Looking chastened and as near to meek as she got, Olivia allowed him to grab a fistful of velvet and haul her up to the double doors, thrown open to a steady flow of incoming guests. Quinn couldn't tell whether she was more afraid of him or of her father at that moment. What the hell had she been thinking, browbeating her mother into going along and then blithely omitting to tell her father? He found himself actually feeling sorry for the Bennetts—something strange and new.
The lofty entrance hall was a cavernous affair floored in marble. Quinn had been in it only a few times before in his life, none of them social. He remembered the most memorable time: Olivia had fallen out of a tree and got knocked unconscious, and he had carried her home in his arms and handed her over, still groggy, to her shocked and hysterical mother.
Ten years old, and in his arms. He should've quit while he was ahead.
"Is this the point when we put on the masks?" he said dryly.
"Oh! I forgot."
She reached inside her silver-beaded bag and took out a narrow slip of silver that wouldn't hide her face at all. Quinn couldn't help feeling that the mask she'd given him to wear made him a lot more incognito. Was that by design? He took the thing out of his inside pocket and slipped it over his eyes.
Hell. It made him feel more like a gate-crasher than ever. Annoyed, he pushed it up to the top of his brow and let it sit there.
Olivia said faintly, "Whatever."
The hall was a noisy, busy place. The line of masked merrymakers waiting to be received by the host and hostess seemed to be moving slowly, possibly because of the trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne being foisted on them as they greeted one another in shrill, expectant voices. From somewhere inside, Quinn heard an orchestra launch into a swinging rendition of "In the Mood." Suddenly he got why they called it a gala: the atmosphere really was gay.
Except for him and Olivia. His pride was smarting big time; he couldn't stand the thought of being rubbed in her father's nose like month-old bologna. The last time the two were face-to-face was in the gardener's cottage and Quinn had tried to knock him down. Would Owen Bennett remember?
Quinn gave their coats to a hatcheck girl who was set up for the event in a small reception room off the hall. Then, still operating in a chill of silence, he and Olivia took their place in the line of guests.
"How many people are your parents expecting tonight?" he asked, struggling with the small-talk thing.
Olivia shrugged a shoulder—the shoulder he had kissed in hungry abandon half an hour earlier—and said, "Three or four hundred."
"Are you kidding?" he said to her under his breath. "There aren't that many people in Keepsake who can stay up until midnight."
"My father has a lot of different connections," she said without enthusiasm.
"So it would seem."
That was it for his store of party chat. God, how he wanted out of there.
A couple swooped down on them, kissing air all around and waiting gleefully for introductions. Olivia obliged them. The woman, tall, blond, and languid, said, "Quinn Leary—I have heard so much about you."
"I wish I could say the same," he said with a smile that was as bland as hers was sly.
The couple moved on, to be replaced by another one equally curious and insinuating. And another. And another. Pretty soon he felt like Errol Flynn, backing up the winding stairs and holding the evil king's forces at bay with only his trusty sword.
And meanwhile they were moving up the receiving line. Before he knew it, he was hearing the dread words, "Mother, you remember Quinn Leary."
He smiled grimly and held out his hand. A woman of sixty, with fearful eyes in an attractive face that reminded him only marginally of Olivia, said faintly, "Of course I do," and laid her hand limply in his.
He remembered a line from My Fair Lady, a movie his father had enjoyed. "How kind of you to let me come," he said, even though he knew she hadn't let him come and was feeling anything but kind.
"And, Dad ... Quinn," murmured Olivia, who seemed to have run out of steam just when her train had the summit in sight.
Back, back she rolled, under the outraged glare of her father, who had obviously been unaware of their presence until then. This wasn't some annoyed father telling his seventh-grader to get along home. This was a man at the top of his game, ready to do whatever it took to have his will enforced.
And he left Quinn cold. "Sir," he said, sticking out his hand. Let the man take it, or not. Quinn didn't really give a damn.
Owen Randall Bennett Senior chose not.
