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But looks could be deceiving. He’d learned that the hard way. As far as Quinn was concerned, a diva in blue jeans was still a diva. Before she’d been aware of his arrival, he’d caught a glimpse of her reclining on the chaise longue with a book propped in her lap. Obviously she was so motivated to get the inn ready for her grand opening that she was taking a break before the day had barely started.
Quinn steeled himself against her smile, unnerved that it had had such an effect on him.
“Do you think you can spare a few minutes to give me a tour of the place?” He leveled a pointed gaze at the chaise longue.
“Of course.” Abby’s smile faded.
Quinn wasn’t quite prepared for the direct hit to his conscience. If he’d forgotten the reason he’d changed his professional focus from providing security to buildings instead of people, a few seconds in Abby Porter’s company had brought it crashing back. Buildings were easy to figure out. People, not so much.
They fell into step together, and Abby switched into tour guide mode.
“The main lodge started out as a private vacation retreat for a wealthy family, but eventually they donated it to a local church.” She gestured toward the sprawling two-story split-log home that Quinn had passed on his way to the gazebo. “The congregation built five additional cabins on the water and turned it into a retreat center and Bible camp. Eventually, though, they couldn’t keep up with the larger, more modern camps and had to turn it over to the bank.”
Quinn could empathize. He knew all too well what it felt like to struggle to keep a business afloat.
“After that,” Abby went on, “it ended up in the hands of a developer. He planned to replace the lodge with condos but later realized it wouldn’t appeal to tourists who wanted a full recreation lake…and easier access to civilization. Most of the people who come back to Mirror Lake think of it as a second home rather than a vacation spot. They appreciate the slower pace.”
“That’s why you chose to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast rather than a resort,” Quinn guessed. “It will attract the type of clientele looking for peace and quiet.”
Abby gave him an approving look. “It sat empty for almost five years until my Realtor happened to mention it a few months after I started looking. Believe it or not, I had to beg her to show it to me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the first time I saw it, I knew it was perfect.”
Quinn looked over at the lake, as clear and smooth as window glass, beyond a stand of towering white pines. He’d moved to Chicago after his tour of duty because he’d been ready to take on the world. Ready for a fresh start where no one knew the name O’Halloran. The energy and pace of the city had matched his lifestyle. Or so he’d thought. Until he moved back to Mirror Lake.
That first night Quinn spent in his childhood home, temperatures had dipped into the forties, but he’d crawled out the window of his old bedroom and sat on the roof.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to see the stars at night. To drive for miles without seeing a single house or apartment complex. Quinn may not have wanted to return to the town where he’d grown up but he hadn’t expected to feel a tug on his soul, as if he were still connected to it. Especially when his memories of the place weren’t exactly the Hallmark kind.
Sensing that Abby was waiting for a response, Quinn’s gaze moved from the lodge to the weathered cabins strung like wooden beads along the shoreline. Work, work and more work. But he was reluctant to strip the sparkle from Abby’s eyes. Again.
“It’s got potential,” he heard himself say.
Abby turned and smiled up at him. “I think so, too.”
Once again, Quinn wasn’t prepared for the force of Abby’s smile.
Focus, O’Halloran.
“What time does the rest of the crew usually get here?”
Abby shot him a puzzled look. “The rest of the crew?”
“The work crew,” Quinn clarified.
Abby’s low laugh went straight through him. “Now that Daniel is gone, you’re looking at it.”
She couldn’t be serious. “You and Daniel have been doing everything yourselves?”
“That’s right.” Abby reached down to fondle Mulligan’s ears. “I hired some teenagers to do some painting, but they have other jobs so they’re only available on the weekend.” She skipped up the wide plank steps and opened the front door. “I moved in at the beginning of June and started working on the main house right away. It was in fair condition but I’m still in the process of…”
The rest of the words dissolved in Quinn’s ears as he stepped through the doorway into the great room.
The place was a wreck.
Fair condition, Abby had said. The grand opening was a month away but Quinn saw three months of hard labor. At least.
No wonder her Realtor had tried to discourage her from purchasing the property and her brother had had a fit.
Quinn didn’t have to be a professional carpenter to see that the hardwood floors needed to be varnished, the walls painted and another coat of stain applied to the tongue-and-groove pine ceiling.
Abby tilted her head and a strand of sun-streaked blond hair molded itself to the curve of her cheek. “So, what do you think?”
“Wow.” That about covered it.
Abby grinned. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”
Can’t wait, Quinn thought.
He followed her, silently adding projects to the list with every step. New baseboards. New trim. New light fixtures.
It didn’t make sense. Abby Porter was an heiress. She had the resources to level the entire place and have it rebuilt in a week. So why was she doing the bulk of the work herself?
“The kitchen is original to the lodge when it was built in the 1940s, so it has a lot of vintage charm.” Abby paused in the doorway.
Vintage charm. A Realtor’s term for gold linoleum and chrome-trimmed Formica countertops.
He stepped past her, bracing himself for what was behind door number one.
“Your eyes are closed,” Abby said.
So they were. Quinn opened them. “They’re adjusting to the change in light.”
He had to look. No getting around it.
Relief crashed over him when he stepped into a room that could have been featured in a home decorating magazine. Given the fact the place was going to be a bed-and-breakfast, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Abby had devoted most of her time and effort to the kitchen.
She’d stayed true to the time period by keeping the original glass-front cupboards and painting the bead board walls a sunny shade of yellow. Old-fashioned dish towels had been recycled into valances.
The marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen blended seamlessly with the vintage decor but the granite sink and gleaming stainless steel appliances were definitely modern, state-of-the-art tools for the serious cook.
