Текст книги "Best Worst Mistake"

Автор книги: Lia Riley

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

THE SIGHT OF Quinn’s tears cracked Wilder’s granite heart, sank roots into the barren waste. The growing pains caused an ache but a good one that felt like living. For so long he’d kept himself from feeling anything except for what came easy. Anger, mostly. Or dogged determination. He’d learned to stop fighting others when he started to fight fire instead, reminding himself of the real enemy. Since he’d stopped working he’d turned the fight against himself, beating himself up night after night. But now he finally had a productive direction in which to channel his urges.

He wanted to fight for the woman in front of him. The one wiping her eyes and taking great shallow, sobbing gulps of air.

“You going to tell me what’s going on here, Trouble?” he asked, lifting her chin.

Her eyes were haunted. “There isn’t an easy way to say this.”

“Take all the time you need.”

That set her off on a fresh bout of crying. “Why are you so good to me?”

He caressed her hair, wishing he could feel every nuance of the soft, silky-looking texture. “You make me want to be a better man.”

She took off her glasses, wiping the lenses with her sleeve. “Stupid things, they always fog up. But contacts make my eyes itch. My mother used to force me to wear them in high school. Always said, ‘Quinn, no man wants to look at a four-eyes.’ ”

“Are you shitting me?” His voice went quiet, anger scraping his stomach hollow.

“Let’s just say we aren’t taking our mother-daughter duo act to Vegas or anything. I used to pull straight A’s but all she cared about was how many guys asked to take me to prom. I haven’t even told her about anything that’s going on.”

“Take it easy, Trouble.” He kissed her warm brow, wondering what could have her so rattled. “You’re hyperventilating.”

She braced her hands on her knees and appeared to fight for a deep breath. “I’ve tried to handle everything, but it’s like I’m so jam-packed that leaks are springing everywhere. I hate it.”

“Go on and eat some of that cake. We can talk whatever it is out afterward.”

QUINN OFFERED A prayer of gratitude that he was willing to give her space. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” He left, returning a few minutes later as she licked the frosting from her lips. Chocolate had a funny way of making bad or scary things seem better. Magical stuff indeed.

“What’s all this?” she asked, looking at his laden tray.

He passed her a mug of warm milk. “My mom used to heat me a cup of moo juice whenever I got upset.”

She cupped the ceramic mug between her hands, hoping the heat might loosen some of her body’s tension, and took a tentative sip. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

He held up a book. “The other night, I noticed how you read to your dad, thought maybe you’d like someone to read to you for once?”

She stared at the woman in the Regency dress on the cover, her brain trying to register the image. “Sense and Sensibility? You want to read me Jane Austen?”

He set down the tray on the nightstand and picked up the book with a trace of uncertainty. “It was on my list, and when I went into your shop today after going to Haute Coffee, the woman working there said that you like this author.”

“Jane is life. I love her.”

His chest heaved a little bit. “This is good then?” He sat down on the bed, grabbed the soft throw blanket on the end, and shook it over her lap.

“A cup of warm milk on an almost winter’s day? Cake in bed? A hot guy offering to read me Jane Austen after mind-blowing oral pleasure? I don’t think good can hold a candle to what’s inside me.”

He opened the book and flipped through the soft, creamy paper, a shy smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He paused, but not for long. “Chapter One.”

For the next hour he read in a low, methodical voice about the two sisters, Marianne and Elinor, and their life in Sussex and Devonshire.

Finally, he closed it and placed it on her nightstand. “We can do more in a bit.”

A chill licked up her spine as the pleasantries of the eighteenth century receded. Reality could only be held at bay for so long. “You want to know what’s going on with me, don’t you?”

The silence between them grew taut, vibrating as if someone plucked an invisible string. “If you care to make it my business, maybe I can help in some way.”

