Here Comes Trouble (16 page)

Quin shrugged. It wasn't so awful being an adventurer, knowing the next day could bring a new wonder, a new adventure. It wasn't a bad life at
all.

It would have been fun, though, to share it with
someone he loved. Someone he found more exciting than any place he'd ever visited, more aweinspiring than any shining star.

Stella had an absolutely horrid week. Other than
leaving her house to attend school, she lived life
like a prisoner. Quin called so frequently, she'd
taken to leaving the phone off the hook. She barricaded herself in the house behind deadbolt locks.
Although she'd allowed her mother in to check on
her when her worry became evident, otherwise she
hadn't let anyone else in the house.

She wanted to be left alone. To suffer in private.
To figure out where and how she was supposed to
go from here.

The last thing she wanted to do was see Quin.
It was great that Brendan had so easily been able
to run him off. Great. Really. She was glad Quin
was gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Truly.

It was time to stop trying to fool herself. She
felt as though one of her limbs had been loped off.

Tramp suffered as badly as she did. He layed
by the front door and whimpered for Quin. She'd
been tempted to join him and do the same. Somehow the two of them managed to bond with each
other and derive comfort from their shared loss.

Tonight, Stella couldn't face going upstairs to
her lonely bedroom, so she'd bundled up her pillows and a quilt to camp out on the living room
sofa. Tramp sat on the floor beneath her feet, with
sad brown eyes fixed on the front door.

"Face it, pup. We've been abandoned."

Tramp lifted his head, listening. Unexpectedly,
he leaped to his feet and ran through the kitchen
to the back door. Upon reaching it, he leaned his
head back and howled, sending quivers down
Stella's spine because he sounded exactly like a
lonely wolf.

"What is it, boy?"

Tramp scratched at the door. Stepping into her
house slippers and then donning her bathrobe,
Stella hurried to join the dog. When she flipped
the switch, the back yard flooded with light. Immediately before her eyes, caught in mid-climb on
the rope ladder, was the abandoner in question.
What was he doing here this late at night?

Some part of her, the part she tried to tamp
down out of sight, was thrilled Brendan hadn't
managed to run Quin off after all.

Once the light came on, Quin froze a moment
and then descended the ladder. He looked good,
almost too good, wearing his trademark leather
bomber jacket and tight jeans. When she opened
the back door, both she and Tramp went out to
discover what had brought him.

The night was starlit and unseasonably warm,
with the barest hint of a breeze stirring the leaves
on the oak tree. Stella's vision adjusted to the dark
as Quin stalked toward her. She took a step back,
then forced courage through her limbs and a smile
on her face. "Hi."

"Before you call Brendan on me again, I think
I should warn you I came to say goodbye."

"You're leaving? So soon?" Her lungs felt as
though all the air had been squeezed from her.

"I expect to fly out of here tomorrow afternoon
at latest."

"So you'll miss the reunion."

"Looks that way."

How did he have the ability, standing at least
fifteen feet away from her, to make her palms
damp, her heart pound, and her stomach plummet?
Balling her hands so tightly her nails bit into the
tender skin, she forced herself not to run into his
arms.

Tramp sat at his feet, lifting one paw, begging
Quin for attention, and she was determined not to
be so desperate for his affections.

He was really leaving. Without her. Turning
away so he couldn't see, she brushed back a tear.
His leaving would hurt that much more if he knew
how she felt.

Why couldn't he get it? Why couldn't he understand she needed him to love her enough to risk everything? "What's out there for you, Quin, that
you haven't found yet?" she asked him softly.

"I expect I'll know it when I find it." He
shrugged and thought about how beautiful Stella
was, draped in moonlight with her hair tangled by
the breeze. She stood near the light and he could
make out a crinkle on her face where she'd been
lying on it, probably sound asleep. "I didn't mean
to wake you."

"You didn't." She exhaled a drawn-out sigh and
he ached with the need to capture it between his
lips.

There was no point in it, though. Her answer
had been clear when she'd turned away after he'd
asked her to come with him. "I'd better be going."

"Wait. What's in your pocket?"

He felt a little sheepish as he pulled out a small
glass salt shaker. "I'd planned a little slug hunting."

Stella smiled, but didn't say anything.

"Well, so long," he said as he headed toward
the gate.

She grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving. She asked, "Are you coming back? Ever?"

"Sure," he said, not meaning it at all. "I'll be
seeing you around." Shaking off her arm, he left.

Stella was left standing there, she and Tramp,
tears falling freely now. She hadn't believed a word he'd said. Quin wasn't ever coming home to
her again.

A sharp pain seized her chest, making it nearly
impossible to breathe, like she'd been caught up
in a vice. She couldn't believe she was just letting
him walk away from her.

Quin had proven that he loved her by inviting
her to come along with him. Why had it taken his
leaving for her to realize that?

Minutes flew past and then she realized he
hadn't left at all. Or if he had, he'd turned back
around. He stood silently by the gate as if waiting
for her to invite him in.

Could she? Should she? If they talked it out,
could she bring him to see her side of things? If
that failed, at least she'd have a few extra moments
of his time. "Come in with us, Quin."

Nodding, he followed Tramp and her into the
house and settled himself at the kitchen table.

"I'll make some tea," she said, then scurried
about nervously putting the kettle on to boil. She
didn't much think he liked the stuff, but he hadn't
demurred. If he'd declined, she'd probably have
asked him to go hunt slugs with her again. Anything to keep him here a little longer.

Placing a bowl of freshly baked cookies on the
table, she then plunked herself down across from
him and blushed, remembering how she'd bla tantly seated herself so close beside him the last
time he'd sat in that chair.

