The Mighty Quinns: Devin (5 page)

Dev cursed softly and opened his eyes. He'd always maintained such a tight control on his romantic life. Small-town gossip mills were always looking for new fodder, and he didn't want his authority being undermined by ridiculous speculation over his sex life. And they'd have a field day if he started seeing Elodie Winchester.

Elodie reappeared a few moments later, carrying a tray with two cups of steaming coffee and a pair of scones. “It's all I could manage,” she said. “I don't have much in the way of groceries, save for what you gave me yesterday, and we pretty much polished that off last night. I picked up the scones yesterday. You do like scones?”

“I don't think I've ever had one,” he said. “I'm pretty much a doughnut kind of guy.”

She giggled as she handed him a mug. “You look like you only eat healthy. Or is it healthily?”

“I try. But it's not much of a priority. I eat when I have a chance and usually it's whatever is convenient.”

“You need a wife,” she said.

He growled softly, shaking his head. “I'm not so sure. That hasn't really been a priority, either.”

She sat down beside him and took a sip of her coffee. “What
is
a priority for you?”

“Keeping this town from falling apart,” he said.

“It's a noble goal,” she murmured.

They sat silently after that, the swing creaking beneath them as they drank their coffee.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to find out if the attraction they'd acted upon last night was still as powerful in the morning light. But starting any kind of relationship would be complicated at best and dangerous at worst. Perhaps it was sensible to slow down and consider the consequences of a full-on affair with Elodie. Such as what she had to go back to.

“What about you?” he asked. “You haven't told me much about your life in New York.”

“I managed an art gallery. I was involved with a sculptor. Very talented, but very...difficult.”

“Involved?”

“We lived together for the past three years. But five days ago I walked into our loft and found him in bed with someone other than me, so I packed my bags and came home. At least to the closest thing I still have to a home.”

“Do you still love him?”

Elodie smiled. “I'm not sure I ever did,” she murmured. “I'm actually happy it's over. He was very high maintenance. Selfish.”

“I'm glad you decided to come home,” he said.

She sighed. “I don't know what to do here. This house is just...overwhelming. There's so much to fix and I can't afford the maintenance. No one wants to buy it. I'm not sure the town will even take it if I try to give it to them.”

“How would that work?”

“I'd deed it to the town or the county. I've been trying to arrange that, but neither party seems interested.” She took another sip of her coffee. “I suppose I could always just set it on fire and collect the insurance.”

Dev cleared his throat. “You do realize that you just admitted your intention to commit a felony to a law enforcement officer.”

Elodie raised one brow and gave him a playful smile. “Are you going to arrest me? Put me in handcuffs and throw me into jail?”

“Not unless you go through with your plan,” he said.

“The truth is, I don't want anything to happen to this house. I love this place. I'm just not sure I can keep it.”

“There has to be something, some way for you to save it. We just have to find it.”

“We?”

“I'll help you,” he offered. Dev didn't want to seem too enthusiastic. Keeping her in town might be good for him, but if others like Jeb made more trouble, it would only hurt the town he loved.

She nodded, then turned her attention to her coffee again. “I don't want to take advantage of you,” she said. “I've only been here a day and you've been so generous. I have to start taking care of these things on my own.”

“I'm sure you're very capable,” he said. “But if you need help, you can always call me.”

“Well, one last favor. Can you recommend someone to fix that window?” she asked.

“Come on, let's take a look. I may have just the person.”

The screech of tires on the street caught their attention, and Dev watched as Jenna Baylor strode up the front walk, her damp hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail and her feet bare. Dev took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to ward him off.

Dev wasn't quite sure what she planned to do, but he could see the anger in her eyes. Would she attack Elodie or him? But in the end, she turned to her husband, crossing the veranda to stand in front of him.

She kicked Jeb's calf, and he jerked awake, rubbing his eyes against the early morning light. “What?” he mumbled.

“Get up and get your sorry ass off this porch,” she said.

“What? What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to take you home. You threw a brick through a window. And now I'm going to have to work overtime to pay for your stupid behavior.” She kicked him again. “Stand up and get in that car. You need to spend more time looking for a job and less time drinkin' away the day.”

Jeb stumbled off the porch, rubbing his shin as he limped down the front walk. Jenna stopped in front of Dev. “I'm sorry about this. Of course, I'll pay for the damage.”

Elodie stepped out from behind Dev. “No,” she said. “It's all right. There's insurance on the house. I'll just say one of the neighborhood kids did it. With a baseball.”

Jenna took a deep breath, then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Winchester. I appreciate your generosity. And I'll make sure he doesn't turn up here again. You have my word on that.”

“You can call me Elodie. And if he does show up again, I'll call you directly.”

