by Christa Wick
Slowly, his face took shape on the paper. Strong jaw, mobile lips, long, dark lashes. Quinn added shading, changing the vaguely attractive features into a replica of the chiseled good looks before her.
Finished with her pencils, she put them down and rubbed lightly at the paper with her fingers.
“Hey,” Barrett murmured.
Caught in the act of recording him, Quinn froze, only her gaze lifting to meet his.
“Can I see?”
She rolled her lips, swallowed hard, but handed the sketchpad over telling herself he would only see a good replica of himself. That’s all most people saw. Exposed to the exact replicas that cameras produced, the average person had grown distant and numb to the emotions contained in a sketch or painting.
Gaze on the floor, Quinn waited for Barrett to return the sketchpad.
He didn’t.
The long legs slid off the couch. His knees brushed hers as he sat up, his hands gripping the sides of the pad hard enough to bend the hundred plus sheets of paper.
“You don’t draw me like this,” he rasped, “then say you’re going to leave.”
She hadn’t said she was leaving. Not yet, at least.
“Look at me, Quinn.”
She studied the grain on his wood flooring.
He put the sketchpad aside, opened his legs up, grabbed the edge of the coffee table and pulled her and everything on it right up to him. His hands secured her hips, his thumbs hooking the belt loops like she might try to scurry away.
“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice softening.
Unable to see the floorboards anymore, she examined the nearly invisible patterns of the leather couch.
Barrett sighed, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t push her and the coffee table from him.
“I love you,” he said, his voice almost flat.
“I love you,” he repeated, his tone strengthening. “Looking at that sketch, I think you love me, too.”
Her mouth stretched thin. A sharp sting pinched her nose. Her throat constricted, the airway shrinking smaller and smaller as the muscles pulled tighter and tighter.
Bringing his lips up to Quinn’s ear, Barrett whispered.
“I love you, Quinn. You love me, too, I know it.”
She shook as his lips drifted toward her mouth, searing her flesh.
Barrett pulled Quinn onto his lap. Leaning against the back of the couch, he cradled her to him and kissed lightly at her temple.
Quinn wrapped her arms around his shoulders. With her face pressed tight against his chest, she confessed in muffled whispers.
“Yes. I love you. Yes.”
He stroked at her hair, his every movement meant to soothe.
When his mouth found hers again, Barrett kissed Quinn like he never had before. Tender, yes. Passionate, yes. But the depth and intensity were so much more than all those other kisses. One hand wound through her hair, controlling the tilt of her head as his tongue slid in. His other hand stroked down her arm, his grip proprietary as he reached her waist and curled his fingers around its side. His thumb rubbed at the padded jut of her hipbone until she squirmed with need.
Only when he had Quinn gasping what felt like it would surely be her last breath did Barrett pull back, offer one last caress of her cheek then leave the couch and head into the kitchen.
“We’ve got a long day of kicking butt, love,” he called back. “We better get some breakfast in us first.”
* * *
Slowly drawing every last molecule of flavor from her slice of bacon, Quinn watched Barrett work on his laptop. She wouldn’t say he was providing a non-stop commentary, but he kept giving her highlights of what he was doing. First, there was an email from his brother Adler that he had set up the meeting with the state’s Land Trusts division. Second was the reply email from the division’s Reed Sheppard re-iterating his availability.
For as much bad luck as had plagued Quinn since her arrival in Montana, Sheppard had a scheduled stop by the courthouse that day.
“Forwarding Sheppard’s email to Judge Harrison and Cross,” Barrett advised. “I think maybe we can resolve this today. If not, we still have the fact that you cannot return to the property because of the ongoing investigation.”
Swallowing the bite of bacon, Quinn nodded and wiped her hand clean before she picked up the notepad.
“When can he meet?” she asked.
“Between noon and two, whatever is convenient for Harrison.”
