Millionaire's Christmas Miracle. Mary Wilson Anne
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and he dove into the smoke as someone behind him called out, “What’s going on?”
Through coughing, Amy’s disembodied voice came from inside the room, “Gingerbread.”
There was movement behind him, then a motor started up and the smoke began to thin dramatically. Quint spotted Amy crouching on the far side of the room by an open oven surrounded by shattered glass from what looked to have once been a dish and a number of blackened, smoking lumps. He went to her, dropped to his haunches and made himself not touch her. That scream had shocked him, followed by his reaction that something had happened to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She stared at the mess in front of her, coughing again before she answered him. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Someone else was there, rushing around doing something to controls on the wall. But all he could focus on was Amy and the charred mess between them. “The gingerbread family, I take it?”
“Exactly.” Amy waved at the air in front of her as if she could disperse the last of the smoke. “I was baking them to show off the oven and to make this place smell nice. You know, the trick Realtors use to make houses more inviting? Bake cookies or something that smells great? Well, I had some dough left, so I put them in to take home with me when I went, and I forgot all about them.”
“The family’s toast,” he murmured.
She looked at him, grimacing. “That’s terrible.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I,” she muttered as she frowned at the broken glass all around them. “I’d hoped the smell of it baking would cover the paint and new carpet smells and people would think the place was homey and nice.” The alarm stopped as she added, “What a mess.”
He watched her in profile, and didn’t miss the slight unsteadiness in her chin. “For what it’s worth, it worked. That’s the first thing I smelled when I came in.”
She looked up at him. “Then the smoke, huh? I can’t believe I got so distracted.” She bit her lip, then finished. “Charlie has one more thing to answer for.”
She stood, then turned to the guard who was coming toward them through the haze of smoke lingering in the room. “Sorry, Walt, the gingerbread is a bit overdone. I hope this didn’t mess up things too badly for you.”
“No, I got to the sprinkler control before they came on and I got a couple of fans going. The smoke’s almost gone.” He went over to a central range with a huge hood over it and flipped a switch. Another fan roared to life. “I’ll leave them on for an hour or so, then check back here.” He turned to Amy and Quint. “Meanwhile, I’ll get maintenance in here to clean this up.”
“No, please don’t,” Amy said as she stood. “I did it. I’ll clean it up.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Walt said. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine,” Quint said and then heard glass crunch under the man’s shoes as he turned and left. “Where are the brooms kept?” he asked Amy.
“I’ll get them,” she said, and she would have if he hadn’t stopped her by capturing her upper arm and stopping her before she could take a step.
“Don’t move,” he said, trying to block out the pleasure of her soft skin under his hand.
He drew back as she turned to him. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from getting cut.” He pointed to her bare feet. “There’s glass all over this place. I’ve got shoes on. You stay put and tell me where the supplies are.”
She glanced down, then back up at him, her lashes partially shadowing her deep-brown eyes. “I never thought…” She bit her lip. “The broom is in the closet to the right of the door over there.” She pointed behind her. “There’s a dustpan, too, and a bucket of some sort to put the pieces in.”
As Quint crossed to the cupboard, he heard glass crunch under his shoes, too. He got the broom, pan and bucket, then went back to where Amy stood very still. He handed her the pan. “Just hold this and don’t move your feet.”
“I never thought of that,” she said as she crouched down and he started to sweep the pieces into the dustpan. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, sweeping the shards into the pan. By the time the floor was clear, the smoke was gone, but the odor still lingered. “You stay here,” Quint told her as he went to put back the equipment, and when he turned she was where he’d left her, her hair mussed, her feet bare, her dress torn and little or no makeup on her face. Not only was she beautiful at that moment, but she made his decision for him. Mike had been right after all. He needed this, a diversion, some time off to “go with the flow.”
He went back to her, and she coughed softly. “Thank goodness everyone had pretty much left before that happened.” She looked up at him and said, “If anything had happened to this center, after everything everyone’s gone through…” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
Not willing to think back to that moment of sheer horror when she’d disappeared into the smoke, he tried to make a joke. “If anyone asks about it, do what you said you were going to do, blame it on the rat.”
She looked at him, and for the first time since he’d glimpsed her, she was smiling. Not hugely, but a soft lifting of her pale lips, and there was a sparkle deep in her dark eyes that accompanied that touch of humor in her. It made him wish he could see her smile fully realized. “Poor Charlie, how do you suppose I convince everyone that the rat burned the gingerbread family?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Well, lady, my theory is, if a mouse can own one of the biggest theme parks in the world, a rat could have done this.”
His wish came true and she smiled at him, really smiled, and the sight of it literally made his breath catch in his chest. Beautiful? Was that what he thought? This woman was beyond beautiful. “I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks, huh?” she asked.
“What?” he asked, his thinking not exactly clear at that moment.
“Coming up with ideas to fix what’s going on in this place. I think they called you a ‘visionary,’ and I know that visionaries don’t come cheaply, at least not in this world. So, solutions equal big bucks.”
“I just do a job,” he said, noticing the faint touch of a dimple to the left of her mouth. Just the suggestion of a dimple. “That’s all.”
She exhaled, and the smile started to fade a bit, something he regretted greatly. “It’s time to leave, before I really burn this place down,” she said and looked down at the floor. “I hope all the glass is gone, because with my luck today, I’ll find the last piece, cut myself and really make a mess.”
“Amy, you’re brilliant. As a visionary, I can see you’re absolutely right. You’ll do that very thing.” She frowned slightly, as if trying to figure out where he was going with this. “And since I’m being paid big bucks to keep this company on the right path, I figure that keeping an employee from hurting herself is all part of the job description, and one of the reasons I make all those big bucks.”
He went closer to her as he spoke, so close he could see that there was a deep amber burst around the pupils of her eyes.
“Mr. Gallagher—” she started, but he stopped her.
“It’s Quint, and let me earn my money.” Before she could evade him, he picked her up. She was as light as a feather, but a feather wouldn’t have twisted the minute he held it, or gasped with shock as he caught it high in his arms.
“Put me down,” she was saying, but he was busy trying to absorb the way the fascination he’d had with her from the start was transforming into a basic need to keep this contact.
“Not in here,” he said.