Kathryn Springer - A Place to Call Home

Her lips compressed. “I can’t let you stay here, Mr. O’Halloran.”

Or not.

“It’s Quinn.”

“Quinn.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “What if it rains? The roof leaks.”

He could tell she was wavering.

“Clear skies predicted through the weekend. And I’ll replace the shingles on the roof after the new windows are in.”

“The new furniture is on back order. You’d have to sleep on the couch and it’s not very comfortable.”

Tell that to the chipmunks, Quinn thought. They seemed to be pretty comfortable there. “I’ve slept in worse conditions, believe me.”

The indecision on Abby’s face changed to curiosity, and Quinn mentally kicked himself. The less she knew about him the better. Granted, if she wanted to get an earful about the O’Halloran family history, all she had to do was ask some of the old-timers in town. But as far as Quinn knew, no one, not even Faye, knew what had happened while he’d been employed at Hamlin.

He planned to keep it that way. It was difficult enough to erase the stain from the name O’Halloran without bringing up the reason he’d returned to Mirror Lake after a fifteen-year absence.

“Fine.” Abby finally gave in. “I’ll make sure you have fresh linens. When will you be…moving in?”

“Today.”

“Today?” Abby’s arms locked around her stomach in a protective gesture that set off warning bells in Quinn’s head.

“If that’s all right with you,” he added, watching her body language.

Abby’s arms dropped to her sides but her fists remained clenched. “I suppose so.”

On a hunch, Quinn took a few steps back and propped a hip against the antique trestle table in the center of the room. Abby’s shoulders relaxed but the wary look in her eyes lingered.

Was she afraid of him? Or had she gotten skittish because her brother provided daily updates on the person harassing him, in an attempt to convince her to come home? Both possibilities left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth.

“Where did Daniel leave the tools?” Quinn hoped the subtle reminder that he was going to get to work right away would put the light back in her face.

It did. But not as quickly as he’d hoped.

“He didn’t leave anything here. He probably assumed you’d use your own.”

“Right.” Because any self-respecting carpenter would use his own tools.

He’d have to stop in at the hardware store and pick up some new ones. And send Alex Porter the bill.

Abby spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, perfecting a recipe for the baking powder biscuits she planned to use to make strawberry shortcake that evening.

Some people escaped to the gym or a spa when their stress levels went off the charts. Abby escaped to the kitchen. Until she’d become friends with Jessica Benson, who’d joined the staff as a pastry chef at Porter Lakeside the previous winter, she hadn’t looked at herself as anything more than a dabbler in the culinary arts.

Jessica was the one who’d dared her one evening to serve her chocolate mousse crepes with raspberry vanilla sauce to the hotel guests rather than the appreciative wait staff that usually reaped the rewards of Abby’s stressful day.

They’d been such a hit that Jessica had included them on the dessert menu. The next day, she’d asked Abby why she was wasting her talents, doing what was expected of her, rather than being in the kitchen doing what she loved.

Once Abby had gotten over her initial defensiveness, they had become the best of friends. Not only had Jessica encouraged her not to settle on the path of least resistance, she’d been instrumental in bringing Abby to a crossroads where she’d made the most important decision of her life. To surrender her heart to God and follow Him. No matter where He led her.

And Abby was convinced, in spite of her fears and the occasional setback, that He’d led her to Mirror Lake.

She tipped her face toward the ceiling.

Thank You, Lord.

She felt as if she’d been repeating those three simple words over and over, but nothing else seemed to fit. She was thankful.

Don’t hold on to your fears, Jessica had told her the day she’d left. Hold on to God instead.

Sometimes that was easier said than done, but Abby was trying. While Jessica had sent her off with a hug and words of encouragement, Alex had lectured her. Warned her that sharing her home with the guests was a far cry from simply handing them a keycard and leaving them to their own devices. No privacy, he’d told her. Your life won’t be your own.

If Abby hadn’t understood the underlying reason for the warning, she might have been tempted to tell him that her life had never felt like her own anyway. But after she’d turned it over to the Lord, the excitement over what He planned to do with it overrode her fears. Most of the time.

Lost in thought, Abby stared down at the bowl of ingredients, wondering if she’d added the right amount of flour. With a sigh, she dumped it back into the canister and began to measure it out again.

This time, she couldn’t hold Alex responsible for the dozens of biscuits cooling on wire racks around the kitchen. Or the reason she was so distracted today. This time, her new carpenter was to blame.

Quinn O’Halloran.

She’d seen him mask his dismay when he’d walked into the lodge that morning. Not that she could blame him. There was a lot of work left to accomplish.

The to-do list taped to the refrigerator filled one side of a piece of paper and half the other. Daniel’s absence had already put her behind schedule. Which was the reason she’d agreed, against her better judgment, to let Quinn stay in one of the cabins.

As long as the cabins were ready for the grand opening, everything else would work out. Abby had discovered she wasn’t ready to put guests in the main house right away. Years of having her privacy fiercely guarded had seeped into her personality in ways she hadn’t acknowledged until she’d moved out from under the protection of her family’s last name.

The rhythmic tap of a hammer paused for a moment and Abby couldn’t resist peeking out the window. Quinn had left after she’d shown him the rest of the cabins but returned a few hours later and went straight to work. True to his word, he’d started with the cabin windows. Most of the building materials had been delivered before Abby arrived in Mirror Lake and she’d shown Quinn the musty garage where everything was stored.

His progress—and that, she told herself sternly, was what she was checking on—gave her a renewed hope that she would be open for business right on schedule.

Something moved near Quinn’s feet and even from the distance separating them, Abby knew what it was. Mulligan. He’d whined at the door when Quinn’s truck had returned, preferring to nap in the great outdoors at the new carpenter’s feet than with her in the sunlit kitchen.

The traitor.

After removing the last batch of biscuits from the oven, Abby cleaned up the kitchen and then slipped out the back door, where she’d hung a load of sheets and towels on the line.

On warm afternoons, she preferred to put the sun to work instead of the industrial-sized dryer in the utility room. The Porter Hotels’ housekeeping staff would have shaken their heads at the extra work but Abby found pleasure in doing things the old-fashioned way.

As she approached the cabin where Quinn was working, two dogs streaked toward her. Mulligan barked several times, as if introducing her to the lively, buff-colored cocker spaniel that bounced at his side as if it had springs in its paws.

Abby braced herself for impact but the dog pulled up short at the last second and sat down, lifting one dainty paw for her to shake.