She shifted the dirty dishes to the night table and twisted her hair into a quick, messy braid. Her stomach muscles clenched as an unseen weight settled on her shoulders. “You know how my dad is sick?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

She nodded. “Exactly. Well, it looks like his mother might have had the same thing. I can’t say for certain before that, but one of my great-grandparents must have too, and so on.” She was afraid to squeeze her eyes shut but the idea of looking at him scared her half to death. “Do you see what I’m saying?”

He blinked. “Not quite.”

“This disease is genetic,” she whispered. “Early-onset Alzheimer’s disease runs in families. There is a fifty-fifty chance of a child getting it from an affected parent.”

He made an indecipherable noise. “So you’re saying you might have it?”

“I took a blood test today that’s going to tell me which way the chips are going to fall. I had to know. I really thought for a while I wouldn’t want to, that whatever will be will be and all that, but that’s not me. I needed to have certainty, one way or another.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “When will you get the results?”

“In a few weeks. If I’m negative that’s the end of the story. My kids won’t carry it either. I’m my dad’s only child so no other siblings would be at risk. If I am positive then . . . I’m twenty-five now, maybe I’ll have another twenty-five good years to go before things unravel. And that’s something, right? There are people who have a lot less than that.”

She dug her fists into her eyes as tears prickled. “I’m sorry. I’m trying my best to look on the bright side and everything, but the truth is I’m scared out of my mind.”

He put his arm around her shoulders, cradling her close. “You don’t have to do this walk alone.”

“Don’t you see? I can’t share this journey with anyone. If it goes bad, it’s better if I’m the only one affected.”

He looked a little sick. “Quinn, I—”

“Please.” She laced her fingers with his. “If this doesn’t go in my favor, please, promise me one thing.”

“Anything.” His words held a quiet intensity. This wasn’t a man who made promises lightly.

“That you’ll leave me alone.”

He froze. “I can’t do that.”

“I’m serious,” she persisted, suddenly too hot, too cold, too everything. “This isn’t a pity party. I’m being entirely selfish. I’d rather have a memory of these few sweet stolen moments. One truly happy time. How many people get this lucky? Please, don’t make me beg. It’s what I want.” She hoped the lie sounded convincing.

“I promise.”

At least more convincing than his.

But she pretended to believe him, at least for now. “Thank you.”

There was the sound of wheels disturbing the gravel in the driveway, and then a loud motorcycle engine cutting off. Quinn wrinkled her brow as someone knocked on the door. “I haven’t had hardly any visitors since moving in, and now twice in one day.”

She got up from bed, aware Wilder followed behind. She sensed she hurt him by extracting that promise but he was only just starting to get his life on track and she wouldn’t ask for it to be destabilized because of her.

She opened the door and her heart dropped a good few inches. “Garret, what on earth are you doing here?”

“Surprise, surprise, pretty lady.” He grinned, stepping in uninvited and raising a six-pack. His cocky smile slipped at the sight of Wilder lurking behind her.

“Kane? Got to say I didn’t expect to see you.”

“King.” Wilder spit the word like a curse.

A mixture of feelings coursed over Garret’s Ken-doll features. Everything from annoyance to anger to fear. He was a big guy, but Wilder still had an advantage.

“You two know each other, right?” Quinn asked with forced cheer. She didn’t want to become an unofficial ref in an amateur boxing match.

Garret tried to recover his easygoing attitude. “We went to school together, didn’t we, buddy?”

Wilder said nothing.

“Graduated same year, at least I did. Not sure about this lug.” Garret looked friendly enough but his words held a prodding note.

“Oh. Okay.” It didn’t take extra-honed Spidey senses to tell these two weren’t the best of friends. They stared at each other with a subtle snarl to their gaze.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Quinn wavered, unsure whether to move to the couches or remain standing. It was one thing to annoy her at work or around town. It was a whole other thing to show up unannounced on her front doorstep.

