Hearts on the Line

“You did this in four months? I’m impressed.”

“I wanted something that would capture people’s attention when they walked in.”

“Well, you succeeded. How long have you lived here?”

“Almost four years. I bought this as a fixer-upper and just recently completed what I wanted to do with it.”

Becca strolled into the living room off the large foyer, and again stood transfixed, taking in the beauty before her. The massive mahogany fireplace and mantel were every bit as intricate as the staircase. White crown molding accentuated the dark-taupe-painted walls and bookcases carved with swirls and leaves lined one wall. Glimpses at the titles of some of the books hinted at the man standing beside her. Historical books and biographies adorned the shelves, along with a few mysteries.

She walked closer to the bookcase. “Are you a history buff?”

“Yeah, you could say I am. I believe in order to understand the present you have to understand the past.”

“I agree. People are shaped by their past.”

“Exactly. Escalante has revenge in mind for the Vance and Montgomery families because of what happened last year. You can’t escape your past, no matter how much you want to. It eventually catches up with you.”

The tension in the warm, cozy room heightened. Becca didn’t want to journey back any more into the past. She had given up her dream for her family and didn’t regret raising her siblings. She would never have let them be raised by anyone else, but still she wondered from time to time what her life would have been like if the situation had been different. “How did we get on such a heavy topic?”

“Beats me.”

His grin produced her own smile. “Show me your kitchen. I need some inspiration.”

He swept his arm toward the dining room. A long table with clean, simple lines dominated the space. The maroon brocade on the eight chairs complemented the darkness of the cherrywood, adding an elegant tone to the room.

“You have excellent taste in furniture.”

“Thank you. I just finished making that.” He pointed toward a cabinet that housed a few pieces of a china set that looked old.

Its simple lines matched the table’s, prompting Becca to ask, “Did you make everything in this room?”

“Everything in the house. I still have several rooms to finish.”

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked, stunned by the amount of work that had to have gone into each piece of furniture.

“I don’t require more than five or six hours, which helps.” He shrugged. “My brother says I don’t have a life.”

That was probably what many people would say about her. The connection she had felt that first day on the rooftop strengthened even more. “Is he right?”

His grin reappeared, self-mocking this time. “Yes. I’m working on changing that. I only work six days a week now. Sunday is my day off.” He started toward a door on the other side of the room.

“But you’re working today.” Becca followed him into his kitchen.

His gaze snared hers and held it for a long moment. “This isn’t work.”

Her throat went dry and her pulse sped up. For several heartbeats she saw only him, before she tore her attention away and examined his kitchen, which was one of the reasons she was here.

“Wow,” was all she could say as she swept her gaze around the room.

The first thing she felt was she would like to cook in his kitchen. This was a place where family would want to congregate, with its welcoming warmth in the dark tones of the cherry cabinets, its cream-colored marble countertops with various shades of brown swirls and its hardwood floor with a lustrous finish occasionally broken by an area rug that picked up the room’s golden brown, dark red and forest green colors reflected in the plaid wallpaper. Her gaze rested upon what had to be the focal point, the built-in range with a mosaic tile pattern behind it on the wall with a glass-door cabinet flanking each side. Beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces of china and glassware were showcased.

Quinn walked around, trailing his hand along the counter. “This is my mother’s influence on my life. She felt the kitchen was the most important room in the house, therefore it should be put together first, which is what I did when I moved in here.”

“I can see why you like to cook.” A picture of herself creating some dish in this kitchen flashed into her thoughts and took hold. Its impact stole her breath. “You have carte blanche to do with my kitchen as you see fit. That is, anything within my meager budget.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth she should have snatched them back. She didn’t give control up easily and she had just given him free rein. From the wide-eyed look on his face her statement must have taken him just as much by surprise.

“What do you like in here?”

She spun around in a slow circle with her arms outstretched. “Everything. But I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to replicate your kitchen at my house, especially since this looks expensive.”

“Not as much as you would think, but then I did the labor and I do have some resources.” He paused, his gaze intent on her face. “You know you have to tell me more than that.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want what I have. It’s cold, outdated and impractical.”

He sighed. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He started to say something else when she added, “But then I also like green, yellow and red.”

His chuckles floated on the air. “Maybe it would be easier if I asked if there’s a color you don’t like.”

“Hmm.” She rubbed her finger along her chin and looked toward the ceiling. “Nope, not really.”

“You’re making this hard for me.”

“But I like all colors. I don’t really have one favorite. That should make it easier. You can’t go wrong with any color scheme you pick.”

“So you would be okay with purple and, say, orange?”

She winced. “Well, maybe not those two colors together, but I do like them combined with other colors.”

With lightness deep in his eyes, he covered the short space between them. “Then I’ll just have to get to know you better so I can figure out what will work best.”

Words lodged in her throat, but for the life of her she couldn’t voice any of them. Mesmerized by the deep chocolate of his eyes, she found herself being drawn into those rich depths, like a hot fudge sundae, lured from the safe, emotional world she had created for herself into an unknown one where feelings dominated and threatened to take over. And, like the sundae, both hot and cold, at the same time.

Swallowing several times, she blurted out, “I trust your judgment after seeing what you did with your house.”

After she said that statement, surprise gripped her like a vise Quinn would work with. The day had been filled with one surprise after another. She took a step back to give herself some space because with him so near she obviously wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Trust wasn’t something she often gave and especially when knowing someone for such a short time. What was it about Quinn that put her at ease? Yes, they had formed a bond up on the rooftop. Yes, she knew his younger brother, Brendan, and respected him. Yes, she had known who Quinn was casually. But those things weren’t really what made her stay up at night thinking about him or doing something out of character like wearing a sundress, the only one she owned.

Puzzlement drew his eyebrows together. He combed his fingers through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What do you like to cook? Fancy meals? Gourmet food? Simple fare?” A touch of desperation entered his eyes.

“Nothing fancy or gourmet, but I wouldn’t classify it as simple, either. In the winter I love to make soups and stews. In the summer things like taco salad, three-bean salad. Then there’s the old standbys like lasagna and spaghetti. I made things my sister and brother would eat. How’s that help you?”

“I’m trying to get a feel for the work space you’d need.”

“I don’t cook as much anymore since Caitlin went into the Air Force a few months ago. With just me and my killer work schedule at times, it’s hard to come home and fix a hot meal. But hopefully one day I’ll do more.”