Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Tristan - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTRISTAN QUINN DOWNSHIFTED the sleek silver convertible as he navigated the narrow curve of the road. Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees lining each side of the pavement, the thick green forest broken only by occasional homemade signs indicating cottages and resorts located deep within the woods.
He drew a deep breath, enjoying the brisk wind and warm sun on his face. There were moments when he had to wonder why he’d decided to seek a career in law, except for the rather sizable salary. He could have easily enjoyed being a construction worker or a ditch digger. At least he’d be free of the confines of his office, free to enjoy the weather, the warm summer days and even the bitter cold that came with the winters in Minneapolis.
So when this case had come up, Tristan had jumped at the opportunity. Though the matter had plagued most of the lawyers in his office, it meant an entire day outside of the office. He’d left that morning, headed northwest, a tidy stack of documents tucked in his briefcase. Today, he’d take his shot at negotiating a settlement to a contentious real estate case that had been going on for three long years.
Though most of the lawyers in the firm had worked on the case, this was his first crack at it. It was his chance to show the partners what he could do.
The case involved a dispute over an incredibly beautiful piece of land located an hour from the city on a pristine and very private lake. It was one of the only undeveloped lakes that close to Minneapolis–St. Paul, and as such was considered gold for any real estate developer.
The land had been held by the Pigglestone Family Trust since the late 1950s, and since then had been the site of an artists’ colony. But the latest generation wanted to sell the land, and in order to do that, they needed to evict their three elderly aunts, who had lived on the property from the beginning. Papers had been drawn up, notices sent, but the women had largely ignored the court orders.
Tristan didn’t relish evicting a trio of old ladies, but the partners had authorized him to offer an extraordinary financial settlement—one that would set the women up in relative luxury almost anywhere in the world. Though the job had proved impossible for others, Tristan was confident he’d be able to complete this task in a day or two and return to the firm a winner. After all, he’d been charming women for as long as he as he could remember.
“Turn right, two hundred yards.”
He glanced over at the navigation screen and frowned. He hadn’t seen any road signs for the past mile and assumed that he was off the grid. But a few moments later the voice warned him again. “Turn right, one hundred yards.”
He slowed the car and watched for a sign. But all that was visible was thick brush and tall trees. “Turn right, twenty yards.”
The narrow side road suddenly appeared and Tristan slammed on the brakes in order to make the turn. There was no sign or any indication of what lay ahead. But the coordinates had come directly from his boss so he knew he could trust them.
As he drove deeper into the woods, the road narrowed until it was only wide enough for one car to pass. Tristan slowly rounded a curve but skidded to a stop when he saw a figure standing in the middle of the road.
Her arms were stretched above her head, her fingers spread wide. She stood perfectly still, only the breeze moving her hair. She wore a loose cotton blouse that barely covered her backside—and nothing else. Tristan watched her for a long moment, his gaze drifting lower to take in the sweet curve of her naked backside. He couldn’t see her face, but somehow he sensed that she would be beautiful.
She continued to watch the trees above her head and then suddenly her hands drifted down to her sides. Tristan switched off the car and waited, remaining still and silent, afraid he might spook her. She tilted her head slightly as if she’d caught some sound deep in the woods. Finally, her shoulders dropped and she slowly shook her head.
When she turned to face him, his suspicions were proven true. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. Like some wild wood nymph, her dark tousled hair fell in curls around perfect features.
“This is private property,” she called, bracing her hands on her waist. The cotton shirt lifted again, revealing the tops of her shapely legs. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet, which were covered with mud.
Tristan got out of the car, closing the door behind him before he approached. “What were you looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking,” she said. “I was listening.”
“Then what were you listening for?”
“An owl. A great gray owl. Every now and then when I walk along this stretch of road, I hear him. I just can’t tell where the sound is coming from. Maybe it’s just the wind playing tricks on my ears. Or maybe it’s a ghost.”
“What does he sound like?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not very good at bird calls,” she said.
“Give it a try. I’m curious.”
“Actually, it sounds just like sex.”
“Sex?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a soft, grunting sound. Uh, uh, uh.”
“I thought owls said ‘who,’” Tristan joked.
“That’s only in cartoons,” she murmured. “I once saw a red-necked grebe. That’s very rare for this area. Indigo buntings are my favorite, but hard to spot. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue, but not really indigo at all.” She met his gaze. “Closer to lapis. Or azure. Are you lost?” she asked. “Can I help you?”
A little dazed by her quick change in subject matter, Tristan tried to refocus on the task at hand. “I’m looking for this old artists’ colony. I read about it and wanted to check it out.”