Fine. Quinn turned to Olivia, who looked utterly miserable. In one of those blinding flashes he got occasionally, he realized that she had brought him there not to make her father's life hell but simply to put Quinn back in touch with Keepsake. She was crazy, she was nuts, but her heart was so much in the right place that Quinn found himself wanting to give her old man the same black eye he'd given to Jimmy O'Malley.
He went one better. "Call me crazy," he said, slipping his arm lightly around Olivia's waist, "but I feel like dancin'. Will you excuse us, sir?"
He ushered her past her stupefied father to the sounds of the Stones' driving classic, "Satisfaction." Perfect.
"Did I just get you disinherited?" he asked Olivia as they headed for the ballroom.
Her voice and smile were resigned as she said, "It wouldn't be the first time. I've been in and out of his will so often that his attorneys call me Rainmaker."
"Joke?"
"I got it straight from their secretary; she works at Miracourt on weekends."
"Oh, hey... I'm sorry, Liv. Huh. I didn't think people actually did stuff like that. Not outside of mystery novels, anyway."
"Oh, I don't care anymore," she said, waving politely to someone going the other way. "The older he gets, the worse he gets. He tries to control everything and everyone. Rand is completely under his thumb, and so is my mother. I guess I'm the only holdout and it makes him crazy. I can understand why my mother has to put up with him, but I don't understand why Rand doesn't just strike out on his own. He hates working for my father."
They entered a forty-foot-long room paneled in wood carved in delicate garlands. The room had been designed for dances, but contrary to Quinn's boast to Owen Bennett, he had no desire to dance. For one thing, he didn't know how.
In any case, neither of them felt like rocking to the beat, so they simply stood on the sidelines, watching sexily clad women gyrate with their dates from the pages of GQ.
"You know what I think Rand should be doing?" she asked, standing on tiptoe and leaning into Quinn's ear to be heard over the noise of the band. "He should be working with kids—teaching, or maybe even coaching. Of course, there's no money in that. Or status. My brother would rather be vice president of something he hates than be poorly paid doing something he loves."
Why the hell were they talking about Rand? He wasn't even there. "Got him all figured out, have you?" Quinn asked, without really caring.
"Of course I've got him figured out. He's my brother and I know what's best for him," she insisted. "You remember how he was: very emotional. He has that hot temper—but on the other hand, he can be very devoted. He relates to kids on their level, and they love that. And he gets to be the center of their attention, which he loves."
"I remember the temper," Quinn said, nodding. The day after an injured Rand Bennett found out that Quinn was replacing him as quarterback of the Keepsake Cougars, he went ballistic. Quinn could picture him still, hobbling around the locker room on crutches, ranting and raving about his injury. At the time, Quinn had actually felt guilty for being chosen as his replacement.
No more.
The band slid into a slow number, "Unforgettable," and suddenly Quinn remembered why he'd agreed to come: to be with Olivia. It was true that he wouldn't be outstrutting Mick Jagger at the fast stuff anytime soon, but he damn well knew how to hold a woman in his arms and move her slowly to his will.
"C'mon," he said, suddenly tired of he
r father, her brother, her mother, and every other Bennett on the planet. "Let's dance."
He took Olivia by the hand and led her onto what was now a crowded floor, and he drew her into his arms. Under the cover of a press of couples, he nuzzled her hair and inhaled deeply the sheer, intoxicating scent of her. Her body felt lithe and free and unbelievably well fitted to his, so much so that he knew it when her breasts lifted and fell in a sigh.
She snuggled her head on his shoulder, and he became aware that he'd never felt more content in his life. There was just something about her; it was like coming home. Home at last. He wanted only to hold her, to protect her, to have her forever in his embrace.
He closed his eyes, lost completely in the essence of her. If he were dragged from the Bennetts' house by thugs just then and shipped off to live alone on a rock in the ocean for the rest of his life, it almost wouldn't matter. He knew that he would always, always have that dance.
Live a moment completely, and you possess it forever. It was such a simple formula. How had he not thought of it before?
Liv... sweet Liv, he thought, kissing the top of her hair. I'm falling so much in love with you.
She lifted her face to his. "What did you say?"
He shook his head, not trusting himself to do justice to his feelings. They ran more deeply than words.
