Читать книгу The Good Girl's Second Chance - Christine Rimmer - Страница 10

Chapter Four

“No!” Chloe shouted right out loud, not even caring that she sounded like some crazy person, yelling at thin air. “No, you do not get to do that. You do not.” She tore the note in half and then in half again and she dropped it on the floor and stomped on it for good measure. They were divorced, for God’s sake. He had a new wife. And all she wanted from him for now and forever was never to see or hear from him again.

Her heart racing with a sick kind of fury that he’d dared to encroach on her new life where he had no business being, Chloe whipped the beautiful flowers from the vase. Dripping water across the counter and onto the floor, too, she dropped them in the trash compactor, shoved it shut and turned the motor on. The compactor rumbled. She felt way too much satisfaction as the machine crushed the bright blooms to a pulp.

Once the flowers were toast, she poured the water from the vase into the sink, whipped the compactor open again and dropped the vase on top of the mashed flowers. She ran the motor a second time, grinning like a madwoman when she heard that loud, scary pop that meant the vase was nothing but shards of broken glass. After that, she picked up the little bits of card, every one, threw them in with the shattered vase and the pulped flowers, took the plastic bag out of the compactor, lugged it out to the trash bin and threw it in.

Good riddance to bad trash.

She spent a while stewing, considering calling Ted and giving him a large piece of her mind.

But no. She wanted nothing to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to make contact with him again. That might just encourage him.

She wondered if the flowers and the creepy note could be considered the act of a stalker.

But then she reminded herself that Ted and his bride, Larissa, lived more than a thousand miles away in San Diego. It was one thing for Ted to have his assistant send her flowers just to freak her out, but something else again for him to show up on her doorstep in person.

Wasn’t going to happen. He was just being a jerk, an activity at which he excelled.

God. She had married him. How could she have been such an utter, complete fool?

Back in the house, she changed into jeans and a tank top. Then she took her time cooking an excellent dinner of fresh broiled trout with lemon butter, green beans and slivered almonds and her favorite salad of field greens, blueberries, Gorgonzola cheese and toasted walnuts, with a balsamic vinaigrette.

When it was ready, she set the table with her best dishes, lit a candle, poured herself a glass of really nice sauvignon blanc and sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every delicious bite.

A little later, she took a long scented bath and put on a comfy sleep shirt and shorts. Even after the bath, she was still buzzing with anger at the loser she’d once had the bad judgment to marry. Streaming a movie or reading a book was not going to settle her down. She needed a serious distraction.

So she went to the cozy room on the lower floor that she used as a home office and lost herself in the plans for Quinn’s house. Within a few minutes of sitting down at her desk, the only thing on her mind was the rooms taking shape in her imagination—and on her sketch pad. And the numbers coming together for each room, for the project as a whole. She worked for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.

When she finally went back upstairs to the main floor, it was almost midnight. Time for bed.

But she didn’t go to bed. It was cool out that evening. So she put on a big sweater over her sleep shirt, pulled on a pair of fluffy pink booties and went out onto her deck. It was something she had not done after dark since the night Quinn spent in her bed.

But she was doing it tonight.

She padded to the deck railing and stared down at Quinn’s house.

Was she actually expecting him to be watching, waiting for the moment when she wandered out under the stars?

Not really. It just felt...reassuring somehow. To gaze down at his house, to know that she would see him again, would share dinner with him on Friday night.

When the French doors opened and he emerged, she let out a laugh of pure delight and waved to signal him up.

He didn’t even hesitate, just went on down the steps at the side of his deck and forged up the hill. She went to meet him at the top of her stairs, feeling breathless and wonderful.

Tonight, he wore ripped old jeans, a white T-shirt that seemed to glow in the dark and the same moccasins he’d been wearing that other night. He said, “Love those furry boots.” When she laughed, he added, “I was getting worried you might never come outside.”

“And I was absolutely certain there was no way you might be glancing up to see if I was looking down for you.” She held out her hand. He took it. His skin was warm, his palm callous. Just his touch made her body sing. “Come sit with me?”

He looked at her as though she were the only other person in the world. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”

She tugged him over to the two chairs they’d sat in that other night and pulled him down beside her.

Silence.

But it was a good silence. They just sat there, staring out at the clear night and the distant mountains. A slight wind came up, rustling the nearby pines. And an owl hooted off in the shadows somewhere between his house and hers.

