by Jane Porter
Despite being unoccupied most of the time, the house was spotless. His weekly housekeeping service made sure there was never dust. Surfaces gleamed. The creamy marble kitchen countertops were an elegant contrast to the handsome split-log walls. During the day, the huge windows in the great room brought the rugged Montana landscape in. This afternoon, the Gallatin Range, dominated by Copper Mountain, had been blanketed in white, but now all beyond his window was dark.
He liked this house. He wanted to love it. He didn’t. At least, not yet. One day maybe he would.
Maybe when he was done playing ball he could live here and make it a real home. He wasn’t ready to give up ball, though. He’d had a great season last year and he felt strong, and healthy, and more players were playing longer. Why couldn’t he?
He’d loved baseball since he was a little kid, and he’d wanted to play professionally for as long as he could remember. When he was finally drafted out of University of Washington where he’d gone on a full sports scholarship, he’d vowed to be the best professional baseball player possible, and he’d honored that vow by training hard, getting rest, avoiding the party scene, as well as the groupies.
He was a monogamist, and when the single guys flirted with women in the hotel lobby, he headed up to his room, and called Alice. Before Alice, he’d been with Heather for four years, and before Heather, it had been Dominique for two.
Unlike his brother Rory, who’d always been a tortured lone wolf, Quinn valued the pack. Quinn wanted his own partner, and he looked forward to children, and he was ready for children… babies. At thirty-seven, he was mature and financially sound, and the only reason he wasn’t a dad already was that he hadn’t found the right woman.
Leaning on the marble island, his gaze swept the rich wood kitchen cabinetry and the long wood table and chairs in the adjacent dining room. The table seated twelve comfortably. Clearly, when he built this house, he hadn’t planned on being single so long.
Once again his thoughts returned to Charity and then he gave his head a shake, stopping himself from going there.
She wasn’t ready, and he still had ball. How could he pursue her from Seattle? How could he prove to her he was the right one when he lived so far away? The logistics were problematic. She loved Marietta. She’d made that clear. Could he convince her to come out and visit him in Seattle? Or was it just too much, too soon?
*
It was a cold blustery morning and Charity arrived at Main Street Diner with her teeth chattering, desperate for that first hot cup of coffee.
There were five of them at the meeting and the mood was mostly buoyant as nearly all of the tickets had been sold and they spent their hour together ironing out final details and making sure they had sufficient silent auction items. Everyone agreed to try to round up one to two more silent auction items each, and then Sadie Douglas the cochair for this year’s auction discussed the dinner and dancing portion, before Risa Scott, the other cochair discussed the setup and decorations, and then the meeting was over.
It was refreshing to leave Main Street Diner feeling good about the event, and everything they’d accomplished to even reach this point, especially considering the auction was still a new thing in Marietta. The Christmas Tree Gala, Mistletoe and Montana, used to be a Livingston event but when Marietta’s Graff Hotel proved to be a better venue, Marietta embraced the fund-raiser and it had become even more successful. This year, Gallagher Tree Farm was the event’s biggest sponsor, and their early donation had made planning and execution so much easier.
Charity returned to her car, and drove to the small parking lot behind her office building. As she walked around to the front entrance on Main, she spotted a big golden retriever walking down the street. The dog’s head and tail drooped. Periodically the dog would stop, and sniff a patch of snow, and then continue on.
She stopped to watch him, wondering if he was looking for food or trying to track his human. She hoped he wasn’t lost, or abandoned. It was unusual to see dogs loose on Main Street. In fact, the city would have someone out to take him to an animal shelter if he lingered downtown too long.
She watched a moment longer before going into the office. Sam was already there before her, at work at his desk. She checked the coffeepot. Coffee was brewing. She stuck her head into Sam’s office and asked if he needed anything.
“No, I’m good,” he answered. “Just as an FYI, I have some people flying in from San Francisco, interested in buying property in Paradise Valley. They land mid morning and I’ll be picking them up and then expect to be out of the office the rest of the day.”