Dev waited until the Baylors had driven off before he faced Elodie. “That was nice of you,” he said.

“If I'm going to live here, I better try to repair some of the damage my father did before he left.”

“
Are
you going to live here?” Dev asked.

Elodie shrugged. “I don't know. Not if people keep throwing bricks through my windows.”

Dev slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into a hug. But his radio interrupted his plans to steal a kiss.

“Work calls,” she said.

“I guess I better check in. But I'll see you later. I should give you my number. Where's your phone?” She handed him her cell and he entered his number into her phone book. “Call me if you have any more problems.”

She took back her phone and gave him a wave as he walked out to the street. Dev paused at the cruiser and took a long look at her. Summer in Winchester had never appeared more beautiful, he mused.

 

3

“H
ELLO
? M
ISS
W
INCHESTER
?
Anybody home?”

The feminine voice echoed through the empty house. Elodie tugged off the rubber gloves she was wearing to scrub the tile backsplash in the kitchen and dropped them next to the sink. “Just a moment,” she called. Mary was cleaning in the library, and Elodie didn't want the older woman to rush to get the door.

A few seconds later, Elodie exited the kitchen and walked the length of the front hall. A dark-haired woman stood squarely in the doorway, her features softened by the thin mesh of the screen. Elodie smoothed her damp hands over her skirt before opening the door. “Hello,” she said. “Are you Susanna?”

“I am,” the woman said. “Susanna Sylvestri. Dev called and said you might need my help with a window repair.”

“Yes, it's over here.” Elodie stepped out onto the porch and led Susanna over to the broken window. “Dev mentioned you can fix leaded glass.”

“I can,” she said.

Like many of the townsfolk, Susanna Sylvestri regarded Elodie with a healthy dose of suspicion. She hadn't managed to smile yet and didn't seem anxious to engage in idle chitchat. “How long have you been working with glass?”

“For ten years,” she said. “At first it was a hobby. Now it supports our family.” Susanna paused. “My husband worked at the mill. So did my daddy and my older brother.”

A long silence grew between them, and Elodie felt her spirits sag. Was it any wonder that she was roundly hated here in town? “Well, I'm glad to find you. Vintage leaded glass is tricky to repair. Whatever it costs, I'm willing to pay.”

“I don't need charity,” Susanna muttered, staring up at the window. “None of us do.”

Elodie watched in silence as Susanna carefully removed the leaded panel from the window frame. “I can replace this plate glass, too,” she said. “Although, they'd do it for cheaper at the hardware store in Hightop, or in Asheville.” She ran her gloved hand over the jagged edge of glass. “It's a shame. This is the original hand-blown glass. It's been in this window since the house was built in the 1880s.”

“You know a lot about the house?”

“I know a lot about glass,” she said with a reluctant smile. “We might have some problems with these bevels, though,” she said. “They might be hard to find.”

“Actually, there's a bin of them out in the carriage house,” Elodie said. “I can show you.”

Susanna nodded and the two of them walked off the porch and circled around the corner of the house. “Do you just do repairs on leaded glass or do you have a studio?”

“A studio?”

“Yes, a place where you can work and sell your art. I used to run a gallery in New York and we did very well with our glass artists.”

“My studio is our old chicken coop,” she said. “Nothing fancy.”

They retrieved the bin of glass scraps and to Susanna's surprise, she found a match for the broken bevels in the window. The woman began to relax a bit more, and Elodie tried her best to keep the conversation light, but interesting. Susanna appeared to be about four or five years older than Elodie, but her pretty face was worn by the difficulties she'd had in her life.

Elodie couldn't help but feel a measure of guilt. So many people had suffered after her father had run the mill into the ground and then pillaged his employees' pensions. “Do you sell your work anywhere?”

“I mostly do commissions,” she said. “Church windows, primarily. I can't afford to make anything that might not sell. I guess that's what separates the craftspeople from the real artists.”

“Still, I'd love to see your work,” Elodie said.

“I have a couple of windows in my truck,” she said. “I could show you. They're for a Unitarian church over in Asheville.”

“Sounds great,” Elodie said.

Elodie helped her gather up her tools, and Susanna grabbed the broken window before they headed out to the street. She drove a battered panel truck, and Elodie could read the remains of the former owner's business—an automotive supply shop that had closed years ago in downtown Winchester.

Susanna opened the back door of the truck, rolling it up until the interior was exposed. She jumped up, then offered a hand to Elodie. The temperature inside was stifling, but once Elodie saw the windows, she forgot all about the heat.

“You did the design on these?” she asked, peering at the windows through the protective crating.

“I did.”

“These are lovely. Stunning. You may not think it, but you
are
an artist.”