Finally, she said, “I met with Manny. I think it went well.”

“He says so, too.”

“And I’m in love with your daughter.”

He chuckled, a rough and tempting sound. “She has that effect on people. Manny’s tough, but Annabelle still manages to wrap him around her little finger. Truth is she rules the house. We just try to keep up with her.”

She looked over at him. “Has she asked you about her mother again?”

“Not yet.” He met her eyes through the shadows. “I know, I know. Wait until she asks. And then don’t load her up with more information than she’s ready for.”

“That’s the way.” She thought of the flowers she’d crushed in the compactor—and then pushed them out of her mind. Why ruin a lovely moment by bringing Ted into it?

Instead, she asked him how he had met Manny. He explained that the old ex-fighter had been his first professional trainer. “I met him at the first gym I walked into after leaving home. Downtown Gym, it was called, in Albuquerque. Manny ran the place and worked with the fighters who trained there. We got along. When I moved on, he went with me. I had a lot of trainers. And over time, Manny became more like my manager, I guess you could say. And kind of a cross between a best friend and a dad.” He shot her a warning look. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

She grinned. “Why not?”

“He already thinks he knows what’s best for me. If he ever heard I said I thought of him as a father, he’d never shut up with the advice and instructions.”

She softly advised, “But I’ll bet it would mean the world to him to know how you really feel.”

“He knows. Hearing it out loud would only make him more impossible to live with.” Quinn faked a dangerous scowl. “So keep your mouth shut.”

She laughed and held up both hands. “I swear I’ll never say a word.”

“Good.”

“So, how did he end up back here in Justice Creek with you and Annabelle?”

“I don’t think either of us really considered a different option. He moved in with me when Annabelle was a baby, to help out.”

When Annabelle was a baby...

So the little girl had been with her dad from the first? What had happened to the mother, the one Quinn said Annabelle would most likely never meet?

So many questions.

But Chloe had such a good feeling about the man beside her. She trusted him to tell her everything in his own good time.

He said, “When I decided to retire from the Octagon last year, Manny was already taking care of Annabelle full-time.” Chloe knew what the Octagon was: the eight-sided ring in which Ultimate Fighting Championship mixed-martial-arts fighters competed. During the rough years when she was still married to Ted, she’d watched more than one of Quinn’s televised UFC fights. It had lifted her spirits to see how far the wild, angry boy from her hometown had come. He continued, “I asked Manny to stick with me when I moved back home. He agreed right off, said he supposed it was about time he settled down. Annabelle’s a handful, but so far he’s managing.”

“From what I’ve seen, he’s great with her. He’s patient, encourages her to express herself and make some of her own decisions—but he stays in charge, too.”

“Yeah. He’s a champ with her, all right...” Quinn’s voice kind of trailed off and there was another silence, one somehow not as comfortable as the first.

She glanced over at him again and found him watching her. “Whatever it is, you might as well just say it.”

“I got a question, but I don’t want to freak you out.”

An unpleasant shiver traveled down the backs of her arms and she thought of Ted again. Because if her freaking out could be involved, it probably had to do with Ted.

Then again, how would Quinn know that? She’d mentioned her ex once, on the night that Quinn came to her bed. What she’d told him had been far from flattering to Ted, but she’d said nothing about how thinking of him made her want to crush flowers and break expensive vases.

“Ask me,” she said. “I can take it.” The words came out sounding so confident. She was proud of them.

“All right, then. Does your mama know you’re going out to dinner with me?”

Her mother. Of course. “No.”

“It’s Justice Creek, Chloe.”

“Meaning she will know?”

“I’d say the odds are better than fifty-fifty, wouldn’t you?”

Chloe kept her gaze steady on his. It was no hardship. Looking at him made her think of hot sex. And safety. And that combination really worked for her. “That girl—the mama’s girl I was in high school?”

“Yeah?”

She slanted him a teasing glance. “You’re not even going to argue that I was never a mama’s girl?”

“Hey. You called it, not me.”

And she made a low, rueful noise in her throat. “Yes, I did. And I was. But I’m not anymore. I tried living my life my mother’s way. It didn’t work for me. I’m all grown up now and my mother doesn’t get to tell me what to do or whom to spend my time with.”

One side of his beautiful mouth curved up then. It was a smirk, heavy on the irony, more like the old, dangerous, edgy Quinn from back in high school than the one she’d been getting to know lately. “Whom. Always so ladylike.”