She snuggled her cheek back on his shoulder and they drifted together on the magic carpet of the melody, and when the song ended, they floated down to the dance floor on the sound of their own sighs. Before Quinn could escape with Olivia from the next dance—a driving, pulsing, shake- your-booty number—he felt someone whack him soundly on the back in jovial greeting.
"Quinn Leary, for chrissake! Quinn!" he shouted over the music. "How ya doin'?"
He turned to face Mike Redding, the most irrepressible of his old teammates. More brawn than brain, but with enough personality and charm that no one seemed to mind much, Mike was the kind of guy who used to make the workouts fun and the losses easier to bear. He was just an all-around, uncomplicated, regular ... guy.
"Hey, Mike," Quinn said loudly over the music as he shook his hand. "Howzit goin'?"
"Never better. I'm a sportswear manufacturer. High-tech stuff—hot-hot-hot. We can't make enough of it. Geez, I'm glad you came," he said, hugging Olivia with one arm as he latched onto Quinn with the other. "I heard you were back, but I didn't expect to see you here, for chrissake. This is great!" he said, whacking Quinn on the back again.
"You gotta come over to Buffitt's house tomorrow—not you, Livvy, of course. A bunch of us guys meet every New Year's Day to watch the bowl games. Buffitt lives in a pigpen and doesn't care when we spill beer on the rug and knock over popcorn. It's great. No wives to hassle you with coasters, no kids running in front of the tube in the middle of a touchdown play.
"Ouch!" he yelped, and turned to a blond woman half his size who had a thumb and forefinger hooked firmly into the back of his arm. "This is my wife, Mitzi."
Mitzi let go of him long enough to shake Quinn's hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, "and don't you believe Him. He doesn't open the door of the rec room during a game unless one of us is showin' blood or guts."
"The first kickoff's at noon. Everyone pitches in twenty bucks and Buffitt takes care of provisioning. So what do you say?"
Quinn had hoped to spend the day with Olivia, but she was looking way too thrilled that someone was taking pity on him. Come to think of it, she might have set up the whole invitation. But ... no. She seemed too surprised and too damn pleased about it.
"Sure," he said. "It sounds good."
Another whack on the back and off Mike went with Mitzi, who glanced back at Quinn once or twice from curiosity on their way out of the ballroom.
"Happy now?" he asked Olivia.
"Yes, I am," she answered, preening. "This makes everything worthwhile."
Quinn had to admit, it felt good to be regarded as something more than municipal sewage for once. The plain fact was, he'd lived in half a dozen different cities and towns in his life, and Keepsake was the only place that he had ever considered home. He'd spent the biggest—and the happiest—chunk of his life there, and old memories died hard. It felt good to be back among people his own age with whom he shared a history.
Good enough that he almost forgot why he'd come back to Keepsake in the first place.
Chapter 13
Quinn Leary had endured some fairly awful New Year's Eve celebrations in the past seventeen years, but the most dreaded one of all was turning out to be pretty good.
As it turned out, Mike Redding wasn't the only one from Quinn's past who wanted to renew old acquaintance. Over the next hour, a variety of people took the trouble to come over and say hello, and after a while, Quinn detected a pattern: all of them seemed happy with their lot in life. Teacher, nurse, musician, newly adoptive parents ...
"Obviously they're the kind who look forward, not backward," Quinn told Olivia during a quiet moment alone. They were sitting at a linen-topped table, sampling a plate of sophisticated nibbles that must have cost Owen Bennett a mill worker's annual wage.
Olivia bit into a double-stuffed mushroom and let out a moan of ecstasy that to Quinn's way of thinking was a complete waste of perfectly good passion. "Do you think the reverse is true?" she asked him as she wiped her fingertips on a tiny silver napkin. "Do you think the unhappy ones somehow blame and resent you?"
Quinn shrugged. "Coach Bronsky just walked in and he's spotted me. Check him out—what do you think?"
Olivia glanced up at the coach. "Ouch. He does seem to be sending savage looks our way. Now there's someone who should be wearing a mask." She added, "I wonder if he's been drinking."
"Does he have a problem that way?"
