A Dream of His Own. Gail Gaymer Martin
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dining room. “Forget it. You’ll never understand.”
She listened to his footsteps thump down the hall followed by the slam of his bedroom door. Lately they’d been at odds, and no matter what she did, according to Brandon, was wrong. Her income working in the high school office didn’t buy them steaks and designer jeans. She’d learned to budget and watch her pennies. Brandon expected her to be his financier and housekeeper. When Tom died, life changed. Not only had she lost her husband, but Brandon had lost his father. She understood girls. Boys, she didn’t.
Ava sank onto a kitchen chair, eyed the wrench and set it on the table. Now that she started the plumbing job, she wished she hadn’t. Brandon had been right. She’d resolved the faucet leak, but now water dripped under the sink. She felt stupid. If she’d taken Quinn’s offer, everything would be fixed. But taking advantage of his kindness wasn’t her way.
Pulling up her shoulders, she rose and headed down the hall to Brandon’s room. She stood a moment before giving the door a tap. “Bran. Let’s talk.”
“Thanks anyway.” His deep mumble penetrated the door.
Her little boy had vanished a year ago, maybe last summer between his fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays. He’d shot up three inches, and she had to look up at him now. He used to let her kiss his cheek and give him a hug. That ended with the growth spurt. All she got now was “Mommmm” spread out as if the letters were on grease. She missed the affection.
Her pulse tripped again as Quinn’s face dangled in her thoughts. She’d tried to push it aside. Life kept her too busy to deal with a man. A woman needed enough time and energy to develop a relationship with someone. She shook her head. What made her think the man had an interest in anything other than helping with her plumbing. Why had she stressed she tried to save money? She didn’t want Quinn’s pity.
“Brandon.” She knocked harder. “Open the door.”
It flew open, startling her. Brandon glanced at her, then pointed toward the window. “There’s some guy looking at the house. I’ve been watching him.”
“Some guy?” She followed him across the room to the front of the house, and when she looked out, her heart stopped. “Oh, my.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I know him.” She dropped the edge of the curtain. “That’s the man who backed into me.”
“You mean the fender-denter?”
She wanted to wash the smug look from his face. “I meant bender and you know it.” Why did she keep calling it that? And why was Quinn out there? Her pulse clipped to a trot.
“He’s probably a nutcase.” He strutted for the door. “I’ll tell him to get his—”
“Brandon, no.” Her heart knotted in her throat. “I’ll take care of it.”
He spun around. “Look, Mom. I’m the man in this family and—”
“And I’m your mother. Thank you, but I’ll take care of it.” She strode toward the door, then stopped. “And he’s not a nutcase.”
“Right.”
She ignored his sarcasm and continued to the front door, but when she grasped the knob, she paused. Seeing him sitting in his car at the curb had sent her over the edge. With her lungs on overload, she gasped for air. Focus. Focus. Her mind raced to find a logical explanation as to why Quinn had parked in front of her house. It wasn’t a coincidence. That she was certain.
Plying her courage, she pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch.
As soon as he noticed her, Quinn stepped from the SUV and headed up the sidewalk. “Sorry. I should have called.”
“How do you know where I live?” She forced her voice past her constricted lungs.
A frown broke on his face. “Well, I…”
His discomfort caught her off guard.
“I looked… There aren’t any other Ava Darnells in the white pages.”
“You looked in the phone book?” Her pitch had raised a notch. “Why?”
He evaded her eyes for a moment, then gave her a direct look. “I wondered about your plumbing and about your car. I see you got it back. It looks great.”
“It does. Thanks.” Ava tugged on the hem of her blouse. “Quinn, I… That wasn’t a very warm greeting. You surprised me.” Her emotions had waged a war between temptation and concern. “I’m glad you stopped in. I repaired the leak, but now I have another problem.” She grasped the knob. “Would you like to come in?”
He faltered. “Is it okay?”
She nodded and opened the storm door, beckoning him inside.
As she stepped in behind him, Brandon stood in the hallway door, scrutinizing their guest. “This is my son. Brandon, this is Mr. O’Neill.”
Quinn extended his hand while Brandon eyed it a moment before accepting his handshake. “So, you’re the guy who ran into my mother.”
His accusatory tone seemed to throw Quinn. He did a double take, his gaze searching hers and then flying back to Brandon.
“Bran, apologize.” She tilted her head toward Quinn. “It was an accident.”
Belligerence darkened his face. “I’m sorry you hit my mother’s car.” He spun on his heel and headed into his room.
Ava’s jaw sagged, and she stood gaping at the empty doorway before regaining her wits. “I apologize for my son. He’s in a little snit today, and he’s taken it out on you.” She stepped toward the hallway. “I’ll tell him to—”
“Please, don’t.” He peered past her. “Is the kitchen that way?” He gestured toward the dining room archway.
She nodded. “Follow me.” Ava strode ahead of him, wanting to barge into Brandon’s room and give him a piece of her mind, but Quinn had asked her to drop it. She’d handle Brandon later.
Quinn walked to the sink and eyed the faucet. “I don’t see the problem.”
His relieved expression confused her until she realized he hadn’t heard what she’d said. “It’s a new situation. I’m afraid I did something wrong when I repaired the faucet. Now I have a drip under the sink.” She opened the door and motioned inside.
He stared at it a moment before crouching down and peering in.
She sensed Quinn didn’t want to get dirty, because he only reached inside to feel the pipes. Finally he shoved his head beneath the sink farther, then knelt and reached back into the cabinet. “I think I spot your problem.”
“Really?”
“Did you use the sprayer recently?”
She studied him, not understanding his question. “I often use it to rinse dishes or the sink.”
“I’m sure it’s the hose on your sprayer. That’s where the water’s dripping.” He drew his head from beneath the cabinet, accomplishment filling his face. “Probably a small hole or crack in it. After you use it, you’ll find the water.”
Her heart melted. She’d never seen his full smile, his blue eyes twinkled and lines crinkled above his cheeks like George Clooney.
“Listen.” He rose from his crouch, his smile fading. “I have to be honest.”
Honest? She froze. What would he spring on her now?
“I don’t know a thing about plumbing, but I do think it’s the hose. They’re flexible tubing—plastic, I think—and I suppose they wear out in time.”
He didn’t know a thing about plumbing? The admission threw her. “But