An Unlikely Setup

by Margaret Watson

  Her liquid voice poured out and washed over the crowd. Maddie had been delivering drinks, but when she heard Delaney, she stopped and stared.

  Delaney had that effect on people the first time they heard her sing.

  Time seemed to stand still until she finished the song. Then the band started an old Creedence Clearwater piece, and everything snapped back into place.

  MADDIE’S FEET ACHED by the time the last customer left the Harp, but she didn’t sit down. She refused to show any weakness to Quinn, who’d been glowering at her all night. “What side work needs to be done?” she asked.

  He looked up from washing glasses. “Silverware has to be rolled into napkins. Tables washed. Condiment bottles cleaned and refilled. Ted will put the chairs on the tables when he mops the floor.”

  “All right.” She grabbed a stack of napkins and the clean utensils, and sat at a table to roll them up.

  “No suggestions on how to do it better?”

  “Knock it off,” she said wearily. “I’m not in the mood for a fight.” She was so tired she could have fallen asleep sitting up. It had been a long time since she’d waitressed. She’d forgotten how hard it was.

  “Since you’re pushing yourself into my business, how did you know David, anyway?”

  The air around Quinn was heavy with the weight of his anger. Part of her understood. If David had promised him the bar, he had a right to be upset. But she hadn’t forced David to leave it to her. Heck, she hadn’t even known about the Harp.

  “He was a friend,” she said coolly. She wasn’t about to tell Quinn how much David had meant to her. It would be like a deer rolling over and exposing her belly to a hungry wolf.

  “A friend?” His gaze swept over her slowly, and her stomach churned at the hardness in his expression. “David had good taste, I’ll give you that. No wonder he left you his property—he always said his favorite women were redheads. But that still doesn’t give you the right to stick your nose in my pub.”

  The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. Every time David had talked to Maddie or her mother, her godfather had asked how his favorite redheads were doing. She should have known Quinn would assume she’d been involved with him. “You know nothing about our relationship.”

  “I know all I need to know.”

  “Be careful, Quinn,” she said in a low voice as she pushed herself away from the table. “You’re upset, but don’t say things you’ll regret later.”

  “I’m just getting started.”

  Had he been hiding this anger ever since she’d told him who she was?

  She thought he’d been flirting, and that made her a fool. She felt like that teenager in Otter Tail again, out of place and unwanted. Fat and ugly.

  She hated that she’d let Quinn make her feel that way.

  And that gave her the strength she needed. No one got to make her feel bad about herself ever again.

  “You can talk to yourself as much as you want. But I don’t have to listen to you.” She grabbed her purse from behind the bar, dumped her tips into it, then untied the apron and tossed it on the counter. “Goodbye, Quinn.”

  He watched her walk through the door and shut it carefully behind her. He had to admire her restraint—he would have slammed it so hard the glass would break.

  Jen stuck her head out of the kitchen door. “What’s going on out here? I heard you and—”

  “Maddie just quit.” He ran a hand over his face. “Damn it. Where am I going to find another waitress?”

  “She quit and that’s all you can say? Why did she quit?” Jen demanded.

  “I told her to keep her opinions to herself.”

  She shook her head. “For God’s sake. She was right. Am I so bad?”

  He rubbed his face, his beard rasping against his fingers. “I let my temper get the best of me, okay? It was bad enough that David left this place to his girlfriend. When she started telling me what to do, I lost it.”

  “‘David’s girlfriend’? You didn’t say that to her, did you?” Jen grabbed his shirt with both hands and shook him. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Of course I said that. Who do you think she is?”

  “You’re such an idiot.” She let him go and sank onto a bar stool. “Have you been drinking again? Because you’re sure acting like it.”

  “Of course not. Why do you think David left her his property? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Jen sighed. “She didn’t tell you who she was.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked uneasily.

  “Maddie is the girl who used to stay with David in the summer when we were kids. Remember? A little overweight, flaming red hair, bad complexion?”

  “The kid who got teased a lot?”

  “That was her.”

  “That girl’s name wasn’t Maddie,” he said, searching his memory for a chubby, unhappy kid who looked nothing like Maddie.

  “You’re right. We called her Linnie. But her name is Madeline. Maddie. And I remember she called David Uncle David.”

  “Oh, God.” The things he’d said. Her face had gotten so pale that her freckles stood out like ink spots. He’d hurt her, but she’d quickly camouflaged it, and kept a careful distance as she’d dumped her apron and walked out the door.

  “Sounds like you have some apologizing to do, Quinn.” Jen looked at him steadily. “And I hope she makes you crawl.”

  “I was a jerk.” He hadn’t acted like this since his last bender. And he’d sworn he never would again.

  “Big time.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “I wanted her to like the Harp. I need to convince her to sell it to me.”

  “Good luck with that.” Jen propped her elbows on the bar. “So that’s all that’s between you? A business transaction?”

  “What else would there be?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at her earlier. And the way she looked back. Probably a lot of other people did, too. You were interested.”

