Here Comes Trouble (12 page)

He could get into this whole domestic routine if
it meant he had Stella to keep him entertained.
"Need some help?"

66Ouch." Stella bumped her head as she pulled
it out of the dryer. Why'd he have to come sneaking up on her? "No. It'll be awhile, yet."

Quin took a step closer and filled up all the
breathing space in her suddenly too small laundry
room. It had always seemed big enough before.
But now with him lurking so near, she could lean
her head forward and brush her face against his
chest, she realized the room was far too small.

Maybe she should have it enlarged, she thought,
seizing onto any thought that would keep her mind
off Quin and how it would feel to have his arms
around her again.

"Are you hurt? Let me check your head," he said before doing what she'd really hoped he
wouldn't do. He touched her.

It was a gentle probing with his fingertips
against her tender scalp, yet she felt it burn all the
way to her toes. Not because she was in pain, but
because it was Quin who touched her.

He lifted her and she could tell by the stern
expression on his face that his ribs must still be
very sore. She'd weighed in that morning and the
scale had registered one hundred twenty-eight
pounds, so she knew she was no light weight, yet
he didn't struggle at all. He placed her atop the
washing machine, then parted her hair to take a
look at where she'd bumped her head.

"It's fine, really." Pulling back, she tried to
shrug away from him, but he didn't back away.
He came nearer instead, cupping her chin in his
palm.

"Stella," he whispered. "I'd like to kiss you
again, but I don't want to if it's something you
don't want."

The wisest course of action, she knew, would
be to say a simple "no." It was what he expected
her to say. But how could she say no with his dark
eyes looking so intently into hers? When she could
feel the heat of his fingers on her face?

It would be dumb to say yes. But what harm
could one little kiss do?

Besides, her vocal chords were frozen, as was her ability to ever tell him no, regardless of how
often she told him she would. Or how often she
told herself she could. It was only a tiny word,
after all.

She must have done something right because
within seconds his lips covered hers. His kiss was
like hot chocolate on an icy day. A rush of warmth
traveled down her throat, into her stomach, and
then out all her nerve endings.

It was really strange to think her childhood best
friend could do such delicious things to her senses.

Her fingers closed over the leather strap he wore
around his neck, only to reveal an acorn. A warm,
mushy feeling nudged its way into her midsection.
After all these years, he wore the acorn she'd made
for him.

Who would ever have thought it?

He hadn't forgotten her or the promises they'd
made to each other as children. They'd both done
a lot of growing up, but his wearing the acorn
necklace proved there was still much of the boy
she'd worshiped dwelling within the man in her
arms.

A ray of sunshine traveled through her heartthen a warning seemed to sound inside her.

She almost pulled away, then realized that
whether Quin remained in town or not, whether
he'd make her fall in love with him and then disappear for another ten years or for life, she couldn't live with herself if she didn't have his
kisses tonight to remember for always.

She hadn't wanted to admit, even to herself, that
she'd always been in love with him. Some part of
her must have hoped that one day Quin would
come home to her. It had made breaking up with
Dexter so very easy. She'd been settling then for
second best and deep inside, she'd known it.

She'd waited for some other man to make her
feel what Quin drew out in her automatically. It
had never happened.

It was right that his, and only his, kiss could
make her forget that her heart would be broken
come morning, because her heart fluttered for
Quin and only Quin.

What was it about Stella that was unforgettable,
Quin wondered? A man could lose himself in a
woman like her. Desire to grant her wishes and
hopes and dreams could make him forget his own
goals and desires.

He was supposed to be careful and remember
there were rapids ahead. The only problem was
that he liked rapids and they had nothing over
Stella.

He didn't want to be careful when it came to
Stella. All he wanted was to win one of her smiles,
earn one of her giggles, and steal another kiss.

Man, he had it bad.

Quin gazed into her eyes and somehow, it made
her feel shy. As she responded by ducking her
head, she heard another noise, something remarkably like the sound of tin foil hitting linoleum. Tin
foil?

Stella froze in place, listening for more, and
Quin turned his head toward the kitchen as well.
All at once it hit her. Tramp. "My pies!"

With a speed that might have qualified her for
the Olympics, Stella threw herself off the washing
machine and dashed into the kitchen. Quin followed.

There, on the floor in front of her, lay three
empty pie pans, and the contents of the fourth was quickly gobbled up by an extremely happy, and
extremely replete, hellhound.

"Bad dog," said Stella as she made shooing motions at the animal. She felt sick inside.

Quin didn't say anything. He merely headed
back into the laundry room. She heard the sound
of the dryer opening and knew he was getting
dressed.

She didn't know whether to whimper, sob, or
feel relieved. Spending time with Quin was dangerous to her peace of mind, but what she hadn't
realized was he could make her forget common
sense.

Perhaps Tramp had done the best thing in his
hunger, or possibly jealousy, since he always
seemed to act up when she and Quin were too
busy with each other to pay attention to him. Unfortunately, his consumption of her pies meant a
whole lot of work for her, since they were due at
the fair in the morning.

