Читать книгу At First Touch - Tamara Sneed - Страница 7

Quinn was having a pleasant dream about eating a tub of rocky road ice cream without worrying about gaining weight, when an annoying shrill ring intruded. She groaned as she recognized the sound of her cell phone in her dream. She opened her eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows of her designated bedroom in the Sibley house.

Graham and Charlie had barely touched her room in their home improvement stage. Everything was exactly where Quinn remembered it from her last visit during their wedding. There was a queen-sized lumpy mattress on an old-fashioned wood bedframe that squeaked and creaked when she breathed, that had been in the room on the first day she and her sisters had walked into the house, along with the matching antique dresser and chest of drawers that squeaked in dramatic protest every time Quinn tried to grab a pair of clothes. At least the windows had been replaced and the hardwood floor had been buffed and polished until it sparkled. No one had gotten around to putting curtains or blinds over the new windows, which meant Quinn was now squinting against the sunlight and her lack of sleep.

Quinn blindly reached for the cell phone on the mattress next to her and groaned again when she saw Charlie’s name flashing on the small screen. Charlie was the only person Quinn knew who would call her at seven o’clock in the morning. Actually, Charlie was the only person Quinn knew who was awake at seven o’clock in the morning.

“What?” Quinn groaned into the telephone.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Charlie sang.

Quinn rolled her eyes at Charlie’s cheerful greeting. But then again, Quinn would be that cheerful too if she went to sleep every night next to a millionaire who adored her and gave her carte blanche to his seven-figure bank account. Of course, Charlie being Charlie, the bank account meant nothing to her.

Not that Quinn begrudged Charlie’s happiness, or her obvious love with Graham. In fact, Quinn thought of all three Sibley sisters, Charlie deserved happiness the most. While Quinn and Kendra had moved away as soon as possible from under their grandfather’s authoritarian rule, Charlie had remained by Max Sibley’s side until his death two years ago. And Charlie had been the one to bring the three sisters together and to keep them together. But all the same, if Quinn didn’t love Charlie so much, she would have hated her.

“I haven’t had caffeine in twenty-four hours. Be very careful,” she muttered in greeting.

“How did it go with Wyatt? Did he say yes?”

Quinn came wide awake at the mention of Wyatt. When she hadn’t been dreaming about guilt-free, calorie-free ice cream, she had been dreaming about Wyatt and that smile. The snug-fitting jean-encased body. Even now, her stomach did a little flip. Although it could have been hunger, since Sibleyville’s local cuisine—beef, beef and more beef—was not exactly in her diet.

“You never told me he was a momma’s boy on top of being a creepy mortician. He has to talk to Mommy Dearest before he’ll let me know the final answer.”

“How did Helmut like Sibleyville?”

Quinn thought about Helmut placing a handkerchief over his mouth the moment he got out the minivan in Sibleyville. “He loved it,” she lied brightly.

“And how do you feel about Sibleyville?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“You know, Quinn, I think you’d actually like Sibleyville. I’ve spent a lot of time there with Graham over the last year, and there’s something about the place. It grows on you-”

“Like a bad rash.”

Charlie ignored Quinn’s dry remark. “If I didn’t have the museum and Graham didn’t have his business here, we’d move to Sibleyville permanently.”

“Of course you would,” she muttered sarcastically. “Because then you’d have your perfect husband with your perfect relationship in the perfect town.”

She realized that she sounded more bitter than she intended and silently cursed. Sometimes she forgot that Charlie was not Kendra. Kendra did not take insults personally because Kendra was made of Teflon or some equally indestructible material that had been found in space. Charlie took everything personally.

“Graham is not perfect and our relationship is not perfect. We have our ups and downs, just like every couple,” Charlie said, sounding hurt.

“I know, Charlie,” Quinn said immediately. “I’m sorry. I warned you that I hadn’t had my coffee yet.”

“Quinn—”

Quinn groaned loudly, hearing the concern in Charlie’s voice. “It’s too early in the morning for a heart-to-heart talk, Charlie.”

