It didn’t surprise Quinn that he had trouble falling asleep that night, even though he had worked hard all day. Visions of his neighbor’s slim, toned body and wavy brown hair followed him into fitful dreams.
In the first dream, she popped up from his frog-filled pool and wrapped her green-scaled mermaid arms around his neck. Pulling him into the murky depths, she showed him her magical cave of hidden delights. He knew she intended to keep him there forever, and he wanted to stay, until he realized with a shock that he couldn’t breathe underwater.
Lungs convulsing, he broke free and kicked for the surface, but strong tendrils of seaweed dragged him down. He hacked at the seaweed, which turned into the dismembered arms and grasping fingers of all the other men she had lured under and destroyed.
He woke gasping for air, his legs tangled in the stiff, dye-smelling sheets on his new king-size bed. He got up and staggered to the kitchen, where he drank some water and shook off the lingering shreds of the dream’s strange eroticism. When he went back to bed, sleep eluded him at first. He flipped and flopped like a gutted fish until the deep-throated burp of mating bullfrogs sang him back to sleep.
In the next dream, the woman next door wore the same yellow bathrobe and cowboy boots he’d seen her in this morning. She stood beside his bed, her hawklike eyes devouring him, but he didn’t care. He knew she had some kind of mojo that was working on him, but he lacked the power to resist whatever magic she possessed.
Willing to die, he flung back the sheets.
She dropped the yellow robe and straddled him, her muddy boots digging into the new mattress. She rode him hard, waving a cowboy hat and yelling “Go, Bayside Buddy, go!”
Exhausted, he woke after dawn, disturbed by the strident wails of restless donkeys. He kicked free of the twisted sheets and sat on the edge of the bed.
Maybe he should admit defeat, sell this place for exactly what he’d paid, and go to work for another builder. Who cared about all the time and money spent getting his contractor’s license? Who cared about crafting his own business as an independent contractor? Who cared about polishing up this old gem of an estate and reselling at a hefty profit?
Unfortunately, he cared.
Flipping this place and making a profit wasn’t just about flipping this place and making a profit. It was about rebuilding his relationship with his son. It was about showing his ex-wife that she’d made an even bigger mistake than he had. It was about making a new life for himself in Magnolia Bay and establishing his construction company as a valued member of the business community.
He couldn’t quit now. He couldn’t quit ever. He had to make this thing work.
While the coffee perked, he ate a slice of cold, leftover pizza and slipped a granola bar into his back pocket for later. With a decent playlist drowning out the zoo sounds, he carried a strong cup of black coffee and a legal pad outside. He sat in a folding stadium chair by the murky green pool and made his to-do list.
Get the truck and empty out the crappy apartment.
Drop off the apartment key.
Unload the truck.
Buy pool chemicals, weed killer, telescoping loppers.
Buy mortar and sand to fill cracks in the brick facing.
With a plan in place and caffeine in his system, Quinn felt slightly less like killing himself. He battled through a tangle of trees and vines and weeds to the property’s edge. The distant view of the bay reassured him that he hadn’t made a horrible mistake. Despite the noisy neighbor, this place sparkled with possibility and had the potential to triple or even quadruple his investment.
As long as he could find a buyer who suffered from significant hearing loss.
***
Abby woke to the donkeys’ loud, discontented braying. Disoriented, she sat up and glanced at the clock. “Shit.” She rocketed out of bed like a pebble from a slingshot, dumping Georgia and Max the tabby onto the floor.
Nine a.m. already. The donkeys complained for good reason. Saturday morning coffee by the pool would have to wait. Her phone, plugged in by the bedside, displayed a slew of text messages, not that she had time to view or respond to them right now.
And wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do today? She looked around the bedroom and chewed on a fingernail, waiting for her brain to kick in—and it did, sending a flood of adrenaline to her belly. Shit! She’d forgotten to call the vet’s office yesterday. “Calm down,” she said out loud. “It’s not the end of the world.”
