by Jane Porter
“The county would say he still needs to go to the shelter—”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I don’t trust those places.”
“Crawford County’s is better than most,” he answered.
“That’s not good enough for me or Rusty,” she said. “Can’t you reach out to the current owner and see if they would allow me to adopt him? Or give me the number and I’ll call them? He’s a loving dog and I think he just needs a home in Marietta.”
“He might still wander,” Quinn warned her.
She looked down into Rusty’s warm brown eyes. He gazed steadily back at her, his tail thumping. “But he might not,” she answered, petting him. “He might be happy with me.”
“First, we should get him checked out. Make sure he’s healthy.” Quinn glanced at Noah. “Can you do a physical? See if there is anything we should be worried about.”
Charity heard how Quinn said we. If there is anything we should be worried about.
His words warmed her. She liked having him on her team. “That’s probably smart,” she agreed.
“Can we leave him here now, or do we need to make an appointment?”
“We could take him now. But if you’re not planning on boarding him for the night, be back before we close.”
“He needs to be fed,” Quinn added. “I’ll pick up a bag of whatever food you recommend, but he hasn’t eaten this morning, and he only had people food last night.”
“We’ll take care of Rusty,” Noah promised. “And we’ll make some calls and let you know what his current owners want to do.”
Charity gave Rusty a hug and told him she’d be back for him in just a couple of hours. Quinn left his number with the front desk, and asked that he be called as soon as they had any news, one way or the other.
Outside the office, Charity faced Quinn. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “For all your help with Noel.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “You’re not going to call him Rusty?”
“He answers to Noel.”
He laughed. “You’re something,” he said, drawing her into his arms and holding her there a moment before releasing her. “I better get to the Gallaghers. It’s supposed to be very busy today.”
She’d liked being in his arms. She’d felt good there. “I’m going to be working on the tree,” she said.
“I’ll let you know when Rusty can be picked up.”
“Can I bring him to you?”
“I think you should.”
He reached for his keys but he didn’t walk away.
She couldn’t make herself leave, either. “Quinn?”
“Yes?” he answered, his gaze locking with hers.
She felt lost in his eyes, and she held her breath as emotions washed over her. She liked him. She liked him so much. Did he have any idea how she truly felt? Finally, she exhaled and then said, “For the record, I like being on your team.”
His jaw eased and his smile was crooked. “For the record, I do, too.”
Charity thought about Quinn and Noel all day, and she itched to go see Quinn but she would never get Amanda’s dress done, or the tree decorations made, if she kept running around instead of staying in one place and working.
She was about to call Dr. Sullivan’s office when Quinn phoned her. “I’ve just heard from Noah. They want to keep Rusty Noel overnight,” he said.
“Why?”
“Noah has to file some paperwork with the county, and he needs to have Rusty there when he processes the paperwork requesting adoption. It’s a county ordinance.”
“Noel is not going to like being there all night.”
“I know, and it’s frustrating, but it’s just for the night. We should be able to pick him up in the morning.”
“Okay,” she said, reluctantly, trying not to feel discouraged. She was tired and lonely and she really wished she and Quinn could have more together time. She felt like she was only seeing him in little stolen moments now and then. “So how is it going there?”
“Great. Slammed. We’ve gone through so much stock. It’s getting a little thin in the yard. Sawyer said we might need to go to the back lot and get some more trees.”
“You sound excited about that.”
“It is kind of exciting. I like the work. Speaking of work, I better go. It’s hectic here at the moment. I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s okay. Just take care of yourself.”
“You, too.” And then he hung up.
*
Charity spent Sunday morning in Bozeman buying ornaments and the craft supplies she needed for the Gallaghers’ tree. She was just finishing shopping when she got a text from Quinn that she could go pick up Rusty.
She returned to Marietta and collected the retriever who was delighted to see her, and together they headed out to the Gallaghers.
The tree lot was filled with families and Quinn was being pulled in so many directions that he nodded at Charity but couldn’t break away to talk. Hoping that things would slow, Charity went into the Gallaghers’ cute log cabin house and visited with Jenna while they made a batch of Grandma Gallagher’s famous sugar cookies before Charity took another walk around the festive barn, still hoping Quinn could break free, but it didn’t happen.
She bundled her arms across her chest and exhaled. She missed Quinn. She missed being alone with Quinn. She missed feeling special and important to him.
And there was nothing inside of her that just wanted to be his friend.
She wanted to be his, and only his, and she wanted him to be hers. It was time he knew that, too. It was time they figured out their relationship and she’d been the one holding back but she was done playing it safe.
Charity checked that Noel was safe with Jenna and Sawyer, before returning to her car and driving home.
Rather than dwell on the fact that Quinn had been too busy to spend time with her, she’d just tackle her very long to-do list, and at the top of her list, was painting tiny red dashes to look like thread on the four-dozen ping-pong balls.
By midafternoon she’d painted all the balls and washed her brushes and was plugging in her glue gun to take on the next task when Quinn called.
