A Small-Town Homecoming

by Terry McLaughlin

  “Remember Banjo?” She yawned. “Could we get one like Banjo?”

  “Sure.”

  At the moment, he would have promised her anything. But it was late, and there was school tomorrow. And work. He yawned and finished it off with a tired groan, and his smart girl took the hint. “Guess it’s time for bed,” she said.

  “Guess so.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Since I had to stay up so late tonight to wait for you, I’m probably going to be too tired to make my lunch in the morning. Can I have money for a hot lunch tomorrow?”

  Smart girl, all right. He leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Is a five enough?”

  “Yep.” She plucked the bill from his fingers, and he knew he’d never see the change.

  Women.

  Rosie, Geneva, Tess, his ex. Why did all the women in his life have to be so smart—and cost him so much?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE ANNUAL University Foundation wine tasting was one of Geneva’s least favorite social events. She rarely enjoyed the local wines, she rarely wanted to bid on the auction items and she rarely cared for the conversation. But since she was one of this year’s organizers, she considered it her duty to arrive early and stay late.

  She meandered through the noisy crowd in the Breakers Country Club banquet room, smiling at acquaintances and checking on details. Though it was a Thursday evening, the turnout was gratifying. The string quartet arranged by the music department was an improvement over last year’s guitar-playing duo. And the wine-tasting stations had been arranged to promote circulation rather than long lines.

  Geneva’s good friend Maudie Keene waved to her from a table set along the far wall, where she’d been busy serving a surprisingly passable Riesling. Geneva had asked her to volunteer this evening, and Maudie had in turn asked her fiancé, Geneva’s cousin Ben, to assist. Maudie was radiant tonight in her new black dress and chic hairstyle. And Ben was looking his very best looking at Maudie.

  Ah, love, with its talent for adding blushes and bounces and complications to life. Geneva had asked Maudie, again, when she and Ben were going to set a date. Maudie had skimmed her fingers through her auburn waves with a laugh and told her, again, that she’d be the third to know.

  Geneva smiled as she sipped her Chardonnay and moved toward the buffet. Perhaps she’d offer Maudie the Chandler House gardens for her own wedding—an incentive to set a date before summer’s end. It had been far too long since Chandler House had been the scene of so many happy occasions.

  “Well, Geneva, it’s good to see a smile on your face, considering all the bad luck you’ve been having on your building project.” Howard Cobb stepped into her path, gesturing with his wine and nearly sloshing it over the rim of his glass. “Or should I say, all the bad breaks?”

  “Stick with ‘luck,’ Howard. The other phrasing isn’t as clever a pun as you obviously thought it might be.”

  He moved uncomfortably close and turned to face the room, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her as if they were old friends trading observations on the gathering. “Speaking of bad luck,” he said, “I saw that bit on Channel Six about the latest accident at Tidewaters. Your contractor seems to have more than his fair share of it.”

  “Perhaps.” She took another sip. “And perhaps there are more logical explanations for the damage and injuries.”

  Howard grunted and nodded a greeting to a passing university prof. “Explanations?”

  “Pouring sand into a piece of equipment isn’t a cause of bad luck. It’s a criminal offense. And the police are investigating the cause of Ned’s fall from the scaffolding. There are some doubts about whether that was an accident.”

  “They should be investigating, then.” Howard leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Although it sounds like exactly the same thing happened on another of Quinn’s jobs. Maybe you should have done a little more checking into his background before you hired him.”

  “It’s suprisingly generous of you to take such an active interest in my business affairs, Howard.” Geneva signaled to one of the college-student servers and placed her empty glass on the offered tray. “And since you do, I’ll share some more information. I signed another lease agreement today. For one of Tidewaters’ largest office spaces.”

  She turned to face him. “Bradley and Garbett have decided they’d like to move their firm to a waterfront location after all.”

  Howard’s face darkened, flushed with obvious anger. “I had an understanding with Bradley.”

  “And now I have a lease with them both.”

  “We’ll see if they keep it.”

  Geneva kept her expression pleasant and serene as a nasty chill raced through her at the threat behind his words. “Yes, we’ll see.”

  “Howard?” Ben joined them and clapped a hand on the councilman’s shoulder. “I thought that was you. How’s that son of yours enjoying college? He’s in San Diego, right?”

  Howard turned toward Ben as Maudie appeared with a glass of champagne. “Here,” she said quietly as she handed it to Geneva. “You look like you could use this.”

  “I’m not sure about the bubbles at the moment, but thanks.” Geneva took a tiny sip and sighed. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, but who is manning your station?”

  “One of the grad students—a theater major. I told him I needed a break, and he jumped at the chance. Creep,” she said, with a daggered look for Howard. “I saw him leaning in close, looking for all the world as if you and he were old chums sharing a big secret. Ugh.”

  “I did share a secret with him. I told him I stole one of his tenants today.”

  “You didn’t.” Maudie laughed and finger-combed her bangs.

  “I did.” Geneva’s tension eased, and she managed a small smile. “Tess and I took Jim Bradley and Jason Garbett out to lunch, and then she gave them a tour of some of the design work in her office. Jason is thinking of hiring her to do a vacation home for him next year.” Her smile widened. “My granddaughter is quite the saleswoman, if I do say so myself.”