“What can I say, I like to amaze the ladies.” He took advantage of her indecision and sprawled into her love seat. “Hey, grab a seat, man,” he said to Wilder, gesturing to a chair across the room as if he had every right to be here. “Be good to catch up.”

“Thanks, I’ll stand.”

“Bummer about the leg, huh? I heard about that shit in Montana.” Before Wilder or she could say more, he’d barreled on. “Oh, and I hung with your brother’s woman today. Kooky Carson’s kid, Annie. She grew up to be pretty thing, didn’t she? She’s doing a story for the paper on the fires, wanted an interview.”

“The fires?” Wilder echoed, soft but with an edge of menace.

Quinn glimpsed the other Wilder, the dangerously unpredictable one who made his brothers skittish, even as adults. The Wilder with a feral edge.

“Yeah, there’ve been a few lately. I and the volunteer force are on top of it. You’ll see it in the Sunday paper. Big hero profile.” He rubbed his chest in satisfaction.

“That’s really something,” she said, picking up his six-pack and handing it over. “Um. Thanks for stopping by but I’ve got some jobs to do.”

“Oh. Sure. So what time can I pick you up tomorrow?”

Her brow knit. “For what?”

“Dinner.” His smile was so wide he exposed a bunch of gum. “You promised me a date at The Dirty Shame.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Wilder stiffen. “No, sorry, I did no such thing.”

Wilder made a warning rumble in the back of his throat. “Sounds like she’s pretty damn clear, Garret.”

“Hey, hey, no need to get your panties in a bunch. We’re just kidding around, Kane. Quinn and I are friends. Good friends.” He gave her a wink and finally she’d had enough.

In her old job she tried to ignore it when her employer made lewd innuendos, little jokes. Figured she’d treat him like a child. If she gave him no reaction, he’d stop.

But he didn’t and that’s how she lost her job. One night he went too far, had too much cocaine washed down with champagne and decided that the best revenge for fighting with his wife was screwing his assistant. Whether she liked it or not was of little consequence. He was big but out of his mind, and Quinn fought him off. When his wife walked in, she thought that the woman would leap to her defense. But instead she called her a “home-wrecking whore.”

Before Quinn could open her mouth to quit she was fired.

All her life her mom had told her to pluck her eyebrows, wear push up bras, and “smile pretty.” She had even tried to for a while. Even when her job required her to babysit a grown man who threw a fit over the kind of bottled water served in the green room or because the media questioned him about whether or not he got Botox treatments.

Screw nice. She didn’t want to smile.

“You and I don’t have a date planned.” She folded her arms. “And you’re not welcome here in my home.”

Wilder moved to the door and opened it. “Guess some things never change, do they, buddy? You still have a hard time knowing when to back off.”

Garret finally lost his easy grin, rising to his feet. “You know what? Fuck this,” he snapped, taking his time to look Quinn up and down. “You think you’re a hot piece of ass but your shit stinks same as everyone else’s.”

“Say another word to her and your tongue will be in the front yard.” Wilder’s face didn’t betray a single emotion and that made him utterly terrifying.

“Or what?” Apparently Garret didn’t value self-preservation. “You going to clobber me with your peg leg.” He turned to Quinn with a sneer. “Gimps do it for you? Please tell me he takes it off and you ride it like a fucked-up dildo—”

Wilder’s punch came hard, fast, and unexpected, like a striking snake. All she registered was a flash, a wet smack, and then Garret’s face was bleeding. Looked like his lip had split open.

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“If you’re not out the door in three seconds,” Wilder said acidly, “you’ll lose the tongue and be writing postcards to your front teeth.”

“What the fuck, man?” Garret backed up.

“One . . .” Wilder held up a finger.

Garret eyed the door as if calculating how much time he had to scram if he left a parting shot. “Everyone was right—you are a fucking lunatic.”

Wilder stepped forward, closing the distance. “Two . . .”

“I’m out. Watch your back, Kane.”

“Three . . .”

