by Lily Everett
Paul got up to find the mop to clean up the spilled water. Hopefully that would distract him from the fear that if he and Ingrid no longer had to worry about Quinn, they’d lose their last real connection to one another.
Chapter 11
When Dr. Ron finally wandered downstairs at the crack of ten, Quinn took malicious delight in informing him that breakfast was over and cleaned up. “There’s still coffee in the pot, though,” she told him with exaggerated solicitousness. “I’d be happy to pop it in the microwave for you to warm it up.”
As she’d expected, Ron turned up his nose at microwaved coffee. He pursed his lips briefly and said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I never normally eat breakfast anyway. I don’t like to pollute my body the moment I wake up.”
“I’m sure that’s wise,” Dad said calmly from behind his spread-open copy of the Sanctuary Gazette. “My apologies for the omelet I polluted you with this morning, honey.”
“No apologies necessary, as far as I’m concerned,” Marcus said. He raised his coffee mug in an ironic salute. “Personally, I’m all about polluting my body.”
Ron ignored the byplay the way a king ignored his subjects’ ill-bred demands for better working conditions. “We have much to accomplish, and only a short time in which to accomplish it. Ingrid, as you’ve expressed it to me, your garden is your pride and joy.”
“Not more than my family is,” she half protested, eyes darting around the kitchen. “But … I have worked hard on the garden, yes.”
“And it’s time your family joined you in that work.” Dr. Ron patted Ingrid on the hand in a way that made Quinn want to slap his plump, pale fingers away from her mother.
“Oh. Is it?” Ingrid bit her lip, and Quinn fought a smile.
Her mother wasn’t particular about very many things, but her garden was one area where she went from wispy to waspish. From the soil composition to the plant food to the organization of the beds, she planned every detail and controlled for every variable—and heaven help anyone who suggested a variation.
In fact, Quinn reflected as all urge to smile faded, forcing Ingrid to accept interference in her precious garden was one of the fastest ways Quinn could think of to put an incredible amount of stress on her already fractured family. Which left her with only one real question.
Was Ron, the “Relationship Expert,” an idiot? Or was he actively trying to sabotage her parents’ marriage? And if so, why would he? Surely his reputation, if not whatever fee he charged, was based on how many couples he’d helped to stay together.
“Don’t worry, Ing, I’m sure everyone in the family will be extremely respectful of your feelings about the garden, and work together to create something new that will reflect the whole family’s place in the garden, which is really a metaphor for your heart.”
Ugh. Quinn caught Marcus’s eyes and tried to convey silently how sorry she was about all this. Meanwhile, Ron went relentlessly on.
“The idea is to build something within the garden, using only your own hands, which will stand as a monument to your commitment to one another.”
“With our own hands.” Quinn’s father dropped the pretense of reading the paper, folding it and placing it to one side of his empty plate. “Won’t we need … I don’t know, nails? A hammer? If we’re going to do a gazebo or, honey, you’ve always talked about a trellis, haven’t you?”
Ingrid nodded, starting to perk up a bit, but her face fell when she caught the slow shake of Ron’s head.
“No, I’ve got something much better in mind than a trellis.” Ron paused dramatically, waiting until all eyes were on him before he lifted his arms with a flourish like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat. “You’re going to build … a standing stone circle!”
Marcus blinked. “Like … Stonehenge?”
“Exactly like Stonehenge,” Ron enthused. “But on a slightly smaller scale, of course. Ha ha!”
On any scale, it sounded like a very weird idea to Quinn. “So basically, you want us to lug a lot of big rocks out to the backyard and set them up in a circle.”
Even from across the kitchen, Quinn could see the clench of Ron’s jaw. When he spoke, his tone was tight with forced patience. “You don’t have much magic in your soul, I’m sensing. Maybe if you opened up your aura a bit, enough to let the light in … but we can work on that. In the meantime, yes. That is the basic process for making a stone circle.”