“Do you have some good leads to show them?”
“Actually, no. There is nothing on the market right now that exactly meets their needs. They don’t really want acreage. They want a big house on Yellowstone River with a dynamite view of the Gallatin’s.” He paused and gave her a meaningful look. “Like Quinn Douglas’s place. I don’t suppose he’d want to sell it?”
“We’ve never talked about his house,” she answered.
“He spent a fortune on it and yet he’s maybe stayed there a half-dozen times.”
She shrugged. “It’s his house.”
“Yeah, but it’s a lot of money—millions of dollars—and he doesn’t seem to really enjoy it. I’m tempted to follow up with him about his place. Actually, I’m tempted to just send you to talk to him about selling it.”
“Send me where? To Seattle?”
“As of this morning, Quinn’s still in town.”
“Maybe for coffee, but he’s flying out of Bozeman this morning.”
“He was. There’s been an accident over at the Gallagher Tree Farm and I’ve been told he’s gone there to help.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know that yet.”
Charity went to her desk and turned her computer on but couldn’t focus on her email inbox. What happened at the Gallaghers? Who’d been hurt?
She glanced at her watch. It was only just eight now. Whatever happened, happened early. She sat there stewing, and was still stewing when she looked up and spotted the golden retriever outside in front of the real estate office.
He looked forlorn. Her heart went out to him.
Charity left her desk and returned to Sam’s office. He was on the phone but he held his finger up, signaling he wanted her to wait. She did. He finished the call a few moments later.
“That was my sister, Kerry,” he said. “Sawyer is being prepped for surgery now. His leg looked pretty bad. Jenna, Sawyer’s wife is with him.”
Kerry was a nurse that worked part-time at Marietta Medical so she’d have accurate information. “At least Jenna is there with him.”
“Jenna is having problems, though. She’s having contractions. They’re discussing admitting her because they don’t want the baby to arrive just yet.”
“Oh, no!”
“Thankfully Quinn is over at the Gallagher’s place now. He got there before the ambulance arrived and helped Jenna extract Sawyer from the baler.”
“That’s how he got hurt?”
“One of Sawyer’s guys wasn’t paying attention and Sawyer stepped in, saving him.”
“Only now Sawyer’s hurt,” she said in a small voice.
“I have to think he’s going to be off of his feet for the next few weeks.”
“They can’t afford to operate without him. It’s a family business.”
“There is good news, though.”
“Oh?”
“Looks like your Quinn Douglas will be sticking around now.”
Charity rolled her eyes and started for her desk, glancing out the big glass window to the street, and there out front was the golden retriever, sitting on the curb, head cocked.
The dog!
She returned to Sam’s office door for a third time. “Sorry. I knew there was something I wanted to ask you. Do you know anyone with a golden retriever?”
He’d started to make another call and he briefly glanced up from hi
s phone. “Some of the folks near me have Labs, a chocolate Lab and a blonde Lab. But I don’t know anyone with a retriever. Why?”
“There’s a beautiful one outside. He’s been on the street ever since I arrived.”
“Somebody will claim him.”
“I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“He won’t.”
“I’ll see if he has a collar on, or any tags. Maybe there is someone I can call.”
She grabbed her coat and stuffed her arms into the sleeves before stepping outside. But just as she approached the dog, a car pulled into the empty parking spot out front and honked the horn, loudly, scaring the dog away.
It was Greg. Of course.
She shook her head, disgusted. Why honk at the dog? What purpose was there in doing such a thing?
Charity ignored Greg as he entered the real estate office, focusing instead on getting through her emails. But Greg stopped at her desk, and just stood there without saying a word, and continued to stand there, staring down at her in silence, for at least a minute.
He was so annoying. She ground her teeth together and bit her tongue. Finally, fed up, she looked upward. “Can I help you?”
