Patchwork Family (10 page)

“No,” she said crisply. “I don’t have a crush on you. The point I’m trying to make is that you lead a busy life.”

“And you don’t? You had Sara’s birthday today and you’re hosting an open house on Sunday. You’ve moved nonstop all day.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t see how. I work as a lawyer. You work as a businesswoman and a mom. You’re probably the busier.”

“I don’t travel the world. My friends are limited to those I’ve met here.”

He took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the table. “Why are we arguing this? What difference does it make?”

“I’m trying to say I know you won’t have time to visit much in the future. I’ll explain to Sara.” She stood and took her mug to the sink, pouring out the half cup of coffee that remained. She wanted this discussion to end.

Apparently Quinn was in agreement, because he followed her example. But instead of turning toward the door, as she hoped he would, he took her shoulders in his hands. “I imagine I’ll see Sara Sunday. Won’t she be here?”

“Yes, she’ll be here.”

“Then there’s no need to explain anything to her.” Then he shocked her by leaning closer and brushing his lips against hers. In spite of herself, her eyes closed.

But Quinn didn’t leave after their brief kiss. Just as he had when he’d tasted her muffins, he took a second taste, his lips settling more firmly into place, his body pressing closer.

Molly almost cried at the sweetness of his touch. He kissed her as if she meant something to him. She knew better, she really did. But she hadn’t been kissed like that in so long, she couldn’t push him away. She wanted—but she couldn’t have what she wanted. So she should push him away. And she would. In a minute.

Then, before she could do so, he ended the kiss without a word, took his overcoat and slipped out the back door, a goodbye thrown over his shoulder.

Molly stood like a statue, trying to recover her calm. How could one brief kiss have such an effect on her? Her knees were shaking and she hugged her middle, hoping to restore her equilibrium.

“It’s just the shock of it,” she told herself. After all, she hadn’t kissed anyone other than Sara since long before Christopher died. And Christopher’s kisses had never made her feel…treasured.

She dismissed that ridiculous thought. Quinn Spencer was an expert kisser, that was all. He probably made every woman feel that way. And then forgot them.

But that kiss clarified what she’d been doing during her conversation with Quinn over coffee. She’d known she needed distance from the man. Protection
for her emotions. By reminding him of his jet-set world, she’d hoped to force him to go away.

Because she couldn’t afford to risk her heart again.

T
HE COLD WINTER WIND WAS
a stark contrast to the warmth of Molly’s kitchen. Quinn tried to blame the shivers that he felt on the change of temperature. But even before he’d gotten in his car and started the motor, he felt the change in his breathing.

It had to be the kiss.

He’d intended a friendly kiss. A reaching out to say thank you for the day. But once he’d tasted her, he couldn’t back away.

He’d only been thanking her for the dinner, the invitation to the birthday party. Or congratulating her on having raised such a perfect child. That was it. Sara was a remarkable little girl. He wanted Molly to know he liked spending time with Sara.

As he began backing out of the driveway, ruthless honesty had him shaking his head. Okay, he was attracted to Molly. Too much attracted. After all, there was no future in a relationship with someone like Molly. He wasn’t going to be tied down to a home life, raising a child, running errands.

He had places to go, people to see. Important people.

So why was he staying in Tyler for the weekend?

Because Molly was his client, and he felt responsible for the success of the open house, since it had been his idea.

That excuse worked. Excuse? Why did he need an excuse? He’d stayed in Tyler more times than not since he’d moved back. There had been a few trips, but—

He needed an excuse because of his family. Because of his friends. Because of his reputation. If he was going to continue to protect himself from match-making, husband-hunting women, he needed to be thought of as a jet-setter, a man with no ties, no interest in ties.

Panic began to build in him.

But he could fix it. He knew just what to do.

All it would take was a phone call.

Molly spent Sunday morning doing last-minute preparations in her kitchen. Today she and Sara would skip the church services they usually attended.

“Is Mr. Spencer coming today, Mommy?” Sara asked from across the room. She was playing with the dollhouse he’d given her for her birthday.

“He said he was. However, sometimes something happens that makes it impossible for people to do what they intend to do.” It was a convoluted warning that she hoped her daughter would understand.

