Here Comes Trouble (14 page)

"Mary Alice." Ian covered his face with his
hands as a blond-haired pixie hurried toward them. "I told her my name's not In, but she just won't
listen."

"Girl troubles, I see," said Quin.

Ian took one last frightened look over his shoulder, then hightailed it out of there, leaving Quin
stuck with the pie.

Mary Alice arrived at the booth, looking forlorn.
"Where'd he go?"

"I think he went to find his mother," Quin told
her. A wicked thought occurred to him. He knew
exactly how he could get even with Ian. "I think
he likes you because he bought this piece of pie
for you."

The girl grinned in delight. "Thank you."

She accepted the pie, then dashed off in the
same direction as Ian had gone.

Despite its small size, or maybe because of it,
Littlemouth was a friendly town. Old acquaintances, good friends, young and old, all came to
the booth to say howdy, clap him on the back, or
shake his hand. They had a way of making even
a wanderer like Quin feel he'd finally returned
home. Some part of him would always belong to
this town and consider it home, no matter where
life and adventure led him.

It wasn't a bad little place at all.

His heart rate suddenly sped up. Scanning the
crowd milling around the fairgrounds, he searched
for Stella because he knew his heart wouldn't react like that unless she was somewhere around, watching him. Then their gazes locked. She was still
some distance away, but she stared right at him.

Boy, was she a sight for tired eyes. She had to
be the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes
on. She was a natural beauty, not the kind of
beauty based on symmetry of facial features, but
the sort that glowed from an inner sweetness.

Shooting him a bright grin as she approached
the booth, she slipped under the table and joined
him. "I feared you'd absconded with my pies."

"I thought you needed your beauty sleep." He
considered greeting her with a kiss, but she didn't
make any sign she expected it. "I can see the sleep
worked. You look great."

"Thanks. But don't think I'm buying your line
of compliments. You snuck out because you were
afraid to face me. Admit it," she said with a joking
voice that had him wondering if she meant it or
not. Was she aware of how right she was about
him? As she'd been correct all along, he told himself, wondering how she always seemed to know
him better than he knew himself.

"I was afraid you were embarrassed after last
night-you know." She ducked her head so he
couldn't see her eyes.

Quin forgot about the crowds, forgot they
weren't alone, and dragged her into his arms.
"That's the last thing I'd want you to think. Being with you is incredible, so good it scares me. I was
confused."

He gently pulled her chin so she faced him.

"Are you confused now?" she asked.

"Yes, but not about one thing. I love spending
time with you."

"What are you confused about?"

"Whether or not I can bear leaving you."

"Oh." Stella didn't say anything else, but she
dropped her arms and stepped out of his embrace.

"Don't be mad?"

"I'm not mad," she whispered.

Just then, a customer approached the booth and
requested two pieces of pie. As Quin deftly cut the
slices, Stella leaned toward him.

Her nearness did strange and wonderful things
to his heart. Then she said, "If you sell out of pies,
I'll let you go slug hunting with me again. This
time you can do the salt."

All it took was a hint of a reward and it was
amazing how quickly Quin managed to sell out of
pie, including buying the last six full pies himself.

"Nothing like giving a guy an incentive," said
Stella. Hopeful. She felt completely, pie in the sky,
Mary Poppins hopeful. Maybe Quin wouldn't
leave after all?

Right. That was about as likely as the kids at
school begging for more homework. But Quin's
not wanting to leave her was at least something
upon which to build. "I'll make us some sandwiches, if you're hungry?"

"Believe me, when you're around, I always
work up an appetite. I need to find my mom,
though, and give her the money from the booth."

"Why don't you go look for her, then meet me
at home? I'll take your pies with me and you can
pick them up there."

"How about a kiss first, to whet my appetite?"

"I suspect it's whetted enough," she replied, as
she leaned forward to kiss him anyway. She'd
been wanting to do it all morning but hadn't
known how he'd react.

She especially didn't want to appear to be possessive. Public kissing would show the whole
town she'd placed her brand on him. But if he was
amenable, she was more than willing to haul out
the of branding iron.

When he took her in his arms, she placed her
hand on his chest, feeling the staccato beat of his
heart. Their lips came together with far more
sweetness than she'd expected.

Now that she'd thrown caution to the wind, she
might as well enjoy being a total fool. There was
no turning back now.

She loved Quin, wholeheartedly, completely.
Not being with him while he was in Littlemouth
would hurt her, in the long run, far more than if
she wrung out every moment of his attention at
her disposal. Once he was gone, she'd have plenty
of time to deal with her broken heart.

In the meantime, they had magic.

"Psst. He's coming," whispered Janice Smith,
who'd been elected TROUBLE lookout for the duration of the fair. "Places everyone."

"It took him long enough," complained Cait.
Debby sent her a censuring glare and she silenced
her complaints. Each of the ladies quickly took
their seats circling the satin-draped table in the
center of the pyschic's tent.

At the sound of Quin's approaching footsteps,
Janice leaned toward Prissy and said, "Believe me,
I heard it on the best authority."

Prissy feigned a look of surprise, deliberately
overacting for all she was worth. "My daughter
would never do topsecret experiments-not even
for the government."