The vet closed at noon on Saturdays, and that was their busiest day of the week. It would be too late to get an appointment now. Maybe that was just as well; it would take till noon to get the morning chores done. She promised herself that she’d make the call first thing Monday morning.
In the Daffy Duck boxer shorts and faded tank top she’d slept in, she put on barn boots and headed outside with Georgia and Max. When she walked into the barn, the hollering donkeys and ponies hollered even louder. A swarm of cats leaped onto the wide shelf above the food bins, yowling in anticipation.
Moving quickly, Abby scooped food from painted metal bins into matching color-coded buckets. (Aunt Reva had left nothing to chance.) Abby filled a green five-gallon bucket for the goats and sheep, a red one for the geese, chickens, ducks, and peacocks. Then, the single buckets: blue for each of the ponies. A pink one for the bunnies’ communal bowl. Purple for the mini zebu, and orange for the potbellied pig.
She fed the whining donkeys first. Outside in the chicken yard, she scattered chicken scratch and left the gate open so the chickens and ducks and peacocks could spend the day foraging. She fed the aviary birds and hosed down their concrete floors, then tossed flakes of hay into the pastures and let the barn animals out to graze.
Sweaty and tired, Abby decided shoveling poop could wait until after coffee. She set up the coffeepot and hit the button to perk. She had just removed her boots when a deep bellow of human rage galvanized Georgia, who sprinted across the yard and squeezed under the fence. A second later, her sharp barking joined the new neighbor’s angry expletives. Abby ran barefoot along the hedgerow fence toward Georgia’s hysterical barking.
A donkey’s cry made her heart race. How had Elijah gotten into the neighbor’s yard? Then she saw how. “Oh shit.” She climbed over a section of crumpled wire fencing and burst through a thick tangle of vegetation into a scene of mayhem and hysteria.
The new neighbor charged toward Elijah and flung his hands in the donkey’s face. “Shoo. Get out.”
Elijah reared, eyes rolling, ears pinned back. Abby grabbed a stout stick and rushed to defend her aunt’s traumatized donkey. “Stop! You’re scaring him.”
Bawling in terror, Elijah veered around the man’s waving arms and leaped over the crumpled wire fence. Georgia—all thirty pounds of short, snarling protection—stood between Abby and the crazy neighbor.
This man would not be getting any of the secret-family-recipe pound cake.
Holding the stick out like a sword, Abby snatched Georgia up one-handed and held her close. While she and the dog both trembled with reaction, Abby glared at her aunt’s new neighbor. “What is wrong with you? You scared that poor donkey half to death.”
The stupid Neanderthal crossed his muscled arms in front of his wide chest. “Me? You’re asking what’s wrong with me? That big moose knocked me down!”
“Moose? Elijah is just a baby! He would never—”
“He stole my granola bar!”
“He stole…what?”
The man glanced at her stick. Like a warrior calculating his advantage in an armed conflict, he advanced, his expression fierce and his blue eyes so wild she could see the whites all around. “Your baby—who is the size of a moose, by the way—came onto my property, knocked me down, bit me on the ass, and stole a granola bar from my back pocket.”
Georgia trembled in Abby’s arms and growled in promi
sed retribution should the man come close enough for her to reach.
Abby clutched the dog tighter. “I’m sorry if he hurt you. But you didn’t have to scare him.”
“Your ass is fine. Mine’s the one that’s been wounded.” He lunged forward and wrenched the stick from her hand, then tossed it aside, ignoring Georgia’s escalating growl. “And yet you’re planning to attack me with a stick?”
A hysterical giggle tickled the back of Abby’s throat. She bit her lips and patted Georgia. Laughing in the face of an animal-hating psychopath—maybe not the best move. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I hope your…” She smothered an irreverent snort. “I hope your ass will recover.”
His lips twitched, a quickly stifled smile. “I guess it will, eventually.” He let the smile have its way, and it transformed his face from surly to sexy. Straight white teeth and deep blue eyes contrasted with deeply tanned skin. His sun-bleached brown hair hadn’t been combed this morning; he looked like a man who’d just tumbled out of bed and wouldn’t mind getting right back in, given sufficient motivation.
