Patchwork Family. Judy Christenberry
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“Or maybe—” Beatrice began.
“Never mind,” Quinn interrupted. “I’ll take care of it. I can shift some things.”
“Oh no, dear,” Martha said. “We don’t want to interrupt your busy schedule. We’re just grateful you can make time to come see us occasionally. We don’t want to—”
“You old fraud,” Quinn teased, his voice husky. “You know I wouldn’t miss coming to see you.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek again.
“Such a sweet boy,” Martha said as she patted his cheek, her voice full of love.
His cheeks flushed, Quinn moved over to the quilts. “I’ll take care of these right now, so don’t worry about your precious delivery. They’ll arrive safe and sound.”
After the door closed behind him, Martha winked at her friends. “And so what will be our next step?”
THIS WAS A GOOD THING, Quinn assured himself.
When you fear something, it grows in proportion to your fear. Fear gives the enemy power.
He wasn’t going to give any more power to Molly Blake. What a ridiculous thought, that he, an international lawyer, well-to-do, respected and admired, feared Molly Blake.
Pulling into the driveway of her house, he parked his car and opened the trunk. Because of their size he carried the quilts one at a time to the front porch.
He was about to use the brass knocker when he took note of the design in the stained-glass oval. Since the bed-and-breakfast was located on Ivy Lane, the design used ivy, its curling tendrils encircling the oval. Then, where it met at the bottom, the ivy entwined itself around two flowers, a red rose and a yellow tulip in the center. He grinned. That block of Ivy Lane was intersected by Rose Street on the south end and Tulip Street to the north. Very nice. He’d heard his brand-new sister-in-law, Jenna, was doing some artwork for Molly. He wondered if she had anything to do with the design.
He brought himself back to the business at hand. Time to make his delivery and get the hell out of there. The brass knocker fell heavily against the door, making a satisfying, sturdy sound.
Little feet hurrying to the door alerted him to Sara’s arrival. She tugged the door open about six inches and pressed her face through the opening. In spite of himself, he was glad to see that the child was all right.
He cleared his throat, ready to make his explanation, when he was surprised by her response.
With a beaming smile, she pulled the door wide-open. “Hi, Mr. Man. Did you come to take me to the doctor? I’m all well.”
She obviously remembered him. “Uh, no, Sara, I didn’t. And I’m glad you’re all well. You look lovely today.” And she did. Her delicate features, big blue eyes and soft blond hair made her look like a perfect doll. Except she was dressed in sturdy jeans and an open corduroy shirt over a Sesame Street T-shirt.
“Thank you.” She reached out, took his hand and tugged. “Come on!”
“But—” He could’ve resisted, of course, but Sara’s excitement and beaming smile was a lure he didn’t want to deny. So he followed her willy-nilly down the hall, realizing, as he did so, that they’d left the front door standing open.
Sara raced around the desk beside the stairs to a door on the left, out of sight of arrivals. Pushing it, she tugged him into a big kitchen, brightened by the afternoon sunshine, scented by whatever Molly Blake was baking.
Of course his gaze fixed on the larger version of Sara. She was bent over one of the ovens, her rounded bottom covered in snug-fitting jeans.
“Look, Mommy, Mr. Man is here!”
Molly spun around, almost losing her balance, a startled look on her flushed face. “What— Sara, did you open the front door?”
Quinn watched as the little girl’s pleasure disappeared, her eyes widening and one finger rising to her rosebud mouth. “Uh-oh.”
Molly composed herself, taking her attention from her child after giving her a warning look. “My apologies, Mr. Spencer, I wasn’t expecting— Did you need to talk to me? If you’ll return to the living room, I’ll tidy up and be right in.”
She was covered with a big white apron that had a few stains on it, and a streak of flour stood out against her red cheek. Maybe it was the smell of whatever was baking, but Quinn found himself thinking she looked delicious.
She gestured toward the door, one eyebrow raised.
“Uh, no! I mean, I don’t need to speak to you.”
She seemed taken aback by his forthrightness. “Oh. Then why are you here?”
“Martha asked me to deliver the quilts, since they’re heavy.”
He’d expected a polite thank-you. Instead, surprise followed by excitement filled her beautiful face. Then she rushed past him, followed by Sara, and he found himself standing alone in the big kitchen.
Shaking his head, he turned to follow. Did the woman ever remain in control? Every time he’d seen her, her emotions had been driving her. At least today they were happy emotions.
Since they’d left the front door open, Molly had no difficulty locating the quilts, both wrapped in clear plastic to protect them from dirt. She and little Sara were tugging on the top quilt, trying to move it inside.
“Here, let me do that,” he said, touching her on the shoulder.
She jumped, as if she’d forgotten he was there.
Quinn was surprised at how much that thought bothered him. He wasn’t used to being ignored. He stepped out on the porch and gathered the first quilt into his arms. Putting it on the rug that covered the entryway, he went back for the second one.
“Thank you so much for bringing them,” Molly said, her voice breathless.
Quinn couldn’t help thinking how that voice would affect him in a dark room, her body pressed close to his, the two of them alone. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you’re welcome.”
“Are we going to put them on the beds, Mommy?” Sara asked, her voice as enthusiastic as her mother’s.
“Of course, sweetie,” Molly said, but she didn’t move.
Quinn wondered why she stood waiting. Then he realized she was waiting for him to leave, of course. He immediately started to make his departure, but his gaze fell on the wide graceful stairway that led to the second floor. How would Molly and delicate little Sara get those heavy quilts up the stairs?
“Let me carry the quilts upstairs for you,” he said on impulse. After all, that was what Martha would want him to do.
“No, that’s not necessary. You’ve already done so much, bringing them here. I didn’t expect that,” Molly assured him, her smile still bright.
“It won’t take but a minute. Which one do you want first?”
“Are you sure?” she asked, the smile dimming as she searched his face.
He’d never worked so hard to do something for a lady in his life. “I’m sure. This one?”
The quilt he pointed to was the one the ladies had said was Bachelor’s Puzzle. It had been done in various shades of blue.
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