"Well," opined Cait. "I daresay you wouldn't
be allowed to divulge a word if it were true. Plus,
her job at the high school would make a good
cover, if one cared to do secret experiments."

"I'll say," said Irma. Then, as she'd carefully
been coached, she added, her voice only wavering
a bit since a man could overhear her, "Have you
been in her toolshed? All those shelves full of hazardous chemicals."

"Who would need such things for gardenin-"
Cait cut off her words and gave a dramatic shake
of her head. "Why, Quinlan, we expected to see
you much sooner."

"I thought I was fast," he said. "What are you
talking about?"

"We were just discussing the likelihood of there
being a spy in our midst," said Janice.

"Yes, we've heard there are some experiments
taking place in Littlemouth," added Cait. "You
don't know anything about it, do you?"

Janice piped in, "Maybe you're home in order
to track down a spy?"

"I'd love a hot story, but I'm here on vacation,
not to track down agents. What does it have to do
with Stella, anyway?"

"Absolutely nothing," Prissy answered quicklyperhaps too quickly. They all seemed to clam up
at once.

He searched their faces but they were pros at
schooling their expressions. "If you hear anything
else, let me know."

"Oh, we don't have any facts," Janice said.

"Just supposition," said Cait. "No use telling a
reporter anything but facts ... But Stella is a rather
interesting young woman, don't you think?"

"She's fascinating." Quin came further into the
tent, feeling as if he'd had a gallon of water poured
over his head. They'd been gossiping about his
Stella. The woman of his dreams. The one who
was a high school teacher, loved to sew, and
helped build tree houses. Now he was supposed to
believe she was some secret government scientist?

No way. Although-it might explain why she'd
been so upset when Tramp dug up her seedlings.
He didn't know what to believe.

"We sold all the pies." Handing the strongbox
to his mother, he tore off his apron and wadded it
into a ball. "I need to head out now."

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked
his mother.

"Stella asked me to help her out, eh, with some
slugs."

His mother arched one brow and he had a feeling his excuses were sounding weaker and weaker.

"She also promised to make me a sandwich."

They gave him a knowing look.

His mother shooed him away. "Run along, dear.
We appreciate your help with the booth."

Quin didn't have quite the urgency to get to
Stella's place he'd had only moments earlier, before hearing the latest gossip about her. He'd think
it was outrageous gossip if Stella's own mother
hadn't been part of the discussion. Maybe he
should place a few discrete calls to one of the
Washington correspondents? They might know
what project she could be working on. However,
if it was top secret, that might blow her cover entirely, and he wasn't willing to do that.

Stella appeared to be happy in Littlemouth.
She'd grown up here and it seemed clear it's
where she planned to live out her life. If whatever she might be doing for the government was important, would she have to stop if it became common knowledge? Or worse yet, would she be
forced to relocate?

No matter how much his reporter's nose
twitched to find out the facts, he couldn't do that
to her. He dismissed the dark thought that rose in
his mind that if she was forced to leave Littlemouth, perhaps she could join him in his travels.

Besides, the women were probably mistaken.
Yet-there was one sure way to find out. Truth
could be uncovered in other ways. He'd need only
the most elementary of his skills: stealth and
hands-on snooping. He'd scope out her toolshed.

Stella made short work of preparing lunch for
Quin. She covered the table in a cheerful red and
white checkered tablecloth and set an especially
lush African violet plant in the center.

Just as she laid cloth napkins on the table, she
heard a loud noise outside. Dashing to the back
door, she looked out but didn't see anything.
Tramp was being good for once and resting beneath the kitchen table, although his ears were
alert and his excuse for a tail wagged like a metronome.

Just then, she heard another crash, sending a
bolt of fear down her spine. Grabbing the portable phone and the baseball bat she kept beside the
backdoor, she called Tramp.

The dog ran past her in a streak, down the stairs
and directly to the toolshed. But rather than growling as Stella expected from what she'd hoped
would be a fine watchdog, Tramp jumped on the
shed door with his front two paws, yipping happily.

"Quin?" It had to be him. "Is that you?"

Hearing no reply, she approached the shed and
pounded on the door with the tip of her bat. "I've
got a phone and I'm calling 911 now. If it's not
you, Quin, then whoever it is had better stay inside
because I'm armed."

"It's me, Stell," came the reply. At last, the shed
door opened a crack to reveal the idiot wearing a
sheepish grin. With a sense of impatience, she remembered the bathrobe incident of the day before,
and wondered how often she'd have to speak to
him through partially opened doors.

"What are you doing in there? And what was
that racket?"

Quin swung the door open the rest of the way
and bent to give Tramp a reassuring pat. "Um,
well, I was curious. I've always wanted to look in
your shed."

"For heaven's sake, Quin. Why?"

"I'm a reporter." He shrugged. "I love to
snoop?"

That wasn't a very good explanation and he
knew it because he had a guilty expression on his
face.

"Did you break anything?" she asked, trying to
peek past him to survey the damage.

"I don't think so." Quin stepped back and
pointed toward the back corner of the shed. "I was
stooping down and my hip knocked against that
shelf. It toppled."