“I’m not trying to have a heart-to-heart talk. I just want to talk to you. Some families actually do that every once in a while.”

“Can we talk later?”

“Quinn—”

“I have to figure out where to hunt and kill breakfast in this hick town and then I have to intimidate Wyatt and his mother into doing what I want them to do so I can get out of here and back to civilization. I expect to be eating dinner tonight at my favorite sushi restaurant on Sunset. Whenever I step foot in this town, I immediately start craving fish.”

“I wish you would stay an extra day. Graham and I will be there tomorrow. We’re going to spend Christmas in Sibleyville.”

“I know. You’ve told me that a million times.”

“There’s no reason for you to drive all the way back to Los Angeles just to turn around in a few days to come back.”

“There is one reason that you’re forgetting. I won’t be in Sibleyville.”

Charlie laughed, then said, “Call me when you’re on the road and drive safely.”

Quinn pressed the Disconnect button, then stared at the ceiling. She didn’t want to get out of the bed and face this horrid town, where everyone stared at her as if she were a freak. She was used to being stared at, but not as if she were the town harlot who needed to be run out of town. And these people didn’t know half of the things she had done.

But no matter how miserable she was this morning, at least she could make Wyatt more miserable. That prospect actually made her smile and get out of bed. She even whistled a little on her way to the shower.

“Good morning, Mom,” Wyatt greeted as he walked into her kitchen.

Beatrice Granger looked up from the stove and angled her face for a kiss. Wyatt smiled and pressed a kiss against her smooth peanut butter-colored cheek. His mother patted his cheek and went back to scrambling eggs.

The bottom floor of the Granger Funeral Home was comprised of several viewing rooms of various sizes, a reception area and a small office. The back of the house and the second level were the family’s living quarters. Most people had thought it was strange for Wyatt to grow up in the mortuary, but to him, it had just been the way it was. He would come home from soccer practice to find the county coroner dropping off body bags, his dad in a smock covered with blood and his mother holding a tray of oatmeal cookies. Just another day in the Granger Funeral Home.

During Wyatt’s last year in college, his father had died. The usually unflappable Beatrice had been inconsolable, and had fallen into a depression that had scared Wyatt into moving back home into the small apartment over the garage in the back of the house.

The move was supposed to be temporary, but someone had to keep the family tradition alive and his mother needed him. So here he was, years later, still living over the garage.

“I’m going to string up the Christmas lights this morning,” he said as he sat at kitchen counter where his mother had set a table setting for him.

Even though Wyatt was thirty-two years old and didn’t technically live in the house with his mother, Beatrice still made him breakfast every morning. Wyatt could just imagine Quinn’s reaction to that little tidbit about the exciting life of Wyatt Granger.

He grimaced and drained the glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the counter. But it was too late. He was thinking about Quinn now. Damn it. He had been dreading asking his mother about the film all morning. Beatrice did not like change, and she definitely did not like change that would involve Quinn Sibley. Beatrice had seen Quinn dancing with a groomsman at Charlie and Graham’s wedding in a tangle of arms and legs that had not been fit for public viewing, and she had gone on for two weeks about the spectacle Quinn had made. Wyatt had been more pissed about the display than his mother, especially since Quinn had kept giving him smug smiles while she twisted in the other man’s arms, but Wyatt had kept that to himself.

“Do you want bacon?” Beatrice asked.

“Don’t I always want bacon?”

Beatrice smiled in response and placed a plate of steaming food in front of him. Wyatt grinned and dug in.

“I spoke to Dorrie this morning,” Beatrice said in a casual tone that was anything but casual. “She was telling me that her kitchen sink is clogged. I told her that you’d come take a look at it this afternoon.”

Wyatt tried to keep his tone level, “You just happened to speak to Dorrie this morning?”

At least Beatrice had the decency to look ashamed. “She called me, Wyatt.”

“Returning your call, no doubt.”