Her face crinkled as she read Barrett’s notes. Handwriting that had started out smooth had devolved as the sheer volume of writing increased.
“I can type it out with the additional information I didn’t write down last night if you want to handle the meeting.”
She put the pad down and grabbed another slice of bacon.
“Let me think on that a minute,” she answered.
Quinn had already met Cross once in person and interacted with him a couple of times before that over the phone and in email exchanges. She didn’t think highly of him, especially after meeting him at the ranch house. It wasn’t so much his words, but his expression and tones. While he had mostly ignored Quinn and Lindy’s presence, the few times he talked directly to them, it was almost like he felt it beneath him to talk to women.
Yeah, that was part of it. He had mansplained to her in that meeting and he’d done it before on the phone.
She didn’t know about the man from the state or the judge, but it felt like one or more of the Turks had to work with the department frequently and had built up enough goodwill to get the meeting so fast. That left the judge, who seemed sympathetic, but also a bit of a good old boy.
Then there was the embarrassing fact that she had basically been comatose after the fire. If she shut down in the meeting, then Naomi would have really beaten her this time.
“I think it’s best if you handle the meeting for me.”
Barrett dipped his head in agreement. “I hate to say it, but we’ll get quicker results. These are all older guys we’re dealing with and they can be a little…”
“Traditional?” she supplied.
He grinned. “You have a nicer word for that than Mama does.”
A tone sounded on his laptop. Barrett clicked the edge of his touchpad.
“Judge has agreed. He can see us at twelve-thirty.”
A second ping had him shaking his head.
“And of course Cross waits to see what the judge is going to say.”
“Does that mean he can’t come?”
“No, he just wanted to see which way the wind was blowing is my guess. He says the time is fine.”
Hearing something hit the front door, Quinn dropped the last piece of bacon onto her lap, a small squeak of surprise turning her cheeks red.
“That should be Siobhan,” Barrett soothed just as a triple knock landed against the door. “She was going to raid Maureen’s closet—with Maureen’s permission. You two are close in size.”
The knock landed again.
“Hey, if you’re in there shagging, throw some clothes on and—”
Barrett opened the door with a scowl. “It’s amazing how someone can be so helpful and annoying at the same time.”
“Consider it a small fee for my on-call assistance,” she said, pointing at a suitcase for Barrett to bring in as she waltzed past him.
Settling onto the couch next to Quinn, Siobhan hugged her.
“You doing okay? You looked a little numb leaving the station last night.”
“I’m better than I was.”
Quinn rubbed at her warm cheeks, the embarrassment over her frightened squeak yielding to a sense of shame over how she had turned into an absolute zombie.
She still didn’t understand how Barrett could be professing his love to her after last night’s behavior.
“So, I ran into Adler and he sort of suggested there’s a plan so you can keep the land…beyond the whole tolling factor during the investigation?”
Quinn grinn
ed. “No secrets in Willow Gap it seems.”
Siobhan shrugged. “That, or I’m already an excellent interrogator.”
Returning from taking the suitcase into the bedroom, Barrett chuckled. “Please, baby girl, wait until you meet a real interrogator.”
Siobhan sniffed in mock offense then wrapped Quinn in another hug. “I have to get to work. Clay called in sick and there’s finally a bit of excitement, what with this whole thing about your sister.”
“You’re shameless,” Barrett teased. “You’re eager to go to work because something terrible has happened.”
She stuck her tongue out at her cousin. “That’s not it at all. I want to help take Little Miss Crazy down. Sheriff Gamble said we already have an ID on the guy. Doris was on duty at the Tumbleweed fuel station when a California car filled two one-gallon containers with gasoline. She took down their plate because of how they looked.”
Siobhan frowned. “She called them in before the fire was set, but she is always—seriously, always—calling things in and they never pan out. So…”
Quinn patted the young woman’s knee. “I understand. Probably ten percent of the kids in L.A. don’t dress much different from my sister, and they aren’t all arsonists. You can’t arrest someone just because they’re wearing black lipstick and a hoodie. The only people at fault for the fire are Naomi and this guy.”
