A Dream of His Own. Gail Gaymer Martin

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      Chapter One

      Quinn O’Neill shifted in reverse as he checked his rear and side view mirrors at ACO Hardware. He lifted his foot from the brake and inched backward from the parking spot, his mind filled with the numerous repairs needed to return his home to what it must have looked like ninety years ago when it was new. Too bad repairing himself wasn’t as easy, but money wouldn’t fix him.

       Quinn’s thoughts were interrupted by a thud, and a crunch of metal jarred his SUV. He slammed on the brake and jammed the gear into Park, then bolted outside eyeing a car embedded in his back quarter panel, the shiny black paint gouged and buckled against the woman’s dark red sedan.

       She glared at him from the driver’s window, her eyes narrowed as determination set in her jaw. She pushed open her car door with a dramatic sweep, stepped out and slammed it. “Look what you’ve done.” Her arm swung toward the damage. Shattered glass from the taillight dotted the asphalt, and her trunk lid had sprung loose from the lock.

       Trying to monitor his frustration, he shook his head. “It wasn’t my fault. I checked my mirrors.” He peered back at her. “More than once.” Yet in the back of his mind, he knew he’d been distracted by his thoughts. Could he have been careless?

       She bustled closer. “Do you think I don’t check my mirrors?”

       “I have no idea, but—” Seeing tears collecting in her eyes, he felt less inclined to argue. “Are you okay?” He skimmed her frame, noticing beyond her distraught expression how attractive she was.

       Her eyes snapped from him to her sedan. “I’m fine, but I can’t be without a car, and if I report the accident, my insurance rates will go up. I can’t afford—” Words rushed from her like air from a pricked balloon. Once she recovered, she waved her hand in the air. “Never mind. It’s not your problem.” She paled and pressed her hand to her heart, her fingernails painted the color of a ripe peach.

       He eyed her hand. No wedding band, and probably a one-car family. Ice slid through his veins. He didn’t allow himself to make mistakes. Not when it came to driving. He pulled out his wallet for his insurance information. “We should call the police.”

       Panic struck her face. “Police? For what? They don’t care about fender-denters.”

       Despite her alarmed expression, he chuckled. “You mean fender-benders.”

       She evaded his eyes. “Whatever.”

       “I suppose. The police have enough to do. Neither of us is injured.”

       She gave a decisive nod and strode closer to her damaged sedan. When she tried to force down the trunk lid, it resisted.

       “Let me help.” He moved past her and forced it downward, but it refused to catch. He eyed his quarter panel damage. It fared better than her sedan. “I might have something in my car to tie it down.”

       When he lifted his trunk lid, a horn tooted. He gave the guy a shrug as he pointed to the damage. The man made an obscene gesture before he backed up and moved off. Quinn shook his head. What happened to kindness and compassion?

       After scouring inside his trunk for a piece of rope, anything to secure the lid, he found nothing. Discouraged, he straightened. “You didn’t happen to purchase something in the hardware store we could use, did you? String? Twine? Tape?”

       She shook her head. “No. Only O-rings, gaskets, washers, pipe joint compound and a wrench.”

       Plumbing supplies. His brow tugged upward, his curiosity spiked. What did she know about O-rings?

       She leaned into her trunk and came up shaking her head. Moisture hinted in her eyes. “I’ll run inside and buy—”

       His chest constricted. “Let me.” As he opened his wallet to pull out some bills, a blue strand beneath his backseat caught his eye. He reached in and drew out a bungee cord. He held it up. “No need. This will work.”

       Though she’d accepted his help, the woman remained cautious and hadn’t given him the hint of a grin even though she’d made him chuckle. Still he’d spotted her smile lines traveling from her full cheeks to her well-shaped lips, the same color as her fingernails. He’d love to see her smile and to ask about the plumbing supplies. Instead, he focused on the situation, winding the cord around the bumper and through the inside workings of the trunk until he secured the lid. “I’ll follow you to a body shop.”

       “A body shop?” She closed her eyes, the strain evident on her face. “I have no idea where one is.” She shook her head. “I’ll…I’ll drive home and call a friend.” She glanced at her watch. “Lexie should be home.”

       Quinn’s jaw slacked, hearing the uncommon name. “Lexie Fox?”

       She drew back, her eyes widening. “Do you know her?”

       “She and Ethan are members of my church.”

       Her eyes glazed as if unable to comprehend what he’d said. “Really?”

       “Really.”

       She gazed at him without a response, her face taut.

       He rubbed his hands together, sensing he had to do something to relieve her stress. “I’m here. There’s a body shop a few blocks from here on Main Street. Randy will give you a free estimate.”

       “Free?”

       “No charge.”

       Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”

       Something about her tugged at his heart as he managed to grin. “I’m a nice guy.”

       Her suspect expression melted. “I guess you are.”

       Quinn had to look away to stop his pulse from racing. “It’s on my way home.” He eyed his SUV’s damage, his heart sinking. “I’ll follow you to keep an eye on your trunk. If it pops up, pull over.”

       Her shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Thanks.” She rotated her wrist and looked at her watch. “I’ll be late getting home. I should call my son.”

       A son. Blurred memories raced through his mind.

       She delved into her handbag, pulled out a cell phone and pressed a couple of buttons.

       Though he stepped back, her voice reached him.

       “Bran. This is Mom.” She pressed her lips together as she listened. “You want to what?” The corners of her mouth pulled down. “Okay, but be home by eight. No later and no excuses.”