Garret was down the front steps, jogging toward his motorcycle. Wilder slammed the door as the engine revved to life.

Quinn took his hand and squeezed it. “You didn’t need to punch him for me.”

“Sometimes a man needs hitting.”

“Maybe that’s true, but I could tell that doing it bothered you.” She rubbed the inside of his palm with her thumb.

“It’s who I am, Quinn.” He was unable to keep the disgust from his voice. “At least who I used to be, and people never really change, do they?”

“I think we grow as time goes on. We get more life experience. Maybe we never lose the core of ourselves, but I think that we don’t stay the same either.”

He pulled her close and leaned in as if to nuzzle her hair before averting his face. “I’m sorry you saw this part of me. I’m . . . not proud of that part.”

She gripped his strong arms, holding him steady. “You used to get into a lot of fights. It sounds like you were angry.”

Wilder shrugged.

“Why?”

He shrugged again.

“You can tell me anything. Seriously. I doubt it’s more shocking than anything I disclosed today.”

Wilder wavered, and for a moment she felt positive he’d open up about whatever it was that was burning inside him. Then he set his mouth and the guy who’d read her Jane Austen, made a cake, and gone down on her until she was dizzy vanished behind a stony wall.

“You aren’t alone.” She brushed her lips over the edge of his clenched jaw. “I know we just met, but I care about you, and your family cares about you.”

He stiffened. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“He got to you, didn’t he? Oh no, Wilder—”

“You’re quick to see the good in people, at least the good in me. And I’m not going to lie . . . I like it. But you’re a good girl. That truth is plain on your face from a mile away, and me? I’ve done bad things. Things that would make you lock that front door, lock me out.”

“Calm down, nothing you say is going to scare me off.”

“Why not? You should be frightened.” He raised his voice.

“Knock it off.” She gave his chest a push. He didn’t budge, but his expression did change to one of surprise. “This big act you are pulling?” She was really heating up. “It’s worked for you in the past, hasn’t it? You yell, make your face get all mean . . . yeah . . . just like that. Ooh, I like how your nostrils flare, an excellent touch. You put on a show and everyone ducks for cover, don’t they?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Well, guess what, that behavior isn’t going to fly with me. You go on and on about the darkness, as if you’re the only one who’s ever had something go wrong. Here’s a news flash. Everyone hurts. Everyone deals with life junk. So do us both a favor and cut the badass con. You’re a man. But it’s not your physical strength that impresses me. It’s not that tough-as-nails attitude you throw around. It’s your gentleness. The kindness that brought you over here in the first place with a paper bag full of cake mix, rainbow sprinkles, and Jane Austen.”

He opened his mouth and closed it.

“You don’t scare me, Wilder Kane. Waiting to learn if I can expect to develop early-onset Alzheimer’s? That’s the sort of thing that gives me the bad kind of goose bumps. But leave your bulldog behavior on the front porch before you ever think of coming to visit my house again, got it?”

Her chest heaved. Lack of sleep, a hot bath, an impending sugar crash, post-orgasm fatigue, and good old-fashioned annoyance had shaken loose her tongue. In short, unadorned sentences she stated exactly what had transpired during the last year, how the blood draw went today, and what she could expect to learn in the next few weeks.

Wilder’s face was like a mirror to her words, it started out agitated, angry, turned to shock, and finally a mounting horror as comprehension sank in. He slouched over and rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry for starting crap with King. Garret and I have history.”

“That much was crystal clear.”

He looked at her then, his gaze oddly intense. “No use crying over baked beans.”

“That’s the weird saying of my dad’s.”

“What about you, have you ever used it?”

She shook her head, puzzled. “I’m twenty-five, not exactly ready to settle in with the folksy sayings.”

“That same day I had a big fight with King, I had a blowout with Grandma and considered running away from Brightwater, from her and my brothers. Figured they’d do better without me. All I ever seemed to do was cause problems and it had gotten old. I didn’t have my license yet, figured I’d start walking, thumb a ride, and head to a new place. I’d decided on Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?”