  “In whether she was going to sell to me the Harp,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Jen said as she straightened. She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Is that the way you want it? Or are you just too much of a coward to let yourself fall for any woman?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A HALF-MOON BRUSHED the tops of the trees as Maddie pulled to a stop in the driveway next to David’s house. Her house. She had every right to be here, regardless of what Quinn thought.

  She wasn’t going to think about Quinn. Instead, as she got out of the car, she focused on the sky. In Chicago, she was lucky to see a few stars at night. Here they were tossed across the dark velvet sky like handfuls of glitter, so thick in some places that they looked like a smear of light.

  The stars blurred and ran together, and she scrubbed her hands over her eyes. She was teary because the sky was so beautiful. Quinn Murphy had nothing to do with it.

  She hurried into the house, double-checking the lock after she closed it behind her. David used to tell her that he never locked his doors. Otter Tail was a safe town, he’d said. No one would try to steal from him.

  She was a city girl. She locked the door.

  Maddie slowed as she walked past the living room and then the library. The hardwood floors were burnished to a rich glow. Old Oriental rugs graced both rooms, one predominantly deep blue, the other red. She’d always loved David’s house. It was still hard to believe it belonged to her.

  Harder to believe she might have to sell it.

  She turned on the kitchen lights. David had remodeled it recently, and she imagined him standing at the stove, talking to her while he cooked.

  She ran her hand over the granite countertop and cherry cabinets. He’d been so excited when he’d told her what he’d done with the room. They’d talked about his choices for hours.

  Her tears dripped onto the counter, and she swallowed to control herself. David was gone. She couldn’t tell him how much she missed h
im. She couldn’t tell him she was sorry she hadn’t visited him.

  She couldn’t ask him why he’d left the pub to her instead of Quinn.

  The kitchen had the heavy, airless quality of a room closed off too long. She raised the windows, then opened the door to the attached screened porch. A pine-scented breeze drifted in. It carried the repetitive, soothing sound of waves rolling up the beach.

  She’d have to fix the torn porch screens, she thought idly as she spread peanut butter on crackers and sat down to count her tips. They’d let the bugs in, but right now she wanted the fresh air.

  A few minutes later, she stared at the pile of bills. She’d made over a hundred bucks in tips.

  She’d had to put up with Quinn and his sneering insinuations about her and David, too. But when a person needed money as much as she did, pride flew out the window.

  Could she keep working with him?

  Did she have a choice?

  She shoved away from the table. No. She didn’t have a choice. She owed her friend Hollis too much money. Not to mention the contractors and bank. So until she sold the pub, she’d be working at the Harp. It wasn’t going to make a dent in what she owed, but she’d send her friend every dollar she could.

  Turning off the lights, Maddie headed upstairs to the frilly, girlie bedroom she’d loved so much as a kid. The lace and ruffles were a little overwhelming now, but reminded her of David’s kindness. He’d let her pick out whatever she wanted for the room. As she tossed and turned, she imagined him standing in the doorway, telling her good-night, like he used to do during those long-ago summers.

  “You’ll like it here if you just give it a chance,” he’d said so many times. “Otter Tail is a wonderful town. Full of good people.” Once, he’d winked and said, “Even Quinn Murphy.”

  She picked up one of the pillows and hurled it at the empty doorway. “Get out of my head, David.”

  THE NIGHT WAS PITCH-BLACK outside her window when she woke with a start. She lay still, heart pounding, and wondered what had bothered her.

  Faint scrabbling sounds from the first floor drifted up the stairs, and she tensed. But as she groped for her cell phone on the nightstand next to the bed, she realized they weren’t human footsteps. There was some kind of animal in the house.

  Mice, probably. She’d have to set traps in the morning. As she padded down the stairs, she realized the noise was coming from the kitchen.

  She flipped the light switch and saw a face with a black mask hovering in the window of the screened porch. She screamed, and the raccoon fell into the sunroom. As soon as it hit the floor, it turned and scrambled up the wall and out the hole in the screen, vanishing with a flick of its fluffy, ringed tail.

  As she stared in horror after it, something metallic clattered on the floor behind the island in the kitchen. Was there another one in the house? Had that been what she’d heard? Why hadn’t she shut the back door to the porch?

  Grabbing the broom from the hall closet, she peered around the island. A large, furry shape rushed past her into the sunroom, its tail brushing her leg as it passed. She shrieked and jumped backward, tripping over the jar of peanut butter the raccoon had knocked down. The animal scurried up the wall and left through the window.

  Maddie sidled farther into the kitchen and waited, holding the broom like a shield in front of her. After a moment, she exhaled. It was empty. No more intruders.

  Except her.

  She didn’t belong here, just like the raccoons didn’t belong in the house. It was foolish to think she could fit in. Foolish to think she would grow to like Otter Tail.

  Foolish to think she and Quinn could be more than adversaries.

  She headed up to her bedroom and threw her clothes into her suitcase. Grabbing her laptop, she hurried down the stairs and into the car. She was going back to Chicago. Tonight. Being in Otter Tail wasn’t solving any of her problems.

  She didn’t have to be here for Laura to sell the Harp. She’d put Otter Tail and Quinn Murphy far behind her.

  Once in the car, she realized she was still wearing her pajamas. And she’d forgotten her shoes.

