A Father's Place

“No, we don’t.” She pulled the car to the curb. “Just promise me you won’t do anything to make Quinn Forrester suspicious of you. More suspicious than he already is.”

“I told you, Gwen and I are just friends. I find her charming.” He glanced into the rearview mirror, straightening the blue tie that matched his eyes.

Charming. Plenty of people had used that word about Charles Wayne, including his daughter. Until the day he was arrested for embezzlement, leaving her bereft and alone, bankrupting herself in a futile attempt to pay off his debts.

There was no time to think about that now, not with Gwen already opening the front door of the rambling Victorian house. Her father took her arm as they got out of the car, and she felt a brief moment’s pleasure in his courteous manners.

“I don’t care who knows the truth, you know,” he said quietly.

Panic shot through her. “Well, I do.” She stopped on the walk, turning to face him, and spoke in a furious whisper. “I still feel the pain of what happened back in Winstead when people knew the truth. It took me a long time to find a place where I belong again, and I won’t let you ruin it.”

He nodded, and for an instant she almost imagined she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. That was impossible. Charles Wayne took everything in life far too lightly to be brought to tears by her.

“I won’t do anything to hurt you, Ellie. You can count on me.”

She held back a despairing sigh. She’d counted on him before, and then found out he was living a lie.

“Come right in.” Gwen waved them into the wide center hall of the gracious old house, and Kristie danced forward to hug Ellie. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Let me help you, Gwen.” She was uncomfortably aware of Quinn, standing silent behind his mother. He’d shed his jacket and tie and should have looked relaxed. Instead he looked unyielding. He was only too obviously not joining in the welcome.

“No, no, it’s all under way. But I did want to show you those notes about the craft fair. Now where did I put them?” Gwen looked around, her soft rosy face puzzled, as if the papers should spring into her hand.

“You had them on the coffee table, I think,” Quinn said. “Why don’t you and Ellie take a look at them, and I’ll see to things in the kitchen.” His smile carried nothing of amusement in it. “Charles can help me.”

Ellie had another moment of panic at the thought of her father alone with that formidable personality, but before she could say anything, Gwen swept Charles toward the kitchen, taking Kristie with them.

“You show Ellie where those notes are, dear. Charles and Kristie will help me.”

The kitchen door swung shut, and Ellie thought she heard Quinn grind his teeth in exasperation. Then he gestured toward the living room.

“In here. I think that’s where she left them.”

She was uncomfortably aware of his tall figure looming over her as she glanced through the notes Gwen had made about the craft fair arrangements. She didn’t want to look up at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was frowning, and his gray eyes had taken on the glint of steel. Her heart thumped, and she braced herself for another question about her father.

“It sounds as if you and my mother have taken on a big project.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she realized he meant the craft fair.

“We’re cochairing it for the church fund-raising committee. The pipe organ desperately needs a complete overhaul, and we’re trying to raise the money.”

She’d much rather talk about the fund-raising project than her father, although maybe in the end it came back to the same thing. She’d conceived the idea of the craft show as a way of repaying her church family for their kindness and acceptance. And she wouldn’t have been so desperately in need of that kindness if it hadn’t been for her father. But Quinn couldn’t know any of that.

She had a crazy desire to laugh at the situation. She was no more eager to see her father involved with Gwen than Quinn was, for several very good reasons. But she couldn’t risk ever letting Quinn know why.

“I guess, as the organist, you have a vested interest in that.”

She nodded. “It’s a fine old instrument, but nothing more than basic maintenance has been done for years. I say a prayer each time I touch it that the mice haven’t nibbled on anything crucial.”

“You never did tell me where you studied.” He slid the comment in casually, but his expression was watchful.

She suppressed a sigh. Quinn wasn’t going to give up easily, that was clear, and he wouldn’t be content with the carefully crafted version of her past she usually gave when pressed. Somehow she had to convince him that her father didn’t represent a threat to his mother.

“Actually I started piano lessons when I was about Kristie’s age. I didn’t get interested in the organ until I belonged to a church in Philadelphia. The organist took me under his wing and taught me.”

She sent up a brief, thankful prayer for the elderly man who’d shared more than his love of music. He’d shared his love of God, and his profound faith had brought her out of the spiritual low she’d been trapped in after her father’s conviction.

“He meant a lot to you,” Quinn said quietly.

“Yes, he did.” She stopped on the verge of saying he’d given her back her faith. Quinn didn’t merit that kind of confidence from her. She was giving too much away, and he was too observant.

She looked up at him, trying to find something light to say, something that would take them away from dangerous personal ground. She realized in an instant she’d made a mistake. He stood very close to her, watching her intently. That single-minded focus of his was disconcerting. It robbed her of the ability to think.

Quinn frowned, his eyes darkening as their gazes held and they were silent too long. Awareness shimmered between them. Her breath caught. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for Quinn. She couldn’t. Of all the men in the world, he was the last one she should feel anything at all for.

Chapter Three

“Daddy, Grandma says dinner’s ready.” Kristie skipped to them and took Ellie’s hand, breaking the spell that held them immobile. “She says I can sit next to you, Ms. Ellie. Okay?”

“That sounds great, Kristie.” Feeling released, she turned away from Quinn.

She had to keep her mind on the problem, she lectured herself as Kristie led her across the hall to the dining room.

“Right here,” Kristie said, pulling out a chair at the side of the oval mahogany table.

Ellie nodded, slipping into the seat, and then she realized Kristie wasn’t the one pushing it in for her. Quinn’s hand brushed her shoulder lightly as he settled the chair, and his touch both startled and warmed her. Then he rounded the table to his own seat. Directly opposite her, she saw with a sinking heart.

He sat down, unfolded his napkin, and his gaze met hers over the bowl of zinnias in the middle of the table. How on earth could she concentrate on anything else with him staring at her?

“The roast smells wonderful,” she said, wondering how she’d manage to taste it.

“My daddy’s favorite,” Kristie announced. “We always have his favorite when he comes.” Using two hands, she carefully passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Ellie. “Do you like roast and mashed potatoes, Ms. Ellie?” She looked unaccountably anxious.

“Of course.” She took a spoonful, feeling her stomach tighten. This couldn’t possibly be a peaceful meal, not with her father beaming at Gwen and Quinn looking like a dam about to burst.

The conversation, accompanied by the clinking of silverware on china, didn’t reassure her. Quinn probed into her father’s past. Charles parried the questions with his customary skill, but her tension rose with every question, every comment.

How long would it be before her father said too much? She knew how he loved to talk. If he got started on any of his familiar stories, he’d give something away to a listener as acute as Quinn.

“You’re going to be here for the craft fair, aren’t you, Quinn?” Gwen must have decided that a change of subject was in order. “I’m counting on you to help us out with it.”

“I guess so.” His gaze turned inward, as if he consulted a mental calendar. “I’m on leave from the project for a month.”

Gwen pouted prettily. “You and that project. There’s always a new one. This is the first decent vacation you’ve taken in two years. I’m sure there are plenty of jobs for engineers here in Pennsylvania.”

“I have to go where the corps sends me. The work we’re doing is important.” Quinn sent his mother a quelling look.

“Why don’t you work here, Daddy?” Kristie took up the offensive. “Then you could come home every night. You could coach my soccer team, and we could go fishing and you could help with Bible school.”