“I hope he comes. I want to show him my family.”

Distracted, Molly said, “But he’s seen the family, sweetie. Remember? He played with you Friday evening.”

“But I fixed it, Mommy. Yesterday, while you were busy, I fixed it.”

Molly raised her head and stared at Sara. “What do you mean, you fixed it?”

Sara came running across the room, two of the small plastic dolls in her hands. When she got close, Molly briefly closed her eyes. She didn’t need the explanation Sara gave her.

Holding up the father and boy, Sara said, “See? I used my paints to make them look like Mr. Spencer.”

The dark hair of the man and boy had been painted, not too neatly, a yellowish brown.

Molly swallowed, trying to think what to say. “Um, I see. Well, I guess they match the mommy and daughter, don’t they?”

“Yes, but they look like Mr. Spencer. That’s the important thing. So he can be the daddy.”

Molly laid down the crescent roll she’d been wrapping around a small sausage and knelt to be eye level with her daughter. “Sara, Mr. Spencer isn’t a daddy.”

“I know, but he can be one if he wants. Then we’d be a patchwork family, like you said.” She beamed at her mother, as if she’d made a great discovery.

Molly wanted to cry, but she pasted a smile on her face. “No, sweetie, Mr. Spencer is a friend. He’s not going to be part of a family. At least not our family. He’s only a friend.”

Sara’s smile disappeared. “But I want him to be. Can’t you ask him, Mommy? I think he’d like to be part of our family.”

“No, Sara, I can’t ask him. And neither can you,” she hastily added as Sara stared at her. She knew how her daughter’s mind operated. “We’re going to be our own family. It may be a small one, but it’s an extra good one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sara agreed, but her face looked glum.

“It’s time for us to eat a quick lunch and then go get ready. And I have a surprise for you,” she added, glad she had something to distract her daughter.

“What?”

“I bought us both new dresses to wear. Yours is very pretty.”

“A new dress? Where is it?”

“In my bedroom. As soon as we eat, we’ll go upstairs and look at it. Put your toys away.”

Fortunately, Sara seemed to forget her plan to expand their family as she stored the dolls in the dollhouse and ran back to set the table.

“D
ARLING
, I
HOPE YOU’RE GOING
to take me to a late lunch after we do this reception thing. I haven’t seen you in weeks!” the svelte blonde gushed as soon as she got off the plane. She clung to Quinn’s arm and smiled adoringly up at him.

“Um, Clarisse, I’m sure you’ll find a lot to eat at the reception. Molly is a great cook.”

Clarisse snuggled even closer. “Molly…such an old-fashioned name. Is she one of those sweet, grand-motherly types?”

Quinn couldn’t keep from thinking about the last time he saw Molly, when he’d kissed her. “Uh, no, she’s more the happy homemaker type.”

“Oh, poor Quinn. No wonder you wanted me to come. Is she making a play for you, looking for a man to take care of her?” Clarisse fluttered her lashes at him. “I know how you hate that type. Fortunately for me, I have Daddy’s money. I don’t need a man to support me.”

By that time, they’d reached the car, and he held the door open for his guest. Yeah, Clarisse Donald was fortunate, because she was no more equipped to be independent than Molly was to let someone else control her life. If she had to do without everything
but food and water, Molly would before she’d let some man support her.

“I don’t have to be back until Tuesday,” she said as Quinn slid behind the steering wheel.

Damn. He’d made her reservations and had her on a plane leaving at five that evening. She knew that. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a very busy week ahead of me. I’m even going to have to work after I put you back on the plane.”

“But I’ve already changed my reservation,” Clarisse told him, triumph in her gaze.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the reservations number for the airline she’d flown on. It was the one he usually used. Even as Clarisse protested, he changed her reservation back to that evening.

When he hung up, she lamented, “But, Quinn, we’re not going to have any time
alone!
”

“Sorry, Clarisse, but this just isn’t a good time.”

In fact, he’d already realized he’d made a mistake, bringing Clarisse in from Chicago for the reception. What had he been thinking? Molly wasn’t interested in him.

But he’d panicked when he thought about that kiss. As casual as it was, had been intended to be, it had shaken him.

So now he was stuck with Clarisse for the afternoon.

