Here Comes Trouble (6 page)

"I'm not dressed to go out."

"You look great. Come on. Please?"

He'd always been able to talk her into anything,
even when common sense told her better. "Let me
change my shirt."

Quin waited outside while she changed. He'd
come expressly to talk her into going to dinner
with him and he was pleased she'd agreed. Ever
since he'd seen her the day before, he hadn't been
able to get her out of his mind.

She didn't seem broken-hearted over the break
up with Dexter, but even if she was, would she
reveal it? Stella had always been the quiet, contemplative type. He suspected she felt things more
deeply than most people, certainly more deeply
than he did.

He had a hard time believing someone as smart
and inquisitive as Stella wanted to live forever in
one place. She had to long for travel and new experiences.

It wasn't that Littlemouth was such a bad place. It was a great small town. But surely she wanted
to explore more of what the world had to offer?

She made him laugh not only at the world but
at himself. It was a unique gift. Quin grinned. So
she thought he was some kind of adventurer in
search of the next lark. She wasn't far wrong, at
least until recently.

He wasn't sure when he'd become dissatisfied,
but it was there, lurking below his consciousness.
He hadn't been concerned over it. His job kept
him too busy for much self-examination.

Now he had this time off, though, it kept swimming closer and closer to the surface. Trust Stella
to acknowledge it before he had.

"Okay," she said as she came outside holding
his leather jacket. "Thanks for lending it to me."

The sight of her stopped his breath. Technically,
he supposed, she wasn't beautiful, but to him she
was the quintessential female. When she smiled,
he wanted to strut like a peacock showing all his
feathers.

The sight of her had always stopped his breath.
She was so pretty in an understated way. She had
the fairest complexion he'd ever seen. Just a few
small freckles scattered over her nose, like saffron
sprinkled on white rice. Her hair was the rich dark
red his mother called auburn, but whenever he saw
cherrywood it always made him think of her.
Whenever he looked into her dark brown eyes, he knew he could trust her with his deepest secrets.
In all his travels, he'd rarely seen eyes like hers.

She looked at him strangely when he didn't
move to take the jacket. "Are you ready?"

Her words triggered all the wrong sorts of fantasies in his head. He was ready to kiss her. He
was ready to feel her pressed into the curve of his
arms. But she'd been the best friend he'd ever had.
It would be stupid to risk what little remained of
that friendship for something fleeting.

He accepted the jacket, then settled for brushing
his lips against her forehead, breathing in her scent
as if she were a flower bud he was afraid of bruising.

When he led her to his car, she walked ahead
of him as if she, too, sensed something had
changed.

The Little Mouth Diner was considered one of
Littlemouth's culinary masterpieces. In addition to
its stockin-trade hamburgers, it also offered such
delicacies as fried chicken patties, fried corndogs,
fried okra, fried corn fritters, fried onion rings,
french fries, fried catfish on Sundays, and, in
honor of the Lion's Club which met in the diner's
back room, on Friday nights they offered fried
popcorn shrimp. It was quite a happening place.

As usual on a Friday night, it was happening for
Irma Tipplemouse and Janice Smith. They feasted
on the dieter's special, consisting of a strange
hodgepodge of food easily identified by a huge
scoop of cottage cheese with a wedge of canned
peach on top. Miss Tipplemouse came on Friday nights to check out the Lion's Club members. Janice considered the diner her best source for fresh
husbands.

"Have you gotten it yet, Irma?" asked Janice as
she ogled a young man serving fries behind the
restaurant counter.

"Not yet. But don't worry; I'll keep my part of
our plan. There's plenty of time."

"I don't know about that."

"Surely Stella isn't what one could consider a
fast girl?"

"She may not be, but I'd lay money on Quinlan
being a very fast boy."

"I suppose you'd know."

Janice tittered. "I should hope so."

"I did try to buy it at the discount store this
afternoon, but Mr. Harvest asked if I was out of
toothpaste." Miss Tipplemouse gave a long,
drawn-out sigh. "I bought three different brands
and I'd just stocked up last month. I'll have to go
back when his wife is working behind the
counter."

"Try the bookstore. We're depending on you."
Abruptly, Janice gasped. "Oh, I was right! Don't
look yet, but guess who just came in?"

Miss Tipplemouse turned anyway, then quickly
straightened. "Stella Goody and Quinlan Gregory.
Well, I'll be. You were smack on the money, Janice."

"Let's just say, I know my young men," Janice
bragged, then waved to the couple who immediately stopped by their table on their way in.

"Evening, ladies," said Quin.

"Nice to see you, Janice, Miss Tipplemouse,"
said Stella in a bright voice.

"How-de-doo," replied Janice.

"I'll say," replied Miss Tipplemouse.

Stella knew tongues would be wagging in the
morning about her and Quin. When she'd seen her
mother's friends, her first impulse had been to turn
and exit the place but Quin had whispered,
"Chicken." His comment hadn't applied to food.

He'd placed the palm of his hand on her back
and shoved her in the door. If she were totally
honest, she had to admit shoved wasn't exactly
what he'd done, but it felt like it. The heat from
his palm had burned all the way through her
sweater, scorching her skin, propelling her into the
restaurant faster than a sophomore shot out of a
classroom at the ringing of the dismissal bell.

After parting from their mothers' friends, Quin
led her to a booth along one wall. She didn't need
to read a menu she knew by heart, but she studied
it anyway. She was finding it increasingly difficult
to keep her eyes off him.

He'd always been a study in contrasts, like a
work of fine art. On the outside, he looked arrogant, proud, and powerful. Yet on the inside, he'd always been warm-hearted and sentimental. Was
that part of him still there? After years on the road,
facing unknown dangers, she expected he'd developed a shell of cynicism.