Not that she was interested in providing any such motivation. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Hadn’t losing everything—her job, her self-respect, and the child she’d come to love—hadn’t that experience taught her anything?
It most certainly had. She was done with men. Done.
He crossed unfairly muscular arms over unfairly toned abs. “Enjoying the view?”
Her face heated. “Well enough.” She couldn’t deny that she’d been staring. But her appreciation of his well-developed form was purely academic.
“Only fair, I guess.” He swept an appreciative glance from her bare feet to her heated cheeks. His blue eyes shining with humor, he trapped her gaze in his. “I bought this place for the view, but I didn’t know until recently what a bargain I was getting.”
“Oh?” She glanced down at her dirt-smeared attire, a getup not likely to inspire such a flattering comment. Had he seen her yesterday with her robe gaping open? Or worse… Had he seen her skinny-dipping last night?
Nah. It would be impossible to see through that thick hedge. As usual, Abby was letting her anxiety take over her mind and churn out scenarios of disaster. Disasterizing, Reva called Abby’s newfound tendency to imagine the worst possible outcome and then dwell on it.
Georgia wiggled to get down, and Abby obliged. The dog toddled over and sniffed the guy’s boots, then the hem of his jeans. Tail wagging, she returned to Abby and sat.
“Oh.” Georgia had introduced herself; Abby should do the same. Without Georgia in her arms, Abby became uncomfortably aware of her unbound breasts thinly covered by the sloppy tank top, but etiquette demanded that she step forward and offer her hand. “I’m Abby. This is my aunt’s place, but I’m in charge for the summer while she attends a summer internship to—”
Abby cut herself off. She was babbling, giving too much information that he didn’t care to hear. Another symptom of the overwhelming anxiety that had plagued her after one poor decision derailed her entire life.
She tried again to act more like a normal person and less like a semi-hysterical nincompoop. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
He took her hand and smiled into her eyes. “I’m Quinn. Thanks for the welcome, unconventional as it was.”
His touch ignited something inside her: a tiny flame she thought had been extinguished. A flame that needed to stay extinguished until she gained some control over her life. She withdrew her hand. “I’d better get back.”
She hobbled barefoot over the stick-covered ground toward the crumpled fence. Without the flood of adrenaline that had propelled her here, the skinned-up soles of her bare feet flinched at every step.
His hand at her elbow offered support. “Are you okay?”
She smiled up at him. “Yep, yep, yep. I always run around barefoot in briars. You should see the soles of my feet. Tough as shoe leather.” Her mind cringed at her runaway mouth. Shut up. Shut. Up.
He escorted her to the fence and helped her step over. Georgia slipped through a gap underneath.
“I’m very sorry that Elijah trespassed onto your property and knocked you down. I owe you a granola bar.”
He grinned. “Chocolate chip, please.”
From their respective sides of the fence, Abby stretched the crumpled wire while Quinn straightened the bent metal posts. Working together, they reattached a few fence clips, but most had been lost to the dirt. “This should hold for now,” she said. “I’ll fix it for real later.”
“I’ll be happy to help. Just let me know when.”
“Thanks. I will.” All she wanted right now was to stagger inside, doctor her damaged feet, and sort out the swirl of emotions that had been stirred up by her aunt’s sexy new neighbor.
***
Quinn trudged to the pool house, pressing a fist into the knotted muscles surrounding his lower spine. Much as he appreciated the appearance of his surprisingly attractive neighbor (or neighbor’s niece…whatever), he could have done without the equine attack that prompted the meeting.
He chuckled at the memory of Abby’s barefooted ferocity—ready to do battle in Daffy Duck boxers and a barely there tank top. With her hazel eyes flashing, her cheeks on fire, and a wild cloud of honey-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, she tempted him to forget how much damn trouble women could be.
