In Too Deep. Sharon Mignerey
Lynx Point, he figured his brain cells were still mostly intact. He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out they were on their way to Lily’s sister’s house. There were only a couple of places out this direction, and the nursery was at the end of the road.
On the drive to her aunt’s house, Annmarie maintained a running monologue, informing Quinn how impressed she was with his car, which was green like hers only much nicer and with lots of dials and stuff, pointing out the turnoff to the house where she and her mom were going to live only couldn’t right now because the house had no walls yet, and relating how her kitten tormented the dog.
He’d seen the house the last time he had been kayaking, the straight lines of new lumber standing out from the surrounding forest.
They came around a final bend and the road ended at a gate with a hand-painted sign above it that read Comin’ Up Rosie. Quinn had ridden his mountain bike out here a couple of times, but he’d never been through the gate, which framed a traditional Tlingit totem in the middle of the yard. Beyond the house was a gorgeous yacht anchored next to a pristine dock.
As Lily parked the car, a woman clad in jeans and a dark green apron came out of the greenhouse. She was followed by the ugliest dog he had ever seen.
“Do you have a totem pole in your yard?” Annmarie asked him.
“Nope.”
“In California, we didn’t have one, either.” Annmarie sat up straighter and waved. “That’s my aunt Rosie,” she informed him. “She’s going to have a baby real soon. Did you know that?”
“No.” Or maybe he did—something about her having morning sickness. She showed no sign of an advanced pregnancy despite her niece’s assertion.
The instant that Lily shut off the ignition, Annmarie scrambled over her and bounced out of the car. She skipped across the yard and threw herself into her aunt’s arms.
“Guess what happened? Mommy’s car was in a crash and Mr. Quinn, he got stitches from Hilda, and Thad and me, we found lots of stuff in the tide pools.”
Quinn’s impression was that anyone could tell Rosie, Lily and Annmarie were related. Rosie was taller than Lily, but not by much. All three had blond hair and dark eyes. Even without the similarities in their coloring, the family resemblance would have stood out.
“What’s all this?” Rosie removed her work gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of the canvas apron.
When Quinn walked toward them, the dog sniffed his hand, then ambled toward the wide porch that wrapped around the house.
Lily briefly related what had happened with the accident. At the end, she glanced toward Quinn and introduced him.
“I think we met once last spring when you moved your lab to the new place.” Rosie shook his hand. “You probably want to go sit down somewhere.”
“Yeah.” He remembered how surprised he had been when about forty people showed up to help him move. A job that he had anticipated would take a week had taken, instead, hours. It was his first experience with the neighbor-helping-neighbor support commonplace in Lynx Point. Given the independent nature of the people who lived here, their generosity and support had been a surprise and had proven to be an integral part of the character of these people.
“You might as well stay for supper,” Rosie said.
“Actually, he’s staying a bit longer than that,” Lily said, taking him by the arm and steering him toward the house. “He has a concussion and needs somebody to keep an eye on him tonight.”
“He’s spending the night?” Rosie’s eyebrows rose and she gave Quinn an even more thorough look.
Hilda’s comment about strays struck home. He was done with being the odd man out, the stray, the one nobody really wanted. God, but he was tired.
“Lily was driving—”
“Which put me in the driver’s seat.” She led him up the steps to the porch. “So, yes. He’s staying.”
“I never agreed to that.” He stepped around the dog, who was sprawled in front of the door.
Somehow he found himself led into the house. Lily came to a halt, then gave him a long, considering glance. “You’re not as tall as my brother-in-law, but I bet he has something you can wear. The blood on your shirt—”
“Isn’t that bad. I’m fine.” Quinn didn’t tell her that he’d made a point of never wearing anyone’s else’s clothes since he’d gone off to college when he was eighteen. By then he’d had more than enough of hand-me-downs.
Annmarie came from somewhere in the house, carrying an apparently boneless calico cat in her arms that she held up for his inspection. “This is Sweetie Pie. Would you like to hold her? She purrs and everything.”
“Maybe later.”
“This way,” Lily said, urging him toward a doorway. Through a short hallway, he found himself in a comfortable-looking living room. As with the kitchen, the walls were a cheery yellow. The sofa and chairs were large enough to accommodate a man of his size. Lily pointed toward one of the blue-upholstered chairs in front of a large television. “That one is a recliner.”
“You’re going to let me sleep?” When she looked up to meet his gaze, he grinned. “I still haven’t agreed to stay.”
To his surprise, she handed him his car keys. “If you feel well enough to drive, go.”
No one had ever called his bluff as neatly. He gave her back the keys. “Maybe after a nap.”
“I’ll get you a glass of water so you can take the Tylenol that Hilda gave you.” She went back to the kitchen, and a second later he heard the sound of running water.
A poster-size photograph over the mantel caught his gaze—a family gathering. He wanted to look away, hating the feeling that always wound through his chest with the whole family thing. Other people took pictures like that for granted. Easy if you had a family…and he didn’t.
This photograph chronicled a wedding, he realized a second later. Right away he recognized Lily and Annmarie wearing traditional Norwegian dress. Rosie stood next to a tall man in a tux and another woman looking much like Rosie and Lily stood next to another tall man, this one in a full dress uniform. Annmarie hadn’t changed much, so he figured the photograph had to be a recent one.
The other picture that snagged his attention was one of Lily with a man and a baby—clearly one of those portraits that had been taken to commemorate the beginning of a family. The man and Lily cradled the baby, but their eyes were on one another. Their expressions made Quinn feel as though he was peeping through a window at something too private to be shared. Lily’s husband…. No matter what kind of signals she had given Quinn this afternoon, no man could compete with this dead husband she obviously adored. Him least of all.
He fished the bottle of pills out of his pocket and sat down. The chair was as comfortable as it looked. He had just lifted the footrest when Lily returned. She waited for him to take the pills, then covered him with a knitted blanket. The novelty of it all had him searching her gaze and snagging her hand when she would have stepped away.
“Hilda was right, you know.” When she raised an eyebrow, he added, “About checking for rabies.”
“If you were some stray, she might be right, but you’re not.” She pulled her fingers from within his and brushed his hair away from his forehead, lightly skirting the bandage that covered his stitches. “You belong here more than you realize.” Patting his shoulder, she walked away. “Rest.”
Rest? Not likely. He fingered the handmade blanket, his thoughts following the woman. Of all the words he’d wanted to hear his whole life and never had, hers were the ones. You belong here.
Chapter 3
A loud rhythmic rumble made Quinn open his eyes.