His mouth crooked. “Rising from the ashes and all that.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t end up in Hollywood, put that flair for the dramatic to good use.”

“There was a reason I stayed. A little girl kicked some sense into me.”

“Wait.” A glimmer came back to her, faint but growing stronger by the second. A horse stall. A big boy who’d been crying. “Wait a second.” She pressed a hand to her mouth.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “That was you, wasn’t it? The kid with the cotton candy.”

Chapter Thirteen

WILDER’S PHONE BUZZED. He didn’t answer. This was important.

Quinn stood up and came over, sitting beside him. “You? You were that boy in the stable during the fair?”

“Yeah, I was—” His phone rang again. “Sorry, I don’t know why but my family is harassing me. They’re the only ones with this number. Hang on a second.”

He clicked answer and Edie was talking before he could say “I’m busy.”

“Wilder. Thank goodness you picked up. There was a fire at the bakery and—”

“Wait. Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t there. I’m halfway home and just got the call. Archer is going to pick me up because I’m too upset to drive, then we’re going to go back and see what happened. Apparently they caught it before it could do too much damage but . . .” She broke off, sniffling.

Wilder’s jaw set. If someone had done something to purposefully harm this sweet, well-meaning woman he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. “What can I do to help?”

“It’s Grandma Kane. We can’t have her up at the house by herself. Sawyer is on duty and Annie is in San Francisco. Can you please go to Hidden Rock and stay with her?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m on it.”

“Oh thank you.” She acted like he’d just bestowed her with a bag of leprechaun gold.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll leave now.”

Within a few minutes, he was starting up his truck, still surprised Quinn had managed to talk her way into the passenger seat. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He didn’t know if having her up at Hidden Rock was a good idea or a terrible one, but a small part of him was relieved he wouldn’t be in the old house alone with Grandma.

He turned onto Main Street and fire trucks were lined up in front of Haute Coffee, lights flashing and hoses spread along the sidewalk. Sawyer’s sheriff’s SUV was there too. From the front it didn’t look like the damage was extensive, but time would tell. He hoped for Edie’s sake they’d gotten there in time.

Quinn pressed a hand to her mouth. “That’s so sad. Edie has clearly thrown her heart and soul into that shop. The building is old though. Must have been some sort of faulty wiring problem.”

Unease prickled along the base of his spine. He had a feeling, and even though he wasn’t a firefighter anymore, it was hard to ignore the instinct that something was wrong, especially when that instinct had saved his life not a few times.

“You don’t think it was an accident, do you?” Quinn swiveled in her seat, turning to regard the scene with a furrowed brow.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“There’s an awful lot that you communicate with that face of yours.” She reached back and stroked his cheek. “And I can’t believe you were the boy from the fair. I’ve thought of you, you know. How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. It was right around when I turned ten. You were really going to run away from home?”

He bit down on the inside of his lower lip, hard enough to taste a coppery tang. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He turned and their gazes locked. Time hadn’t dulled the memory of those soft, observant brown eyes. He was surprised he didn’t recognize her the moment they met.

He’d done it this time.

Blood bloomed down the front of his shirt and the thick, metallic taste in the back of his throat made him gag. He spat in the hay and knocked his head against the stall. Yeah. He’d really gone and fucking done it this time. Grandma had made it crystal clear that if he got into another fight he’d be packed off to military school. His cousin, Kit, never shut up about enlisting, but that wasn’t Wilder’s path.

The problem was he didn’t know anything about his path.

“Stupid.” He punched the stall. It hurt but not bad enough. He punched again and again until his knuckles split, bleeding just like his nose.

“Stop that!”

He froze at the high-pitched voice. A kid stood watching him. A girl clutching a stick of cotton candy and wearing round glasses that magnified her eyes and made her look like a baby owl. Her hair was braided into two long pigtails.