“Your sister and her husband have just shown up here,” he said, “and they’re cutting me loose. Apparently they spoke to Rory and Sawyer and they’ve all conspired to send me away from here. I have to leave, now, and I’ve been given strict orders to go do something fun.”
“Those are your instructions? To do something fun?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m calling you. I need your help. Can you possibly think of something fun we could do together?”
Warmth rushed through her and she found herself smiling. “Well, you could come over here and hot glue ribbons onto plastic sleeves with me.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t call that fun.”
“We could grocery shop.”
“Definitely not fun.”
“Wrap gifts?”
“I’m really beginning to think you don’t know how to play.”
She smiled at his scolding tone. “Or… we could do something boring like ice skate.”
“Funny girl. I’m leaving here now to pick you up as Miracle Lake is calling.”
She unplugged the glue gun, got to her feet and stretched. “You don’t have to come all the way into town. I can meet you there.”
“No, I’ve missed you. I look forward to catching up.”
“What about Rusty Noel?”
“He can stay here. He loves all the activity and attention he gets. I’ll get him on my way home.”
*
Quinn pulled up to the small blue house on Chance Avenue and called Charity. “I’m out front,” he said, when she answered. “Shall I come to the door? I’d like to say hello to your dad. It’s been a long time since high school.”
“Maybe next time,” she said, sounding anxious. “Dad is watching some crime show and Mom is napping and Mom never sleeps so I’d just as soon let her keep sleeping.”
“Okay, I’ll just wait out here then.”
“I won’t be long. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He left the truck engine running, and used the time to study her neighborhood. The street didn’t look as rough as it had been when he was in school, but Chance Avenue was still shabby. Houses were small. The fences dividing properties were mostly chain link. Dirty snow piled in the driveways and along the curb. The Wrights’ house was blue, and the paint was peeling off in places. There were no shutters at the windows. Nothing about the front yard, or steps, inspired confidence. It was winter, and Montana took a beating in winter, but there could have been some charm somewhere.
It couldn’t have been easy for Charity and her sisters to go to Marietta High, knowing that just one street over were all the big, handsome turn-of-the-century houses on Bramble, and that her school was filled with students that had so much more.
Charity might not care about material things, but the lack of material things had shaped her.
The front door suddenly opened and Charity came bounding down the steps and over to the truck, skates in her hand.
He climbed out of the truck and went round to open her door. She thanked him before getting in, adding, “It took me a minute to clean up my mess and then find my skates. This is the first time I’ve skated this year so they were still put away.”
Settling into her seat, Charity clutched the battered skates to her chest and gave him a blindingly bright smile. “I’m so excited we’re doing this.”
Quinn had known he was falling for her for a long time. He’d been drawn to her immediately when they first met, and every moment they spent together—or even apart—only cemented his feelings, but it was the moment she flashed her bright, beautiful smile, and told him how excited she was to skate, he knew he loved her. He hadn’t just fallen in love with her, but he loved her.
She was undemanding and selfless and cheerful and kind and it killed him that she asked for so little, when she deserved the sun and the moon and all the stars.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” he said, once he was back in the driver’s seat, “but I heard they’ve installed lighting now.”
She nodded. “They did that a couple years ago. But everything else is pretty much the same.”
“I’ll need to rent skates,” he said.
“The skate shack will be open.”
“Let’s go then.”
*
It wasn’t as crowded at Miracle Lake as Charity had expected. Most of the families with younger kids were gone, leaving the frozen lake to teenagers and adults, which was a good thing as Quinn had decided to challenge Charity to a skate-off, wanting to prove he was the superior skater and then doing everything in his power to keep her from winning their races—even if it meant relying on some underhanded tactics.
Fortunately, even with his tactics she was still beating him half the time. “You are unbelievably competitive,” she said, laughing and gulping in air as she slowly glided around the rink, letting her burning muscles cool. “Maybe it’s time you accepted that I just might be better than you.”
“Not going to happen,” he flashed, giving her a lethal smile as he caught her hands and drew her toward him.
“Your baseball contracts don’t let you ski,” she said, as he skated backward, and her skates moved inside his so they glided effortlessly across the ice. “But skating is fine.”
“I’m sure it’s probably not encouraged, but I don’t remember it being part of paragraph 5b.”
“What else can’t you do?”
“Sky diving, rock climbing, hang gliding, motorcycle riding, boxing, auto racing, spelunking, snowmobiling, and participating in rodeos.”
“So skating is okay?”
“I’d only get in trouble if I got hurt.”
“In that case, let’s get you skating forward, just to be on the safe side. Life is hard enough without adding in the element of danger.”
He changed his hold and did an easy turn so that he now skated next to her. “What’s hard about life?”
She flashed to her childhood and her memories of growing up and the daily struggle to just get by, without being hungry or uncomfortable or humiliated for not being groomed enough, or good enough. She’d never forget the day in second grade when someone told her in the morning lineup that she smelled, reeking like pee, and by the time they were allowed in to the classroom, all the kids were whispering that she’d peed her pants, but Charity hadn’t.