“I don’t get it,” Dad said bluntly. “Why would we do such a thing?”
“And what will it look like when it’s finished?” Mother fretted.
Ron held up a placating hand. “As I was saying, when one goes beyond the basics, there are many reasons to build a standing stone circle. It can be a very meditative process. When I’ve suggested it to my other soul travelers—that’s the term I use instead of ‘clients’, I hate that awful, clinical word—well, in the past, people have found it very meaningful. Almost cleansing, really. In fact, that’s part of the point. The center of the stone circle will be a fire pit. And when the circle is complete, we’ll build a big fire and each of you will toss into it something that reminds you of an aspect of a family member that makes you unhappy—something you want to let go of. Symbolically, of course. I’m not suggesting you throw in your old handbag or a pair of high heels you no longer want, ha ha!”
Hmph. As if all women thought of was purses and stilettos. Ingrid wore garden clogs or sandals every day of her life, and Quinn was more likely to be in sneakers or flip-flops than anything else. So far, Quinn couldn’t say she was impressed with Ron’s powers of perception, but maybe he did better on the astral plane.
“Building the stone circle will be the perfect way to spend the next two weeks together,” Ron was saying firmly. “Clear your schedules. This is going to be a big project.”
Marcus looked at Quinn across the table. His face was perfectly expressionless, but she didn’t need to read his aura to be able to tell what he was thinking. “That’s just fine,” she told Ron hastily, “but don’t forget that Marcus and I both have to go to work. So we can’t clear our schedules completely.”
When he was thwarted, Ron Burkey looked exactly like a toddler whose favorite toy was taken away. “Fine,” he pouted. “But it’s not ideal. There’s a certain way I like to do things, and I can’t be held responsible for the lack of commitment shown by some of the travelers on this soul journey.”
Despite herself, Quinn felt a surge of guilt. Was she truly endangering her family’s chances of surviving intact? Should she quit her job and devote herself to this thing full-time?
She bit her lip, but before she could say a word, her father snorted. “If your treatment doesn’t work out, Dr. Ron, I’m sure it won’t be because my daughter and future son-in-law honored their commitments to others outside the home. Surely you believe in honoring all types of commitment. As a marriage guru.”
“Please, relationship expert,” Ron corrected him, smoothing his hands over his already smooth hair. “And of course I respect their professional obligations. I’m simply saying…”
“We understand,” Ingrid jumped in, all fluttering hands and soothing voice. “No one will blame you for anything, Ron. We know you’re only here to help.”
That was debatable, Quinn thought, but she didn’t have time to actually debate it. “Great. Since that’s all settled, I’ve got to get to my shift out at the barn.”
“On a Sunday?” Ingrid asked, surprised. “Whatever happened to a day of rest?”
“Not to worry, I’m in no danger of getting overloaded with my busy schedule of working twenty hours a week.” Quinn laughed it off, pushing back from the table and taking her coffee cup to the sink.
“Don’t act like it’s not a real job. You’re doing good work out there.”
Marcus’s gruff voice from behind her made Quinn pause with the water from the kitchen sink running over her hands. He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about—as if he knew anything about the work she’d been
doing at Windy Corner. But he couldn’t. He’d never been out there.
Although her parents and Ron weren’t supposed to know that, Quinn reminded herself, shutting off the water with a quick flick of her wrist. Probably Marcus was only doing his part to shore up their story, which he was so much better at than she was. He probably didn’t even think she was doing a real job. He was probably just saying that to seem like a supportive fiancé.
“Thank you,” Quinn said finally, turning back to face the table where her father was eyeing Marcus speculatively. Marcus was giving him nothing, muscle-corded arms crossed over his chest and a blank look on his face, although when he slanted a look in her direction, Quinn thought she read a certain discomfort in his eyes. Nothing made him more uncomfortable than saying something true out loud, she knew.
Maybe not everything he’d said was a lie.