Quinn’s gaze continued around the room and snagged on an ancient green oven, straight off the set of a seventies sitcom.
“I couldn’t part with her.” Abby followed the direction of his eyes and accurately read his expression. “She’s an icon.”
“She?”
“Mrs. Avocado.”
She’d named the oven. “Does she…it…still work?”
“Sometimes.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you’re running a bed-and-breakfast, don’t you need an oven that works all the time?”
“She’s a little temperamental but we’re getting to know each other.” Abby gave the appliance an affectionate pat.
Quinn steeled himself against the woman’s infectious charm. Abby Porter was a job. He didn’t want to think of her as a person. And he certainly didn’t want to like her.
Maybe Faye didn’t need a new air conditioner in the office that badly….
Unaware of his thoughts, Abby tapped the toe of one sandal on the ceramic tile beneath their feet, setting the plastic petals into motion. “The floor was a bit of a challenge because it wasn’t even when I started.”
“You did all this yourself?”
Abby’s shoulders lifted in a modest shrug. “It wasn’t that hard. I bought a book.”
She’d bought a book.
“Are you ready to see the rest?” Abby was already on her way out the door. “I hate to rush the tour but I still have a hundred things to do today.”
“More like a million,” Quinn muttered.
“Excuse me?” Abby paused on her way out the door.
“Nothing. Lead on.”
While Abby took him through the rest of the house, Quinn followed along, taking mental notes along the way. Alex, he discovered, hadn’t been exaggerating. The windows on the first floor were the old-fashioned casement kind that had gone the way of the eight-track tape player. And a chimpanzee with a nail file could have picked the locks on the doors.
Abby wanted him working on the cabins but Quinn knew he’d have to come up with a plan that would put him alongside Abby at the lodge in order to make the house secure.
“This bedroom is called Serenity.” Abby paused to open one of the doors. “I finished painting the trim this morning.”
“This morning?” Quinn raised an eyebrow. He’d pulled in to the driveway at nine. “What time this morning?”
Abby tucked her full lower lip between her teeth before answering the question. “Mmm. I think it was around four.”
“Four o’clock in the morning?”
One slim shoulder lifted. “And some people think insomnia is a bad thing.”
Quinn didn’t comment because he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Abby had been up before dawn. Working. He could relate. He’d done the same thing after he’d moved back to Mirror Lake. Slept a little, worked a lot. Especially because his father, in his final months, hadn’t bothered to put money into anything other than the cash register at the local liquor store.
“So what do you think? Does it live up to its name?”
Abby’s question yanked him back from the edge of those memories and he looked past her into the bedroom.
Quinn had expected Abby to copy the more popular rustic decor—characterized by an overabundance of largemouth bass and whitetail deer—used in other places that catered to tourists.
Instead, by combining cool blues and soft greens, Abby had brought the outdoors inside. And in the process, provided a comfortable oasis guaranteed to instantly lower a person’s blood pressure.
“Very serene.” Quinn’s own blood pressure didn’t agree with the assessment. Not with Abby standing close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of…cinnamon?…in the air. Not exactly a designer fragrance but oddly appealing. “Where is your room?” he asked abruptly.
Abby blinked. “On the third floor. I didn’t want to take up space the guests could use. Plus, there’s an enclosed, private staircase leading up to it, so I have my own entrance.”
“There’s a third floor?” Considering the two levels of windows on the house, Quinn wouldn’t have guessed the house had an additional story.
“It’s more like an attic, really, but if you don’t count the cabins, I have the best view of the lake.”
Quinn debated whether he should ask her to prove it but decided to wait for another time. When Abby was occupied with something else he’d take a look at it.
“Speaking of the cabins, maybe you should show me the one I’ll be staying in so I can start unloading some of my things.”
“The cabin you’ll be staying in?” Abby echoed. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be living on-site until Daniel gets back. Didn’t he mention that?”
“No.” Abby’s eyes darkened with an emotion Quinn couldn’t quite identify. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”
Chapter Two
“Is there a problem?”
Definitely more than one, Abby thought as she tried to tamp down her rising panic.
She might have been rambling on like a cruise director who’d downed a shot of espresso, but she thought she’d done a pretty good job hiding her emotions after Quinn O’Halloran introduced himself as the new carpenter. But once again the man had thrown her completely off balance.
“You can’t stay…here. I don’t know what Daniel was thinking if he told you differently.”
“Why not?” Quinn leaned against the door frame and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
Why not?
Abby wasn’t sure how to respond to the question. Was she being silly? Or worse yet, paranoid? Daniel had assured her that the carpenter he was sending over had worked with him before and came with excellent references. But having Quinn O’Halloran working on the property and having him living on the property were two different things entirely.
Over the past month, she and Daniel had settled into a pleasant routine. Abby concentrated on renovations in the main lodge while he tackled the cabins. During their lunch break, Abby coaxed Daniel to sample the results of a new recipe while the elderly carpenter entertained her with stories about small town life. His off-key whistle provided comforting background music in the late afternoon when Abby moved outside to weed the flowerbeds.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Quinn’s presence wouldn’t be quite so comforting.
“You must have a place of your own,” she stammered.
“I live a few miles north of town, so I would have a half hour’s commute every day,” Quinn said. “Look at it this way—I can put in longer days if I’m staying on-site. Shave some time off the project. Nothing against Daniel, but I work a little faster than he does.”
“I don’t—”
“And I could use the hours.”
Abby’s protest died in her throat. Quinn’s voice had remained neutral but the subtle tightening of his jaw told her the admission had cost him. She felt a stab of guilt, knowing her hesitance had forced him to confess that he needed the extra income.
She could pay his mileage…