“An artists’ colony? I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she said. “Are you sure you’re in the right place? There’s nothing but cottages at the end of this road.”
“I’m certain,” he said. “Fence Lake Artists’ Colony. It was founded in the fifties. By three sisters?” He met her gaze. “None of this sounds familiar?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
Tristan knew she was lying. He’d never met a beautiful woman who was a decent liar. Hell, he could read any woman, gorgeous or Plain Jane, in half the time he could read a man. It was one of the talents that made him a great litigator.
Well, if she was going to lie, then he’d be forced to counter her deception with one of his own. “Hmm. That’s too bad. I was really hoping I could spend a week or so there.”
“You’re an artist?”
He nodded. “Writer. I’m not published, but I have a publisher interested in my book. I need to rewrite part of it and I’m blocked. I was hoping a new environment would help.” He glanced over his shoulder at his car. “I should probably get going. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Yes, she definitely knew much more than she was willing to reveal. But how much? “I suppose I could help you out,” she murmured.
“You have a map?”
“I can take you to the colony,” she said. “I’m staying there myself.”
“Are you a writer?”
“Artist,” she said. “Painter. Sculptor. Whatever medium and subject catches my attention. Lately, it’s been owls.”
“I don’t want to take you away from your bird-watching,” he said.
She shrugged. ‘“In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”’ She smiled. “John Muir. Do you mind if I drive? The road is a bit tricky.”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t even know your name. Why would I let you drive my car?”
“Because the road is very curvy and narrow. I wouldn’t want you to wreck your car.” She held out her hand. “Lily Harrison.”
Tristan held his breath as he tried to hide his surprise. He’d been warned about this woman. But he’d never expected her to be so young—or beautiful.
Lily Alicia Hopkins Harrison. Her mother was heir to the Pigglestone fortune and her father heir to the Harrison fortune. But instead of following in her parents’ footsteps, Lily had become an artist, activist and protector of the three Pigglestone sisters. Meanwhile her family had hired his law firm to convince the elderly sisters to vacate the land.
Last summer, Lily and the aunts had chained themselves to the porches of their cottages when the bulldozers had arrived to demolish the colony. She’d appeared in the news media and marshalled her forces on social media to make the rest of the family look like greedy Scrooges trying to toss three old women out of their homes.
“Have you ever had an accident?” he asked. “Any speeding tickets?”
“No to both,” she said.
“May I see your license?”
“I don’t have one,” she said. “Never got one. But I drive really well.”
“How do you get around?”
“I make do,” she said with a shrug.
Right. Her first car had probably been a limousine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m—I’m Quinn. Quinn James.” His brother’s name was the first that came to mind. It would have been too easy for her to Google his name and find out he worked for the very law firm that had been causing her trouble. With an alias, he could hopefully maintain his anonymity long enough to get to the three aunts and make his proposal. After that, it wouldn’t matter.
“That’s a good name for a writer,” she said. “What kind of book are you writing?”
Since that was another lie, he decided to change the subject. “I’d love to see some of your work. You said you painted owls?”
“No,” she said. “Owls have just been on my mind lately. They visit me in my dreams. I think it’s a sign but I’m not sure what it means. Do you know what it might mean?”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.” Tristan walked to the car and opened the driver’s-side door, waiting for her to slip behind the wheel.
So far, things had gone much easier than he’d imagined they might. However, his problems were mounting. Now, if he managed to wrangle an invitation to stay at the colony, he’d have to produce a novel—or at least a few pages. But his biggest test was still the three sisters.
He circled the car and jumped into the passenger seat. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he was determined to get to know this strange yet beautiful woman. He sensed that Lily might be the key to everything he wanted—both professionally and personally.
* * *
“HE’S A LAWYER. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
Lily paced the length of her aunt Violet’s front parlor. Violet, dressed in her usual dance attire of black unitard and chiffon skirt, casually sipped at her tea. Her gray curls were covered by an elaborately tied scarf and her eyes were ringed with dark makeup. “Do sit down, Lily. I think your imagination has run away with you again.”
“I’m right, I’m sure of it. He says he’s a writer, but no writer I’ve met would drive a car like that. A Mercedes convertible? In Minnesota? Do you know what that car says?”
“I wasn’t aware automobiles had acquired the power of speech.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “You understand what I meant.”
“Please, Lily, be more precise in your speech. If you don’t stop this tendency of yours to wander off topic, you’re going to start sounding like Daisy. Trying to follow her train of thought is like chasing a hummingbird through the woods.”