“She’s a polite girl. I called her about the quilting circle. We’re looking for another member, and I suggested her.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes and groaned. “How in the world did you talk your friends into letting Dorrie into the quilting circle? You all haven’t allowed any new members since the Lyndon administration.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly gotten the group’s approval,” Beatrice admitted reluctantly, then added with a smile, “But, I don’t anticipate any problems. We need some new blood and Dorrie is a wonderful person. Sweet, kind, respectful—”

“I get it, Mom. You like her,” he said tiredly. His mother wasn’t exactly a subtle person, and she had not been subtle in the least over the last few months about how much she liked Dorrie. “I like her, too. But as much as you and I both like her, I don’t need you setting up dates for me. I am a grown man.”

“I know you’re a grown man, sweetie. Do you need me to butter your toast?”

Wyatt shook his head in surrender as his mother began to busily spread butter on a slice of toast for him.

“So, what time should I tell Dorrie you’re coming over?”

“Mom—”

“Well, are you not going to go just because I arranged it? She’s in need. I raised you better.”

“Mom…”

Beatrice sighed heavily and set the plate of toast in front of him. “I know you like Dorrie. Dorrie knows that you like that Dorrie. The whole town knows that you like Dorrie. What’s taking you so long? Just ask her out for a real date. We don’t get young single women in this town. This may be your last chance. And if you don’t claim her, I hear that Miles Logan has been sniffing around her office, claiming to need help on his finances when we all know the man has an MBA from Harvard. Susan Logan certainly bragged about it enough.”

“Mom…”

Beatrice signed heavily then said, “Fine, have it your way. I’ll just tell her that you’re not coming over—”

“Tell her I’ll be there at eleven,” Wyatt groaned.

His mother’s smug silence almost made him change his mind, but she was right. He had to make his move sooner rather than later, especially if Miles Logan was “sniffing around.” Dorrie was the type who might actually care about a Harvard MBA even though watching paint dry was more fun than talking to Miles.

Both Wyatt and Beatrice startled at a sudden knock on the front door. Beatrice looked wide-eyed at Wyatt. Some morticians’ wives learned to live with the job; Beatrice was not one of those women.

Wyatt tried to keep his expression calm for his mother. Twice in two days. This couldn’t be a false alarm.

“Do you think…” Beatrice’s voice trailed off as she looked toward the hallway that led to the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Wyatt said, mentally congratulating himself on how calm he sounded.

Wyatt ignored his mother’s worried gaze and walked through the highly polished and spotless family living area and into the mortuary’s reception area to the front door. He sighed, relieved when he saw Quinn’s silhouette through the stained glass in the front door. Then he frowned. The chances of Quinn knocking on his door twice in two days were about as likely as the Oakland Raiders making their appearance.

Quinn pounded on the door again and Wyatt quickly opened it before she knocked the door off its hinges. For a small woman, she sure could knock.

A blast of cold air rushed into the warm house as Quinn stood on the porch, looking more beautiful than she had last night and even more pissed. He silently cursed. He had lied last night. He would never be able to ignore her when she was near. The world became Technicolor, Dolby Surround sound. How could he ignore that?

“Quinn,” he greeted calmly.

She pushed designer sunglasses to the top of her head, then quickly took them off to brush her hair into perfect waves again. “So?”

“So…what?”

“So, can we use your house or not?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, which drew his gaze to the cleavage. He suddenly felt a little sweat bead on his forehead. Quinn’s honey-brown cleavage could do that to a man. “I have places to be, things to do. I need a decision.”

Wyatt stared at her for a moment, then leaned against the door frame. She returned his stare with a lift of her chin. And a small part of him wanted to take her up on it. To just lose his nice-guy, patient image and to just grab her around the waist and…Wyatt shook his head at his thoughts. He wouldn’t be touching Quinn Sibley. No matter what. He should just turn and walk away. Ignore her. Leave her alone.

“I told you that I’d let you know as soon as I knew.”

“Have you even asked your mother yet?”

“I can’t just spring something like this on my mother. She is very set in her ways, and she’s very traditional. It’ll take some gentle persuasion, but she’ll come around. Hopefully. I’ll let you know as soon as she does.”