  She was too tired to go anywhere tonight, but she wasn’t going into the house, not when there might be a raccoon still roaming inside. The backseats of her SUV had been lowered to make a cargo area, and she crawled over the armrest and onto the rough carpet. Reaching beneath the front seat, she pulled out two small blankets and wadded one up as a pillow. She tossed the other one over herself, curled into a tight ball and gradually relaxed enough to fall asleep.

  QUINN TURNED HIS TRUCK onto the narrow driveway that led to David’s house, clenching his teeth as he drove over the ruts. Not David’s house anymore. Maddie’s house.

  It was late. Too late for a visit, but he needed to apologize to her or he’d never get to sleep. After what he’d said to her, he suspected she’d have a hard time sleeping, too.

  He’d been an ass. He’d known it before Jen told him who Maddie really was. Finding out that she was Linnie, the woman David always talked about, had given him a sick feeling in his gut that wouldn’t go away.

  Her yellow SUV stood on the driveway, so she hadn’t run screaming out of Otter Tail. Not yet, anyway.

  There were no lights on in the house, though. So she must be asleep. He would come back tomorrow, he thought with a rush of relief.

  As he was turning his car around, he noticed a gleam of white in the back of her SUV. It looked like a leg.

  Worried, he parked behind her, got out and peered through the window. Maddie, curled on her side, was sound asleep. A tattered-looking blanket pooled on the carpet next to her, as if she’d kicked it off. Her red gym shorts didn’t hide much of her long legs, and she wore a ratty T-shirt with a faded University of Illinois logo. Her hair curled wildly around her face.

  There was a rip in the shirt beneath her left arm, exposing a creamy white curve of breast. He shoved his hands into his pockets and forced his gaze to her face.

  She looked different as she slept. Younger. Softer. Defenseless.

  What the hell was she doing, sleeping in her car?

  “Maddie.” He rapped on the glass. “Maddie, wake up.”

  She rolled onto her back, her legs bent at the knees, and murmured something, but she didn’t open her eyes. The gym shorts crept higher up her thighs. The worn cotton of the T-shirt tightened across her chest, clearly outlining the dark shadows of her nipples. “Maddie!” he said, rapping harder. “Come on. Wake up.”

  Her eyes opened and she looked around the car, clearly bewildered. When she saw him at the window, she flinched and let out a surprised yelp.

  Fumbling with the hatch of the car, she opened it and got her feet into flip-flops before stepping out onto the gravel. “Quinn? What’s going on?”

  “Why are you sleeping in the back of your car?”

  “I was too tired to drive.”

  “So why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Raccoons,” she said with a shudder. “In the house. What are you doing here?”

  His eyes strayed to her T-shirt again. “Rescuing you from the wildlife, apparently.”

  She put her hands on her hips, tightening the material across her chest. “How did you know I needed rescuing?”

  “Rescuing?” he repeated, blinking.

  She followed his eyes, and pink tinged her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself in the age-old manner of women covering themselves.

  He pulled off his sweater and handed it to her. “Here. You look…cold.”

  She murmured her thanks while she struggled into it. The sleeves hung down past her fingertips.

  “Tell me about the raccoons,” he said, clearing his throat.

  She explained what had happened, and he struggled not to roll his eyes. Finally, when she described running out to her car and locking herself in, he shook his head. “I’m not sure that was smart. One of those guys might have had car keys in their pocket. You can’t be too careful around raccoons.”

>   “Jerk,” she muttered, heading for the house. “I was tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  He grabbed her by the arm to stop her, then let go immediately. “Anyone who stands up to drunks and J. D. Stroger isn’t afraid of a raccoon. Why were you in the car, Maddie?”

  “I was going home. To Chicago. You were right. I don’t belong here.”

  “How do you know? Give the town a chance.” He stared at the stubborn set of her mouth. “You’re going to run because of a fight?”

  “Why are you trying to stop me? I have to sell the Harp, and probably not to you. I tried to tell you how to run your business. You should want to get rid of me as soon as possible.”

  Time to eat crow. “You were right about Jen. She did a good job.”

  Her stiff back relaxed a little.

  “So stay,” he added. “I want you to stay. Meet everyone in town.”

  “I already know them.”

  “You knew a bunch of stupid kids fifteen years ago. People change, Maddie. Are you the same person you were back then?”

  “I still don’t belong here.”

  “You could, if you’d give us a chance.”

  The momentary yearning in her eyes was painful to see. Then it disappeared. “I belong in the city.”

  “Are you selling David’s house, too?”

  She turned to gaze at it. “I’m not sure.” Her voice softened. “I need to, but I don’t want to. I have wonderful memories of this place.”

  He had a lot of good memories from here, as well. Memories that had been displaced by anger since David died. “I’m sorry, Maddie. For what I said. I was an ass.”

  “You think?” Her face was impossible to read in the dim light of the moon. “David was older than my father, for God’s sake.”

  “That doesn’t matter when you love someone.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe I was a little jealous of him last night.”

  “Jealous?”

  “For having you.”

  They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then she started for the porch. “He was my godfather. My father’s best friend. There was nothing like that between us.”