“Get out of here,” he snapped. Last thing he wanted was to have some kid playing twenty questions.

“What happened?” Her nose crinkled as she took in all the blood. “You need a Band-Aid or something?”

Yeah, I need something all right. “Don’t think they make Band-Aids big enough to suit me, kid.”

“What hurts the most?” She sat on a hay bale and crossed her legs.

“Everything is pretty damn equal.”

“Were you kicked by one of the horses? Daddy always said that if I’m around horses to never stand behind their—”

“I wasn’t kicked by a horse. Got into a fight.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “People beat you up?”

He glared through a puffy eye. “Bet they look worse. I think I broke Garret King’s arm. Why are you bothering me anyway?”

“Daddy is working.” She shrugged. “He’s an electrician and they needed his help over at the bandstand so he gave me five bucks and said not to get into trouble.”

“Then best clear out of here because that’s all I am.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“Garret and his friends were picking on someone who couldn’t defend herself. Doris Higsby’s daughter.”

“Lola? She’s my cousin, has Down syndrome.”

“Yeah. Well. She can’t help it and those guys were being assholes.”

“So you punched them.” She crammed a big bite of cotton candy into her mouth.

“I might look shitty but I promise they look worse. But now I’m fucked. Sorry, kid.”

“You can say fuck, I don’t mind.”

“Your daddy lets you swear.”

“No way. But I’m not the one saying bad words. You are.”

“Look, I’m not in the mood to play Mary Poppins. Take what’s left of that cotton candy and run along. Go barf on the Tilt-a-Whirl or something.”

She giggled. “You’re gross.”

“I’m a lot of things.”

“And you’ve been crying.”

“Have not.”

She glanced at the ceiling. “Doesn’t look like it’s been raining in here.”

He gouged at his eyes with two fists. “Jesus. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. You might knock my teeth out.”

“I’d never hit a girl.”

“Why not tell your grandma what happened? She’ll understand. People can’t be mean to Lola. It’s against the rules.”

“You are acting like my grandma is a reasonable person. And hell, maybe she is, but not where I’m concerned. Fuck it, I’m not going to sit around and wait for her to ship me off. I’ve got fifty bucks in my wallet. I’ll get out of here tonight. Hitchhike.”

“And go where?”

“Who cares? Any place is better than here. I could wash dishes under the table in San Francisco. Or pick fruit at a farm near the coast. Or maybe go to the Rockies. Idaho. Montana. Be a lumberjack.”

“Or say sorry.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“Ain’t isn’t a word, and yeah it is.”

“I mess up. It’s what I do.” He clenched his jaw. “What I’ve always done.”

She swallowed her next bite of cotton candy. “My dad says it’s no use crying over baked beans.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Does too. Why cry over baked beans? It’s silly. There’s no point. And there’s no point sitting in here talking about running away. You did nothing wrong.”

“That’s not how my grandma will see it. She hates me.”

“Here.” She stuck out the cotton candy cone. “Take some.”

“I don’t want your candy. Don’t even know where your grubby fingers have been.”

She thrust her shoulders back. “I wash my hands and they haven’t been anywhere bad. Go on. You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t feel like arguing with the little brat so he grabbed some fluffy spun sugar. “Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a bossy little thing.”

“I’m the tallest girl in my class. And the number one reader,” she said proudly.

Wilder stuffed the candy into his mouth. The sweetness masked the bitter copper flavor of blood.

“See. Look. You feel better already.”

“Bizzy? Bizzy Bee, you in here?” a man called out.

The girl’s eyes widened. “That’s my daddy. I have to go.”

She jumped up and turned to go. Before she left the stall, she paused. “Whatever your grandma says, I’m glad you hit those bad boys.”

Then she was gone.

CREAK. CREAK. CREAK. Grandma Kane rocked next to the fire. Quinn turned the page of the Ranching Life magazine she was skimming. “Hey, listen to this,” she said to the quiet room. “Did you know cows produce more milk if they listen to soothing music? Scientists did a study and apparently R.E.M.’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ caused the most lactation.”