The clock above the range showed it was after
midnight already, and now she had at least a couple of hours of work ahead of her to remake the
destroyed pies. Fortunately, she had enough premade dough in the freezer, but this would mean
thawing it in warm water. She'd have to slice more
apples since she'd used up the ones she'd already
cut when making the first dozen pies.

Quin came back into the kitchen, fully dressed, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and ready for action. Clapping his hands together, he said, "I've
got a great idea. How's about we bake us some
pies?"

"Good plan. How are you at slicing apples?"

Feigning a French accent, and a really bad one
at that, he said, "Et eez moi speciality. Am not I
zee famous Chef Gregorie?"

Stella tossed him an apple. "Get busy."

She was really lucky that if she had to fall head
over heels for a guy, it was a wonderful man like
Quin. What a good sport he was. He seemed to
know how upset she was without her having to
say a word. Even as kids, he'd been able to sense
her inner turmoil.

As he deftly cored, then sliced an apple, his
gaze met hers and she felt as if a zillion Christmas
bulbs lit up inside her. Why did he have to be an
adventurer? Why couldn't he want what she did,
a place to settle down and raise a family and to
discover what life and love could offer?

She wouldn't think of that now, she told herself,
placing the frozen dough in the warm water she'd
run in the sink.

After he left there would be plenty of time for
regrets. While he remained in Littlemouth, she'd
focus on the here and now and not what was to
come. It was the only way to enjoy what little time she had with him. Who knew when, if ever, he'd
come home to her again?

By the time Stella slipped the four new pies into
the oven and set the timer, the clock read onethirty. The remaining pies were placed far back on
the counter out of Tramp's reach. Quin stood at
the sink, washing his hands. The kitchen was filled
with the aroma of apples and cinnamon and
Stella's frazzled nerves.

She kept shooting nervous glimpses at him out
of the corner of her eye and he was curious what
she'd finally say or do. He could let her off the
stick by going home, but he was hoping she'd less
up to whatever was eating at her.

A smile hovered at the corner of his mouth, but
he couldn't seem to wipe it away. She was so
adorable standing by the stove, alternately wiping
her hands on her clothing or rubbing at an imaginary spot on the counter with a crumpled paper
towel. And the looks she kept shooting him, curiosity mixed with embarrassment.

Then she cocked her head at him and said with
a trembling voice, "Quin? If you don't kiss me
again, I don't know what I'll do. I think maybe
explode."

He couldn't bear to disappoint her. "Can you
hold off long enough to sit in front of the fire?"

She nodded.

After closing the kitchen door so Tramp
couldn't escape, he led Stella into the living room,
helping her take a seat on the floor in front of the
hearth. He tossed another log on the fire, fighting
a nagging doubt about whether he should leave.

As they snuggled in front of the fire, he brushed
his lips against hers. He'd kissed a lot of women
in his checkered past, but a kiss had never before
felt quite so fulfilling.

Stella was excitement, amusement, and everything good all rolled into one bundle of delicious
woman. Tucking her head beneath his chin, the
tension in his body relaxed for the first time in
many months.

The moon shone brightly in the predawn hours,
lighting up the dew on Stella's shrubbery. A figure
dressed all in black sidled through the shrubbery,
then peered through a window. A lizard on a
nearby bush, frightened by the movement, quickly
darted away.

Four more figures in black noiselessly joined the
first at the window.

"So sweet. Sleeping like children on the floor."
Miss Tipplemouse sighed, obviously overcome by
sentiment.

"See? I told you Quin was here," added Cait
triumphantly.

Debby looked concerned. "The fire's gone out.
Do you think Quin is warm enough?"

Janice laughed, but didn't say anything. There
was no need.

"It appears our plan is working." Prissy Goody
nodded, pleased with their efforts. "Your rescue
idea certainly appears to have done the trick, Cait."

"All it took was a dear little five-year-old."

They all laughed because Ian, while dear, generally was not described so fondly.

The women crept from the window as soundlessly as they'd arrived, then walked to the front
of the house.

There, they were met-with a glaring flashlight
in their faces. Deputy Sheriff Brendan McCade
said, "Hold it right there."

"Is that you, Brendan?" asked Cait.

"Yes, Ma'am." By that point, he recognized the
Troublemakers and only curiosity kept him shining the light at them. "How are you, this morning?"

"Fine, Sheriff. Just fine."

"Mind if I ask what you were up to?"

"Just taking an early morning stroll," replied
Prissy.

"Through Stella's shrubbery?"

"I'll say," piped up Miss Tipplemouse.

Brendan's lips trembled as he fought to keep
from laughing. The women were always up to something-usually no good, but nothing actually
illegal. He was sure if he asked Stella about it,
she'd tell him that her mother and friends always
trampled through her yard every predawn.

Although he was tempted to take them in "for
questioning," just to tease them a little, he thought
better of it because the fair was due to open in
only a few hours. He'd be in hot water if it didn't
open as scheduled. Being wise in the ways of Littlemouth, he signaled that they could go. "It's dark
out, so you ladies need to be careful."

Janice switched on a flashlight and said with a
husky drawl, "Oh, Sheriff, we're always careful."