The Mighty Quinns: Tristan. Kate Hoffmann
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“I doubt it’s bad,” he said. “I think you’d make a great author.” He paused and snapped his briefcase shut. “Don’t you ever wonder what you’re really supposed to be doing in this world? I mean, maybe you were meant to be a writer and not a paralegal.”
“I’d like to think so,” Melanie said. “When you read my book, will you promise to give me your honest opinion?”
Tristan met her gaze and saw a vulnerability there that he’d only seen on a few prior occasions. He’d come to depend on Melanie over the three years they’d worked together. In truth, he felt somewhat protective of her, almost as if she were his little sister. Her dark hair was always pulled back in a haphazard bun and her horn-rimmed glasses sat on her nose at a perpetually crooked angle. She also seemed to prefer frumpy business suits that could only be described as unflattering.
There were times when he’d caught her looking at him with an odd expression on her face, and he wondered if she might harbor some unrequited feelings for him. But then she’d return to business as usual and he’d realize that there was at least one woman in the world who was immune to his charm.
“So, why don’t we get a copy of your manuscript and let’s talk about it.”
“Really? I haven’t told anyone that I’ve been writing. You’ll be the first to read it.”
“What’s the title?”
“Legal Tender,” she said.
“Nice title.”
LILY SAT ON the front steps of her cottage, her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed on the drive leading out to the main road. It was 3 p.m. and she had been waiting for Quinn’s arrival since nine that morning.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Why not just go about her business as if this were just any other day? Today, she’d already walked down to the bathhouse and taken a shower. Then she’d sat on the end of the dock and combed through her hair before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. Lunch was followed by a short trip to her studio before she decided to give up entirely and focus her attention on the road.
What if he decided not to return? If her suspicions were correct and he was a lawyer pretending to be a writer, then he’d have every reason not to come back. His lies could easily be exposed, especially if he couldn’t produce a manuscript.
“Hey, Lily. That’s a pretty dress. Are you going into town?”
She forced a smile as Bernie Wilson shuffled up. Bernie was the only working author that lived at the colony, and at forty-five, he was also the only man even remotely close to her own age. He’d somehow taken this simple fact and twisted it into a belief that they were destined to be together.
Bernie wrote science fiction and made a decent living with his craft. He certainly didn’t need to live at the colony, but he’d been spending his summers on Fence Lake for the past eight years and in that time, had become their most successful resident.
“I heard someone new is moving in,” he mumbled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Lily nodded. “Yes. He’ll be arriving later today, I think.”
“Where’s he going to stay?”
“There’s an extra bedroom in Finch’s cabin. He’ll stay there until we can get one of the cabins on the peninsula cleaned up for him.”
“I spotted a yellow-bellied sapsucker today,” Bernie said. “Right over there, on the point.”
“Yeah, they’ve been around,” Lily said. She stood up and brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “I’ll see you later, Bernie.”
“Are you coming to critique group tonight?”
“No, I don’t have anything to read. And Violet is doing some scenes from Othello with Billy tonight. She’s probably going to want my help setting up the stage.”
“Sure. No problem. Maybe next week.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “You write really nice poetry,” Bernie said.
Lily smiled. “Thanks, Bernie. I should probably get to work on my painting. Bye.”
She hurried off in the direction of the tree house studios, the sound of harp music drifting on the humid morning air. Evaleen Deschanter, a folksinger, sat on the porch of her cabin, plucking on the harp strings as she sang a tragic ballad of ill-fated lovers.
“Hi, Lily,” Evaleen said, smiling slyly as she came closer. “I hear we’re getting a new member of the colony today. Violet says he’s quite a handsome young man. I can hardly wait to meet him.”
Gossip raced around the colony like wildfire in a dry field. Lily usually barely paid attention to it, but now some of the attention seemed to have turned toward her. This man could possibly be the enemy and everyone was delighted to let him in the gate.
Lily shook her head. “He’s very charming. I expect he’ll be very popular with the ladies.”
There were twenty-one artists who spent part or all of the summer at the colony. Fourteen of them were women and Lily was the only one who hadn’t yet celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday. The seven men were all over seventy, with the exception of Bernie, who was in his mid-forties. Lily had accepted the fact that she was spending her days and nights in a veritable retirement community. But now that was all about to change.
She passed three more artists and they offered her the same pleasant greeting and hopeful wishes. By the time she climbed the narrow steps up to her studio and dropped the trapdoor on the tree house, she could barely hold her temper in check.
The studios had all been built on stilts overlooking the lake. Of all the spots in the colony, her studio was where she felt most herself. Screened on four sides, it caught the summer breeze and it was just cozy enough to hold everything she needed for her painting. The trees blocked views of the other studios, so privacy was never an issue. She could cry, she could sing, she could tear off all her clothes and dance around and no one could see.
Lily raised the shutters to let in the light. Afternoon sun filtered in through the leaves on the trees, and she found a spot of light perfect for her work. She grabbed an abstract painting she’d recently begun and set it on an easel. Then she pulled up a stool and sat down, studying the painting for a long moment.
She’d never been a very good judge of her own work, but this painting seemed to be something special, a step ahead for her.
There had been moments in the past few years when she’d felt this way, as if she’d opened a door or discovered a new window and found something wonderful inside. But it hadn’t been often, and she usually found herself in front of a blank or disappointing canvas wondering what she was doing with her life.
Lily was lucky that she had money from her family to support her. Still, she wanted to believe that her work was headed somewhere. Maybe when this piece was done she’d finally feel she was a true artist.
It was easy to lose herself in her work, and before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her hands were covered with paint and there were rags that she’d used to wipe her brushes tossed about the floor. The painting now looked more focused, a new layer of color adding a deeper meaning. But she couldn’t help noticing that the color was very similar to that of Quinn James’s hair...
The sound of a bell ringing caught her attention and she stood up. Without telephones or a public address system, the camp relied on a single brass bell, mounted next to the door of the dining hall, to call the residents for a meal or to assemble for a meeting. There was only one reason to ring it at this time of the day. Their new guest had arrived!
Her heart skipped a beat and Lily felt a wild sense of anticipation. She hadn’t been able to put Quinn out of her head since the moment he had left the day before. Now that he was here, she had a better chance of figuring