Her teacher even pulled her aside and sniffed her, and then sniffed her coat and backpack. The backpack was fine, but the coat and the sweater beneath did reek of pee. Charity was mortified. Even more mortified when her mother came to school with clean clothes. Charity begged her mother to let her go home with her but her mother said she had to stay.
It wasn’t until it happened again, that she understood her dad was getting so drunk he was mistaking the laundry basket for a urinal.
“Life wasn’t easy when I was growing up,” she said to Quinn. “It was unpredictable—for years. I craved safety. People I could count on. Situations that were stable. Change represented chaos, and chaos was pain.”
They circled the rink again, the blades on their skates scraping the ice. “Was there anything that made you feel safe when you were a little girl?” he asked after a moment.
She didn’t even need to think about it. “My sisters. Jenny and Mandy. I wouldn’t even be me without them.”
“I feel that way about Rory and McKenna,” he said.
She gave his hand a little squeeze. “You all went through so much. You lost so much.”
“I got off lucky, though, compared to Rory,” he answered. “He saw it all. He returned to find the aftermath, and because of that, he has horrific images burned in his brain. I know I was injured and had to physically recover, but I never suffered quite the same way he did. He once told me to avoid the papers and to never look at the crime-scene photos, and I took his advice. Why would I want those horrific images to become my memories?”
“Rory is smart,” she said. “And I love that he and Sadie found each other.”
“Rory struggled to move forward. Sadie is helping him,” he agreed.
Charity was silent for a moment. “That’s my problem. I can’t seem to get solid forward momentum, and Jenny once told me it’s because at some point in my life I circled the wagons to protect me. But because of that, I’ve never been able to move on and accomplish the things I want to because I’m still in one spot, wagons circled, rifles drawn, waiting for the next attack.” She shrugged. “I was mad at her when she said that, but she’s right. It’s why I’m still at home. It’s why I didn’t go to New York to study design. It’s why I doubt myself so much.”
Quinn pulled her to the side, out of the way of the other skaters. “You played it safe because you had to play it safe, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You were doing what you thought was necessary to survive.”
“But I’m tired of playing it safe. I want more from life. I love fashion, I love beautiful clothes, I want to have my own business one day, and maybe that’s not practical—”
“But why does every choice have to be practical?” he interrupted. “Why not do things because it’s just fun?” Quinn gestured to the ice rink and the couples skating. “We’re not here because it’s practical. We’re here because it’s fun. I love spending time with you because it feels good to be with you. Is it practical? Probably not. But do I want to be with you as much as I can while I’m here in Montana? Absolutely.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because you make me happy. Being with you makes me happy. And as we both know, life can be hard, and there are no guarantees, so we have to make the most of every single day we’re given.”
“Seize the day,” she murmured.
“Live every day as if it’s your last,” he replied.
She felt almost overwhelmed by emotion. She nodded, finding it impossible to speak.
“What do you say we get something warm to drink?” he suggested.
“Good idea,” she said, taking the hand he offered and following him off the ice.
They waited in line to buy cups of hot chocolate and Charity laughed when Quinn asked for extra mini marshmallows on his. He glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “Want extra marshmallows on yours?”
She started to shake her head and then changed her mind. “Yes, actually. That would be lovely.”
They found a place near the ice to sit, and Quinn drew her close to his hip, his arm around her as they sipped their chocolate and watched others skate.
“I think you need to make yourself a priority,” he said after a moment. “Put together a business plan and make your shop a reality. There’s no reason you can’t have your own business here.”
“Oh, are you going to invest in me and Little Teton now?” she teased.
“Maybe.”
“I’m not sure fashion and Marietta go hand in hand.”
“There is a lot of money in this area. Beautiful clothes are always in demand, and before you tell me that I don’t know anything about couture, my great-great-great-aunt, Johanna Douglas, was Marietta’s first fashion designer. She had a shop on Main Street named Johanna Design in the 1880’s. If she could have a shop, why can’t you?”
Charity’s mouth opened and then closed. “Is that true?”
“The library has a display of old photographs and you can see a picture of Johanna Douglas in front of her shop with her mother, and her brother, Sinclair Douglas, who was my great-great-great-grandfather.”
“That’s very cool.”
“If a young, Irish immigrant could open up her own shop in frontier Marietta, you can, too.”
“Thank you for your confidence,” she said, smiling up at him. She felt so happy right now, happy and calm and optimistic. It had been a long time since she felt so optimistic. Maybe it was time to stop being afraid of everything. Maybe it was time to face her fears head-on.
“I haven’t been honest with you,” she said quietly.
“No?” he said, giving her a quizzical look before stretching out his long legs, and crossing his skates at the ankle.
“No, and I’m sorry about that and I didn’t mean to be dishonest with you. I think it happened because I haven’t been honest with myself.” She looked up into his face, and her eyes met his. Her head felt a bit fuzzy as his gaze locked with hers. “Quinn, I don’t think of you as a friend. I’m not even sure what it means to be on your team because if being teammates means being buddies, I don’t want that. I won’t ever be your drinking buddy or your wingman because it would kill me to go out on a date with you, and not be your date.”