“I’m not going off topic. That expensive convertible says that he’s a lawyer. It tells anyone who bothers to notice that he’s wealthy enough to have a summer and a winter car. And then there are his shoes. And his watch.”
“Perhaps he’s a lawyer who is attempting to be a writer,” her aunt suggested. “Must you always be so suspicious? Not everyone is out to get us.”
“I’m just trying to protect us all,” Lily said.
The door to Violet’s cabin opened and her two sisters hurried inside. Rose, the youngest of the trio, wore her long gray hair in an untidy knot on the top of her head. A composer, she was currently working on a new series of songs inspired by art. Over the course of the day, she’d stuck pencils in her hair until she looked like some deranged geisha.
The middle sister, Daisy, was an artist like Lily and could normally be found wearing a paint-stained smock and a scarf covering her hair, which had been dyed a shocking shade of pink for the last few months. Before that, it had been lavender, a much more appropriate tone for someone of her age.
“What is the problem?” Daisy asked. “I really need to get back to work. Did you see the sunrise this morning?” She sighed. “Paris, 1963.”
Violet motioned for them to sit down. “Lily thinks she’s seen a lawyer. Here. At the colony.”
“What? Just wandering through?” Rose asked.
“No,” Lily said. “He’s pretending to be a writer. He’s asked to stay.”
“What do you call those clouds that look like horse’s tails?” Daisy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Lily said. “I suspect he’s going to try to get closer to you three.”
“He’s welcome to try, but you know we can’t be persuaded,” Violet said. “Nothing he says will change our mind. We’re not going to leave the colony and that’s that.”
“Then what do you want me to do about him?” Lily asked.
“Well, perhaps we should take him in,” Violet said. “We might find him useful for other reasons. And don’t they say that it’s better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“Who said that?” Rose asked. “I do recall arguing about that very quote one night at the bar in the Savoy Hotel in London. I’d had far too many gin fizzes.”
“Wilbur Fontaine,” Daisy said.
“Who?”
“The butcher in town,” Daisy explained. “I heard him say that very thing just last month. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Or maybe it was ‘keep your musket cocked and your tinder dry.’ But I’m not really sure what that means.”
Violet sighed softly. “Back to the matter at hand... We could be like cats with a mouse with this lawyer. When we grow tired of him, we’ll send him home. We haven’t had real amusement here in such a very long time. Let’s do ask him to stay.”
“I asked Finch to take him on a tour of the colony while we talked,” Lily said. “He’s supposed to bring Quinn back here for tea when they’re finished. But we should have our plans in place before he gets here.”
“How old is he?” Rose asked.
“I suppose he’s about my age,” Lily replied.
The aunts looked at each other and smiled. “And is he handsome?” Violet asked Lily.
“No, he looks like a lawyer,” Lily said, “one of those shrewd, ruthless types who eat people like us for breakfast.”
“Oh, he can’t be that bad. Even a lawyer has to have some redeeming qualities.”
“They can get you out of jail when you’ve started a brawl at the Opera Ball and slapped a policeman’s horse,” Daisy said.
“I’m sure, given time, the three of us can noodle the truth out of him,” Violet said.
A knock sounded on the screen door and Violet stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and beneath her scarf. “Well, shall we have a look at Lily’s lawyer?”
Lily held her breath as her aunt walked to the door. A few moments later, Mr. Quinn James stepped inside. He had an easy way of moving that made all eyes in the room follow him. Lily could see immediately that even her aunts found him attractive. What was it about him?
Was it the nearly black hair that looked as though he had just gotten out of bed? His face was a perfect balance of features, so composed that a search for any flaw was impossible. Or was it his voice? Deep and warm and so sexy that it made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster with every word that he spoke.
Violet held out her hand, arching her wrist and waiting for the customary kiss rather than a polite shake. Lily was surprised that he took the cue and touched his lips to a spot just above her fingers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Violet.”
Violet introduced her sisters and Quinn kissed their outstretched hands, as well.
“Quinn James, at your service,” he said. He sat down next to Lily, his thigh brushing against hers. Warmth seeped into her bare leg and she found her attention fixed on the spot, her pulse pounding in her head.
“Where are you from, Mr. James?” Violet asked.
“Call me Quinn,” he said. “The Twin Cities. I was born in St. Paul. I’ve lived there all my life.”
“And how long have you been writing?” Rose asked.
“Five years, on and off. I’ve only just decided that it’s something I really want to pursue.”
