Patchwork Family (5 page)

T
HIS WAS A GOOD THING
, Quinn assured himself.

When you fear something, it grows in proportion to your fear. Fear gives the enemy power.

He wasn’t going to give any more power to Molly Blake. What a ridiculous thought, that he, an international lawyer, well-to-do, respected and admired, feared Molly Blake.

Pulling into the driveway of her house, he parked his car and opened the trunk. Because of their size he carried the quilts one at a time to the front porch.

He was about to use the brass knocker when he took note of the design in the stained-glass oval. Since the bed-and-breakfast was located on Ivy Lane, the design used ivy, its curling tendrils encircling the oval. Then, where it met at the bottom, the ivy entwined itself around two flowers, a red rose and a yellow tulip in the center. He grinned. That block of Ivy Lane was intersected by Rose Street on the south end and Tulip Street to the north. Very nice. He’d heard his brand-new sister-in-law, Jenna, was doing some artwork for Molly. He wondered if she had anything to do with the design.

He brought himself back to the business at hand. Time to make his delivery and get the hell out of there. The brass knocker fell heavily against the door, making a satisfying, sturdy sound.

Little feet hurrying to the door alerted him to Sara’s arrival. She tugged the door open about six inches and pressed her face through the opening. In spite of himself, he was glad to see that the child was all right.

He cleared his throat, ready to make his explanation, when he was surprised by her response.

With a beaming smile, she pulled the door wide-
open. “Hi, Mr. Man. Did you come to take me to the doctor? I’m all well.”

She obviously remembered him. “Uh, no, Sara, I didn’t. And I’m glad you’re all well. You look lovely today.” And she did. Her delicate features, big blue eyes and soft blond hair made her look like a perfect doll. Except she was dressed in sturdy jeans and an open corduroy shirt over a Sesame Street T-shirt.

“Thank you.” She reached out, took his hand and tugged. “Come on!”

“But—” He could’ve resisted, of course, but Sara’s excitement and beaming smile was a lure he didn’t want to deny. So he followed her willy-nilly down the hall, realizing, as he did so, that they’d left the front door standing open.

Sara raced around the desk beside the stairs to a door on the left, out of sight of arrivals. Pushing it, she tugged him into a big kitchen, brightened by the afternoon sunshine, scented by whatever Molly Blake was baking.

Of course his gaze fixed on the larger version of Sara. She was bent over one of the ovens, her rounded bottom covered in snug-fitting jeans.

“Look, Mommy, Mr. Man is here!”

Molly spun around, almost losing her balance, a startled look on her flushed face. “What— Sara, did you open the front door?”

Quinn watched as the little girl’s pleasure disappeared, her eyes widening and one finger rising to her rosebud mouth. “Uh-oh.”

Molly composed herself, taking her attention from her child after giving her a warning look. “My apologies, Mr. Spencer, I wasn’t expecting— Did you
need to talk to me? If you’ll return to the living room, I’ll tidy up and be right in.”

She was covered with a big white apron that had a few stains on it, and a streak of flour stood out against her red cheek. Maybe it was the smell of whatever was baking, but Quinn found himself thinking she looked delicious.

She gestured toward the door, one eyebrow raised.

“Uh, no! I mean, I don’t need to speak to you.”

She seemed taken aback by his forthrightness. “Oh. Then why are you here?”

“Martha asked me to deliver the quilts, since they’re heavy.”

He’d expected a polite thank-you. Instead, surprise followed by excitement filled her beautiful face. Then she rushed past him, followed by Sara, and he found himself standing alone in the big kitchen.

Shaking his head, he turned to follow. Did the woman ever remain in control? Every time he’d seen her, her emotions had been driving her. At least today they were happy emotions.

Since they’d left the front door open, Molly had no difficulty locating the quilts, both wrapped in clear plastic to protect them from dirt. She and little Sara were tugging on the top quilt, trying to move it inside.

“Here, let me do that,” he said, touching her on the shoulder.

She jumped, as if she’d forgotten he was there.

Quinn was surprised at how much that thought bothered him. He wasn’t used to being ignored. He stepped out on the porch and gathered the first quilt into his arms. Putting it on the rug that covered the entryway, he went back for the second one.

“Thank you so much for bringing them,” Molly said, her voice breathless.

Quinn couldn’t help thinking how that voice would affect him in a dark room, her body pressed close to his, the two of them alone. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

“Are we going to put them on the beds, Mommy?” Sara asked, her voice as enthusiastic as her mother’s.

