Hearts on the Line. Margaret Daley

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СКАЧАТЬ picked up her purse from the floor of the cab. “I know what you mean. After my mother passed away, it was either me raising my siblings or the state placing them in foster care. I couldn’t let that happen. I quit college, got a secretarial job at the police station and took them in.”

      “When did you decide to become a police officer?”

      “Almost from day one. But it was two years before I went to the police academy.” A thin layer of perspiration coated her upper lip. With the air-conditioning off and the windows rolled up, heat began to build up in the small cab. “How about the grand tour?”

      He laughed. “I’m not sure about the grand part, but I’ll show you a few of the things I’ve done to my house. It might give you some ideas of possibilities for yours.”

      When Becca climbed from the truck, she scanned the lawn with its lush green grass, not a weed among the blades. Landscaped and well-tended beds added a richness to the front of the house with its orange, yellow and red flowers. “Do you like to do yard work, too?”

      “Not my thing. I have someone come once a week to work in my yard. I love a beautiful lawn. I just don’t want to do the work.”

      “A man after my own heart,” Becca murmured, then realized what she had said. She didn’t normally blurt out the first words that came into her mind, but with Quinn she found herself relaxing around him to the point where she had talked about things she usually kept private. Most unusual and not altogether unpleasant.

      She mounted the stairs to the wraparound porch with forest green wicker furniture and a swing mounted from the ceiling. Her assessment of Quinn Montgomery was evolving and shifting the more she was around him. He was a wealthy, successful businessman, a prominent figure in Colorado Springs society, and yet he seemed so down-to-earth and nonchalant, except where it concerned his family, when a fierce protectiveness entered his demeanor. She liked that about the man.

      When she stepped into his house, her breath caught at the beauty of the staircase that curved down from the second floor. Made of a rich mahogany, polished to a shine, its intricate carved railing made a sweeping statement of beauty as a person entered his house.

      “You did this in four months? I’m impressed.”

      “I wanted something that would capture people’s attention when they walked in.”

      “Well, you succeeded. How long have you lived here?”

      “Almost four years. I bought this as a fixer-upper and just recently completed what I wanted to do with it.”

      Becca strolled into the living room off the large foyer, and again stood transfixed, taking in the beauty before her. The massive mahogany fireplace and mantel were every bit as intricate as the staircase. White crown molding accentuated the dark-taupe-painted walls and bookcases carved with swirls and leaves lined one wall. Glimpses at the titles of some of the books hinted at the man standing beside her. Historical books and biographies adorned the shelves, along with a few mysteries.

      She walked closer to the bookcase. “Are you a history buff?”

      “Yeah, you could say I am. I believe in order to understand the present you have to understand the past.”

      “I agree. People are shaped by their past.”

      “Exactly. Escalante has revenge in mind for the Vance and Montgomery families because of what happened last year. You can’t escape your past, no matter how much you want to. It eventually catches up with you.”

      The tension in the warm, cozy room heightened. Becca didn’t want to journey back any more into the past. She had given up her dream for her family and didn’t regret raising her siblings. She would never have let them be raised by anyone else, but still she wondered from time to time what her life would have been like if the situation had been different. “How did we get on such a heavy topic?”

      “Beats me.”

      His grin produced her own smile. “Show me your kitchen. I need some inspiration.”

      He swept his arm toward the dining room. A long table with clean, simple lines dominated the space. The maroon brocade on the eight chairs complemented the darkness of the cherrywood, adding an elegant tone to the room.

      “You have excellent taste in furniture.”

      “Thank you. I just finished making that.” He pointed toward a cabinet that housed a few pieces of a china set that looked old.

      Its simple lines matched the table’s, prompting Becca to ask, “Did you make everything in this room?”

      “Everything in the house. I still have several rooms to finish.”

      “Do you ever sleep?” she asked, stunned by the amount of work that had to have gone into each piece of furniture.

      “I don’t require more than five or six hours, which helps.” He shrugged. “My brother says I don’t have a life.”

      That was probably what many people would say about her. The connection she had felt that first day on the rooftop strengthened even more. “Is he right?”

      His grin reappeared, self-mocking this time. “Yes. I’m working on changing that. I only work six days a week now. Sunday is my day off.” He started toward a door on the other side of the room.

      “But you’re working today.” Becca followed him into his kitchen.

      His gaze snared hers and held it for a long moment. “This isn’t work.”

      Her throat went dry and her pulse sped up. For several heartbeats she saw only him, before she tore her attention away and examined his kitchen, which was one of the reasons she was here.

      “Wow,” was all she could say as she swept her gaze around the room.

      The first thing she felt was she would like to cook in his kitchen. This was a place where family would want to congregate, with its welcoming warmth in the dark tones of the cherry cabinets, its cream-colored marble countertops with various shades of brown swirls and its hardwood floor with a lustrous finish occasionally broken by an area rug that picked up the room’s golden brown, dark red and forest green colors reflected in the plaid wallpaper. Her gaze rested upon what had to be the focal point, the built-in range with a mosaic tile pattern behind it on the wall with a glass-door cabinet flanking each side. Beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces of china and glassware were showcased.

      Quinn walked around, trailing his hand along the counter. “This is my mother’s influence on my life. She felt the kitchen was the most important room in the house, therefore it should be put together first, which is what I did when I moved in here.”

      “I can see why you like to cook.” A picture of herself creating some dish in this kitchen flashed into her thoughts and took hold. Its impact stole her breath. “You have carte blanche to do with my kitchen as you see fit. That is, anything within my meager budget.”

      The instant the words were out of her mouth she should have snatched them back. She didn’t give control up easily and she had just given him free rein. From the wide-eyed look on his face her statement must have taken him just as much by surprise.

      “What do you like in here?”

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