, giving Greg’s hand a firm squeeze and was pleased to see the other man wince slightly.
“Yes. How did you know?”
Quinn hated having to be civilized. “Lucky guess.” He released Greg’s hand and glanced over at Charity who was pressing her hands together and looking wildly uncomfortable.
“Did you tell them about the little chocolate place at the Aspen Lodge, Charity?” he added cheerfully. “Didn’t you say it was as good as Copper Mountain chocolates?”
“I said it was almost as good. I didn’t say it was as good.” Charity’s cheeks had turned pink. She cleared her throat. “Want to step outside? I’m sure Sam wouldn’t mind. You probably want a coffee before you get on the road.”
“Oh, I’m not heading anywhere tonight,” Quinn answered. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“We have coffee here,” Sam interjected. “Charity wouldn’t mind making a fresh pot. She makes great coffee.”
“I’m not surprised, but as Charity knows, I’m more of a mocha guy,” Quinn answered. “I’d love to get a large mocha with whip from Java Café if you can spare Charity for ten minutes.”
“But, of course,” Sam answered, walking with them to the door. “And if you ever feel like talking about your big spread down on the river, I’m your man. I heard through the grapevine that you’ve been toying with the idea of selling it. I specialize in handling the more exclusive Paradise Valley properties. Affluent people on the East and West Coasts all seem to want a piece of Montana these days.”
“All the better reason to keep them out of our valley.” Quinn smiled and tipped his head. “Let’s go get that mocha, Charity.”
*
Charity was still in shock as she stepped out of the office with Douglas—Quinn.
She shot him a bewildered glance as they reached the curb. “I don’t know what to say,” she said huskily, bundling her arms across her chest as they crossed the street, heading for Java Café.
Quinn took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“That’s not necessary,” she protested.
“You were cold.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a man.”
She snorted on muffled laughter and then gave her head a shake. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what friends do. They stay in touch.” Quinn’s voice was even, almost careless as he asked, “Is that the Greg you dated?”
She shot him another, equally uneasy side glance. “Yes.”
“He’s even worse than you said.”
She fought a slightly hysterical bubble of laughter, as she tugged the coat closer. “You were never supposed to meet him. I was never supposed to see you again. I confided in Douglas Quincy, not Quinn Douglas, so Quinn Douglas should be very careful about commenting on my personal life.”
“You have a little bit of fire in you.”
“Listen, I know you’re a big deal to a lot of people here, but I’m uncomfortable you know so much about me, and I’m sorry I told you so much about myself at Little Teton. It was a mistake—”
“I’m still your friend, Charity.”
“No, you were Tricia’s friend. Not mine.”
He reached past her to open the door to Java Café. “Tricia doesn’t have two sisters named Jenny and Mandy. Tricia didn’t date a guy named Greg that loves the Cubs. Tricia doesn’t love to sketch—”
“Okay, I did tell you about me,” she said quietly, urgently, aware that others were looking at them and people were beginning to recognize Quinn. “We hung out for five days, four nights and we talked about everything, but that’s because neither of us had anything to lose. It was confessional. Good for the soul.”
“So why are you upset then?” He asked, steering her toward the Christmas tree in the corner, and then turning his back on the café.
“Because you’re not this writer from the Pacific Northwest. You’re Quinn Douglas from Marietta. You’re someone famous. You’re that guy that everyone wants.” Her voice cracked. “You’re some superstar and I’m just… me. And let’s face it, I’m in a not-so-great place, having to work daily with a horrible guy, while my sister wants me to come work for her, and I can’t do it because, even though I love her, I would hate having to stand at the front desk of her pink hair salon answering the phone and greeting everyone. It sounds awful. Smiling, smiling, smiling… being cheerful and friendly to every person that walks in the door.” She shuddered. “It’s one thing to do that at an insurance office, and then at Melk, but at your little sister’s hair salon? No, thank you.”
“So don’t work for your sister. And don’t work for Melk. Do what you want to do.”
“I can’t make a living as a fashion designer.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly tried.”
Her jaw tightened, temper stirred. “Now that’s not fair.”
“I’m simply saying if being a designer is what you really want, you would have taken steps to make your dream a reality.”
“This is why I regret sharing. I told you things thinking I would never have to see you again, but you are here, and you know my worst darkest secrets, and to add insult to injury, you’re flinging them at me.”
“I wouldn’t say flinging.”
