The Mighty Quinns: Devin (12 page)

Elodie gave him a quick kiss. “That's great.”

“What did you do today? Besides think about me?”

She hesitated. “Actually, I was doing some research into your family,” she said, her expression suddenly turning serious.

A stab of fear sliced through him at the sudden shift in her mood. “What?” he asked, turning her gaze back to his.

“How much do you know about them? Your mother's family and your father?”

Her question took him by surprise. “Not much, as I said earlier. My mother didn't have an easy childhood, and her parents died when she was young. She never talks about my father, and I don't blame her since he ran out on both of us.” He paused. “I guess it really never made a difference to me.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Does it make a difference to you?”

“No,” she said. “Well, not exactly. But there are some facts that you're missing. Kind of a good-news, bad-news thing.” She winced. “What do you want first? The good or the bad?”

“How about neither,” Dev suggested. “I really don't care about the past.”

“But this is important to you now,” she said. “So do you want to know how my grandfather swindled your grandfather out of millions? Or would you like to hear about how you might just be entitled to a million-dollar inheritance?”

“What are you talking about?” Dev asked. He sat up and crossed his legs in front of him, pulling the covers over them so they didn't get cold.

“I went to the newspaper office to do some research on my project.”

“Your top-secret project,” he said.

She smiled. “Yes. And while I was there, Violet gave me a big file of clippings about my family. She told me about a dispute between my grandfather and yours. His name was Lochlan Quinn and he invented this device to increase the efficiency of the looms at the mill. It ended up being quite important, worth millions.”

“My grandfather was named Quinn? My mother's father?”

Elodie nodded. “Lochlan. He was from Ireland. Very smart man. As the story goes, he left it to my grandfather to file the patent and my grandfather basically took all the profits for the invention from your grandfather. And now, your family officially has a reason to hate all the Winchesters.”

Dev pulled her back down onto the bed and brought her body against his. Slowly, he ran his hands from her shoulders to the base of her spine. “Does this really make any difference?”

“You don't care that my family cheated your family out of millions?”

“Were you in on the scheme?” he asked.

“It happened before we were born,” she replied.

“Then, no. I don't care.”

Dev watched tears flood her eyes and he frowned. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I thought you'd hate me. I thought you'd be angry.” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “You are the most decent man I've ever known.”

“Sweetheart, it's going to take a lot more than your greedy relatives to make me hate you.”

“What would it take?” she asked.

“I can't think of anything.”

She nodded, relieved. “I'm glad,” she said. “All right, now for the good news.” Elodie crawled out of bed and crossed the room to her dresser, then returned with a small padded envelope. She pulled out a plastic tube and held it out to him.

Dev swallowed hard. What the hell was this? “Are you trying to tell me that you're pregnant?” he asked.

Elodie gasped and snatched back the tube. “No! I said I have that covered.”

“Sure, but birth control doesn't always work and—”

“What if I was pregnant?” she asked. “What would you do? What would you say?” Elodie paused, then reached out and covered his mouth with her hand. “Never mind. We shouldn't speculate about such a thing. I'm not pregnant.”

“So what is that?” he mumbled through her fingers.

“It's a DNA test.”

“I'm confused,” he said.

“Your grandfather Lochlan Quinn may be the brother of Aileen Quinn. She's a very famous Irish author who has been searching for the descendants of her four brothers. She was separated from them as an infant and now she wants to track them down and give their descendants some of her millions. If the DNA test proves that you're an heir and that your Lochlan is her Lochlan, you'll be entitled to an inheritance of about a million dollars.”

“You're kidding, right? What's the punchline?”

Elodie shook her head. “Not kidding. This is real and there's a very good chance you're one of them.”

Dev raked his hand through his hair as he stared at the DNA test. “What are the chances?”

“You won't know until you send this in,” she said, waving the tube at him.

“She's just giving away money?”

Elodie nodded.

“All right, then I'm in.” He grabbed her hand. “You're sure this isn't some kind of scam to steal my identity?”

“No,” she said. “And there's one more thing. If you're related to Aileen Quinn, your mother is, as well, and she gets her share of the inheritance, too.”

“Have you mentioned this to her?” Dev asked.

Elodie shook her head. “I was going to, but I wanted to wait until I had more information. And when you asked...I couldn't keep it from you any longer.”

He flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “This is more exhausting than sex.”

She propped herself up on an elbow to gaze down at him. “I know. But it's exciting, don't you think?”

He turned and looked at her. “Can we stop talking now and kiss?”

Elodie rolled on top of him, catching his hands and pinning them above his head. “Yes, we can. Would you like me to start?”

“Yes, please.”

As she dropped kisses along his jawline, Dev sighed. He wasn't quite sure what all this meant. But a million dollars? That kind of money would go a long way to making a life for the two of them possible.

* * *

“W
E
HAVE
THE
sweets all laid out,” Elodie said, “and the coffee is brewing. And thank you for the flowers, Mary. They really bring everything together.”

“The table looks lovely, Miss Elodie.”

The past week had been a rush of activity in the mansion on Wisteria Street. Elodie and Mary had planned an afternoon tea for twenty local artists. While Elodie had put together her presentation, Mary had baked red velvet cupcakes and lemon shortcake cookies. She'd made pralines and almond brittle and cute little tea sandwiches of ham and chicken salad.

They'd picked up a variety of mix-and-match china from a couple of thrift stores, along with some vintage glasses and goblets for the fresh limeade that Mary had also made. The event would be a simple tea, but Elodie didn't want to appear too pretentious.

“I just wish I'd had time to paint the walls,” Elodie said. “The room would look so much nicer with a fresh coat of paint.”