“Don’t tease me. I’m serious.”

His smirk vanished. “So you’re admitting that your mother’s not gonna like it, you and me spending time together?”

“What I’m telling you is that she doesn’t have a say, so it doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not.”

He reached out his hand between their chairs. She put hers in it, and he lifted it to that wonderful mouth of his. Hot shivers cascaded down her arm and straight to the core of her, just at the feel of his soft lips against her skin. Then he rubbed his chin where his lips had been, teasing her with the rough brush of beard stubble, reminding her of their one night together, making her long to jump up and drag him inside.

But she didn’t.

A moment later, he let go of her hand. He started talking again—about his plans for Prime Sports. She told him how much she appreciated the chance to rework the interiors at his house and then she shared with him some of the ideas she and Manny had discussed for upgrading the kitchen and opening up the living-room space.

A couple of hours passed as they sat there talking quietly under the waning moon. She even told him a little about her failed marriage—no, not about the flowers, and not about the times Ted had struck her. This thing with Quinn was so new and sweet and heady. Sharing ugly stories about her ex would definitely dim the romantic glow. Instead, she tried to explain how disappointed she was in the way things had turned out.

“It hurts so much,” she confessed, “when something that should have been so right somehow goes all wrong. And I feel... I don’t know, less, I guess. Shamed, that I didn’t make better choices.”

He regarded her for several seconds in that steady way he had. “You said the other night that the guy was abusive...”

She held his gaze as she shook her head.

He frowned. “I’ll need more than a head shake to get what you’re trying to tell me.”

She let out a hard sigh. “Oh, Quinn. It’s a beautiful night. And you’re here beside me. It’s good, you and me, talking like this.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I probably shouldn’t even have brought up my divorce.”

“Yeah, you should. Whatever you want to tell me, that’s what I want to hear.”

“That’s just it. I really don’t want to go into any of that old garbage right now.”

He gave her another of those long, thoughtful looks. And then, “All right.”

And just like that, he let it go.

How amazing. He let it go. She’d grown up with a mother who never let anything go. And Ted? He would hound a person to hell and back to find out something he wanted to know.

But not Quinn. She said she didn’t want to talk about it—and he just let it go. He said, “Whatever that story is, whatever happened in the past, you’re going to be fine.”

She made a low, rueful sound. “You’re sure about that, huh?”

And he nodded. “You’re brave and beautiful, Chloe—and not only on the outside. You’re beautiful in your heart, where it matters. I admire the hell out of you.”

Tears burned in her eyes at such praise. She blinked them away and whispered a soft, sincere “Thank you...”

By then, she really wanted to take him inside and spend a few more thrilling hours in his arms. But she felt somehow shyer now than that other night—shy and tentative.

And other than kissing her hand that one time, he’d made no move on her.

It was two in the morning when he said good-night. She stood at the railing watching him jog down the hill to his house, and felt disappointed in herself that she’d let him go without so much as a single shared kiss.

But then, he had asked her out. She would see him again on Friday night...

* * *

Friday evening, Quinn arrived five minutes early. “Better grab a scarf,” he warned.

She ran and got one, then followed him out across the breezeway and around the garage to the side parking space, where a gorgeous old convertible Buick coupe waited—top down, of course. With sidewalls so white they were blinding even in the shade.

“Wow.” She couldn’t resist gliding her palm over the glossy maroon paint. “It looks brand-new.” The bright chrome gleamed in the fading early-evening light. It had round vents on the front fenders and an enormous, toothy grille.

“It’s one of Carter’s rebuilds. A ’49 Buick Roadmaster.” Carter, Quinn’s oldest brother, designed and built custom cars. “I saw it at his shop a couple of weeks ago. Don’t know what came over me, but I wanted it. So I bought it.” He opened the door for her. She slid in onto the snow-white, tuck-and-roll bench seat. “Had him put seat belts in it, along with a decent sound system and power windows.” He was leaning on the open door, bending close to her, his gray suit jacket already off and slung over his shoulder, hanging by a finger.

She got a hint of his aftershave, which was manly and fresh. He looked so good, in a white shirt and gray slacks, with a dark blue tie. She thought about kissing him, and turned away to run her hand over the leather seat in an effort to distract herself from a sudden, vivid memory of how pliant and hot his lips felt pressed to hers. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, altogether too breathlessly.