“You could sound a little more friendly.”
“Why? We’re not friends.”
“You’re supposed to be professional.”
“So are you. Please move along to your own desk. This is mine.”
“Don’t make me tell Sam that we can’t work together,” he said. “I’d hate to see you lose your job.”
She battled her temper, and then her temper won. “You mean you would love it. New receptionist here means new meat for you.”
“I’m a good guy.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.”
Greg bent down, leaning closer. “It doesn’t have to be this way. There’s no reason for so much animosity.”
Indignation flooded her. She lifted a hand to keep him from coming any closer. “A little personal space, please.”
He muttered something uncomplimentary and then stalked off. Charity forced her attention back to her computer but her hands were shaking as she tried to type and she found it hard to focus. Greg was awful. She hated having to work with him. She went to bed dreading work, and woke up even more miserable. She couldn’t afford to quit now, just before the holidays, but it was definitely time to look for a new job. Maybe working for her sister wouldn’t be that bad.
Or maybe pursuing design and custom work wouldn’t be bad either.
The little voice in her head made her catch her breath. Ever since she’d met Quinn, that little voice had been pretty talkative, and it was loud right now.
Why not pursue her dreams? Why had she given up on them?
She’d always had a flare for fashion, and she loved making gorgeous clothes… perhaps it wasn’t ridiculous to become Marietta’s first fashion designer. It wasn’t as if she had to leave Marietta to do it, and she didn’t need much to get started, as she already had her sewing machines and embroidery machines and everything else required. The key thing would be getting the word out, and letting people know she was taking custom orders. The local bridal shop, Married in Marietta, could carry some of her evening wear, and maybe one day, she could even have her own shop downtown to display her designs.
Her friends here had their own businesses. McKenna was a photographer and worked out of her home. Sadie had her shabby chic business on Main Street. Her sister, Amanda, had started small, working for someone else on Main Street, before opening her own salon two years ago. If they could do it, she could. She just had to be confident, and wouldn’t it be fun to prove the naysayers wrong?
After replying to a couple of emails requiring immediate attention, Charity put in a call to Sadie, who was also married to Rory, Quinn’s brother.
“Sam told me about the accident at the Gallagher Tree Farm,” Charity said when Sadie answered. “I understand that Sawyer is in surgery and Jenna’s having contractions?”
“I just talked to Jenna,” Sadie said. “The contractions have stopped. She and the baby are fine, but they’re keeping her overnight for observation.”
“So both of them will be at the hospital tonight?”
“It sounds like it, but she’s hoping they’ll both be allowed to return home tomorrow. She knows Sawyer will be anxious about needing to get back to work, but it’s the same leg he broke a couple years ago. ER called in Wyatt Gallagher—the orthopedist, not related to the tree farm Gallaghers—to do the surgery and he’s one of the best in the county. Sawyer should be fine in the long run.”
*
The early morning chaos had calmed down enough at the Gallagher Christmas Tree Farm for Quinn to take a tour of the premises and figure out what he needed to do.
He was also craving a cup of coffee as he hadn’t had one yet today. Normally he had a cup before breakfast but today he’d been woken up by a call from his sister, alerting him to an accident that had just taken place at the Gallaghers. McKenna said an ambulance was on the way but he was the closest person she knew to the Gallagher property and help was needed there, fast.
Quinn knew how important neighbors were in the ranching community and he threw on clothes and headed straight over. Quinn used to play ball with Sawyer when they were kids, and the boys from Paradise Valley would always carpool together. Because Sawyer was closer to town, he was always the first to be dropped off, and the last to be picked up. The Gallaghers’ tree farm had been in their family for generations, with their land butting up against the national forest on the lower slopes of Copper Mountain.
It felt good to see the old wooden sign pointing to the farm. That meant he was almost there. Not long after, he pulled into the gravel parking lot. To the right was the barn, and in between were dozens of trees, some up in stands, others on the ground.