“These people are artists,” Mary said. “They'll be able to see past all that to your idea. How could they say no?”

“They could easily say no,” Elodie replied as she fussed with a stack of linen napkins. “Rehabilitating the Winchester name in this county will not be as simple as enjoying a glass of your famous fresh limeade.”

“My limeade
is
very good,” Mary said. She slipped her arm around Elodie's. “I have had fun doing this, Miss Elodie. And I hope that everything works out exactly as you've planned. I'd love for you to stay here. We could have tea like this every Friday afternoon.”

Elodie slipped her arm around Mary's shoulders. “We've done our best. Now we just have to hope that the artists show up.” She glanced at her watch. The afternoon tea was scheduled to start at 3:00 p.m. They had fifteen minutes to worry whether their invitation would be ignored.

She'd invited twenty local artists—painters, wood carvers, quilters, potters. She'd carefully studied their work, separating the artists from the craftsmen and searching for that certain something that elevated simple materials into serious art. For what she wanted to do, it would take a special mix of artists.

The doorbell rang, and Elodie smiled. “Someone is early. That's a good sign.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her cotton dress, drew a deep breath and calmly walked to the front door. But when she opened the door, she didn't recognize the person on the other side.

“Miss Winchester?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Rhoda Merrill. I'm a real estate broker from Asheville. I have some clients who are looking for a house just like yours, and I was told that you've been trying to sell. I was just driving through town and thought I'd stop and talk to you.”

“I really don't have time today, unfortunately,” Elodie said. “I'm expecting guests in just a few minutes.”

“Oh, I won't take much of your time at all. Would you mind if I walked through and got a sense of the place? I promise to keep from getting underfoot. And I'll be gone in ten minutes.”

Elodie had given up on selling the house. In three years, no one had expressed an interest. But suddenly selling the house was back on the table. Should she cancel the tea? Or tell Rhoda the house was no longer for sale? Until she gave her presentation, she had no idea how her idea would be received. Best to keep selling as an option. “All right. But if you could go out the rear entrance when you're finished?”

The broker nodded and handed Elodie her business card. “I'll stop by tomorrow, if that would be all right? We could talk a bit more.”

“Fine,” Elodie said.

“Would one p.m. work for you?”

“It would.” Elodie stepped aside as she let Rhoda Merrill walk into the huge foyer.

“Oh my, this is lovely. Look at all this architectural detail. In so many instances, these things have been stripped away.” She walked to the stairway and ran her hand over the banister. “Mahogany?”

“I believe so.”

Rhoda wandered off into the rear of the house. “Can we trust her?” Mary asked, a suspicious arch to her brow.

“I'm afraid I don't have much of value to steal anymore,” Elodie said. “Unless she plans to walk out with the light fixtures.”

Mary's worries about the real estate broker were soon put aside as the first guest arrived, a potter from the nearby town of Croft River. Mary brought them both tea as Elodie chatted with her about the house and her experience selling folk art in New York.

To Elodie's relief, the front parlor of the mansion was soon buzzing with conversation as guest after guest arrived. Though the artists were curious about her plans, they were patient about hearing the details and instead enjoyed the opportunity to socialize. Finally, at quarter after the hour, Elodie decided that it was time to begin the presentation. Five of the twenty invited guests were missing, but fifteen was a good start.

Elodie moved to the front of the group and asked for everyone's attention. Gathering her resolve, she explained her plans for a small gallery that focused on local folk art, plus an annual art fair for the town of Winchester and finally the possibility of artists' lofts in the old mill.

She was just getting to the heart of her speech, the point where she asked for their support, when the wail of police sirens filled the air. Distracted, her audience turned toward the windows, their gazes scanning the street through the curtains. Elodie tried to continue, but finally gave up and joined them at the windows.

A few seconds later, Dev burst through the front door and ran into the front parlor. He stopped short when he saw the group, his hand slowly sliding away from the holster of his gun. “I—I'm sorry. We got a call about a disturbance in the neighborhood.”

Elodie pasted a smile on her face and hurried over to him. “No disturbance. Just afternoon tea.”

Mary appeared at his side with a cup of tea, a shortbread cookie resting on the saucer. “Here,” she said. “You look like you could use it.”

Dev smiled at his mother. “Hi, Mom.”

Mary shook her head. “Go ahead. Drink it. And pretend you're enjoying it. I won't have you ruin Miss Elodie's event.”

“Event? Why am I the last person to hear about this event?” Dev whispered. “When we got a call about cars gathered on Wisteria Street, I assumed there was more trouble. What are all these people doing here?”

Elodie patted him on the arm. “Why don't you stick around and listen to the rest of my presentation? Then you'll know everything.”

He gave her a tight smile, then slowly made his way to the back of the room.

Elodie was surprised by his reaction. He seemed more irritated than curious. But it wasn't as if he told her every little detail about his professional life. And she'd had good reasons to keep this quiet. The entire scheme telegraphed her intention to stay in Winchester.

Though making the move back to her hometown had always been an option, it wasn't one she was willing to discuss with Dev. In truth, she wanted to make the decision without even considering the man who'd been spending every night in her bed, especially since she'd have to end their affair if she continued to live in town.

Making a move like this, leaving her career behind in New York, had to be based in something more than sexual desire and the need for a little passion in her life. Elodie was determined to take a logical, rational approach, weighing all the options without any interference from Dev. Yes, he was important to her, but their relationship could end at any time, and there were a lot of reasons why their relationship could never work.

Her presentation came to an end with a nice round of applause followed by fifteen minutes of questions. When she was finally free to socialize with the group, Dev grabbed her hand the pulled her toward the kitchen.

“I really should stay with my guests,” Elodie protested.