Judy Christenberry - Patchwork Family

“We didn’t expect you today, Quinn dear,” said Martha Bauer, one of the older members, calling Quinn back from his memories. She patted an empty chair next to her. “Sit down.”

“I’d love to as long as you share your M&M’s,” he teased. Martha had a sweet tooth and he kept her supply of candy well stocked.

Tillie Phelps nodded her head. “We even have cookies today. Bea made a fresh batch this morning.”

Bea Ferguson, at sixty-seven, was one of the younger members. She blushed but nudged a plate toward Quinn.

“Don’t mind if I do, Bea. These look terrific.” And they were. He enjoyed them more than any expensive hors d’oeuvres he’d ever been served.

As he munched, he watched the ladies set tiny stitches in the colorful quilt they were making. Each quilt was either given to charity or sold and the money used to help the community. The women had become legendary both for their incredible artistry and their hearts of gold.

“Where is this one going?” he asked, while he considered how to bring the conversation around to the reason for his visit.

Merry Linton, another newcomer to the group, smoothed a loving hand across the patchwork quilt. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? It’s called Bachelor’s Puzzle.”

He nodded, still tangling with his own puzzle.

Bea answered his question. “That lovely young woman with the new bed-and-breakfast has purchased it.”

He choked on a cookie crumb. Clearing his throat, he asked cautiously, “Do you mean Molly Blake?”

Martha and Tillie exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret, but it put him on his toes. Something was up.

Martha smiled. “Why, yes, dear, have you met Molly? Isn’t she wonderful?”

Quinn frowned. He could agree that Molly was attractive. Wonderful? The distraught, angry woman he’d faced in his office that morning was hard to fit into the simple word wonderful.

Complex, challenging, sexy. He shook his head. No, not sexy—

“You haven’t met her?” Tillie asked, obviously interpreting his shake of head as a no.

“Yes, yes, I have. This morning, in fact. So, you like the idea of a new bed-and-breakfast?”

“Oh, yes,” Emma Finklebaum said with a sigh. “Such a lovely idea. A romantic bed-and-breakfast. And she’s going to plan the decor of each suite around one of our quilts.”

“Ah,” he said, like Sherlock Holmes uncovering a vital clue. “You’re glad because you’ll make money!”

The ladies chuckled. Through the years, they’d expressed amazement at the rising value of their efforts.

“It’s more than that,” Martha said. “She’s a lovely person…and the best mother in the world.”

“Mother?” That subject hadn’t come up in their visit that morning.

“Oh, yes,” Merry agreed. “Her little Sara is a charmer. Molly brings her to visit us sometimes.”

“Sara likes my candy,” Martha added, as if that were a vital piece of information.

Quinn smiled, charmed by Martha’s pride. He wouldn’t tell her that every kid liked candy. He would never do anything to make Martha feel less important than she did.

Tillie, who had remained silent until now, asked, “Why did she come to see you? Is there a problem?”

At her question, all the ladies stopped plying their needles and stared at Quinn.

He held up a hand. “Client confidentiality,” he murmured, then waited quietly for their response. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Ursula!” Bea exclaimed.

“I can’t believe she’s still causing difficulties,” Merry exclaimed.

But, then, sweet Merry never believed the worst of anyone.

Emma leaned even closer. “What’s the problem?”

Quinn carefully phrased his question. “I wondered if any of you had been approached about signing a petition.”

“Of course we have!” Martha exclaimed, adding a snort of derision. “That woman thought we’d want to sink poor Molly’s plans. As if we would!”

“Why does she want to stop the opening of the bed-and-breakfast?” he asked.

Tillie leaned closer. “She says it’s because the business will destroy the peace and quiet of Ivy Lane.”

“But you don’t believe her?”

“Of course not,” Bea, unusually animated, replied. “She thinks Molly stole Christopher from her Lila, don’t you know.”

“As if he were a prize,” Emma added.

Quinn tried to picture Christopher as the answer to a woman’s dream. In particular, Molly’s dream. He’d been trying to do so ever since Molly had left his office.

“And he wasn’t?”

The ladies all looked at one another. Finally Martha responded. “No, Quinn dear, he wasn’t. He was a selfish, egotistical man. A playboy!” She put all her disgust into her last words.

Quinn cleared his throat. “I’m considered to be a playboy, too,” he reminded her.

Martha leaned over to pat his cheek. “But we know better, dear.”

Quinn smiled but shook his head. Maybe that was why he loved these ladies. They saw him through a proud mother’s eyes. Instead of a mother who’d obviously been so unhappy she’d run away and left her three sons—with no word for over twenty-three years.

“Do you think the neighbors will go along with Ursula?” he asked.

All the women proclaimed their hopes that Molly would come out on top.

Emma capped off their remarks with, “Ursula needs to get a life!”

Such a flippant, with-it comment from eighty-year-old Emma brought a smile to Quinn’s face. “I believe you’re right, ladies. And I’ll see what I can do to help things along.”

Amid their praise, he eased himself from the room, promising to visit them again soon.

Heading back to the office, he thought again about what he’d discovered. Ursula Wilson had filed a request to deny the zoning change necessary for Molly’s inn, as he’d suspected. She had another week to supply the city with her petition. It needed one-hundred names. In the morning, he had an appointment with the mayor to discuss the potential problem for Molly Blake.

He thought the situation was a tempest in a teapot, but he wanted to be sure to cover every aspect. The passion in Molly Blake’s voice prodded him to be thorough.

The woman had intrigued him all day. She’d been a mess, of course, in appearance. But an intriguing mess. A woman who took charge of her future. He’d been impressed with her planning, her hard work.

Then he’d discovered she was a mother.

Any interest disappeared with that information. He’d promised himself never to be involved in a child’s life. It was too great a responsibility. One his own mother had abdicated. And he was her son.

MOLLY STARED AT HERSELF in the mirror.

She couldn’t believe the difference a few hours had made. When she’d reached the street, after her interview with Quinn Spencer, she’d seen her reflection in a plate-glass window. She’d already realized her appearance was less than professional.

But the physical evidence of her reflection shook her.

All along she’d planned to update her appearance, knowing it would be an important part of marketing her bed-and-breakfast. But she figured that part of her plan could wait. There was no urgency.

Seeing herself as Mr. Spencer must’ve seen her, however, changed her mind.

The Hair Affair, the beauty salon on the corner, became her immediate destination. Forget the table waiting at home. She had more important business to conduct.

Now she stood before a dressing room mirror, wearing navy wool slacks topped by a cream turtleneck sweater, her hair feathered around her face. The new short style made her feel younger. The manicure gave her a touch of elegance.

She closed her eyes, seeing Quinn Spencer staring at her, respect and awe in his expression. Then she burst out laughing. Talk about fantasy!