Here Comes Trouble (11 page)

"I've seen it lots already." Ian laughed, then
threw something at Quin.

The something landed with a splat on Quin's
face. Cold liquid dripped down his face. A water
balloon? "Stop that and let me out of here."

"No way," said Ian, tossing another missile
Quin's way.

Quin dodged it, but Ian hit him with the third
balloon he threw. It hit Quin below the belt, and
water seeped down Quin's legs.

He couldn't believe he was locked in some
basement and having water balloons thrown at
him. It was something out of whacked-out nightmares.

Another balloon made a direct hit on his head.

Quin had enough. With a quick stride, he
reached the window and extended an arm to grab
the boy.

Ian was too fast for him and had evidently practiced his next maneuver. Within seconds, the boy
directed a huge blast of cold water at Quin from
the garden hose, completely drenching him.

Quin retreated toward the steps, hopefully out
of hose rang. "Don't you think your mother will
be upset when she comes home?"

"Maybe." The boy's voice trailed on the word,
as if he was considering things. "Maybe she'll take away dessert for a week. That's what she did the
last time."

"The last time you had a babysitter?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm not a babysitter." Quin fought to
keep his temper in check. "Look, Ian. It's cold and
dark down here. Don't you think you could come
and let me out? That way, your mother might
never find out."

"Since you're not a sitter, maybe she won't be
mad."

"Or maybe she'll be more upset since I'm a
guest?"

"Maybe I won't tell her you're down here."

"I think she'll find out when she hears me
knocking."

"Maybe I'll tell her you're a burglar."

"Ian. Let. Me. Out."

The child blasted another current of water into
the basement, then said, "I'm tired. I'm going to
bed."

"Wait, Ian. Let me out and I'll read you a bed
time story."

Quin listened, but there was no answer. The boy
had wandered off and Quin could only hope that
the child would be okay without adult supervision
because there wasn't much he could do from down
here.

After several attempts yelling for help through the window without any luck, Quin then tried to
read his watch, but there wasn't enough light. Returning to the basement stairs, he took a seat and
prepared to wait for Ian's mother to come home.

He could only hope that word about his being
trapped in a basement and pelted with water balloons wouldn't get out. Considering the Littlemouth grapevine, he figured the likelihood of
keeping it quiet was minuscule. The most he could
likely hope for was not catching pneumonia.

Once Quin and Ian left, Stella had gone right to
work with her pie-baking after starting a cozy fire
in her hearth. As she worked, Tramp behaved like
a gentleman and stayed out of her way.

However, every time any sound could be heard
from outside the house, he was up on his feet and
at the front door with his tail eagerly wagging as
if he expected Quin to return at any second. As if
he believed his master wouldn't leave him here
alone with Stella for long, no way.

"You probably think he's coming back for you."

He twisted his head, as if to say, Of course he's
returning for me. No way would a fabulous master
like Quin leave me behind.

Poor brute. If Stella wasn't careful how she ban died herself around Quin, she'd delude herself into
believing the same notion. He'd left Littlemouth
and her behind ten years before and things weren't
any different now.

She didn't have time to waste with fantasies.
She kept working on the pies.

The next time she checked the clock, three
hours had passed since Quin had left and she'd
just finished baking eight pies. They were cooling
on the kitchen table while four more baked in the
oven. Stella glanced out her kitchen window toward the Andrews' home and was surprised to see
all the lights on in the house.

She picked up the phone and quickly dialed the
number. No answer. Something must be wrong.
Surely Quin wouldn't have played hide and seek
after she'd warned him not to?

Tramp came with her as she dashed out the back
door and she locked him in the yard before heading for the Andrews' house. As she approached,
she heard the sound of the hose running. Her heart
sank. It appeared that Quin had received the same
basement water torture as previous babysitters.

She quickly shut it off, then headed to the back
door and let herself inside. She had no doubt about
what had happened. Like most men, Quin had
problems following directions-he'd played hide
and seek with Ian.

As she headed toward the basement door, she grabbed a couple of clean white towels out of the
laundry room.

"Quin?" she called.

He didn't answer. Her fingers fumbled at the
door lock, but at last she got it to turn. The basement was dark and she quickly switched on the
light. There, in a huddled wet mass, she saw Quin
asleep at the bottom of the stairs.

"Quin."

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then smiled at
her. "You've come to save me!"

"I don't have a white charger, but I've got white
towels." Stella handed them to him as he reached
the doorway.

"How did you know to come?"

"I saw the house all lit up and knew something
had to be wrong."

"Thanks for the towels. It might be spring, but
it's cold in the basement."

Just then, they heard the sound of Terri's car
pulling into the driveway. "Good, she's home.
Come back to my place and I'll make you something warm to drink and toss your clothes in my
dryer."

"Sounds good. Can I watch you make pies too?"

His voice still sounded drowsy with sleep and
she wondered if he'd been dreaming about the
pies. He was making a manly attempt to disguise
the chattering of his teeth. "Whatever you want."

Terri came in and Stella quickly explained what
had happened. They all went to check on Ian, who
looked like an angel as he soundly slept in his bed.

"I don't know what to do with that boy," Terri
said as they walked to the door.

"Can I lock him in the basement and throw water balloons at him?" asked Quin.

"He didn't!"

"He did." Quin grinned.

"Don't tempt me," said Terri with a smile.

"As a favor, I'd appreciate it if his punishment
is something more important to him than dessert."

"You got it. Thanks for not being angry."

"Right now I'm more cold than anything else."

