Reason to Breathe

by Deborah Raney

  Phee led the way inside and groped for a light switch.

  “I don’t think the electricity is on for the two smaller cabins.” Quinn pulled his phone from his pocket and shined its flashlight into the room.

  The sun was low in the sky now, and all the window shades were drawn. Phee waited for her eyes to adjust, but Britt crossed the room and raised a shade.

  At the same moment, something skittered across the floor.

  All three sisters screamed like little girls. Phee would have scrambled up onto a chair or table if there’d been a stick of furniture in the room.

  Quinn threw his head back and laughed. “You might need to set some mousetraps until we get things sealed up here.”

  Her pulse still pounding, Phee felt a measure of her earlier excitement drain away. She’d let herself grow hopeful about this property, and Quinn’s nonchalant sales tactic had almost worked. But as they wandered through the rooms, it was apparent this cottage needed extensive work, and she assumed the other one would be the same, if not worse.

  In the dining room and bedrooms, layers of cabbage-rose wallpaper peeled, the floors were covered in dingy ancient carpet, and cobwebs festooned everything. The exterior of the cottages had seemed in surprisingly good shape, but even they needed new paint on the trim and doors. And who knew what kind of mold, rot, and termites lurked beneath the surface. Phee grew weary just thinking about where they would start with the smaller cottages. Especially when there was plenty to do in the larger one.

  And with only two bedrooms in the main cottage, if they were to take advantage of being “rent free,” they’d all need to live there—together—until one of the smaller homes was finished. The whole project suddenly felt overwhelming.

  They hurried through the last cottage, which appeared to be a mirror image of the other small one, but the electricity was off here too, and by now it was too dark to see much. Phee could make out the same floral wallpaper pattern and the same worn carpeting.

  Quinn locked up the last cottage and turned to the sisters. “So, what do you think?”

  “I say let’s do it!” Britt bounced on her heels like a five-year-old at Christmas.

  Phee shook her head. “Britt, there’s no way this—”

  “I love this place.” Joanna put her arms behind her and looked up at the trees towering over them. “It’s like being on vacation, except we’re fifteen minutes from work and church and—”

  “And everything.” Britt beamed.

  Phee looked back and forth between her sisters. “Are you guys serious?” She dared to look at Quinn, who wore a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “I don’t think you guys realize how much work it would take to get this place livable. Even one of the cottages.”

  “It’s all cosmetic, Phylicia.” Quinn sounded frustratingly calm. “With a crew of three or four guys, we could completely redo a cottage in a month’s time.”

  Ignoring him, she reasoned with her sisters. “You guys! There were mice!”

  “You just need to move Melvin out here,” Quinn offered, his tone far too confident. “Those mice won’t stick around long if he’s here.”

  “We’ll need three Melvins then.” Phee shook her head. How had this man won her sisters over so easily?

  “If there were mice in the main house, you would have seen signs,” he said. “You saw what good shape it’s in. A little paint and maybe have the brick cleaned on the fireplace, and you could move right in. Once you get your furniture in, hang some pictures—that covers a multitude of sins. And you wouldn’t have to do anything to that house right away. You could concentrate your efforts—and your funds—on the smaller houses. Get them ready to rent, and then while the income flows from that, you can do whatever you want to the main house. Before long, you’ll each have your own place and you can decide how you want the rentals to work …” He took a breath and eyed her, as if to determine whether she was still with him.

  Phee sighed. “I think you’re all crazy.” But even as she spoke, she knew why—at least partially—she hesitated to give in to them. And maybe she was being overly dramatic. But if they bought this property, it would feel as if she were admitting—even accepting—that she’d be single for the rest of her life. Well, at least for the foreseeable future.

  Quinn held up a hand. “I promise this is not a bribe, but how about I take you all out to supper. We’ll talk it over, crunch some numbers, and see if I can dispel your concerns. Because I really do think this is doable. Not just doable, but a no-brainer.”

  “Oh, so now you’re calling me stupid if I don’t go along?” Phee had meant it in jest, but it came out sounding overly harsh. She gave him a smile meant to soften her words.

  “That’s not what I said.” He returned her smile and pulled his car keys out of his pants pocket. “I’m hungry. Let’s talk this out over a good supper. My treat.”

  Joanna checked the time on her phone. “I wish I could, but I need to be back to work in fifteen minutes.”

  Britt shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t either. Book club tonight.”

  Quinn’s shoulders slumped. “Phylicia? Since you’re the one who actually needs convincing, what do you say? I’m buying.” He waited, eyebrows raised.

  “Talk some sense into her, Quinn.” Joanna checked her phone again and looked back toward Quinn’s vehicle. “I really do need to get back.”

  “Oh … sure. Hop in.” He trotted to the SUV, and Phee’s sisters scrambled for the backseat spots. Phee went around and climbed into the passenger seat beside him. They were all assuming she would take Quinn up on his offer. Fine. She was hungry, and it would be a good chance to ask him some questions. But not about the property.

  About her father.

