Finally she returned to the phone. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Do you need help? Should I come over?”
“Come over? Help with what?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “You sounded like something was wrong.” He didn’t like not knowing what was happening to Molly.
“No, I had Sara’s cake in the oven and it needed to come out. I couldn’t let it burn, that’s all.”
He noticed that she seemed less breathless now. More in control. “Okay, sorry, bad timing.”
“That’s all right. Are you calling to tell me you can’t make it tomorrow?”
She sounded pleased. Did she want him to stay away that badly? Well, too bad. He wasn’t disappointing Sara. “No. I’m calling to ask if I can bring a date.”
“A date?”
She sounded shocked. Did she think he couldn’t get a date if he wanted one? Or maybe, just maybe, she didn’t like the idea of him with another woman. That thought pleased him a lot more than her not wanting him in her house did.
“Yeah. I was talking to Martha about the party and she said her great-grandson would be there.”
“Yes, of course, but—but what does that have to do with you bringing a date?”
She still sounded upset.
He chuckled. “Martha. I asked her if she wanted to come.”
He waited as she remained silent.
Finally she said, “You’re asking if you can bring Martha to Sara’s party?”
“Yes.”
“And a date?”
His smile grew wider. “I meant Martha would be my date.”
“Oh. We’d be delighted to have Martha come to the party.” She cleared her throat. “Are you still coming?”
“Of course I’m coming. I’m bringing Martha. And we’re both counting on hot dogs.”
“I’ll be sure to buy extras,” she said, a touch of something he couldn’t recognize in her voice. “But there will also be chicken casserole and salad if you’d prefer.”
“Perfect,” he murmured, and was sure it would be. “Anything I can do to help?”
“When you get here, you can unload the little tables and chairs Kaitlin is loaning me.”
“Martha and I will get there early, about noon. I’m looking forward to it. Is Sara excited?”
Molly groaned and Quinn’s stomach clenched. “Oh, yes. It’s all she can talk about.”
“And you?”
“And me, what?”
“Is everything okay with you? Everything still on track for Sunday?”
“Yes. This afternoon, the columnist for the ‘Life-styles’ section at the paper, Gina Santori, called and came over to interview me about the bed-and-breakfast. I thought that was a good thing, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. Gina will do a nice job writing you up. Did she like everything?”
“Oh, yes. I made some more muffins, the strawberry ones, to serve her. She wanted the recipe.”
“I’m not surprised. Everyone reads her column. That will be great advertising. Did she see the bedrooms?”
“Yes. Sara led the tour,” she added.
He chuckled. “I bet she helped eat the muffins, too.”
“You know she did,” Molly agreed with a laugh that sent shivers through Quinn. He wished he could see her smile.
“Did Gina say she’d come Sunday?”
“Yes, she did, and she’s going to bring a photographer and do a complete article for the paper to run after Christmas, which will help me fill up for the inn’s opening in February, for Valentine’s day weekend. I want my place to be the first thing to come to mind when someone is planning a romantic getaway. A place where lovers meet.”
Quinn couldn’t speak for a moment, images of lovers under the quilts. When he realized he was picturing himself and Molly, he hurriedly cleared his throat and said, “Wow, you must’ve charmed the socks off her,” he said, teasing, but he knew he was right. Gina had discriminating taste; he wasn’t surprised she was won over by Molly and Sara.
Molly laughed again. “I doubt that, but she was very nice. I’ll enjoy reading her column even more now that I’ve met her.”
Quinn was pleased for Molly. “Anything I need to bring for tomorrow?”
“Oh, no, if you’ll help Kaitlin unload when you get here, that will be more than enough.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it,” he finished with his voice husky, thinking of being in Molly’s presence again tomorrow.
After he’d hung up the phone, he sat with his hand on it, picturing Molly in her kitchen, a big apron wrapped around her trim figure, her cheeks flushed with heat, the house smelling like heaven.
He’d vowed to stay away from her, of course, and he intended to. But not at Sara’s expense. It wouldn’t hurt to celebrate the little sprite’s birthday. Birthdays should be special.
And Sara had a mother who knew how to make each day one of a kind. She was a lucky little girl.
MOLLY STARED AT HERSELF in the mirror. She was getting better at duplicating the style the hairdresser had given her. She decided she looked her best this morning.
Not that her appearance mattered, she hurriedly assured herself. After all, it was Sara’s party, not hers.
She hurried out of her bedroom and down two flights of stairs before she had to admit that she’d worried over her appearance because of Quinn’s attendance at the party. Assuming he actually showed up.
If Christopher were the one Sara expected, Molly would’ve already started preparing her daughter for her father’s nonappearance. The way things turned out, she supposed she should be grateful Christopher had spent so little time with Sara. When he died, Sara had only been two. Now she scarcely remembered the man who was her father.
And after today, she felt sure Quinn would disappear as well. She just hoped Sara wouldn’t be hurt. Maybe the excitement of the day would deemphasize Quinn’s attendance. Sara would be pleased that Martha would be there. She liked the elderly lady. Though that could be because of the candy Martha always had on hand.