When they reached the Victorian home on Ivy Lane, Quinn discovered they weren’t the first to arrive. Numerous cars lined the quiet avenue.

After parking, he hurried inside, with Clarisse glued to his side. The entryway was crowded with
people he’d known all his life. In particular, his two brothers.

“Hey, Quinn, where’s Dad?” Seth asked. Jenna, his wife, wasn’t in sight.

Quinn shrugged his shoulders. “I had to pick up Clarisse at the airport, but Dad had already decided he wouldn’t come with me. I thought maybe you or Brady were picking him up.”

Brady shook his head. “I thought he was coming with you.”

“You both remember Clarisse, don’t you?” Quinn hurriedly said as the woman stroked his arm.

Both his brothers nodded and greeted her, but their gazes returned to him, questions in their eyes.

He quickly asked, “Where’s Jenna?”

Seth grinned. “She’s giving tours of the suites upstairs.”

Quinn couldn’t hold back the next question. “And Molly?”

“In the dining room,” Seth said. “That’s where most of the people are, trying to taste everything. Brady pointed out the muffins.”

“Yeah, she made bite-sized ones, but they taste just as good. And did you see that Christmas tree cake?” Brady asked, enthusiasm in his voice.

“Well, really, I had no idea hors d’oeuvres were so important to men,” Clarisse said with an arch laugh that set Quinn’s teeth on edge.

“She’s a good cook,” he responded simply. Then he took Clarisse’s arm to move her in the direction of the dining room. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“I’m in no hurry to meet Muffin Molly,” Clarisse protested. “I much prefer the company of three handsome men.”

“Don’t call her that!” Quinn snapped.

Clarisse opened her mouth—to protest, he presumed—but all three men were distracted by new arrivals. Their father entered, accompanied by Lydia Perry, one of the quilters.

“Hello, boys,” Elias said in a booming voice. “You know Lydia, don’t you?”

Lydia’s cheeks were bright red. It could be the cold weather, but Quinn figured it might be nerves. He stepped forward and kissed her cheek. “Of course we do. How are you, Lydia?”

“Fine, Quinn. Your father was kind enough to give me a ride today.”

“Good.” Clarisse tugged on his arm, and he made the introduction to Lydia.

“We’re on our way to meet Mrs. Molly Homemaker,” Clarisse said, “if you’ll excuse us.”

“Where is Molly?” Lydia asked, frowning at Clarisse’s snide tone.

“In the dining room,” Quinn said, suddenly reluctant to present Clarisse to Molly.

“Does she have any of those muffins?” Elias asked eagerly.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you men are fixated on muffins.”

“They’re damn good,” Brady said, staring at Clarisse, “and yes, Dad, she does. But there are lots of other good things, too.”

“We’ll go with you,” Elias said, catching Lydia’s hand in his. “Oh, your coat, Lydia. We’ll get too hot.”

“Quinn forgot to take mine, too,” Clarisse said as she slipped off the full-length mink. As Quinn took it, she struck an obvious pose, waiting for his re
sponse. She was dressed in a cocktail dress, cut startlingly low over her breasts.

It was Brady who commented. “That’s quite a dress, Clarisse.”

“Better than muffins?” she asked, but everyone realized it wasn’t a question they needed to answer. Clarisse obviously thought she knew their reply.

“No,” Elias said without any pretense as he handed his and Lydia’s coats to one of the women acting as assistant hostesses.

Clarisse arched her brows, then patted Lydia on the arm. “You poor dear. He’s obviously past the age to—”

“Clarisse!” Quinn snapped, warning her not to go too far. Then he drew a deep breath and headed for the dining room, a sinking feeling in his stomach that disaster was in the offing.

M
OLLY HAD WORRIED
that her new dress wouldn’t be appropriate, once she’d noted how it clung to her body. She’d bought it in such a hurry that she hadn’t realized how faithfully it followed her outline. She hadn’t worn a sweaterdress in years, but it had felt so good, so comfortable, she’d thought it would give her confidence.

Its cowl neckline framed her face without the discomfort of a turtleneck, and its royal-blue color was a favorite. As she greeted her guests, they seemed to approve of her choice, so she’d relaxed.

