A Dream of His Own. Gail Martin Gaymer

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СКАЧАТЬ She chuckled to herself. If they kept being so insistent, they would certainly steal her “inquisitor” title.

       Kelsey gave Ross a poke. “Was the guy nice?”

       The memory rushed over her. “Yes. Very.”

       “Good-looking?”

       The sensation turned to heat. “I’d say so.” She could say more, but they would only pry with more questions.

       Ross grinned. “Did you get his name? His phone number?”

       Emotions rattled her as their toying looks made her aware of their thoughts. “Quinn O’Neill, and yes, I have his number.” It burned in her handbag.

       “Quinn O’Neill?”

       She didn’t like Ross’s expression. “What’s wrong with him? He goes to Lexie’s church.”

       He shook his head and chuckled. “Nothing as far as I know, and it’s Kelsey’s and my church, too. I just thought it was a coincidence that he called yesterday about looking at some work he needed done on his home. He lives in an English Tudor not far from the zoo. I think the street is York.”

       Ava’s interest piqued. An English Tudor. She loved those gorgeous houses with turrets and all kinds of interesting rooms. An English Tudor would be easy to spot. One of these days, she might take a ride that way.

       Her pulse skipped. What in the world had she become? A stalker.

      * * *

       Quinn checked his watch and noted he had time before his appointment with the contractor. His mind had been on Ava, and he’d hoped she would call about the plumbing, but she hadn’t. He wondered if Randy had given her a loaner. He plopped into his desk chair and hit his keyboard spacebar. The monitor came to life, and he typed “white pages” into the search engine and pulled up the page. His fingers poised over the keys, questioning his motive. Then he swallowed and typed Ava Darnell, Royal Oak, Michigan into the search bar. He clicked the cursor, and her name appeared on Blair in Royal Oak—not only her address and phone number but a detailed map to her house. He studied the details, grabbed a pencil and jotted down the information.

       When he leaned back and looked at the notepad, his jaw tightened as he tried to comprehend what he was doing. Since the accident, he relived the sound of crunching metal and the thud. He thanked God the accident had been a simple fender-bender. Fender-denter. Ava’s phrase made him smile.

       Her face hung in his thoughts, and the emotions troubled him. Ava heightened his senses. She made his blood course with her insistent questions. She’d whetted his interest. With her, he felt alive rather than embedded in the past as he’d been for the past few years. On top of it all, she was attractive, not model-beautiful but very appealing. Quinn pictured her full lips curving into a fleeting smile and her eyes twinkling with curiosity when she talked. Ava demonstrated pride, and he admired that. He’d upset her with the insurance issue, and she’d finally allowed him to redeem himself.

       In addition, he’d offered to help with the plumbing, but again paying a plumber took no effort on his part. He thought it would be a nice way to make life a little easier for her. She had a sick son. The knowledge humbled him. How would he have reacted if Sean had been diagnosed with a horrible disease? How would he have coped if Sean had lived through the accident and had become paralyzed or brain-damaged or…? Ava’s strength awed him.

       Quinn pushed himself away from the computer and rose. His head pounded with what-ifs. What if he’d taken time to convince Sean he’d let him practice driving later? What if he’d demanded that Lydia not take him on the road? What if he’d agreed to take Sean for the driving lesson?

       The questions had assaulted him since the day the police came to his door. The same responses billowed in his mind. If he’d been in the car, his quick action might have saved his son. He had more experience driving. How many times had he veered away from a near-accident by some thoughtless driver wanting to pass on a dangerous stretch of highway. Life was far more precious than saving a few minutes by being reckless.

       He stood in his home office and shook his head. Let it go. Let it go. No thoughts or what-ifs could change what had happened. He knew his wife’s wishes. Lydia wanted him to live fully. She’d supported him in every way—his preferences, his career and his dreams. She would want him to move on with his life. Instead he’d run away. He’d sold his tremendous home too filled with memories, left his day-to-day business in his brother’s hands and moved across Michigan to this small town where he was unknown and bought this house.

       As Quinn scanned the room, he admitted it needed paint. He’d meant to fix the place when he’d moved in. Instead he’d blended into the beige walls, had run his company from long distance and sank into regret. No more. Change meant moving ahead, and that’s what he wanted to do.

       Having purpose for once, he turned off the computer, stepped into the hallway and headed for the kitchen. The late April weather decided to play a trick on spring. A chill clung to the air. He filled the coffeemaker and snapped the on button. In moments, the pungent scent filled the room. As he reached into the cabinet for a cup, the doorbell rang. Quinn veered around and headed for the door.

       Ross Salburg, with his sturdy frame and smiling brown eyes, stood on his porch. Quinn greeted him, then stepped back, allowing him to enter. At that moment, he realized Ross’s visit was the first in many months. His last visitor had been an electrician he’d hired to upgrade his fuse box. He’d kept to himself, a box locked tight and covered in cobwebs. Pitiful. He shuddered.

       Ross scanned the foyer, his eyes shifting to the staircase rising to the second story. “Nice.” He ambled to the dining room, gave a nod of approval, and then strode across the foyer and gazed into the living room. “Nice Adam’s fireplace.”

       “I don’t use it.” The admission darkened his attempt to lighten his mood.

       “No?” Ross turned to face him. “This was…is a lovely home.”

       “That’s the operative word—was. I’ve let things get out of hand. When I bought the place three years ago, I planned to update a few things. Now I’ve let things get shoddy.”

       A frown slipped to Ross’s face, and he turned a full circle, then took a step forward, peering past the staircase to the family room beyond. “You live here alone?”

       An ache rose in Quinn’s chest. “Yes.”

       “This is a lot of space for one person.” Ross grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

       “Don’t apologize, You’re right. It’s more room than I need.” Quinn envisioned the first-floor master bedroom with its double walk-in closets, roomy bath and vaulted ceiling. He figured most women would love it. “A five-bedroom house is wasted on me.”

       “Never a waste. You don’t know your future. One day you may share it with someone.”

       Quinn eyed Ross. The man had echoed his own recent thoughts. “I made some coffee.” He flagged him toward the family room. “Would you like a cup while we talk?”

       “Sounds great. I’ll take it black.” Ross tucked his hand into one pocket and carried his clipboard in the other as he followed Quinn past the staircase. He faltered in the family room, typical of a contractor who appreciated quality architecture.

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