Molly was almost to the kitchen when a knock on the front door stopped her. She checked her watch. It was twenty until twelve. Had Quinn come even earlier than he’d said?
Her heart sped up as she hurried to the door. Bundled up against the cold, Martha beamed at her. But no smile could outshine Quinn’s as he stood behind the elderly woman.
“Are we too early?” he asked.
“Not at all. Come on in before you freeze to death.”
She took Martha’s arm and led her into the house, then helped her out of her coat and scarf. “We’re having the party in the kitchen. If you’ll come on back, I’ll fix you something hot to drink.”
“I’m going back out to get the presents,” Quinn said as she and Martha started toward the kitchen.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have—”
Quinn looked offended. “Of course we should have. It’s Sara’s birthday.” He left without waiting for her response.
“But it’s enough that you both came. Sara is so excited about you being here,” she told Martha.
“Don’t spoil the boy’s fun,” Martha returned. “He didn’t have a very happy childhood. I think he’s as excited as Sara.”
Martha’s words were tucked away to be examined later. “I doubt it. Sara could scarcely eat breakfast.”
They entered the kitchen.
“My, this is such a big, lovely room,” Martha said. “A perfect room for a family.”
Molly surveyed the room through Martha’s eyes. The dining area attached to the kitchen was large. She’d made it into a small family room with the television and some chairs, a comfy couch. She and Sara spent a lot of their time there.
“Thank you. I work in here a lot and Sara stays here with me.”
“You’re a good mother,” Martha said as she patted her arm.
“Where are we putting the presents?” Quinn asked as he walked into the kitchen.
Molly s
tared at the big box he carried, a smaller box sitting on top of it. “What did you buy? You didn’t spend too much money, did you? A small gift should—”
“I bought something I thought Sara would like,” he assured her, frowning.
Martha squeezed her arm slightly and smiled, barely shaking her head. Molly remembered Martha’s earlier words and changed the subject. “Is coffee okay, Martha? Or I can make hot tea.”
“Coffee would be wonderful. You want some, Quinn?”
“Sure do. Molly’s coffee is great.” He put the presents on the floor against the wall and slipped out of his overcoat, hanging it on the coatrack by the back door. As if he visited all the time.
She hastily poured coffee, not wanting to think about Quinn as a regular visitor. It brought too many headaches.
“No strawberry muffins?” he asked as he sat down.
“No, I’m not serving muffins today.”
“Strawberry muffins?” Martha asked, her gaze darting back and forth between the two of them.
“I took a muffin-tasting test for Molly. She makes great muffins,” Quinn explained. “I even took some home. Dad and Brady loved them, too.”
Molly stared at Quinn’s appearance, finally noticing he wasn’t in a suit, as he’d always been in the past. He’d taken her at her word and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked so rugged and charming, she regretted her advice. The casual clothes made him much too approachable. Not a good thing.
The sound of a car in the driveway distracted her. “I think Kaitlin is here.” She hurried to the back door, only to discover Quinn on her heels.
“Will she have the children with her?”
“Some of them. Jeremy’s mother is helping, too. Pam Kelsey. She’s a coach at the high school.” She took a deep breath, feeling that she was babbling.
“I know Pam,” Quinn assured her. “I grew up here, remember?” He grabbed his coat and stepped outside. Then he looked at her. “Where’s your coat?”
“I’m just going to be out here a minute.” Her new cream sweater and navy wool pants would keep her warm enough to get the kids inside.
Like ants scurrying toward a crumb, children poured from the two vehicles, headed straight for them.
“This way, children. Sara, don’t run. Hurry in so you won’t get cold,” Molly called, enjoying seeing her daughter with her friends. Since their arrival in Tyler, Sara had had the opportunity to learn to play with others. Molly was pleased with her child’s progress.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Sara called. “I want to show everyone my bedroom. Can I? Can I take them upstairs?”
That would give Quinn time to get the small tables inside and set up. “Yes, if you’ll be careful on the stairs. Don’t go too fast for everyone.” She’d lectured her daughter on her responsibilities as hostess.
Like a whirlwind blowing through the kitchen, twelve little children hurried across the room, pausing only for Jeremy and Sara to greet Martha.
Molly remained at the back door, greeting Pam as she reached the kitchen, and holding the door wide for both Quinn and Kaitlin. Then she went out to Kaitlin’s van to gather some of the plastic chairs. Quinn returned for the last table and some of the chairs.
“I can get them, Molly. You don’t have a coat on,” he reminded her.
“So I’ll go back inside with some chairs,” she returned mildly. She should protest his attempt to protect her, but it was so sweet, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Of course, it meant nothing, but, still, it felt good.
Once everything was unloaded, they returned to the warmth of the kitchen.
After putting down the chairs, Molly hurried over to pour more coffee.
“Where are the kids?” Quinn asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“Sara wanted to show her friends her bedroom,” Molly explained. Suddenly Quinn was at her side, taking the coffee she’d poured for Pam and Kaitlin and carrying it to the table.
Molly saw the look the three women exchanged and grew flustered. She poured Quinn’s cup of coffee as he returned to her side.
“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.