“Of course, sweetie,” Molly said, but she didn’t move.

Quinn wondered why she stood waiting. Then he realized she was waiting for him to leave, of course. He immediately started to make his departure, but his gaze fell on the wide graceful stairway that led to the second floor. How would Molly and delicate little Sara get those heavy quilts up the stairs?

“Let me carry the quilts upstairs for you,” he said on impulse. After all, that was what Martha would want him to do.

“No, that’s not necessary. You’ve already done so much, bringing them here. I didn’t expect that,” Molly assured him, her smile still bright.

“It won’t take but a minute. Which one do you want first?”

“Are you sure?” she asked, the smile dimming as she searched his face.

He’d never worked so hard to do something for a lady in his life. “I’m sure. This one?”

The quilt he pointed to was the one the ladies had said was Bachelor’s Puzzle. It had been done in various shades of blue.

“Yes, that would be great. I’ll—I’ll show you which room,” she said, extending her hand to Sara.
The little girl, still excited, danced beside Molly as they started up the stairs.

So once again he followed Molly’s entrancing backside up the stairs. And this time, as before, they were headed for a bed.

But not one they would share.

Molly had had long discussions about the colors for each suite of rooms. The quilting ladies had promised to select fabrics that would make the quilt the highlight of each room. But today was the first time for Molly to actually see if her plans were going to work out.

She tried to look at the room with a stranger’s eye. Instead, she knew she was as coldly objective as a grandmother beaming at her pride and joy.

As soon as Quinn put the quilt on the king-size bed, she tore at the plastic, with Sara’s help. Then she spread the quilt over the bed, its edges stopping after meeting the dark blue bed skirt.

“Perfect!” she exclaimed.

“The pillows, Mommy,” Sara reminded her, running to the corner of the room where Molly had piled up the pillows, waiting for the placement of the quilt.

“Oh, yes, Sara, thank you!” she exclaimed. She joined her little girl in piling the pillows against the brass headboard. Then the two of them stepped back, hand in hand, and admired their handiwork.

“Very nice,” a deep, masculine voice said, reminding Molly of their guest.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Thank you so much for carrying it up here.”

“No problem. This room is beautiful. Did you use a decorator?”

“No!” She hadn’t intended to answer so sharply, but the thought of turning her home over to some impersonal decorator was horrifying. “No, Sara and I planned everything. I had a little input from Jenna. She’s an artist who—”

“I know Jenna,” Quinn muttered. “She’s my new sister-in-law.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She stood there awkwardly.

“Where does the other quilt go?”

Molly wondered if she could ever appear at an advantage in front of this man. Today she was acting like a half-wit. Not that how she appeared to Quinn Spencer mattered, she sturdily assured herself. No, not at all.

“I’ll show you,” she said. The second quilt, A Young Man’s Fancy, would go in the suite across the hall. She crossed to the door and opened it.

“I’ll go get it,” he said with a nod and started down the stairs.

He was being very helpful. More than she would’ve expected him to be. In fact, she felt quite guilty about thoughts she’d had of Quinn Spencer. He’d been helpful at every turn, from her legal difficulties to helping with Sara.

Today he was putting his muscles to use for her. And fine muscles they were, too. She couldn’t help noticing his strong legs, his— Good heavens! She hadn’t even asked him to take off his overcoat. Some hostess she was.

He carried the quilt into the other suite. Molly in
tended to wait to place the quilt until after she did a better job of welcoming and thanking the man. Sara, however, assumed they would spread the quilt out at once.

“Come on, Mommy!” she exclaimed, ripping the plastic away from the quilt.

“Here, I’ll help,” Quinn assured the little girl, a smile on his lips that only made him more attractive.

Before Molly could protest, the two of them had dispensed with the plastic covering. Then it seemed silly to protest spreading out the quilt. After all, it only took a moment. And she was anxious to see how it looked.

The three of them stood together and stared at the room. The greens of the quilt made the room appear fresh and inviting.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve done a great job,” he said, his voice soft and deep. A bedroom voice.

Stop that! Those thoughts were dangerous. She didn’t want to connect this man with anything sexual. Intimate. Personal.

She drew a deep breath. “Thank you. You don’t think either room is too…feminine?” She’d worried about that. After all, there was no male influence in their lives.

He turned to look at her, surprise on his face. “Not at all.”

Her cheeks turned red. “Thanks. I haven’t even asked you to take off your coat. I hope you haven’t gotten overheated.”