  Chapter 7

  You sure you want McAlister’s? It’s my treat, and I’d be happy to take you to Bella Italia, or we could drive over to Gordonville.” He knew the Gordonville Grill was one of Turner’s favorite places. Maybe it was hers too. And the twenty-minute drive would give them a little more time to talk.

  “McAlister’s is fine.”

  Phylicia’s mood was decidedly cool. Quinn sneaked a look beside him in the SUV. Her focus was straight ahead. Not even a blink. He decided not to push it and mentally slipped on his kid gloves.

  He took a parking spot close to the deli’s entrance, and she was out of the car and halfway to the door before he could even come around to open the passenger door for her. So much for being a gentleman.

  The aroma of simmering chili and yeasty bread wafted over them as they pushed through the restaurant’s entryway. His stomach rumbled in response.

  At the counter, Phylicia studied the menu for only a few seconds before ordering a bowl of vegetable soup.

  “Anything to drink?” the girl behind the counter asked.

  “Just water, please.”

  He touched her elbow lightly. “Don’t you want a sandwich with that?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine. I’m not really hungry.”

  “Suit yourself.” He ordered a club sandwich and a Coke, paid with cash, and took the number the cashier handed him.

  “Booth okay?” He usually ran into someone he knew here. Hopefully a booth would afford them a little privacy.

  “That’s fine.”

  Everything was fine with her tonight. He wove his way through the maze of tables, claiming the corner seat with a view of the entrance. He lopped his jacket over the back of the seat and waited until Phylicia was settled in across from him.

  She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around herself.

  “Do you want my jacket? I can get you a cup of coffee.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He stared at her, then let his smile come slowly. “So I gathered.”

  She squinted. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  He leaned back in the booth. “Everything’s been fine tonight. McAlister’s? Fine. No sandwich? Fine. Booth? Fine. Cold? No, you’re fine.”<
br />
  “Well, excuse me for being fine.” A glimmer of a smile touched her lips.

  “Except I get the feeling you’re not … fine.”

  She gave a soft huff. “What do you want me to say? I feel as if I’m being ramrodded, Quinn.”

  Even if he didn’t like what she said, he liked the familiar way his name tripped off her lips. Not formal, the way it had sounded yesterday when he’d met the sisters at Turner’s house. “I promise it’s not my intention to ramrod you. I’m only doing what—”

  “I know—” She held up a hand. “You’re my dad’s spokesperson.”

  He shrugged. He couldn’t really deny it. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. But … I happen to agree with your dad.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind.” She folded a paper napkin into thirds, then twisted it into a rope, seeming hesitant to meet his eyes. But when she did, he felt the weight of her stare. “So, do you think my father just set this all up so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about running off with some woman when my mom is barely cold in the grave?”

  Quinn stared, knowing he needed to choose his words carefully. His first instinct was to defend Turner Chandler, although he wasn’t sure the man deserved it. “Phylicia, I can’t know your dad’s motives, but I do know that in all the years I’ve known him and worked for him, he’s shown nothing but love and respect—passion, even—for your mom. And for his ‘girlies’ as he always calls you. Much to the amusement of a certain crowd at the office who has a slightly different definition of girlies.”

  Phee smiled, and he hoped she was warming to him a little.

  But her smile faded too quickly. “I feel a however coming on.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It just seems like you’re struggling to understand what my Dad is doing too—moving away so suddenly, and everything that’s happened with Karleen …”

  He didn’t dare deny it. This woman had an uncanny way of reading his thoughts.

  A server headed their way with a tray of drinks, and he waited until the girl left. “I guess you’re right about that. I don’t understand what he’s doing. The move, I mean … and the woman. I do understand him arranging the deal with the property with his daughters in mind. It’s a good deal, Phylicia, and apparently your dad felt like it would be something you and your sisters would be interested in—and up to handling. Maybe I don’t know you well enough to make a judgment, but from everything I do know—and everything your dad has said about you guys—it seems like a no-brainer.”

  “Well, you sure have my sisters convinced.”

  His shoulders were going to be sore from all the shrugging he’d done tonight. But he didn’t know how else to respond. “I hope you believe me when I say that I don’t have a stake in the deal. You can hire someone else to do the work if you want. I’d be happy to give you some names.”

  While that was true, it wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t give a hoot about the job. The company would make minimal profit, and personally, he wouldn’t gain anything. Not financially anyway. But if he was honest with himself, he had to admit to ulterior motives. Being around Phylicia Chandler these last few hours had done nothing to diminish the attraction he’d once felt for her. Quite the opposite.

  “It’s just so sudden.” She looked at the table, then at the twisted napkin in her hand. “Not just the opportunity, but the change with Dad. I feel like I’m … grieving all over again. And why isn’t he here talking to us? Why did he pawn the job off on you?”

  Silence—and fresh grief—settled between them.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said, unfolding the napkin in front of him and placing it in his lap. “Have you asked him?”