The thought warmed her all the way through, better than the cup of coffee had done. Which made it easy to beam at Marcus as she rescued him from a day of hauling stone around the backyard.
“Actually, darling,” she said, “don’t forget you’ve got your session this afternoon, too. So we might as well drive into town together. Sorry we won’t be around to help pick out the stones, but Daddy, you let those Hackley boys do the heavy lifting when you get to the hardware store, okay? You don’t need to strain your back.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,” her mother said, with a tentative smile at Paul, who scowled.
“I’m not a child,” he grumbled, “I know my own limits.”
“Then why did you spend three weeks last year, laid up on the couch?” Ingrid pointed out tartly. Before he could refute it, she turned back to Quinn and said, “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. You two go on and have a good time. We’ll get the building supplies together and be ready to get started on construction next week.”
Quinn bit back the urge to point out that she wasn’t off on some pleasure cruise, she was going to work—the point was not to have a good time. But her mother was trying, both her parents were. And if they couldn’t take her seriously after years of waffling around about her career, whose fault was that?
That very reasonable thought sucked away some of the warmth and optimism Quinn had been floating on, leaving her to thud back down to earth. And as she left the kitchen to head upstairs to get ready for work, she realized, Oh crap. I just invited Marcus to spend the afternoon at work with me.
What if I mess up? What if this job I love seems like an idiotic waste of time to him?
And the most troubling questions of all … if she was really as done with this relationship as she claimed, why did she care so deeply about Marcus’s good opinion? And why was she already looking forward to waking up beside him for the next two weeks?
*
When they reached the second landing, Marcus nearly walked into Quinn because she stopped in her tracks on the stair ahead of him.
“You don’t have to actually come to Windy Corner with me,” she whispered, with a shifty glance over her shoulder. “You know that, right? I just thought you’d rather get out of the house than spend the day alone with Ron and my parents.”
Marcus paused to study her carefully. “Do you not want me to come to the barn with you?”
She bit her lip. He tried not to imagine biting it for her. “Noooo, I mean. I do. If you want. But it’ll probably be super boring for you. I’d totally understand if you wanted to do something else.”
He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on here, but Marcus had to admit to himself that he was curious about the results of his secret donation to the barn. He wanted to see what Quinn was up to out there. So he said, “The bar is closed on Sundays,” and left it at that.
Quinn’s shoulders slumped a little in defeat, but she nodded glumly and trudged up the last few stairs to her room. The moment they were closed in, alone together for the first time since they’d woken up already locked in a heated haze of passion that morning, Marcus felt his pulse skyrocket. But he knew how to keep an impassive expression through pretty much anything, so he gestured to the bathroom and said, “You take the first shower. It’ll take me less time to get ready.”
“I’m not some girly girl who puts on a ton of war paint and perfume and jewelry before leaving the house,” Quinn said sharply.
“I know that,” Marcus said slowly. “But you have all that hair, and I have this.”
He gestured at his close-cropped head and watched the fight go out of Quinn. Grimacing slightly, she said, “Sorry to jump down your throat like that. Being home … I love it, but I guess it makes me a little overly sensitive. Anyway, I’ll go shower.”
Shit. This felt so far outside Marcus’s skill set, it might as well have been basket weaving, but he had to say something here. “Look. Don’t get down on yourself. Making the jump from being your parents’ little baby to having an adult relationship is hard for most people, I bet. There’s bound to be some growing pains.”
To his relief, Quinn perked up and gave him a grateful smile as she slipped away into the bathroom. The shower started.
Marcus distracted himself from imagining steam billowing around Quinn’s naked body by walking over to stare out her bedroom window. Filmy curtains with pastel balloons printed on them fluttered against his arm as he braced it on the wall by the window.
The view across Lantern Point spread out below him, long tangles of cord grass rippling in the breeze alongside the winding road that led back toward town. The same road that led past the house where Marcus grew up. Quinn had grown up staring out her window at his house, Marcus realized. They’d been the only two kids on the block, but with ten years between them, Marcus hadn’t taken much notice of the little girl who’d dogged his heels and tried to tag along when his friends came over.