“Yeah,” Siobhan agreed, her frown relaxing. “We only have two patrol cars out during the day. Not a good chance they would have crossed paths with your sister even if they were on the lookout for the car.”
Siobhan snuck in one last hug then stood up. “Anyway, Gamble was hoping you could stop by this afternoon.”
Barrett nodded and walked her to the door. “We’re meeting Judge Harrison at twelve-thirty. We’ll come by straight after. Maybe it will all be good news by then.”
Quinn mustered up a smile, but she only expected things to get worse.
Chapter Nineteen
Sheppard was the last to arrive at Judge Harrison’s office, but he came bearing sweets from Marla’s Cafe, Willow Gap’s only restaurant.
“On the house,” he announced, setting them on Harrison’s desk. “Marla heard I was heading on over to see you, Steve, and insisted I bring some over.”
Sheppard descended into a throaty chuckle then lobbed a wink at the judge. “Sweets for the Sweet, I think.”
Harrison grumbled and pushed the box away. “She’s trying to get enough extra pounds on me so I’m too slow to run away. I’m lucky she never learned how to rope.”
Seeing how Cross eyed the box of sweetbreads and cupcakes, Harrison pushed it closer to him.
“Do help yourself, everyone. No reason this can’t be a pleasant visit.”
Cross dove into the box, grabbed a thick slice of zucchini bread a placed it on a blank sheet of paper. Barrett and Quinn declined with a wave and a polite smile.
Leaning back in his chair, Harrison glanced at his pocket watch then nodded at Barrett. “Seeing as your mouth is empty and you set up this little meeting, you might as well start talking…”
He paused then dipped his head toward Quinn. “Unless Miss Whitaker planned on addressing the issues.”
Except for Barrett, she smiled at each man in turn, starting with the judge, then Sheppard and, less warmly, Cross.
“Barrett has a far better grasp of the issues we wanted to discuss today,” she demurred, her voice pure sunshine without sounding saccharine.
She had dressed the part, too. Siobhan had brought both pants and blouses plus a navy skirt with a pretty floral print. Quinn had chosen the skirt and a fluttery white blouse. She had also used a very light hand with the makeup Siobhan had added to the haul.
Judge Harrison nodded with approval, his gaze flicking to Barrett.
“Shep,” Barrett started. “I’ve looked over how Jester tied up the land if the State gets it. Seems to me, all the State will benefit is an annual payment from the cellular company for the tower’s placement. Unlike the provisions covering Miss Whitaker’s possession of the land, the State can’t transfer the land, can only cull timber for fire management, can’t lease it for anything.”
Sheppard swallowed a bite of frosted lemon cake before agreeing.
“On top of that,” Barrett continued. “The State will have to do fire management, which will cost you as much or more than that cell tower brings in.”
Seeing the bullet point on Barrett’s notes earlier, Quinn had worried about her own fire-related duties. He had explained the same rules didn’t apply to private owners. She would check into the issue just the same, but that was a panic attack for some future day. First, she needed to gain title to the property.
“True,” Sheppard agreed, folding the cupcake paper. “Jester’s gift to the State was anything but. Although the hundred years prohibition won’t hold up.”
Harrison scratched a note on a nearby pad of paper. “Still, land is easily tied up for at least a couple of decades.”
“Certainly not decades,” Cross tried to intervene.
Harrison and Barrett shot the attorney a hard look. The man returned to dissecting his zucchini bread.
Barrett directed the second prong of his argument at Judge Harrison.
“Now, I don’t know much beyond how to be a halfway decent cowboy and how to jump out of planes and fight fires, but I don’t figure the law is so inflexible that it would actually work against what Jasper wanted.”
Nodding, Harrison took another glance at his pocket watch.