“Not right now. I want to get the hot dogs on the tables before the kids come back down. They’re always starved after school.”
“We’ll help,” Pam said, starting to get up.
Before Molly could speak, Quinn said, “Sit down, Pam. I’ll help Molly. I haven’t been working all morning, like you have.” He added, “You, too, Kaitlin. Martha’s been looking forward to visiting with you.”
“She sees me when I come to the Quilting Circle,” Kaitlin protested with a smile for Martha.
Since Quinn seemed insistent on helping, Molly had him pour milk into twelve small party cups and put them at each place setting, while she put the boiled wieners on buns and placed them on party plates. She already had several kinds of chips in bowls.
She’d prepared two trays with condiments on them. She’d intended to ask Kaitlin to start at one end of the long table while she began at the other, helping each child personalize his or her hot dog. But Quinn seemed to figure out what she needed before she said anything and took one of the trays just as the children came racing back into the kitchen.
“We’re hungry!” Sara announced, excitement in her voice.
“Lunch is ready. Everyone sit down,” Molly directed.
“Now I know how the cowboys felt when the herd stampeded,” Quinn murmured as he passed by her.
“And they haven’t had sugar yet,” she warned him, but she couldn’t help smiling.
As soon as the children began eating, the noise level descended. Molly hurried to the stove to take out a dish of her chicken casserole. Quinn took it from her and carried it to the table. She fetched the salad, ready except for the dressing, from the refrigerator. The rolls were in the lower oven, ready to eat.
In no time, everyone was served.
“My, Quinn, I had no idea you were so handy around the kitchen,” Martha teased.
Molly expected Quinn to protest. Instead, he laughed at Martha. “It’s not hard to be helpful when all you have to do is put the food on the table. The skill is in making it. Like this chicken casserole. It’s terrific, Molly.”
She muttered a thank-you, her cheeks aflame. Christopher had never expressed any appreciation for her cooking, much less offered to help.
“In fact, I only see one thing Molly’s failed at,” Quinn added, a grin on his face.
She should’ve known. He was too good to be true. Christopher had frequently listed her faults in front of guests. It seemed Quinn intended to do the same.
Holding her breath, she steeled herself for his criticism.
Chapter Eight
It hadn’t occurred to Quinn that anyone would take his words seriously. How could they? Molly was so incredibly talented. Combining her skills with the love she put into her work, she was unparalleled as a mother and homemaker.
But the look on her face told him he’d made a mistake. Keeping his smile in place, he explained, “She didn’t teach Sara that her chicken casserole is much better than a hot dog.”
The other ladies laughed. Molly stared at him, a look of disbelief on her face.
Had her husband not appreciated her? Had Christopher been cruel to her? That thought had Quinn’s stomach clenching in anger and disgust.
“We’re ready for birthday cake!” Sara announced in a loud voice, followed by cheers from the other children.
Molly wrenched her gaze from him and left her unfinished meal to tend to the children. He immediately followed her.
“Can I help?”
“No, I’ll manage, thank you. Go finish your casserole.”
“My turn to help,” Pam said behind him, having followed them. “Go keep Martha company. I know you’re a favorite of hers.”
But Quinn didn’t want to be dismissed. As Molly began clearing away the paper plates with the remains of the hot dogs, he grabbed a trash bag and held it open for her as she rounded the table.
“Thank you, but it’s not necessary.”
“It’ll be faster.”
He felt someone tugging on his shirt and discovered Sara behind him.
“Mr. Spencer, have you seen my cake?”
“No, Sara, I haven’t. Is it chocolate?”
“Yes, and it’s Mickey!” Sara’s face was beaming.
“Mickey?” he asked, not quite sure of the significance of her words.
“Mickey Mouse!” Sara clarified. “Mommy made it!”
“I want to see!” Jeremy called, followed by the other children, jumping out of their chairs to follow Sara.
“Back in your seats, so we can bring the cake to the table,” Molly calmly ordered. “If you’re not in your chair, I won’t be able to give you any cake and ice cream.”
There was a concerted rush to the chairs. Several tumbled over, and Quinn abandoned the trash bag to restore order.
Molly crossed to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, bringing out a large plate holding a cake in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s head. The children oohed and aahed when they saw the cake. The ladies came over to surround the little tables as Molly inserted candles into the icing.
“Did you do the cake yourself?” Pam asked.
“Yes,” Molly answered as she lit the candles.
Quinn was amazed. He’d occasionally seen decorated cakes in a bakery, but they hadn’t looked any better than Molly’s.
She led the little group in a round of “Happy Birthday,” then ordered the delighted Sara to make a wish and blow out the candles. When that ritual had been performed, amid lots of cheers, the dishing out of cake and ice cream began.
When all the children had been served, Quinn returned to his chicken casserole, promising Sara he’d eat some of her cake later. He was discovering that small children rushed through everything at a birthday party. If he’d tried to eat that fast, he’d have indigestion.
He noticed Molly barely ate anything. She was too busy supervising the children and moving on to the next stage before they could get impatient.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Martha whispered as Molly returned to the children’s table to settle a dispute.
Patchwork Family Page 8