Until she realized the newcomers included Quinn with a beautiful blonde in a stunning dress. Suddenly she felt dowdy. “Good afternoon,” she greeted the group formally.

“The place looks terrific, Molly,” Quinn said in
a low voice with a smile. Then he added, “Let me introduce Clarisse Donald, a friend. You already know Lydia, of course, and this is my father, Elias Spencer.”

Molly nodded to the blonde, kissed Lydia’s cheek and offered her hand to Mr. Spencer. “I’m so glad all of you could come.”

Clarisse was the first to respond. “Oh, I never turn down an invitation from my lover. Every minute I can spend with Quinn, even attending a reception—” she made it sound like torture “—is worth whatever I have to endure.”

She snuggled up to Quinn and kissed his cheek.

Her message was so clear it could’ve been in neon lights.
Hands off, he’s mine.

Molly tried to justify the nausea she was feeling. The woman was too obvious to be believed. And the warning wasn’t necessary. Molly had known Quinn wasn’t going to have a role in her life. Other than legal.

“How nice,” she said, ignoring Quinn’s embarrassment. “Maybe after you look around, Quinn will take you somewhere more enjoyable.” And she turned her attention to Elias Spencer and her friend Lydia.

Elias was explaining to her about his enjoyment of the muffins when Clarisse touched her arm, interrupting.

“I’ve embarrassed Quinn, so I’d better apologize. I didn’t mean coming here was torture. At least—” she paused to giggle “—no more than anywhere else with a crowd. You know how it is when all you want is to be alone.”

“Of course, I understood what you meant,” Molly
said with complete sincerity. “Please feel free to cut the tour short and find somewhere you can be alone. Quinn has done his duty.”

Then she resumed her conversation with Elias and Lydia, escorting them personally to the buffet displayed on the different tables.

“Isn’t she horrid?” Lydia asked in a whisper.

Molly smiled but shook her head.

“Yeah, she is,” Elias agreed. “I never have liked her. I don’t know what got into Quinn, bringing her all the way from Chicago.”

Molly was pretty sure she knew, but she wasn’t going to contribute to this conversation. “Jenna is upstairs give tours of the two bedrooms I’ve finished, with the quilts in place. I hope you like them, Lydia. After you’ve sampled some of the food, be sure you see them.”

“Oh, yes, I can’t wait. Elias, Molly has decorated the bedrooms around our quilts.”

“Then I know they’re terrific. We’ll go up as soon as I taste those little sausage things, along with the muffins. You’ve got to taste these muffins, Lydia.”

Molly left them to greet other newcomers, but she was intrigued with the comfort level between those two. She hadn’t heard that Lydia was dating anyone, but she was certainly an attractive woman. And Elias Spencer seemed much more at ease with small-town life than his son.

She forgot those two when she turned to the next arrival. Ursula Wilson stood glaring at her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wilson. I’m so glad you’ve joined us,” she said, smiling.

“It would certainly be hard to ignore you with all
the traffic and noise clogging our little street. I knew it would be like this!”

“This is a special circumstance, Mrs. Wilson. The Breakfast Inn Bed only holds ten or twelve guests at a time, not the several hundred who are visiting today.”

“So you say now, but I’m sure you’ll be wanting to expand before we know it, with your toe already in the door. Then it’ll be like this all the time!”

“I don’t think I could handle that much business,” Molly said mildly, keeping her temper under control.

“Good, refer them all to us,” a man said, laughter in his voice.

Molly was delighted to welcome Joe Santori and his wife Susannah. They ran the other bed-and-breakfast in town. She’d talked with them about being competition for the business and had found them delightful.

“Joe, Susannah, thank you for coming.”

Susannah stepped forward to kiss her cheek, surprising Molly. “We couldn’t miss it. Gina’s been raving about the place since she interviewed you. She came with us, but she stopped to visit with some friends.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, I never put it together. You’re related. I should’ve—”

Ursula Wilson snorted in disbelief. “Everyone knows Gina is their— Well, Joe’s daughter. You can quit playing the innocent.”

Molly’s cheeks heated up, and she struggled to remain calm. “I guess I should have made the connection, but I’ve been reading Gina’s column ever since I moved here, and I thought of her as someone famous.”