“It’s clear,” Barrett continued, “that Jester wanted Quinn on the land long enough she might decide to stay in the county, maybe live on the land itself, and become a part of our community. The only person he intended to benefit was Quinn. Not the State and not any other relatives. He specifically wrote them out of his will.”
“He did,” Cross agreed. “All others in general, and two of them specifically by name. Those were the only two living relatives he knew of.”
“My mother and half-sister,” Quinn noted before resuming her passive role in the discussion, her hands calmly folded in her lap, her entire exterior a charade to hide the tension gripping her insides.
“And now one of those relatives cut out of the will has tried to thwart Jester’s wishes,” Barrett said, his tone growing harsh. “Sheriff Gamble has already identified the arsonist as Quinn’s half-sister Naomi.”
Harrison made a few more scratches on his notepad, a scowl darkening his features.
Quinn offered up a silent prayer that the scowl was for her half-sister and not a bad sign of her own chances of resolving her claim to Jester’s land.
“So I figure,” Barrett said, ignoring Cross once more and focusing his attention on Sheppard and the judge, “that Quinn and the State can come to some agreement.”
Chuckling, Sheppard reached into the briefcase he’d brought to the meeting. “I thought we might be heading this way, so I talked to our legal department.”
He pulled out a thick stack of papers held together with a binder clip. Removing the clip, he peeled off half of the papers and handed them to Judge Harrison.
Starting to pass the second half to Quinn, he pulled back when Cross reached for the papers.
“Now, aren’t you the estate’s attorney, Mr. Cross? If so, I don’t think there’s anything for you to do here but listen.”
“Well, Miss Whitaker will need assistance in reviewing—”
“Conflict of interest,” Harrison grunted as he read through the pages. “Miss Whitaker, you are certainly within your rights to get the assistance of another attorney, but this is drafted in plain language. As I read it, you would agree to limited development on the land for the first ten years. During that time, you can build a primary residence on the original home site and add a second hunting lodge not to exceed the size of the new primary residence. You can lease access for up to two cellular towers and harvest up to ten percent of the timber in addition to timber removed for fire management p
urposes. That’s all for the first ten years. After that, you would be free to do with the property as you wish. If you must sell in those ten years, the buyer is subject to the same restrictions for the remainder of the ten-year term and the State has the right of first refusal…”
Seeing the question on Quinn’s face, the judge explained.
“If you want to sell, the State gets to make an offer at reasonable market rates if they wish and you’d have to accept that offer.”
Grinning at Cross, Sheppard handed Quinn her copy of the agreement. Together, she and Barrett quickly read through it.
Meeting Quinn’s gaze when she finished, Barrett offered a faint smile and an approving nod.
“May I borrow a pen from one of you gentlemen?” she asked.
Sheppard and Judge Harrison reached for a pen.
Finished with his bread, Cross reached for a lemon cupcake.
* * *
Gamble called as Barrett and Quinn were pulling away from the courthouse.
“Got you on speaker,” Barrett warned, handing his phone to Quinn.
“Hi, Sheriff,” she said. “We are heading over to your office now.”
“Good, I need to pick your brain, Miss Whitaker. That tip you gave us about Western Union paid off, sort of.”
“Sort of?” Barrett asked, turning the corner and pulling onto the main street through Willow Gap.
“We found out she was due to receive money at one of the offices in Billings. They agreed to stall her until officers got there, but she went ballistic at the delay. Knocked over a bunch of displays and threatened to give the clerk an acid bath.”
“The clerk shouldn’t ignore the threat, but I don’t think Naomi will return to that location,” Quinn advised. “If she has enough gas, or money to get gas, she will probably drive across the state border and use a Western Union there.”
“Clerk said they appeared to have been sleeping in the car they were in.”
“So they’re down to their last few dollars,” Quinn suggested. “Well, my sister is an accomplished thief. She may lift a high-ticket item and take it straight to a pawnshop. She’s done that before.”