“Sounds like a bunch of cockamamie, if you ask me,” Grandma muttered.

Wilder didn’t say a word.

Tough crowd.

Time for plan B.

“Who’d like a cup of tea?” Quinn asked, rising to her feet. “Mrs. Kane?” Calling her Grandma felt way too familiar. “Want some Egyptian licorice?”

The older woman peered over the top of her turquoise bifocals. “Egyptian licor-what?”

“Or plain black? Simple? Classic?”

That received a brief, pursed-mouth nod. Quinn gave Wilder the “help me out a little” eye. He knew she was doing it, so he looked everywhere but in her direction. Darn him.

“Boy,” Grandma snapped. “Will you kindly acknowledge your girlfriend before she gives me a turn with all that nervous twitching?”

Her throwaway use of the word girlfriend did a better job of snagging Wilder’s attention. He jerked out of whatever gloomy stupor he’d been trapped in.

“We’re just friends,” Quinn said quickly. Yeah, he was a real good friend to her girl parts.

“Just friends?” Grandma snorted, catching her blush. “Hah. I might be over eighty with a busted hip and be able to remember when Roosevelt was president, but that doesn’t mean I lost my marbles. I have friends, missy, but none that know what I look like out of my drawers.”

Quinn had a sudden terrible image of Grandma Kane in a pair of drawers, white ones with pink flouncy ruffles on the butt. The idea made a titter well up in her throat, no, worse, a giggle, wait, crap, a guffaw. Yeah, a full-scale guffaw was imminent and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She tried to turn it into a sneeze and that just made everything ten times worse. The escaping noise was a mash-up between a wheeze, snort, hiccup, and chortle. The entire thesaurus could have a field day trying to describe the sound that stress, uncertainty, sex, and the glare of a dowager rancher could pull from her body.

“Is this one all right in the head?” Grandma Kane asked Wilder, speaking out of the side of her mouth.

“The same as anyone,” Wilder responded, adding, “And for the record, when you talk like that, everyone can still hear you.”

Grandma’s gaze was frostier than the White Witch of Narnia’s.

“Wasn’t sure if you were aware.” Wilder shrugged. “When I was a kid you used to do it to cashiers in the checkout aisle, talk about their moles or the fact that you were going to be covered in moss if they moved any slower.”

That sent Quinn off on a fresh round. She grabbed her water glass off the coffee table and took a swig. Maybe that would help.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, bending over and bracing her knees.

“Here I thought Annie Carson was the kooky one but you might take the cake,” Grandma said, shaking her head.

“Guess we all have our moments.” Quinn wiped her eyes.

“I’ll make the tea.” Wilder rose and went straight to the kitchen without waiting for anyone to tell him no. He was using his cane less and less.

The fire crackled in the hearth, otherwise silence reigned supreme. Strange, seeing as this was an old house. No creaks.

“You have a lovely home,” Quinn said at last.

“Don’t get any big ideas,” Grandma barked. “It’s going to Archer and Edie.”

“Excuse me?” Quinn bristled.

“You’re a Higsby, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Everyone knows a Higsby is the worst kind of fool. You’re the one who works in the bookstore, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You come in every Wednesday with the other Chicklits, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Go to the mantel.” Grandma pointed to a thick leather-bound book on the end.

Quinn rose and trudged over. What a shrew. No wonder Wilder didn’t like spending time with his family. She glanced at the title. “Brightwater: Small Town, Big Dreams?”

“That right there is the town history,” Grandma Kane said. “You like to read? You should give it a try. The pages are riddled with the exploits of Higsbys, half-baked ideas, inventions. Did you know your great-aunt Helen tried to sell a baby mop?”

Quinn wasn’t sure if she should be amused or horrified, so she settled somewhere in between. “Excuse me?”