  She shook her head. “No. We were all too much in shock, I guess.”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  The server headed their way again. Quinn waited while the girl set their food in front of them. When she was out of earshot, he gave Phylicia a questioning glance.

  She ignored him and bowed her head over her food. He did the same, but looked up quickly, not wanting to let her change the subject. She blew on her steaming soup. Something about the gesture made her look so vulnerable, and his heart went out to her. She was barely thirty and had lost her mother … and now it must feel as if she’d lost her father too.

  “Look …” He risked putting a hand over hers across the table. But only briefly. “I know this must be really scary … and confusing. Not just with your dad, but with the decision about the property and where your sister will go—”

  “Go?”

  “Where will she live? From what your dad said, I think that was one reason he thought of the property.”

  Phylicia rolled her eyes. “Renting an apartment would be a lot simpler. If she can find a place that will take Melvin.”

  “I think your dad was thinking about an investment.”

  “That sounds like him.”

  “So, Melvin was your mom’s cat?”

  She nodded over a spoonful of soup. “Britt’s pretty attached to him. He’s definitely not negotiable. Especially because he was Mom’s.”

  “Of course. And he would take care of the mice problem.”

  She set her spoon down. “Fine. I’ll buy three houses on eight acres for the sake of a cat.”

  He laughed. “Those weren’t my words.”

  “That’s about what it amounts to though.”

  “Well, that and a place for your sister to live and a great way to invest your money.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, I said I’d consider it. I’ll talk to my sisters, and we’ll call Dad tomorrow and try to get something worked out.”

  “You’re sure?” He couldn’t help the excitement that rose up in him. “And you don’t think your sisters will change their minds?”

  “If I’m on board, they will be too.”

  He worked to keep his voice even. “You won’t be sorry, Phylicia.”

  “You can call me Phee.”

  He frowned. “But … Phylicia’s such a pretty name.” Her given name rolled off the tongue so beautifully. Phylicia. Besides, he’d rather think of her as a perk or a bonus, rather than some fee needing to be paid. He was pretty sure the woman had no clue how attracted he was to her. But given that she was already hurting over her father’s involvement with a woman many years his junior, she probably would not take kindly to the advances of an “older man.”

  Still, when tears sprang to those blue, blue eyes, his reaction was instinctive. He put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

  She shrank from his touch and pushed away her bowl of soup. “Excuse me. I … I’ll be back.” She slid from the booth and all but ran to the restroom.

  Quinn stared after her, replaying their conversation, hoping he hadn’t said something thoughtless. But he didn’t think he had. He sat for a moment, reminded that grief was still fresh for Phylicia. Her mother had been so young, and Turner’s engagement couldn’t have come at a worse time for his daughters, especially when it came on the heels of his move to Florida.

  Almost ten minutes passed, and Phylicia still hadn’t returned to the table. He started to get up to go see about her when the restroom door opened and she appeared. Her honey-brown hair slightly disheveled. Red-eyed. And completely beautiful.

  She looked his way, angling her head toward the exit. “Can we go?” she mouthed.

  He rose quickly, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, and hurried toward the door where she stood.

  Without a word, she pushed the door open with both hands and made a beeline for his SUV.

  Silent and somber-faced, Quinn backed his vehicle out of the McAlister’s parking lot.

  Phee took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. “I’m so sorry. Did you even get to finish your sandwich?”

  He waved her off. “I’m not hungry. It’s fine.”

  She felt awful for rushing him out like that, but
she couldn’t help the smile that came. “Now you sound like me.”

  He didn’t return her humor. “It’s obviously not fine, Phylicia. What’s going on? I didn’t mean to make you … cry.”

  “It’s not you.” She shook her head, his sober expression influencing her own. “It’s just … everything. Mom, Dad, this decision.”

  “See, it is me. I’m the one who’s forcing you to make a decision.”

  “No, it’s not you. It’s Dad. I know how he can be.”

  “You mean caring and helpful and generous?”

  She studied him, not sure if he was serious or teasing. “You really think he’s doing this out of concern for us?”

  His eyes said he was dead serious. “Phylicia … why else would it be?”

  “Maybe he feels guilty. And he’s just trying to get us set up so he can sell the house and be rid of us.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Sometimes I do. I can’t even get him to answer my phone calls.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Quinn. This just all seems so sudden. And so unlike my dad.”

  It felt odd, confiding in him this way. Yes, she’d hoped he could shed some light on her dad’s strange behavior. And she’d hoped to convince herself it would be a mistake to buy the property. But look how that was working out. She’d been blindsided by her sisters suddenly being so gung-ho about the prospect of owning property. And Quinn was persuasive.

  “I think you need to talk to your dad. It’s not fair to accuse him when you haven’t heard his side of things and—” He stopped short, apparently thinking better about whatever it was he’d been going to say.

  But she could almost read his thoughts. He was afraid she’d start crying again. She shouldn’t care so much what he thought, but none of this was his fault, and she didn’t want him to feel responsible. He was only doing what he’d been directed to do by his boss. Yet another reason she wanted to throttle her father.