“No. And there’s no need. I’m only going right back out, so—”

“Have you eaten lunch?” she asked, wondering where that impulse had come from. But she needed to thank him for his assistance.

“No,” he answered, surprise on his face.

“I’ve got soup and salad ready for our lunch and there’s plenty. I’d love to have you join us to say thank you.”

Sara clapped her hands together. “Yes! Please, Mr. Man? And you could taste Mommy’s muffins and vote, too.”

“Sweetie, this is Mr. Spencer, not Mr. Man.”

Sara beamed at Quinn, not at all bothered by having called him the wrong thing. “Please?”

Q
UINN OPENED HIS MOUTH
to decline the invitation. But Sara’s excitement stopped him. How could he disappoint her? It was flattering, too, that she was so excited at the idea that he would eat lunch with them.

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” he said in polite protest to Molly.

“No trouble at all. We usually eat in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”

So she thought he was too proud to eat in a kitchen? “I like kitchens,” he said. Not that he’d had a lot of experience with them, but what he’d seen of hers was inviting.

Sara took his hand and tugged toward the stairs. “Hurry! I’m hungry.”

Her daughter’s words shook Molly from her stiff formality. “How can you be that hungry? You tasted all the muffins!” she protested.

As Molly led the way down the stairs, Quinn asked, “What is this about muffins?”

“Oh, I was trying out my muffin recipes this
morning while Sara was at preschool. I had her taste them when she got home to see which one she liked best. I’m trying to decide which one to serve.”

“Ah, I’d be delighted to taste your muffins. What are my choices?” Maybe they would help fill him up. Soup and salad didn’t sound too substantial.

“Cranberry, orange spice, strawberry and banana nut,” she returned as she moved down the stairs.

Sara, still holding his hand and hopping along beside him, said, “I like the strawberry ones, but Mommy says she’s ’fraid it tastes like cake.” Sara beamed up at him. “I like cake!”

The rueful look Molly sent him over her shoulder brought a chuckle, surprising him. Usually he didn’t laugh all that often.

Once they reached the kitchen, she offered to take his overcoat. Shrugging out of it, he watched as she hung it on a coat tree standing near the back door.

“Taste test or lunch first?”

“Maybe I’d better test the muffins first before my taste buds get corrupted with lunch.”

“Sara, you set the table,” Molly ordered. Then she gestured to the large kitchen table. “Please, sit down. I’ll bring the muffins to you. Would you like coffee or tea with them?”

“Coffee would be great.”

Sara importantly carried three place mats to the table and spread one out in front of Quinn. Then she returned to the cabinet where Molly had placed three plates and silverware. He’d almost protested when she’d ordered Sara to set the table. She was such a little thing, so young. He wasn’t sure she was old enough to handle such a chore.

He was glad he’d kept quiet.

“You’re doing a nice job, Sara,” he praised.

“Thank you,” she said, beaming at him again. “Mommy taught me.”

“I bet you’re a big help to Mommy,” he replied. He’d never had many conversations with children and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“We’re a team,” Sara assured him.

“I can see that.”

Molly set a cup of fragrant coffee in front of him, then returned to the cabinet for a plate. When she returned, he noted she’d cut some muffins into fourths. He looked up at her.

“I didn’t think you’d want to eat four whole muffins, so I cut them up.”

“Uh, thanks. Do I need to know which one is which?”

“No, it’s probably better if you don’t, in case you have any preconceived notions.”

“About muffins?” he asked, a grin on his face. He’d never given muffins a moment’s thought.

“Some people do. Like zucchini bread or carrot cake.”

“Zucchini bread?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. I thought about including it in the choices, but I wasn’t sure—” She broke off abruptly. “I must be boring you to tears. It’s bad enough that I’m subjecting you to tasting these.” She set the plate down and returned to the kitchen area.

Sara leaned close, one little finger edging toward the plate of muffins. “This one is the strawberry one,” she whispered.

“Sara!” Molly called sharply. “Let Mr. Spencer make his own choice.”

A finger stole to the little girl’s mouth and she looked sad. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Did you put the napkins in place?” Molly continued.

Sara moved to do as her mother asked, but she kept her eye on Quinn.

To his amusement, he noted Molly did, too, only she tried to hide her interest. Sara didn’t bother. This test tasting was serious business in the Blake household.

But not to him. He was going along with all this to be polite. That was all.

He took his first bite of muffin.

Hmm. Several distinct flavors lit up his taste buds.

Not bad. Not bad at all. He started to take a second bite of that muffin before he remembered he had three more to taste.