She nearly stomped her foot. “What happened to you? Where did Douglas Quincy go? I liked him a lot better.”
“I’m one and the same.”
“That’s what Tricia said, but you’re not a sportswriter.”
“I used to have a sports blog, but I’ve recently switched to a podcast.”
“What can’t you do?”
“Sew. Sketch. Design.”
She turned her head away, frustrated. “I’m not mad at you,” she said after a long, tense moment. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Everyone in this town knows who you are but me.”
“I like that you didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because I like that you
liked me for me. That means a lot to me.” He gave her a crooked smile. “So a mocha?”
She nodded, feeling forlorn.
“With whip?” he asked.
She nodded again, and then watched him walk to the counter, all gorgeous male swagger.
Her heart thumped and her chest squeezed tight, aware that almost everyone in Java Café was watching him, too.
Quinn Douglas wasn’t just any handsome man, nor was he just any professional athlete. He was Marietta’s own. He mattered to so many.
Quinn returned a few minutes later with their coffees. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
Her pulse was hammering and everything in her wanted to run. “You can read me pretty well.”
“What’s going on in your head?”
What was going on? She liked him. A lot. But he was so out of her league, and the fact that he was so out of her league made her want to throw up. “Too much. I’m pretty overwhelmed.”
“You’re just having coffee with a friend.”
She glanced out the window, toward her office building on the other side of the street. She could have sworn someone was at the window of her office—Sam? Greg? It didn’t really matter. Sam didn’t care if she took a half hour off for coffee. In fact, he wouldn’t care if she took the rest of the day off if he thought that would help him get Quinn’s business. “Let’s sit,” she said.
“Good idea. These cups are hot.”
The corner booth near the window was free and she slid into the narrow wooden seat, and then he sat down on the wooden bench adjacent to hers. The table was so small Quinn’s knees brushed hers before he shifted his legs away, but that one brief touch was enough to make her insides flip and her pulse hum. She hadn’t stopped thinking about their kiss since it happened. It was without a doubt, the best kiss of her life.
Driving back from Wyoming, she’d told herself to savor it because it was special. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kiss. And yet now Mr. Once-in-a-Lifetime was sitting here, across from her, at Java Café. Mr. Once-in-a-Lifetime was Marietta’s favorite hero.
“How is your mocha?” Quinn asked politely.
“Delicious,” she answered, taking another sip from her mocha and waiting to see what he’d say next, determined to leave conversation to him. At Little Teton, they’d sat with each other plenty of times without speaking, and Charity had never been uncomfortable then. It was different now. They were different now.
Seconds went by. A minute. And still he said nothing. The silence was maddening.
“What are you thinking?” she finally blurted.
“I’m trying to figure out what has you so scared.”
“I just feel… naked.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m worried about all the things I told you, things that are deeply personal and I thought in that moment I shared it was okay, because the information was contained. No one would know, and when you returned to Seattle, you’d forget all about me, but here we are, in my favorite coffee place in Marietta, and I’m pretty sure you remember everything I told you.”
“Of course.”
“So you can see why I feel as if my ‘sharing’ was a mistake?”
“I was open, too. I shared about Alice and my relationship, because that’s what people do.”
“Alice didn’t treat you badly, though. Greg was pretty awful. I didn’t realize you’d actually meet him one day.”
“I’d love five minutes in a boxing ring with him—”
“No!”
“He doesn’t belong in this town. We don’t treat women badly in this town.”
“But that’s what I mean. I’ve had really different experiences here in Marietta than you have. People do love you, Quinn. People don’t love the Wrights. We have really different backgrounds, and we come from different families.”
“I knew your dad in high school. He wasn’t a bad man, Charity.”
She hated that Quinn knew about her father’s drinking. It had been out of control for years. “We struggled a lot financially. There was a time where we wouldn’t have survived if not for the kindness of strangers, as well as the support of local churches and charities.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I’ve always hated my name because it’s how we existed. On charity.”
“Our ranch in Paradise Valley got by on a wing and a prayer,” he answered. “It was badly managed. My dad wasn’t cut out to be a rancher. He didn’t know the first thing about taking care of the land.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Talk to Rory. He’ll tell you. The ranch was a disaster. My folks were deeply in debt when they died.” His brow creased and his jaw hardened. He waited a moment before adding, “There’s a reason I own a big house in Paradise Valley with just a couple acres of land. I want the privacy, without the property. I don’t want to graze cattle. I don’t want to breed horses. I don’t want to wear chaps or play cowboy. I love the valley with the views of the mountains and the river, but I’m not cut out to be a rancher. It’s a hard life, especially come winter, and I’ve known since I was eleven years old that it’s not for me.”
