A Father's Place. Marta Perry
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“It’s a little more than that, I think.” His concentration pinned her to the spot. “Each time I talk to Kristie on the phone, his name comes up. ‘Charles and Grandma did this. Charles and Grandma did that.’ He seems to have become almost part of the family in the last few weeks.”
Her mind raced. When had all this been going on? She’d been busy, of course, but she should have known what her father was doing. Maybe she’d just felt relieved he’d found something to occupy himself in Bedford Creek. That way she didn’t have to see him and constantly be reminded of the painful past.
“As I said, Gwen and I are working on the fund-raiser together.” She hoped her smile looked more convincing than it felt. “My father has been helping out, so I suppose he and Gwen have spent some time together.”
“Some time?”
His persistence sparked the anger that had been hidden beneath her fear. “This is beginning to sound like an inquisition.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “I have a right to worry about my family’s welfare.”
Meaning he thought she and her father threatened it. She stiffened, meeting his eyes with as much defiance as she could muster. “Your family isn’t in danger from us.”
“When my sixty-five-year-old mother starts acting like a schoolgirl with a new boyfriend, I worry. Try hard. Maybe you’ll understand.”
The temper she’d fought to control escaped. “I can’t imagine when you had the chance to observe your mother. You’ve hardly been back in Bedford Creek in the past few years.”
His fists clenched, and she saw in an instant she’d gone too far. She knew about the death of his wife, of course. She’d barely become acquainted with Julie when the woman’s death in a car accident had shocked the whole town. In the two years or so since, according to Gwen, Quinn had buried himself in his work, as if to find escape. Now she’d challenged that.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, before the situation could deteriorate any further. “I didn’t mean that. And I certainly didn’t have the right to say it.”
“My work has kept me away.” He said it calmly enough, but a muscle quivered in his jaw with the effort. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
She seemed to be juggling dynamite. “I’m sure you do. But Gwen…” She hesitated on the verge of pointing out the obvious—that Gwen was a grown woman who could manage her own life.
His gaze hardened, and she suspected he knew what she’d been about to say. “My mother’s led a sheltered life. My father always protected her from any unpleasantness.”
A spasm of memory clutched her. She’d led a fairly sheltered life, too, once upon a time, until her father’s betrayal had blown it into a million pieces. If Charles really was somehow involved with Gwen, it was probably the worst idea he’d had since that disaster.
She wouldn’t believe it. Quinn was probably overreacting, but she knew instinctively he’d be a bad enemy to make. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him any more than she already had.
“My father is just here for a brief visit. He regards Gwen as nothing more than a casual acquaintance.” She hoped.
His frown was uncompromising. “If there’s anything more—”
The jingling of the bell cut off what sounded like a threat. Ellie turned toward the door, and her heart sank. Why on earth had her father chosen this particular moment to come into the shop?
She glanced cautiously back at Quinn, and tension zigzagged like lightning along her nerves. He looked like a predator about to strike.
Quinn looked from Ellie’s suddenly guilty face to the man who’d just entered. So this was the father—it had to be. Why else would she look that way? He’d almost been swayed by her protestations, but now all his suspicions flooded back.
“Sorry, my dear. I didn’t realize you were busy with a customer.” Charles Wayne stood, hand on the doorknob, his expression mingling regret at interrupting with curiosity.
“I’m just closing,” Ellie said. “Maybe you could set the table for supper.”
She gestured toward the stairs at the rear of the shop, which must lead to the living quarters upstairs. Her desire to get her father out of his range was as clear as if she wore a sign announcing it.
He didn’t intend to let that happen, not until he’d had a chance to see the man for himself. He took a step forward, holding out his hand. “You must be Ellie’s father. I’m Quinn Forrester.”
“Charles Wayne. What a pleasure to meet you. You’re Gwen’s son, of course. She talks about you all the time.”
His smile was smoother than his daughter’s, more practiced. He had to be in his sixties, but he had a quick, light step that made him look younger, as did the sparkle in his bright blue eyes.
“Gwen mentioned you were home when I ran into her and little Kristie at the grocer’s,” he went on. “A delightful child, isn’t she?”
It was the trick of either a good salesman or a confidence man—to ask a question that would bring an affirmative answer. “I think so, but then I’m prejudiced.”
And prejudiced against the man in front of him, he realized. Maybe it was the ready smile, or the glib chatter, but Charles Wayne put his back up. He preferred the daughter’s quick antagonism to the father’s charm.
“Dad.” Ellie nodded toward the stairs. “I have soup in the slow cooker for our supper.”
“Then we can have it anytime,” Wayne said, apparently oblivious to her desire to get rid of him. He smiled at Quinn. “I believe Gwen told me you’re working out west someplace.”
“Oregon. I’m with the Corps of Engineers.” He’d like to tell the man his profession was none of his business, but that wasn’t the way to find out about more about him. He’d already come within a hair of outright war with the daughter. Maybe it was time to take a step back. His mother wouldn’t be inclined to listen to his concerns if he started by alienating her friends. “Are you familiar with the West Coast?”
“Been there, of course. Now, this little town where my daughter’s settled is a far cry from our old stamping grounds.”
The tension emanating from Ellie jerked upward, evidenced by the indrawn breath, the tightening of her hands. So, there was something about that mention of where they were from that bothered her.
“And where was that?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard much about Ellie’s past.”
“I don’t find people all that interested in my history.” Ellie’s casual tone wasn’t very convincing.
“Odd, isn’t it? People’s stories are endlessly fascinating to me,” Charles said. “There was a man I met when I was working in San Francisco, or was it Santa Fe? Doesn’t matter. In any event, this man had actually taken part in a Mount Everest climb. Think of that.”
Quinn didn’t intend to be distracted by mythical mountain climbers. “You were saying you’d lived where?”
Charles gave an airy wave. “All over the place. I’m afraid I’m the original tumbleweed. Just haven’t been able to settle down in one place, unlike my daughter.” He smiled fondly at Ellie, who looked strained. “Ellen has certainly put down roots here in Bedford Creek. Not that it isn’t a charming place, but it’s not the life I expected her to have.”
“People have to make their own decisions about things like that.” Ellie took his arm firmly and turned him toward the stairs. “I’ll be up soon, Dad. How about checking the soup for me?”
“Of course, of course.” Charles glanced over his shoulder at Quinn. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again.