"Oh, yes. For years now. It started the year of the murder. He made a fool of himself on local TV after an especially disastrous game, and it's been downhill since. Most of the time he manages to stay sober on the job, but he has a real attitude problem. I have no idea why he's still coaching at the high school. He must know people in high places."
"Speaking of people in high places—here comes your father."
"Oh, no!" cried Olivia, cringing. "Here! Eat one of these! Look impressed! No! Look casual!"
Laughing, Quinn accepted the truffled lobster and then laid it back down on the plate. Sooner or later, this moment had to come. Quinn knew that Owen Bennett was well within his rights to ask him to leave. But the new Quinn, the mellow Quinn, was hoping that he'd be allowed to stay.
Bennett looked—for Owen Bennett—almost pleasant as he came up to their table. "I trust you two are having a good time?" he asked with a fixed smile.
"Very much so," said Quinn, and he, at least, wasn't being wildly ironic.
"Good. Olivia, I wonder if you'd excuse Quinn for a moment? I have something I'd like to discuss with him."
"Oh, Dad, please, don't. Really. Don't. It's my fault—"
"Now, now, you'll have him back in no time. Quinn? Would you do me the honor? I have an excellent collection of antique half hulls in my study," he added, which was relevant to absolutely nothing.
"My pleasure," said Quinn, standing up. He turned to Olivia and said, "Better not go near the shrimp; I remember you broke out in hives at the sophomore dance."
They'd been taking turns pulling out memories, like two kids showing off their baseball cards at camp. The hives reminiscence was new, and Olivia just about clapped her hands with joy at having that memory jogged. Anyone else might have remembered the event with a certain amount of embarrassment. Not Olivia.
Quinn gave her a quick, doting grin and then fell in with Bennett, who, between nods and smiles to his guests, chatted casually about the drive he was spearheading for a new Olympic-sized swimming pool at the high school.
The town of Keepsake, including the high school, belonged to Owen Bennett. That was the message implicit between the lines. Keepsake—and everyone in it—was his. He gave Quinn a sideways look as they walk
ed. Did Quinn understand?
Quinn returned the look. Yeah, yeah, got it—you're the Big Kahuna.
Too bad Olivia refused to make it unanimous.
The library was at the end of a roped-off, sentried hall, as far from the merriment as one could get. Bennett took a key from his pocket and slipped it into the keyhole of the massive, paneled door, made from exotic woods that would never again grow on the planet earth.
If Keepsake was Owen Bennett's world, then the library was his sanctum. Everything in it radiated power and prestige: the leatherbound books—all first editions, Quinn had no doubt; the antique spinning globe, roughly the size of a Volkswagen Beetle; framed, fawning thank-you citations tucked like second thoughts on the bookshelves; a fabulous model of a four-masted schooner in its own glass case; and, of course, the ships' hulls. They lined all four walls, a fleet of mastless yachts that weren't going anywhere—except maybe into a list of assets to be probated some day after Bennett sailed off into the Great Beyond.
Geez, Quinn thought, looking around. If I were his kid and he told me to salute, I'd be damn well tempted to snap my heels and say, "Yessir." He had to give Olivia credit. It couldn't be easy, resisting the threat of having all those ships' hulls yanked out from under her.
Behind him, he heard a key turn. Owen Bennett was making certain they wouldn't be disturbed. He said to Quinn, "My daughter caught me off guard tonight—she's good at that. It never occurred to me to forbid her from inviting you here. My mistake."
Quinn smiled. "She's a little dickens, all right."
"She's always been a handful," her father agreed with a sigh. He walked over to the leather-topped desk that dominated the middle of the room. "Let's get down to business, shall we?" he asked. He pulled out a side drawer and took out a small white envelope. A small, white, bulging envelope.
"As I say, Quinn, I was caught off guard. I've had to scrape this together from petty cash tonight, but I can no doubt put my hands on more," Bennett said dryly. "Lest you think that those are all twenties in there—they're not." He tossed the envelope on the desk blotter and fanned some of the money out of it. Hundreds, as far as the eye could see, with some McKinleys added for dazzle.
Keepsake Page 13
