Kathryn Springer - A Place to Call Home

Charmed, Abby set the laundry basket down and dropped to her knees. “Aren’t you a little sweetheart? What’s your name?”

“Abby, Lady. Lady, Abby.” Quinn sauntered over, pushing the hammer into the leather tool belt that rode low on his narrow hips. He’d swapped the khaki pants he’d been wearing that morning for a pair of well-worn jeans. “We’re roommates, so I had to bring her along.”

Which meant that other than Lady, Quinn lived alone. For some reason Abby’s heart—totally on its own accord—lifted and performed a brief pirouette at the thought.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Abby sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. “I wasn’t thinking anything. But now that you mention it, Lady is…”

“She’s what?” Quinn’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d heard it before.

Not the type of dog Abby would have pictured riding shotgun in Quinn’s pickup.

“Beautiful.” Abby smiled as the spaniel tried to squirm into her lap. “Mulligan will love having company. If you ask him, I think he’d tell you that I’m pretty boring.”

Not with that smile.

Quinn slapped the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

Apparently his former life wasn’t as ingrained as he’d thought. Because he’d broken one of the cardinal rules of the trade. Don’t get personally involved with a client.

You tried that once, remember? Look where it got you.

Frustration surged through him. Because nothing, beginning with his first glimpse of Abby Porter, had gone the way he’d expected.

First, he got another earful from Faye when he’d stopped by the office on his way through town. Even though the appointment book had a lot of white space, she’d been suspicious from the moment Quinn had informed her that he would be temporarily filling in for Daniel Redstone. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Faye scolded him often enough about his tendency to micromanage the business, so his sudden decision to turn O’Halloran Security over to his part-time employees for two weeks had been out of character. The promise of a new air conditioner had finally appeased her, and he’d managed to escape.

Conscious of the time, Quinn had driven home, tossed some of his possessions into the back of the truck and boosted an ecstatic Lady into the passenger seat.

On the way back to the lodge, Alex had called him. Twice, because Quinn had ignored the phone the first time. He wanted to know why Quinn wasn’t with Abby. He wanted to know how work on the inn was progressing. And he wanted Quinn to give him updates—daily updates—on how his sister seemed to be handling the stress.

The last request had given Quinn the opportunity to educate Alex on the difference between providing personal security and spying. Porter hadn’t been happy with the lesson but Quinn knew he had to draw the line somewhere. Plus, Alex’s attitude toward Abby had rubbed Quinn the wrong way. It was true she didn’t seem like the type to take on a project as large as renovating an old former Bible camp but something in the determined set of Abby’s chin made Quinn wonder if she wasn’t up to the challenge.

Quinn had been tempted to tell Porter that, too, except he didn’t know how to say it without sounding as if he were getting emotionally involved. And because he didn’t do emotionally involved anymore, he’d simply cut the conversation short and decided he’d be screening his calls from now on.

There’d been no sign of Abby when he parked the truck in the driveway, but he’d heard her singing along with the music filtering through the open windows. Relief had poured through him. If Abby was inside, it meant that he could be outside. And Quinn welcomed the chance to clear his head.

It had worked. Up until the moment he spotted Abby walking across the yard, a laundry basket anchored against one hip. The sight of her felt like another kick to his solar plexus.

If possible, she looked even prettier than she had that morning.

Quinn tried not to notice the way the sunlight picked out the gold and platinum highlights in her hair. Or how the bright pink apron, fashioned to look like a slice of watermelon, accentuated her slender waist and the gentle curve of her hips.

“Have you had Lady since she was a puppy?” Abby asked, unaware that her smile scraped like sandpaper against Quinn’s already frayed nerves.

“I inherited her.”

“Inherited her?”

“My dad passed away last year. Lady belonged to him.”

Quinn didn’t bother to add that the dog had been another innocent victim of his father’s neglect. The day before the funeral, Quinn had followed a rusty chain anchored around the post of the deck to a box made of scrap wood underneath an oak tree in the backyard. He knelt down to look inside and was stunned to see a pair of bright but wary eyes staring back at him.

Quinn hadn’t known his father even owned a dog but it didn’t surprise him a bit that he hadn’t taken care of it. Mike O’Halloran’s legacy was one of abuse and neglect. He’d let his family splinter apart, his house practically fall down around his ears and his locksmith business slide to the verge of bankruptcy.

While Quinn debated whether he should try and lure the dog out or simply call animal control, Lady had taken charge of the situation. She’d sidled up to him, her coat matted and dirty, and politely lifted a paw for him to shake.

Quinn had picked her up, taken her into the house and fed her. Then he gave her a bath. That night, Lady staked a claim near his feet when he went to bed.

She’d been there ever since.

“I’m sorry about your father.” Abby rose to her feet and laid her hand on Quinn’s arm. It took all his self-control not to jerk away from her touch. “My parents died when I was fourteen. They were flying home from a convention in a friend’s twin-engine plane. There was some sort of mechanical failure…” Her voice trailed off, the memory—and the pain—as fresh in her eyes as if it had happened only the week before.

“You mentioned a brother. Alex. Do you have other siblings?” Quinn thrust his hands in his pockets, jostling her hand from his arm.

A heartbeat of silence preceded her answer. “No. Just Alex. He’s eight years older than I am. He was finishing his last semester of college but he came home and took over the…I mean—” Abby caught herself. “He kept things going.”

Took over, Quinn thought wryly, was probably a more accurate description. Still, he couldn’t imagine the kind of pressure Alex Porter had faced after the death of their parents. Not only had he stepped into his father’s shoes as CEO of Porter Hotels, he’d become an instant guardian to a much younger sibling. It went a long way in explaining why he was so protective of Abby.

Their eyes met and she backpedaled, almost tripping over the laundry basket in the process. “I’ll put these sheets and towels inside the cabin for you.”

Quinn released a sigh as the two dogs bounded after her. When he followed a few minutes later, he found Abby in the kitchen, eyeing the meager bag of groceries he’d dumped in the middle of the kitchen table.

“You brought…food.”

“I don’t expect you to provide my meals.”

Abby’s teeth tucked into her lower lip, a habit that Quinn had noticed seemed to coincide with her desire to say something she wasn’t sure she should. The trait must have slipped through the cracks of the Porter DNA. Alex had no trouble saying what was on his mind.

“I know, but…” She picked up a can of ravioli and it looked to Quinn as if she shuddered. “It’s silly to cook for myself when I can easily make enough for two.”

Sharing meals with Abby. Quinn stifled a groan. Granted, it meant more time in her company but it also meant…more time in her company.