In the bathroom, he lowered his boxer-briefs, then twisted around in front of the mirror to assess the damage. Black-and-blue hoofprints marred his lower back. His left butt cheek sported burgundy-and-purple bite marks.
“Admiring your backside?”
At the snide tone of his ex-wife’s voice, Quinn snatched up his jeans so quickly his underwear rolled into an uncomfortable wad around his hips. He met her dark eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Melissa, I don’t recall inviting you in.” And he had never admired his backside. Hers, yes. That was what had gotten him into this whole mess—the mess that was his life—in the first place.
He reached back and slammed the bathroom door in her face. She’d rejected him, not the other way around. But that didn’t mean she could sashay back into his life whenever she took a notion. “What are you doing here?” he yelled through the closed door.
“I can’t have Sean coming here until I know it’s safe.”
Until she knows it’s safe. Right. As if he’d do anything to endanger his own son, who at fifteen was nearly as tall as Quinn and could handle himself in any case. Quinn readjusted his underwear and buttoned his jeans. Following his therapist’s advice, he closed his eyes and counted ten cleansing breaths before he wrenched open the bathroom door.
Dressed to impress in a pinstriped girl-suit that impressed him more than he wished it did, Melissa stood with a smirk on her expertly painted face. “You look like hell.”
Another deep breath allowed him to walk past his ex-wife into his small but clean kitchen. With determined civility, he poured water on the fireworks she seemed equally determined to ignite. He knew he had a lot to atone for, so as his therapist suggested, he let her snarky comments slide. They both had to work through their anger and resentment in whatever way worked for them.
For him, it was a determination to keep his mouth shut in the short term. In the long term, he planned to make a fortune he could flap in her face like a red flag.
For her, it was a determination to show him what he was missing in the short term. In the long term, she planned to get along better without him than she had with him.
She had the added secret weapon of snark, but he had to give her that advantage. He’d been absent when she needed him, so she’d learned to take care of herself, then kicked him to the curb when he lost everything. He understood her grievance and was willing to pay the price, but still, it stung. “Would you like a drink?”
Melissa kicked off her red-soled high heels and flung herself onto his new g
ray couch. “What’ve you got?”
He opened the refrigerator. “OJ, Coke, and V8.”
“I won’t be here that long. I just wanted to see where Sean will be staying next weekend, if he decides to come.”
If he decides to come. As if the kid would have any choice if his mother even pretended to uphold the court’s visitation ruling. Quinn popped the top on a V8 and sucked it down, then tossed the empty can into the trash. He knew better than to engage, but his ability to maintain detachment had its limits. “Feel free to look around.”
“Already did that, thanks.” She slipped into her shoes and stood. “Can’t say I approve of all the prepackaged food in your cupboards, but I guess it won’t kill him to eat junk a few days out of the month.”
Quinn bit back a scathing comment. Proud he’d managed to keep his fool mouth shut, he followed her out and watched her wobble across the gravel in her high heels, then slide into a shiny, red BMW M6 convertible and drive away.
***
Wolf watched the man walk around the corner of the house and stand by the frog pool, his shoulders slumped, his energy deflated. Wolf hid under the hedge fence that enclosed the farm with its locked gate and all the tasty animal smells. The man glanced in his direction, and Wolf lowered himself to the ground, blending with the leaf clutter beneath the hedge’s straggling branches.
The human didn’t seem threatening now; not like he had earlier today when he yelled at the panicked donkey who had trespassed. Wolf had watched the commotion from a thicket of brush, ready to defend his new friend Georgia.
But he had made a terrible mistake before by protecting his family when his help wasn’t welcome. He hoped his family would return for him, but he didn’t deserve it yet. He had to reconcile the two halves of his nature and understand what his human family expected of him, even if it didn’t make sense.
He didn’t know exactly what he’d done wrong. The whole messy situation had become jumbled in his memory. But even though the details of the incident had blurred in his mind, the ultimate conclusion remained crystal clear.
Secrets in the Sand Page 20