He reached out and stroked the back of her hand
lightly with his fingertip. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too. I know I should have called
you back before now, but I needed time to-" The
kettle whistled.

She jumped as if she'd been burnt by hot coals.
But it wasn't the kettle that startled her. It was the
way she'd reflexively responded to his touch. "I'll
get our tea."

"If you think you've been saved by the bell,"
Quin said with a shadow of a smile on his face,
"you can think again."

"I know." After quickly filling mugs with
steaming water, she popped a tea bag in each, then
brought them back to the table.

Dunking her tea bag up and down in the water,
she kept her gaze directed away from Quin. She
couldn't meet his eyes when she said what she
simply had to say before he left her life forever.
"I love my life here. I love teaching school. I love
this house. I love the continuity of a small community where I've known my neighbors forever
and they me. But Quin-"

She looked up and was swept away in his gaze.
Love, laughter, and longing, everything she ever
thought she needed from a man was all to be found right there in the way he looked at her. "But Quin,
I also love you."

He abruptly stood, his chair back slapping
against the wainscoting behind him. Then he began pacing like a caged panther again and she
wanted to reach out to him, pull him to her bosom
to comfort him. She didn't know how.

So she stood and pulled his hand into hers. "It
wouldn't be fair for me to lock you away where
you don't belong, any more than it would be fair
for me to abandon the life I worked so hard to
create for myself-where I belong. Can't you see
that? Either way, the cost for each of us would be
too great."

Silence filled the room, not even the sound of
his gentle breathing reached her ears.

Dropping his hand, she again took her seat at
the table, and lowered her head into her palms.
"That's what I couldn't say when you asked me
to go with you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, Stell," he replied, running a
hand through her hair in a gesture of understanding.

When she finally raised her head, she looked
around to find he was gone. She wondered if he'd
ever really been there at all.

ccThis emergency meeting of TROUBLE is
called to order," said Cait Boswell early the next
morning. She steadily met the gaze of each woman
seated in her tidy living room, with the exception
of Prissy who'd buried herself in a handkerchief.
Loud sniffles and sobs could be heard coming
from her, not the least muffled by the bit of lace
in her hands.

Cait continued, "We need to discuss our matchmaking plan to make Stella Quin's bride."

"More like bride-less, if you ask me," muttered
Janice dryly. "We've fouled up somewhere, ladies."

Prissy moaned shrilly. "My daughter refuses to
leave her house except to go to work and return. She won't even-sob-work in her garden anymore."

"Enough dramatics, Priss," replied Cait. "Be
quiet and maybe we can figure a way out of this
mess."

Debby took a swig of her smoothie, then shook
her head. "Can't make him love her, you know."

"But he does," was Miss Tipplemouse's calm
reply. "He simply hasn't sorted it out yet."

"What makes you so certain?" asked Prissy.

"Believe me, if any young man had looked at
me the way Quinlan looks at Stella, I wouldn't be
single right now." Miss Tipplemouse sighed volubly.

"I suppose it's possible," said Debby with a
wrinkled brow. "He reminds me so much of his
father. He always was a stubborn and slow man.
I had to nearly hit him over the head to get him
to propose."

"So what should we do?" asked Prissy, wiping
the tears from her eyes.

"I propose we tell him," Cait smiled a wicked
smile, "the truth."

Each of the other women abandoned their chairs
and stood in unison. "The truth?!"

Prissy's forehead wrinkled. "But if we tell them
we engineered everything, won't they be, clunk
me over the head if I'm wrong, furious?"

Janice snorted. "Of course they will."

"I didn't say we'd tell them everything," Cait
replied. "Just the truth. Some of it."

"Don't think of it that way," Quin said into the
phone receiver. "Think of it as gaining the best
editor you ever had."

As he hung up from the call to his boss, another
caller beeped in.

"Quinlan," said his mother in a breathless voice.
"The bike has broken down again. I'm at Cait's.
Pick me up?"

"I've got one stop to make on the way, but I
should be there within half an hour," he replied.
Disconnecting the call, he then went in search of
his shoes and ultimately found them in the family
room cauldron. He didn't even take the time to
wonder how, or why, they were in there before he
placed them on his feet and headed out.

Stepping from the shower, Stella took one look
at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, and
dashed right back into the tub. No amount of water
was going to wash away the bags beneath her
eyes. She and Tramp had been up all night.

Around four in the morning, she'd reached a
conclusion. Whether Quin loved her equally well
or not, she loved him enough for both of them.

With the right mind set, she was certain she
could learn to enjoy traveling. To like living out of a suitcase. There were many benefits to traveling, like museums, and castles, and jungles, and
well, lots of things. Like hairy spiders, mosquitos,
wild animals, and poisonous snakes. Not to mention bandits, criminals, and drug lords. But they
weren't important because, most importantly of
all, she'd be with Quin.

There was no way she was going to let him set
foot outside Littlemouth without her by his side.
Even if she had to grovel. Groveling would probably be good for her.

All she had to do was leave the shower, get
dressed, grab the suitcase she'd packed that morning and head over to his house.

Leaving the shower was the problem.

Her face looked like she hadn't slept, which was
true. She hadn't. He'd probably take one look at
her and change his mind. Darn, darn, double darn.
She had to do it and do it fast. No telling when
he'd depart for Wichita and his flight back east.

Forcing herself to emerge from the tub, she kept
her eyes on the floor to avoid her image in the
mirror and made a dash for her bedroom. She
could be dressed and at his house within half an
hour.