Longing for Home. Kathryn Springer
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Alex didn’t miss the flash of warning in Quinn’s pewter-gray eyes.
“Who needs an invitation?” Alex hid a smile. No doubt about it, O’Halloran loved his sister. And he was protective of her. Alex had recently come to the conclusion that the guy might—just might—be good enough for Abby.
No point in telling Quinn that, though. Maybe on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Or the fiftieth. As skeptical as Alex was about “happily-ever-after,” there was something in the way Abby and Quinn looked at each other that told Alex they just might make it that far.
His sister had been floating around the place all day, smiling and humming as she took care of the last-minute wedding details. The last of the guests had checked out before lunch. Abby’s decision to close the inn for the weekend had been a good one. Like ants at a picnic, a steady stream of people had been coming and going all morning, sprucing up the grounds and the stone chapel in the woods where the couple planned to exchange their vows.
“So, what’s up?” Quinn wandered into Abby’s office and folded in half to fit into one of dainty wicker chairs stationed by the windows overlooking the lake. “Abby said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Since I’m sticking around for a few weeks, I wondered if you wanted me to keep an eye on things at O’Halloran Security, too.”
Quinn laughed.
“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”
“It’s a no—thank you,” Quinn added. “I appreciate the offer, but my employees are extremely capable and I’ve got Faye guarding the front office.”
Capable. There was that word again. Alex was tempted to repeat the Porter family motto but decided it wouldn’t do any good. Not only was Quinn not a Porter, but Alex had a strong suspicion he would agree with the version Abby had, in her words, tweaked.
The tough bodyguard-turned-security-specialist had a marshmallow center and Alex couldn’t put all the blame on his sister. References to God—and not the ones typical to a former Marine—seemed to come as naturally to the guy as breathing.
“Just thought I’d offer.” Alex shut down the computer program he’d been working on. Abby had given him full access to her records, so he’d spent the morning going through the inn’s finances.
Surprisingly enough, even in a slow economy, Abby had been turning a decent profit. The cabins Quinn had renovated the previous summer were booked solid through the end of October. Once Abby decided to open up the rooms inside the main lodge to guests, Alex guessed those would fill up, as well.
“Believe me, you’ll have plenty to do around here,” Quinn said. “The locals love the fact that Abby reopened the inn and she encourages them to use the property.”
Uh-huh. And, according to the records, she didn’t charge them a thing.
His sister was asking to be taken advantage of. Alex had discovered that Church of the Pines, the one Quinn and Abby attended every Sunday, frequently scheduled events at the inn. Abby generously provided refreshments and, at times, invited visiting speakers to stay at the inn. Free of charge.
Alex made a mental note to talk to the pastor, Matthew Wilde, at some point over the next two weeks. Just so the guy knew that someone was looking out for Abby’s best interests.
“There you are.” Abby glided into the room, clutching the gaudiest shoes Alex had ever seen, a pair of white sneakers crusted with sparkling beads and pink sequins.
She smiled at Alex before zeroing in on her fiancé. “Could I talk to you for a minute, Quinn?”
“Sure.”
“In the kitchen?” Abby bit her lower lip.
Alex recognized the gesture. Obviously Quinn did, too, because they both came to their feet at the same time.
“What’s wrong?”
Abby smiled at Quinn. And frowned at Alex. “Nothing. There’s always a few last-minute…glitches…to work out when it comes to weddings.”
Alex looked at the shoes in her hand. “I see what you mean.”
Abby chuckled. “I’m not talking about the shoes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. These are for Faye. She can’t wear heels because of the arthritis in her feet, so Kate bedazzled her favorite pair of Keds.”
“Bedazzled?” Alex looked at Quinn.
“I have no idea, but it sounds like something Kate would do,” he said with a shrug.
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “So does causing a glitch.”
Abby cast Alex a meaningful look, silently reminding him of their conversation the night before. “Don’t worry. Everything will be…everything is fine.”
Where had he heard that before? Oh yes, in the Grapevine Café that morning.
“Does this have something to do with the chicken?” he demanded.
Abby’s eyes went wide. “Kate told you?”
Actually, the tattooed, pie-eating truck driver had. He’d also told Alex—between bites—that the café’s walk-in freezer had died and she’d lost a good portion of her inventory.
“I heard the order didn’t come in.”
Abby nodded. “Kate called about half an hour ago. The order was supposed to be on the truck, but she found out the supplier wrote down the wrong date. The chicken will arrive on time—a week from now.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean you want to postpone the wedding?” Quinn wrapped an arm around Abby’s slender waist.
She smiled up at him. “Not a chance. It’ll work out. Kate just wanted to let me know that she’ll be a few minutes late for the rehearsal dinner. Thor is giving her grief again so she’ll meet up with us at the restaurant.”
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