“So even before the—tragedy—on your place?”
“Yes.” His gaze met hers and held. “I’ve only ever wanted to play ball. I was that kid that slept with his glove. My mom used to throw the ball to me when I was still in diapers. My dad and Rory would be out working somewhere and she’d be at the stove, making dinner, and I’d bring her a ball and beg her to play with me.”
Charity’s chest felt so terribly tender. “She’d be so proud of what you’ve done.”
He shrugged. “The point is, I don’t talk about my mom with just anyone. I rarely mentioned my family to Alice. There was no reason to. But it’s different with you. I feel comfortable talking to you, and I think it’s because you don’t have any expectations of who I’m supposed to be. You just accept me for me.”
“So you don’t care that my mom took us to the thrift store behind the gun shop to do our back-to-school shopping?”
“No.”
“And you don’t care that we never bought our own Thanksgiving turkeys until Jenny had her first job and was able to buy it for us herself?”
“No.”
She glanced down at her cup and noted the pale pink smudge from her lipstick on the rim. She rubbed at the mark. It faded but couldn’t be completely erased. “Okay,” she said softly.
“Okay?”
She lifted her head and looked at him, her chest still overly tight. He’d impressed her as the handsome, charming sportswriter Douglas Quincy, but as tough, uncompromising Quinn Douglas, he absolutely touched her heart.
“Well?” he prompted quietly. “What do you think?”
She wanted to reach out to him, to slip her hand into his. She wanted contact and connection and closeness, but those things created risk. She wanted him in her world, without the risk. “We can do this,” she said. “I’d like to still be friends.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But I worry about something.”
He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “I’m listening.”
And he was. His blue gaze focused intently on her mouth, and his expression was attentive. He was so close she could see flecks of silver in his blue eyes and the fine lines at the corner of his eyes. His skin was still lightly tan, revealing all the hours he spent out in the sun. Her finger itched to trace the light creases and his dense black lashes.
“I could use a friend like you,” she said carefully. “But Quinn, this is such a small world.”
“I know.”
“People will get involved. They’ll say things. They’ll judge.”
“You mean Carol Bingley and her crew might gossip, but Sadie won’t ever gossip or judge, and your sister won’t, and my sister won’t, either. They all love you, and they respect you, and conveniently, they all respect me.”
She couldn’t look away from his lovel
y face. It astonished her that in just days he’d become familiar and dear. “You have friends. You have fans—thousands and thousands of them. Let’s be honest, you don’t need me in your life—”
“Are you for real?” he demanded, jaw flexing.
Her face burned, and she dropped her gaze. “I’m trying to be honest, and practical. I think being honest is essential, which is why I want you to agree that the moment this… friendship… is a burden or a hassle, in any way, we let it go.”
“Friends don’t drop friends because one is a burden or a hassle. Furthermore, I can’t imagine you would ever be a burden or a hassle. That’s Greg the Schmuck filling your head with nonsense. I want you on my team. I picked you for my team. I’m not letting you go.”
“I’ve never really been on a team, other than with my sister.”
“I have. I’ve spent my life on teams, and the best teams, the most successful teams work together, stick together, and look out for each other.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Good. Now join us for dinner tonight. McKenna has booked a big table at Rocco’s. McKenna and Trey, Sadie and Rory, with their four hundred kids—”
She laughed at that, her snort not muffled enough.
His hands lifted. “Okay, there aren’t four hundred. There are only three I know of, but it can feel like four hundred when they all start crying at the same time.” His smile warmed. “Come on. Join us. McKenna and Sadie would love to have you there. They’re your friends. We’re all your friends.”
She was tempted by the invitation, so tempted, but she’d already made plans with her sister for tonight and maybe it was for the best, as her feelings for Quinn were far stronger than she’d first imagined, and strong feelings were dangerous, because they weren’t in a romantic relationship.
“I wish I could,” she said, “but Mandy and I have planned a girls’ night in for tonight. After work, we’re meeting for pizza and a glass of wine.”
“I’m glad. I know you’ve missed her.”
And yet she already regretted turning him down for tonight. She would have enjoyed dinner with him and his family. “Maybe another time before you leave? When do you leave?”