“That’s not good enough, Wyatt. I have a whole production waiting on this. I told you what’s at stake. I need to know now.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” he said, with a shrug. When she only glared at him, he moved to close the door.

She placed a hand on the door, stopping him. If possible, laser beams shot from her eyes and bored into his brain. “We’re not done here, Wyatt,” she said huskily.

Wyatt told himself to remain calm. He knew Quinn liked to pout and shout and act like a brat. Hell, half of him liked for her to pout and shout and act like a brat. But the other half of him wanted her to respect him and treat him like a man.

He closed the distance between them until he could feel the heat from her body stroke his. She craned her neck to look at him. She no longer looked defiant and angry. Now there was a question in her eyes. Maybe even nerves. Something male and powerful snaked around Wyatt’s heart.

He kept his voice low and even as he said, “We’re done when I say we’re done, Quinn. And, trust me, we’re done.”

He actually heard her gulp. The tip of her pink tongue nervously wet her bottom lip, and her bright eyes darted from his eyes to his mouth. Her gaze finally lingered on his mouth. Wyatt’s body tightened in response as if it knew something that he didn’t. As if it felt that maybe—just maybe—Quinn was beginning to feel that something Wyatt always felt around her.

Of course, Beatrice picked that moment to stand beside Wyatt. Quinn instantly averted her gaze, and Wyatt coughed to cover the desire clogging his throat.

Beatrice’s gaze hardened as she pointedly stared from Quinn’s tight sweater and blinged-out gold bomber jacket to the skintight expensive jeans and stiletto heels. Beatrice’s mouth narrowed, and Wyatt silently cursed. That expression from his mother was not a good thing.

Quinn turned her sweet smile on Beatrice, which prompted Beatrice’s eyes to narrow even more. Wyatt thought about warning Quinn because he could tell she was going to bring up the movie, but what good would that do? All the warnings in the world would not help Quinn now.

“May I help you?” Beatrice asked, as if she had no idea who Quinn was.

“I’m Quinn Sibley,” Quinn said brightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met—”

“We met at your sister’s wedding,” Beatrice replied in a stiff tone that told them both that Beatrice had not considered it a pleasant experience. Her eyes once more traveled over Quinn’s outfit.

Quinn soldiered on. “We did? I’m sure I would have remembered a woman as beautiful as you. Are you Wyatt’s sister?”

Beatrice did not crack a smile at the lame attempt at sucking up. Wyatt told himself to remain silent, but then he saw the brief flash of discomfort across Quinn’s face before she could hide it. And since he was a genuine sucker for Quinn, he couldn’t just stand by while his mother pulverized her.

“Quinn, this is my mother, Beatrice Granger,” Wyatt quickly covered the awkward silence. “Quinn was actually just leaving—”

“Since I’m here, Mrs. Granger, we may as well talk,” Quinn interrupted Wyatt, her gaze flickering to him in annoyance before she turned that smile back on Beatrice. “You may have heard that I’m planning to film a movie right here in our very own Sibleyville. We had the pick of places in town, but we’ve chosen your beautiful home as our prime location for filming. This house is such a testament to this town and there’s obviously so much love and time put into each and every room in this house. We would pay for your inconvenience, of course, and even paint and—”

“No,” Beatrice said, flatly. “We’re a funeral home, not a movie studio. Your father would roll over in his grave if he saw movie cameras traipsing around his home.”

Wyatt was surprised by his mother’s flat refusal and her open hostility to Quinn. Beatrice was not the friendliest person, but she also didn’t usually express her dislike so openly. Well, maybe she did, but Wyatt couldn’t really recall ever seeing it.

Beatrice effectively dismissed Quinn and said to Wyatt, “Close the door. You’re letting all the heat out. And remember Dorrie is waiting for you. You should try to get over there soon. She wants to take you to lunch to repay you, but I think she wants to just spend some time with you.”

Quinn watched in disbelief as Beatrice walked back into the house, without another glance in Quinn’s direction. Wyatt sighed in relief. That could have gone much worse.