A tall, thin man in a baseball cap ran toward Quinn as he climbed from the truck. “I’ve got Sawyer’s leg out of the baler but it’s broken. There’s blood everywhere. You can see a bone sticking out,” the man said.
Quinn had seen some bad breaks in baseball and he knew the basics for a compound fracture—stop the bleeding, splint, and wrap with tape or gauze.
Reaching the cluster of people near the barn, he spotted Sawyer on a wool blanket on the ground and a woman kneeling next to him, holding his hand.
Quinn crouched at his side, his gaze skimming Sawyer’s leg with the tattered cord trousers matted with blood. “Hey, bud,” he said, giving Sawyer a smile. “How is it going?”
“Mr. Baseball,” Sawyer drawled, managing a sickly smile.
“Next time you want an autograph, just give me a call. Happy to drop one off. No need for theatrics.” Quinn glanced at Sawyer’s wife. “Hi, Jenna. I’m Quinn. My sister thinks the world of you.”
“The feeling is reciprocated.” Jenna’s head lifted. Her eyes were pink and shiny. “His leg doesn’t look good.”
Quinn carefully rolled up the trouser leg, and she was right. It didn’t look good. He was going to need some TLC at the hospital. “The ambulance should be here soon, but in case there’s a holdup, I need to slow the bleeding and get a splint on him. I need gauze, tape, and two pieces of wood, shouldn’t be hard to find here at a tree farm.”
“I’ve got the first aid kit from the barn,” Jenna said.
“I’ll get the wood,” the man in the baseball cap said.
Sawyer groaned as Quinn gently pulled the tattered fabric from the wound. Jenna blinked hard. “Where is that ambulance?” she whispered huskily, clearly panicked.
“It’ll come,” Quinn reassured her.
She bit her lip and grimaced, her hand going to her prominent belly. “I think the baby wants to come, too.”
“What?” Sawyer tried to sit up. “Are you having contractions?”
“Something’s going on.” She glanced at Quinn. “Baby Gallagher isn’t supposed to arrive until late January.”
“Tell the baby to wait,” Sawyer ordered. “Dad says s
o.”
In the distance, the wail of a siren could be heard.
“Thank God,” Jenna muttered.
Quinn added his own prayer. He’d been prepared to splint Sawyer’s leg, but this was much better.
It wasn’t until the shrieking ambulance was gone that Quinn turned to the man in the baseball cap. “So what happened here?”
“Crazy accident. I lost my footing and Sawyer moved quick to help me, and then he got hurt.”
Quinn studied the guy for a moment. “Can I be straight with you?”
The man hesitated then nodded.
“You smell like booze. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the Gallaghers, but have you been drinking?”
The other man took a step back, affronted. “Just a shot to warm me up. We don’t have heat at my place right now. Generator’s broke.”
“Does Sawyer know this?”
“About the generator?”
“That you’re struggling.”
The man looked uneasy. “I don’t want to lose my job.”
“Sawyer and I go way back. He wouldn’t fire you over being down on your luck, but drinking on the job? That puts not just you, but him, and his entire business at risk.” Quinn’s arms folded across his chest. “What’s your name?”
“Rob Harris.”
“Rob, I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, but you can’t bring that into work. In other words, you can’t drink before you come here. You can’t drink while here. You can’t drink until you get home. So right now, get your things, I’m going to send you home—”
“What?”
“Come back tomorrow sober and work hard, and I’ll make sure no one docks your wages, but if I ever smell alcohol, or suspect you’re drinking while on the job, you’re gone, and there won’t be another chance.”
Rob gave Quinn a long, unhappy look. “I can’t go home now. My wife won’t understand.”
Quinn reached into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out of his jeans. He opened the wallet and extracted two fifty-dollar bills plus a number of twenties and folded them over before handing the wad of bills to Rob. “Tell her you were given the day off to fix the generator. And do it.”