He’d never thought about how lonely she must have been.
“The bathroom’s all yours,” she said from the other side of the bedroom.
That was fast, even for Quinn, who was definitely not a girly girl. Marcus looked over to find her still squeezing water from her long tail of hair, which was much darker red than usual. The contrast with her fair skin, and the way the droplets dampened the thin, light blue cotton of her T-shirt, made Marcus’s mouth go dry.
Without a word, he snagged his clothes from the bed and brushed past her to get to the shower. He shucked his boxers and flipped the shower knob all the way to cold. If he didn’t get his unruly body under control, it was going to be an unbearably long day.
By the time he and Quinn were both climbing out of his truck in the parking area behind the Windy Corner Therapeutic Riding Center, Marcus wished he’d had time for an even longer cold shower. It was ridiculous at his age—he wasn’t some randy teenager—but when Quinn was around, his body didn’t seem to remember its advanced years or the strict discipline and training he’d imposed on it since he was even younger than Quinn was now.
No, instead, the mere scent of her hair drying in the sea air blown in through the open window made Marcus hard. The thought that this explained why her hair always smelled like salt and honey made his heart race. The silence between them as they drove, a silence that could have been fraught with tension but somehow wasn’t … even that made the fabric of his jeans stretch uncomfortably.
This being-in-love stuff wasn’t for weaklings, Marcus reflected as Quinn bounded ahead of him to greet her friends and coworkers in the barn office.
Marcus hung back, not wanting to insert himself into her business too much. He left her leaning in the office doorway, situated halfway down the wide corridor separating the barn stalls, and wandered over to check out the horses.
The barn smelled pleasant, like cedar shavings and sweet oats and large, warm-blooded animals with big, gentle eyes. The horse in the nearest stall hung his head over the low stall door to gaze curiously at Marcus.
“Hey, big guy,” he said, coming closer and lifting a cautious hand, fingers curled under, to be snuffled at by the v
elvety, whiskery muzzle.
“Hey yourself,” said an amused masculine voice from the other side of the hall.
Marcus pivoted, fast enough that he startled the horse, who backed away with a nervous snort. Eyes searching the darkness of the stall across the hall, it took Marcus a tense, hypervigilant moment to recognize the dark hair, wide grin, and easy movements of Johnny Alexander.
Marcus’s shoulders relaxed, his body falling automatically out of battle stance. “You’re back. Since when?”
Johnny and his wife, Tessa, had reconnected on Sanctuary Island a few weeks ago after spending a year and a half apart while Johnny worked undercover for the ATF. The time apart had wreaked havoc on an already fragile relationship, but from what Marcus understood, Johnny and Tessa had found their way back to each other and were stronger than ever now. They’d gone on a short trip to close up the town house they’d shared in D.C., in preparation for Johnny joining his wife on Sanctuary Island permanently.
“We got in last night,” Johnny said, giving a fond scrub of his fingers through the black mane of the horse he’d been grooming. “Tessa’s checking in at the bakery.”
“I’m surprised you’re not with her. Before you left, you were having a hard time letting her out of your sight.” Marcus crossed the hall to shake Johnny’s hand. He was glad to have the man back in town. Along with Miss Patty, Tessa’s boss at the bakery, Johnny Alexander was Marcus’s only real friend on Sanctuary. The two men weren’t much alike even though they shared surprisingly similar backgrounds in the military, which had led to careers in other areas of law enforcement. But Johnny had a charm about him, an ever-present wide grin that made him easy to be around.
Which was why Marcus was a little surprised when Johnny grimaced and averted his gaze, dropping Marcus’s hand to go back to combing through his horse’s mane. “Yeah, well. It turns out that’s not exactly normal or healthy behavior. Tessa put up with it as long as she could, but it all came to a head when we were packing up the town house. I had kind of an … episode, I guess.”