  “Takes after her grandmother.”

  “Perhaps.” Geneva lifted her flute. “I think I might be in a champagne mood after all.”

  THE FORECASTED STORM blew in on Thursday night, pummeling the Tidewaters site with rain and bullying whitecaps across the bay. Quinn canceled Friday’s construction plans and holed up that morning in the office trailer.

  Shortly before noon, a battered blue pickup pulled into the small parking area beside his truck. Quinn rose from his desk chair and rounded the counter to open the door. “Hey, Steve.”

  “Mornin’, Quinn.” Steve Wade stomped into the stuffy room and shook the wet from his slicker. He’d put on a few pounds since he’d worked on Quinn’s crew. And picked up a tremor in his hands since his days as Quinn’s number-one drinking buddy. “How’re things?” he asked in a falsely cheerful voice.

  “Can’t complain.” Quinn moved behind the counter, uneasy with Steve’s cadaverlike grin and the overpowering smell of mint on his breath. “Yourself?”

  “Fine. Just fine. You’d never know what happened all those years ago. Medical science is a miracle, and I’m living proof. Walking proof,” Wade corrected with an unpleasant chuckle. He glanced around the office and then leaned in to squint at Rosie’s picture. “This Rosie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Growing up fast, isn’t she? Sure is getting pretty. Just like her momma.” Wade strolled in a casual circle around the compact space, making a show of checking things out. “Heard Rosie’s back with you.”

  “That’s right.” Quinn wanted to wait him out, but he wanted him gone more. “What can I do for you, Steve?”

  “Well, now, I’m not sure that’s the right question.” Wade quit his wandering to slouch against the counter, and Quinn noticed the sickly red rimming his eyes. Drinking again. Or using something else to get him through the day.

  “The right question,” Wad
e continued, “is what can I do for you?”

  “I don’t need any help on this job, if that’s what you’re here about.”

  Wade dropped the former-buddy act and gave Quinn a squinty-eyed stare. “Heard another man got hurt here this week.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Just like old times.”

  “No.” Quinn kept his voice steady and his eyes on Wade’s. “It wasn’t anything like what happened to you.”

  “Is that so?” Wade lifted one brow over a long, hard stare, giving memory time to drip its bitterness into the silence. And then his lips thinned in another smile as he dropped his gaze to his hands and rubbed a spot on one of his thumbs. “Well, I stopped by today ’cause I figured I could help you out some. Maybe take his place.”

  “I figured that might be the reason for this visit. But I’ve already got it covered.”

  Wade’s grin faded. “Well, now. That’s convenient.”

  “I don’t think Ned would agree with that.”

  “Look here, Quinn.” Wade curled his hand into a fist on the counter and then spread his shaking fingers wide. “You owe me.”

  Quinn nodded, acknowledging the sentiment, if not the fact. “I paid that debt a long time ago.”

  “Some debts can’t never be paid in full.”

  “This isn’t one of them.”

  Quinn moved around the counter and strode to the door. He opened it wide and stood, holding the knob in place while the wind flung the cold and wet in to lash at his clothes and spit on the dusty floor.

  Wade’s eyes roamed over Quinn’s features as though he were searching for a change of heart. Or a sign of weakness. At last he straightened, tugged the slicker’s hood over his head and walked out the door. “See you around, Quinn.”

  Quinn didn’t respond. There was nothing more to say than what he’d already said a dozen times. And no way to respond to the menace coiled in Wade’s parting words.

  TESS LEANED a shoulder against one of her office windows facing Main Street on Friday, frowning at the whitecaps frosting the waves on the bay. Things were getting nasty out there. It was a good thing she’d slipped out to get a midafternoon double-caramel latte before the storm had gathered strength. Now moaning gusts of wind drove fat drops against the glass, and the sky was so smudged with gray she’d switched on her desk lamp to add an extra bit of light to her darkened work space.

  Not that she intended to sit and produce something…productive. It was Friday afternoon, after all, and there wasn’t anything on her desk that couldn’t wait until Monday. Hell, there was nothing on her desk, not even dust. She’d spent the morning straightening her snack counter, filing her notes, rearranging her paper clips and pencils and wiping down her phone and keyboard. Now the remainder of the day stretched ahead, with nothing to fill it but a low-level craving for caffeine she didn’t need and an invitation for a drink at the Shanty-man she didn’t want.

  No, she didn’t want to hang out at the usual bar and stare at the usual crowd. She might not know the reason for her restlessness, but she knew it wouldn’t be cured by flirting with some local guy or rehashing the local gossip. She’d call Addie and suggest an alternative—sharing a takeout dinner and kicking back with a rented movie instead of dressing for a girls’ night out. Or maybe they could invite themselves to Charlie’s house and give Jack a bad time.

  Another slap of wind rattled the glass, and a crooked lightning dagger stabbed through the bruised clouds to the south. Tess sipped the last of her cooling drink and didn’t quite count to three before the thunder rumbled along Main Street. Definitely a night to cozy up with friends instead of perching on a hard bar stool. She couldn’t think of a takeout meal she’d like to eat or a movie she’d like to see at the moment, but she could coast along on Addie’s choices.