“Lily tells us you’d like to stay with us for a while,” Rose said.
“I’m not sure that we have an opening,” Lily interrupted. “You may have to share a cabin. And we rarely take unpublished writers. Unless, of course, we have a chance to read their work first.”
“Now, darling, I’m sure we can find him a suitable place to stay. After all, he has important work to do.” Violet fixed her gaze on him.
“There is the other side of Finch’s cabin,” Rose suggested. “And I’m sure Finch would enjoy the company.” Rose turned to smile at Quinn. “What say you, Mr. James? We’d be happy to have you stay.”
“I don’t mind sharing,” he said.
* * *
“WELL DONE,” VIOLET SAID. “Now that everything is settled, would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. James?”
Tristan was trying not to fist-pump. “Actually, I’d rather head back to the city right away,” Tristan said. “I need to pack a few things.”
“You didn’t bring your things along?” Violet asked.
“I suppose I wasn’t sure that you’d let me stay.” He stood and gave them a smart bow. “But now that I am, I’m anxious to move in and get started. Ladies, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Do be sure to arrive by seven tomorrow night,” Rose said. “Billy Farnsworth-Chadwick will be doing some scenes from Othello in our little theater, and he’s asked Violet to dust off her Desdemona. She hasn’t done that role since she was a stand-in opposite Olivier in London.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Quinn said.
Lily walked out the front door and held it open for him before they both went down the front steps. “I probably should’ve warned you about the aunts,” she said.
“No,” he said. “They’re wonderful. Did she actually play opposite Laurence Olivier on the stage?”
“You can never be sure with the aunts,” Lily said. “Sometimes their stories are true. And sometimes they’re just wishful memories. I usually don’t try to differentiate between the two. As long as they’re happy, so am I.”
When they reached the car, Tristan took her hand and pressed his lips against her wrist. A shiver skittered down her spine as the aftereffects of the simple kiss seeped through her bloodstream.
It had been a long time since a man had placed his lips on her body. And he hadn’t been able to hide the fact that he was attracted to her. Surely there was some way she could make that work to her advantage.
For now she’d simply keep her eye on him. She’d find out the real reason for his appearance here and if he was working for the family, she’d send him packing.
“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” said Lily.
“Is there anything you’d like me to bring you from the city?” Quinn asked.
“Not that I can think of,” Lily said. “Just bring me something interesting to read. Your novel would be nice.”
He chuckled softly before slipping behind the wheel and starting the car.
“Goodbye, Lily,” he said.
“Goodbye, Quinn.” Lily stepped back from the car and watched as he drove off, a small cloud of dust trailing after him.
She would have to keep a clear head if she was going to figure out his motives. He was quite a charmer, and she’d have to keep her wits about her. If he wasn’t who he claimed to be, she’d find a way to expose him.
Expose him... Lily smiled to herself. It wasn’t often that someone young and attractive wandered into camp, but Lily usually took advantage when it happened. A summer romance was always good for the creative juices. In the past, she’d done her best work while indulging in a little affair.
She shook her head. She had to remember that Quinn wasn’t all he appeared to be. For now and the near future, she would keep Quinn at a safe distance.
She shivered, then rubbed her arms against the goose bumps that prickled her skin. It was at that moment she realized she wasn’t wearing underwear beneath the loose cotton shift she wore.
Lily groaned, then turned and headed back to her cabin. She was used to running around in anything that she tossed on. With a dangerously attractive man nearby, she might actually have to put some thought into being more conservative with her wardrobe.
* * *
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, our firm has been working on this case for over three years and we have very little to show for it. The three sisters are still living happily on the property with no plans to vacate. I propose to get close to them, to live with them at the colony and find out what they really want. The big question I will answer is, what settlement would make them happy?”
Tristan scanned the conference room, searching for support for his unconventional idea. The law firm of Forster and Dunlap was not the kind of establishment that encouraged unconventional ideas. In fact, from the start, Tristan had felt like the odd man out among so many straightlaced and buttoned-up lawyers. But the firm had offered a start to a guy who was high on charisma and a little low on his law school GPA.
Getting through law school had been much tougher than Tristan had ever imagined. But then life had never been easy for him—or his two brothers. From a young age, they’d been forced to fend for themselves, first because their parents hadn’t cared, then because their parents had abandoned them and then because they’d been in the foster care system.
He and Thom and Jamie had survived, but just how, he’d never been able to explain. Maybe it was the strength they’d found in each other, or the stubborn resolve they all had to survive and succeed.