"Come on, Quin," said Stella. "Let's get back
to my place and get you something dry to wear."

They quickly said goodbye, then walked to
Stella's. Tramp greeted them with a happy bark as
they entered the back yard.

When they came through the back door, Stella
said, "Stay right here. Don't move."

"Don't worry. I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

Stella dashed up the stairs and grabbed her bathrobe. It was the only thing in her house that had
any hope of fitting around him. Maybe if she got
him out of his wet clothes and poured some hot
coffee into him, he'd feel better.

She ran back downstairs. "Go to the bathroom, strip, and put this on. I'll stick your clothes in the
dryer."

"Stella ..."

"What?"

"Why are you trying to get me out of my
clothes?"

Stella snickered. "You think I have designs on
your virtue?"

"Don't you?"

"You wish." First pushing the robe in his arms,
she shoved him into the bathroom and closed the
door. "Hand me your wet things and put on that
robe."

A few moments later, the bathroom door opened
a crack. "Can I come out now?"

"Are you decent?"

"I'm always decent."

"Have you put on the robe?"

"It's got flowers on it."

"Quin!"

"Stella, have you noticed there's lace on it? You
can't honestly expect me to ..."

"Put on the darn robe!"

The door opened a little further and Stella threw
her hands over her face to block the view of what
she was certain would be seventy-two inches of
partially clothed man.

"You can put your hands down."

"You're wearing the robe?"

She heard Quin give a long-suffering sigh and
decided to risk it. He'd wrapped the robe carefully
around his body and tied it with a neat bow.

He looked hilarious in her robe, like one of
those old forties movies where the leading man
dressed in women's attire and camped it up. She
bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"If you laugh, I'm taking it off."

Fighting off temptation, she quickly said, "Let's
get you settled by the fire so you can warm up."

She rushed into the living room and threw more
logs on the fire and a couple of pillows in place
for him to lean on. "You'll be more yourself
soon."

After handing her his wet clothing, he turned to
the pillows on the floor in front of the fire. Evidently he had problems following her instructions
to take a seat with his robe wrapped tightly enough
to make it hard for him to bend.

Her eyes widened as he'd lean one way, yank
at a corner of the robe, then stand fully upright
again, only to repeat his motions.

"This isn't a side show, Stell," he groused as he
finally managed to kneel.

She tossed her head, then indicated the bundle
of sopping clothing in her arms. "I'll go put these
in the dryer, then put on some coffee. Make yourself at home."

Quin didn't budge until she'd left the room; then he hunkered down on the pillows. He hadn't
realized he was so modest until he'd noticed her
watching.

Relaxing and allowing the warmth from the
burning logs to soothe him, he inhaled deeply. The
aroma of freshly baked apple pies, mixed with
pungent wood smoke, almost blocked out the fusty
scent of his wet hair.

Stella's home felt comfortable in every sense of
the word. The furniture was just worn enough,
without looking threadbare, that he wouldn't have
to worry about staining it. The furnishings were
designed with comfort in mind, with only a few
knick-knacks lying around and nothing too fru-fru.

The coffee table behind his back was made of
heavy, dark wood and a few magazines had been
scattered on its surface. The sofa behind it was
covered in a heavy plaid fabric. Over the mantle,
Stella had mounted a Monet print depicting flowers. The room contained nothing overly feminine,
but just enough touches of lace to give a gentle
and soothing feel. Romantic, like her.

He heard the sound of the clothes dryer in the
background, then the aroma of coffee blended with
the other scents. Within minutes, Stella came into
the room, bearing a tray with two mugs and a platter of cheese and crackers. She slid the tray onto
the coffee table.

"Why did you play hide and seek with Ian after I told you not to?" she asked, looking at him as if
he were an alien.

Possibly he was to her, at least alien in the sense
of strange and unknown. Although they'd been incredibly close as kids, they'd both gone through a
lot of growing up. Although he doubted the Troublemakers' rumor that Stella was the sensationalist
author, he didn't know her as well as he'd once
thought he did. And yet, there she stood with a
strand of hair in her eyes, looking eerily like the
kid she once was. Yet there was nothing childlike
about her.

It was confusing.

She was confusing.

She'd gotten him so confused, he no longer
knew what he was doing-except he knew he enjoyed her company. Sitting with her in front of the
fire was even better than he'd wished for when
he'd been stuck in the basement. "I told Ian I
wouldn't play, but he dashed into the basement
anyway. I had no choice but to follow him."

"You could have left him down there." She took
a seat on the sofa, as if putting as much distance
between them as possible while maintaining an air
of friendliness.

"In retrospect, I wish I had." Quin patted a pillow beside him. "I want to look at both you and
the fire. Come sit by me."

Stella gulped nervously, but did as he requested. Something about the way she was too careful not
to touch him, even accidently, told him she was
as aware of him as he was of her. He could feel
each breath she drew in almost as if her breath
were his. A fragile pulse beat rapidly on the side
of her neck nearest him. An urge to kiss that pulse
became stronger and stronger.

Stella must have seen something in his face,
however, because she quickly rose and mumbled
something about checking on her pies. Quin took
a couple of gulps of coffee, restoring the feeling
in his fingers which had become numb from the
cold. The returning sensations were almost painfully intense.

When Stella didn't return right away, he became
restless. Deciding to find out what was keeping her
so long, he got up and went into the kitchen. The
room was empty, but he heard her in the laundry
room. As he approached the doorway into the
laundry room, he saw that her head was in the
dryer. He could only hope she was checking on
the clothes and not planning to climb in.