Could he be essentially the same person she'd
once loved like a brother? If that was the case,
why should his presence so disturb her now? She
was aware of him, almost too aware. His once
puppy large hands now looked rugged and manly.
He never seemed at a loss for words or unable to
charm. The way the pupils of his eyes had dilated
just before he'd kissed her forehead earlier, she'd
wondered if he intended to really kiss her. The
idea alarmed her, yet at the same time made her
stomach lurch in anticipation.

She had to be light-headed from hunger. Or
maybe she was coming down with something.
There was a flu bug going around at the high
school last week.

Stella Goody had never once in her life gone
swooning around, wanting to be kissed, and she
wouldn't start now.

Would she?

"Your stories almost make me want to travel,"
said Stella as they left the Little Mouth Diner.

"I'd love to show you Malta. There's this little
craft shop you'd go nuts in." Quin tucked her hand in his. "Want to walk home? It's too nice a night
to waste. I can pick up my car later."

"Sounds nice." Her house was only three blocks
away and his folks lived on the opposite side of
town, so it wasn't such an odd suggestion. Although the night was a bit on the cool side, a huge
moon hung down from a starlit sky, and Stella
didn't feel the least bit chilled.

Neither of them spoke as they strolled down
Main Street, but it was a comfortable silence.
Companionable.

"Over there," Stella called out. "A shooting
star."

Quin looked up.

In an instant, it was gone from sight. "For all
your travels, I bet you've never seen a finer night
sky than this."

"You've got me there." They turned the corner,
leaving the street lights of Main Street behind. "I
see Orion's Belt."

"Where?"

"See that big star over there?"

Stella couldn't find it. When Quin encircled her
from behind, then pointed out the constellation,
she couldn't concentrate on his directions. She was
too intent on how it felt to have him so close.

There was nothing outwardly sensual about how
he surrounded her. Yet, she responded-the top of
her head seemed to curve into his neck. His shoul ders were naturally wider than hers and served almost like a shield, leaving her breathless and
feeling safe in the security of his arms.

She didn't want to go there. Her reaction to his
nearness was bad enough. Her heart pounded. Her
blood sang. And worst of all, a heavy longing
filled her chest.

How could the friendly touch of a man she'd
known since infancy do this to her?

She stepped out of his arms and began to walk
again. Quin hesitated a moment before catching
up. The silence between them became large and
dissatisfying and she chastised herself for destroying their harmony.

They were back at her house only moments
later. She could invite him in for coffee, but the
idea made her feel awkward. She could tell Quin
goodnight, but she wasn't certain she was ready
for him to leave.

As they walked up the walkway to her front
door, bright moonlight picked out slimy slug trails.

Slugs. She detested them. They destroyed her
plants and seedlings. But they were almost a comfort now because she wouldn't have to end their
evening since she could give him a task. Together,
they had a job to do.

Her garden, with its plants she tended with such
love and care, meant the world to her. A safe se cure world where all things grew and thrived if
given a chance. Whenever she saw those slug
tracks, she felt like a Valkyrie, ready to wage war
to defend her young.

Let the battle begin. "I'll be right back, Quin."

He looked at her peculiarly, but she didn't have
time to worry about it. She had work to do.

Quin waited patiently for her return, perplexed
about what she was up to. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't a bad thing. He liked surprises.

Within minutes she was back from the house
with a salt shaker and a flashlight. She pushed the
flashlight into his hand. "You can man the flashlight," she said. "I'll take the salt."

She started forward, but when he stayed where
he was, she came back to him. "Follow their trails,
Quin."

He had no inkling what she was talking about.
"Whose trail?"

"The slugs. They're going to hurt my garden.
You use the flashlight to follow the trail and I'll
douse the blackguards with salt."

Quin shrugged. He didn't have anything better
to do. Besides, Stella was cute. He'd stalked all
sorts of vermin, but slugs would be a first.

"Keep the light down the length of the walk,"
she ordered. He had to hurry to keep up with her.
Despite the fact that she was on all fours, she was
after those critters at a fast clip.

This slug was a sneaky fellow because he kept
circling back on himself. "I can't seem to find
him."

The night seemed magical as they twisted in and
out of the shrubbery and tromped through her
yard. Occasionally his flashlight picked out brilliant red highlights in Stella's hair. Even in the
dark, there was no missing the excitement shining
in her eyes.

"Keep the light steady," Stella instructed.

Oops. It was hard concentrating on the slugs
when so many other things in the flashlight's beam
were more interesting. Stella, for instance.

Just then, the front porch light on the neighboring house switched on and the door opened. An
elderly woman stepped out. "Stella Goody. Quinlan Gregory." The way she pronounced his name
made it quite clear what she thought of him. "Is
everything all right over there? Is that boy bothering you? He always was up to something."

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Maplethorp. I'm just
on another slug hunt."

"Such nasty creatures. Go get 'em, Stella. If you
need more salt, let me know. I'll be right here if
you need me." The woman went back inside, but
her light remained on.

"She hasn't changed her opinion of me." Quin
laughed. "I believe she thinks I'm a worse threat
than the slugs."

"She's just looking out for me, being neighborly." Stella went back to her task, giving him a
nice view of her landscape. "Here's one! Hold the
light steady while I douse him."

He guessed he had been directing the light to
highlight her assets rather than the slug tracks
again. As he stepped closer, shifting the light to
beam in front of her, it dawned on him. He was
having a wonderful time. It reminded him of when
he'd first started out as a reporter for a small magazine. He'd been thrilled when he and a photographer had been sent to Burma to cover a story
about a man-eating tiger. They'd stayed out too
late, and had been caught in the bush. He'd never
been so relieved as when they'd made it safely
back to camp. The night had been much like this
one.