He’d worked his way through college with the help of grants and odd jobs, but law school had been a different story. The expense and the expectations had almost killed him. He’d held down both a job and a full schedule of night school classes. That usually left no more than four or five hours to sleep at night.
But Tristan had been determined. At first, he had wanted to prove to the world that the eldest of Denny Quinn’s boys was more than just a criminal’s son. And then he’d needed to prove to himself that he was safe. That there would always be food in the refrigerator and a warm place to sleep.
He cleared his throat, waiting for some reaction from the partners in front of him. Sure, his idea was a little “out there.” But they’d tried everything else and it had failed. Now was the time for creative solutions. And he’d already been invited to stay at the colony. Why not use that stroke of luck to their advantage?
Bob Forster, one of the two senior partners in the firm, finally decided to comment. “Just how are you going to carry off this charade? You’re not a writer.”
“That’s a minor detail,” Tristan said. “I’m sure I’ll have to provide some type of work at some point, but I’ll do my best to delay that. My sole focus will be to spend time with the Pigglestone sisters and try to get to know them better. If I can get them to trust me, they may consider an offer from us.”
Reggie Dunlap, the other half of Forster and Dunlap, chuckled softly. “I’ll say this. It’s a damn creative approach to our problem. You’re nothing if not charming, Quinn. I’ll give you that. So, how long do you think it will take before we have an answer?”
“That depends,” Tristan said.
“On what?” Forster asked.
“On how long I can pretend to be Quinn James. And how long it takes for the sisters to trust me.”
“What about Lily Harrison?” Forster asked. “She’s the one who has the most influence on the old ladies. How are you going to deal with her?”
“I suspect she’ll be the easiest,” Tristan said. After all, he could already sense she was attracted to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been the one to convince the sisters to offer him a spot at the colony.
“Still, she’ll be the most suspicious. And I’m not satisfied that you’ve covered yourself on the writing angle. You need a manuscript.”
Tristan’s assistant, Melanie Parker, timidly raised her hand. Legal assistants usually didn’t speak at partners’ meetings, but this wasn’t just any meeting. “Melanie?”
“I—I’d like to offer a suggestion,” she said. “I do a little writing myself and I’ve been working on a novel for about a year now. It’s a legal thriller with some romance thrown in. It’s almost done. I could give it to Tristan to use as his own writing.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Tristan said.
“Who knows,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be able to make a connection with a famous writer who’ll help me get it published. At the worst, I could get some criticism or helpful notes.”
Tristan didn’t have the heart to tell her that the colony was made up of retirees and has-beens. He doubted there was anyone there who had any connections at all to publishing. But Melanie was a good person who was helping him out. If this plan worked, he’d find a way to make those connections for her. Tristan almost hoped that the book was bad, though. It would make Lily less suspicious.
“It’s a good plan,” Reggie said. He stood up, effectively calling an end to the meeting. “You’ve got a month, Quinn. You get the job done properly, you’ll be up for junior partner.”
Tristan stood as the partners left the conference room. When they were gone, he let out a tightly held breath. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at Melanie as he flopped back down in his chair. “I think your suggestion sealed the deal.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she said. “Now everyone will wonder if I have plans to be an author, instead of the best darn paralegal at Forster and Dunlap. Maybe it would be better if you told them all that my book is really, really bad.”
Tristan gathered his papers and tossed them into his briefcase. “I doubt it’s bad,” he said. “I think you’d make a great author.” He paused and snapped his briefcase shut. “Don’t you ever wonder what you’re really supposed to be doing in this world? I mean, maybe you were meant to be a writer and not a paralegal.”
“I’d like to think so,” Melanie said. “When you read my book, will you promise to give me your honest opinion?”
Tristan met her gaze and saw a vulnerability there that he’d only seen on a few prior occasions. He’d come to depend on Melanie over the three years they’d worked together. In truth, he felt somewhat protective of her, almost as if she were his little sister. Her dark hair was always pulled back in a haphazard bun and her horn-rimmed glasses sat on her nose at a perpetually crooked angle. She also seemed to prefer frumpy business suits that could only be described as unflattering.
There were times when he’d caught her looking at him with an odd expression on her face, and he wondered if she might harbor some unrequited feelings for him. But then she’d return to business as usual and he’d realize that there was at least one woman in the world who was immune to his charm.
“So, why don’t we get a copy of your manuscript and let’s talk about it.”
“Really? I haven’t told anyone that I’ve been writing. You’ll be the first to read it.”
“What’s the title?”
“Legal Tender,” she said.
“Nice title.”