  Now if she could just work up the enthusiasm to cross the room and pick up the phone.

  A big black truck pulled to the curb outside her shop as another boom of thunder rolled down the street like a runaway bass drum. Her pulse kicked up with annoyance, and she realized an argument with Quinn would be a more effective method of filling her afternoon and revving up her system than a second cup of caramel latte.

  She opened the door, flipping the Open sign to Closed as he walked in. “Too wet to work?” she asked.

  “Too windy.” He pulled off his Keene Concrete gimme cap and combed his fingers through his hair. “Too stormy to draw plans?”

  “Too depressing.” She dropped her empty cup into the tiny metal bin near the entrance and followed him to the back of her office. “Speaking of depressing—how’s Ned?”

  “Healing, but grouchy as a pack of grizzlies, according to Sylvie.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “Ned? Or Sylvie?” Quinn rolled his hat and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Seems to me she got the worst end of the deal.”

  “No argument there.”

  He unfastened several jacket snaps. “Got a minute?”

  “Got several of them as it turns out.” She waved a hand at a row of decorative pewter doorknob hooks along one wall as he shrugged out of his heavy, soaked jacket. “You can hang that there.”

  He did as she’d asked and then turned to face her. “Sylvie told me you dropped by with a casserole dinner a couple of nights ago. Nice of you.”

  “Don’t act so surprised, Quinn.” Tess strolled toward her desk. “I can be nice when the mood hits.”

  “She said she had no idea what was in it. The kids were afraid to eat it at first.”

  “I’ll bet they loved it.”

  He grinned. “Every bite.”

  She grinned back at him, and it struck her that this was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. Really, truly smile. And omigod, his was breathtaking. She hadn’t imagined precisely how that tanned skin would stretch over those angular bones or how much amusement could be packed into the tiny lines fanning from the corners of his eyes.

  A flash of lightning brightened the office and tickled the current to the fixtures. One. Two. A combination crack-and-boom rattled the windows.

  His smile faded. “I hired someone to replace Ned,” he said.

  “So soon?”

  Quinn’s jaw tightened, and a tiny muscle jumped along the edge. He wasn’t happy about arranging for a replacement, either. “Mick O’Shaughnessy,” he said. “Seems like a nice enough guy. Knows a lot about general construction. Specializes in finish carpentry, so I might keep him on after Ned gets back. If he’ll stay. He’s a ball player.”

  “Ball?”

  “Baseball. Arranged to get himself traded to the Wildcats for the rest of the season.” Quinn frowned. “I sure hope I can work around his schedule.”

  “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  “Good help is hard to find. Expert help even harder.”

  “Well.” She leaned one hip against the edge of her desk. “I suppose you know best how to schedule your crew. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “That’s not all I came to talk to you about.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Oh?”

  “I came to talk to you about the sidewall insulation.”

  Right on cue, her blood pressure notched up a few points. Another tug-of-war over the specs. She knew the routine, knew what to expect, had gone this round many times before, on other jobs in other places.

  She knew she shouldn’t let it bother her so much, but this was Quinn pulling at the other end of the rope. And the fact that she seemed to have an over-the-top reaction to everything to do with this man only added to her irritation. “What about it?” she asked.

  “Seems to me the R-factor is a little high for this area.”

  “It’s well within state regulations.”

  “It’s a big state,” he said, “with a lot of extremes.”

  “I don’t think it’s out of line.”

  “It’s excessive. And expensive,” he said in his oh-so-reasonable voice. “It doesn’t have to be
either of those.”

  “It’s in the specs list,” she said, “and therefore, something you were aware of before we started this project. Part of the package you bid on—and therefore, something that’s in the budget.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “I thought a woman like you could come up with a new argument instead of falling back on that tired old line about the budget.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”

  The other half of his mouth curved up in a sly grin. “Changing the R-factor to a local standard might save enough to pay for more of those fancy windows your friend makes, among other things.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It wasn’t about the job.”

  She straightened from the desk and edged closer to him. Another streak of lightning flickered like a strobe across his features, and another clap of thunder exploded overhead. She forgot to start her countdown, but before her heart could beat once, a deep vibration shook the room.

  “Is this part of the trouble you warned me about the other night?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” His gaze swept over her, over the flush she could feel spreading across her cheeks, and the nipples thrusting against the silvery silk of her blouse and the warm, liquid weight settling low in her belly beneath her black crepe skirt.

  “That depends on what kind of trouble you want,” he said, and his voice seemed to roll through her like the elements.

  He grew unnaturally still as he stared at her, and the moments ticked by in an increasingly unbearable tension as she absorbed and reflected his scrutiny. She was beginning to understand why he did this, why he shut everything else out and took her in like this. His gaze was like foreplay—testing and teasing without the use of his hands. Awareness crackled like static over her sensitized skin, and her body pulsed with the dull throb of anticipation.

  She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Why don’t you just kiss me and get it over with?”