By the time he’d tasted all four muffins, he was ready to start again.

“You already tasted that one,” Sara pointed out, now standing beside his chair in close observation.

Quinn shot Molly a look to see if she’d noticed. She had her back to him at the stove, stirring something. He leaned closer to Sara and whispered, “I need to taste them all again. I’m not sure yet.”

“Oh. I tasted the strawberry one over and over again,” Sara confessed.

Quinn wasn’t slow. He knew a request when he heard one. He slid a bite of the strawberry muffin toward Sara. Quick as a wink, it disappeared.

Molly appeared beside the table, a tray in her hands. “Did you find one you liked?” she asked nonchalantly, as if his decision made no difference
to her. But he’d seen her watching him. He knew differently.

He took a sip of coffee. “Well, actually—”

“You didn’t like any of them,” she guessed, disappointment in her voice. “I should’ve—”

“Molly,” he interrupted, using her first name. You couldn’t be formal over a kitchen table, he reasoned. “They’re all terrific. I’m having trouble choosing between them.”

“Really?” she asked, her face anxious.

The ridiculous idea of cupping her cheeks and kissing those luscious lips crossed his mind. He instantly dismissed it. “Uh, yeah, really. I taste one and think it’s my favorite, until I taste the next one. Then it’s my favorite. They’re so moist.”

“Thank you” was her only response. Then she set a big bowl in front of him.

He sniffed the steamy aroma arising from the bowl, but before he could identify it, she said, “Potato.”

She added bowls for her and Sara, and several small bowls of condiments. “Bacon and cheese if you want any for your soup.”

She returned to the cabinet to load three more bowls onto her tray. This time large salad bowls were placed on the table, along with several small pitchers of dressing. “The salad has chicken and cheese in it.”

Then she put a glass of milk in front of Sara. “Would you like something else to drink, in addition to your coffee?” she asked him.

“Some ice water would be nice.” He was beginning to think he was in a four-star restaurant. The
soup smelled terrific. If it even came close to the perfection of the muffins, he was in for a treat.

Half an hour later, he wasn’t sure he’d ever need to eat again. Not only had the food been wonderful, but also the company had pleased him. Sara had incredible table manners for a four-year-old. She also had a charm that entranced him. He laughed a couple of times as she entertained him with stories about the preschool she attended at the town’s day care center.

Molly reminded her of her lunch occasionally.

Then Molly told her it was time for her afternoon “rest.” It wasn’t a nap, Sara assured him. She was too old for a nap. But Miss Kaitlin said they needed to rest so they’d grow taller. And she was going to grow this big, she told him, stretching her arm as high as she could reach.

After Molly returned from tucking Sara in for her “rest,” she thanked him again for tasting the muffins.

He knew he could’ve easily excused himself at that point. She was giving him an opening. But he didn’t take it.

“I can assure you, Molly, it was a pleasure. Anytime you need tasting done, I’m your man. You’re an excellent cook.”

She blushed and muttered another thank-you.

“Have you thought any about my suggestion?”

“Yes, I have. I’m planning an open house for a week from Sunday. But instead of having only the neighbors and a few dignitaries, I’m opening it to the entire town.”

“The entire town?” he questioned, frowning. “Isn’t that overdoing it just a little? It’ll cost a lot.”

“Not that much more. Everyone won’t come, of
course, and I’m not serving a meal. Some muffins, some cake, snack food. It will give everyone a chance to look at the house. Of course, I’ll only have the first two suites done because all the quilts aren’t finished, but they’ll be able to see what I’m trying to do.”

He couldn’t imagine Molly and little Sara getting ready for such a huge undertaking. “How will you manage?”

“Manage what?” she asked, a frown on her face.

“All the work, the cleaning, the baking. I don’t even know, but it sounds like a massive undertaking.”

“It won’t be so bad. I’ve been talking to Eden about the flowers and—”

“You’re going to have her do flower arrangements?” he asked. The Garden of Eden, Eden Frazier’s flower shop, was the most popular in town. “Won’t that be expensive?”

“No more than anyone else. We’ve worked out an arrangement where she delivers arrangements once a week for each suite, if it’s being used.”

“Couldn’t you use some fake arrangements? It would save money.”

She looked at him as if he’d suggested murder. “Fake arrangements? No, never. Fresh flowers are so much better.”

“But you said money—”

She stiffened. “Mr. Spencer, I told you I had my budget worked out. I’m not bankrupt.”

He caught himself before he could protest the use of his last name. It was a signal to back off. “My apologies.”