Susanna laughed softly. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You ought to start believing it. If I saw this work in New York, I'd try to get you to do a show for our gallery. I'd call a few of our patrons and convince them to sponsor you. I'd make sure you had everything you needed to do your best work.”

“I—I don't understand,” Susanna said. “How do you make that happen?”

“I just do. I know that your business pays the bills,” she said. “But maybe it's time to make room for your art.”

Susanna shrugged. “I don't know. I'm barely making ends meet as it is. I'm not sure there is any room in my life for art.” She drew a deep breath, then held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Winchester.”

“You can call me Elodie,” she said, taking her hand.

“Elodie.” Susanna paused. “You're not anything like I thought you'd be.”

Elodie blinked in surprise. “What did you expect?”

“Someone...different. You know, kind of snooty. I didn't expect you to be so real. Normal. Nice.”

“I hope we can be friends,” Elodie said.

Susanna nodded as she locked the back door of the truck. “I'll put your window at the top of the list,” she said. “And I'll be here tomorrow morning to reglaze that big one.”

She waved as the truck pulled away from the curb, and Elodie smiled. For the first time since she'd returned to Winchester, she felt as though she might not be Public Enemy Number One. She'd made a friend—of sorts. And she'd also come up with an idea, a tiny kernel of a concept that was beginning to take root in her mind.

Elodie hurried back to the house and walked inside, the screen door slamming behind her. She slowly took in the interior space, the walls, the doorways, the front hall. Then she ran into the empty parlor to the right of the front door. The room was full of natural light and would make a beautiful gallery.

The dining room was even better, and she tried to imagine the different ways she could use the space. What better purpose for the old mansion than to turn it into a cultural gathering point for the town?

Some of the upstairs rooms could serve as offices or meeting rooms. The ballroom could be used for presentations or guest speakers, or as a temporary gallery for traveling shows. And there were so many local artists who could benefit from their work being shown to the public.

Elodie pressed her hand to her chest, her heart beating a bit faster with excitement for the plan. The best part of it was that she could actually save the mansion and restore her family name in Winchester.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone, then scrolled through her numbers until she got to Dev's. But then she stopped and thought about what she was doing. Was this really about the town or was it simply an excuse to spend more time with the sexy police chief?

Her original plan had been to spend a week or two getting the house in order and then finding a way to cut her final ties to the town. And now, all she could think about was seeing more of Dev.

A warm flush crept up her cheeks, and she sighed softly, remembering very clearly the effect his touch had on her body. That first sexual encounter had come as a complete surprise, the desire between them so intense that it had overwhelmed every last shred of her common sense—they'd almost made love on her porch, for goodness' sake.

It wasn't as if she were accustomed to seducing strangers. Elodie had enjoyed four or five serious relationships in her life, and in between, she'd dated a number of handsome, successful and eligible New York City bachelors. But not a single man outside of Dev Cassidy had ever made her behave with such reckless abandon.

Smiling, she set the phone back down on the counter, then sat down on an old kitchen stool. Maybe she ought to give this plan a few days to percolate in her brain. Right now, it appeared to be the answer to all her problems—it gave her a home, a job, a place to belong. But all of that was twisted up around the man.

“Miss Elodie?”

She glanced up to find Mary Cassidy standing in the doorway. “Oh, Mary, I'd almost forgotten you were here. You should have gone home ages ago.”

“I wanted to finish oiling the paneling in the library. I came across something you might want to see.”

Elodie followed Mary through the house. When they got to the library, the scent of beeswax and lemon permeated the air. It was a smell she remembered well from her childhood, and she smiled. “This looks lovely,” she said, taking in the soft sheen on the cherry paneling.

“Thank you, but this is why I brought you in here,” Mary said, pointing to a small panel beneath one of the bookcases. “I was rubbing the wax into the wood and it just popped open. It's a secret storage spot.”

Elodie frowned. “Is there anything in there?”

“I didn't look. It wasn't my place.”

Elodie bent down and peeked into the dark recesses of the library wall. “It seems empty,” she said. She closed the door, noting the location of the latch, then gave the panel a good push. It popped open again. “Interesting. Too bad there aren't any family jewels that my ancestors hid away. They'd help pay for a new roof.”

“There are a lot of files left in your father's desk, though,” Mary said. “You should probably go through those and see if there's anything important.”

“I will,” Elodie said. She sat down in the battered leather chair behind the desk, then slowly turned it in a complete circle. “Just another thing to add to my list.”

“Maybe I should start coming an hour earlier,” Mary said.

“No,” Elodie replied. “Mary, I can't afford to pay you for the time you're already putting in.”

“You don't have to—”

“Yes, I do. A few hours a day is fine. But you've been spending your entire day here.”

“When you sell the house, you can pay me,” Mary said. “Or not. I just want to help out.”

Elodie pushed out of the chair and crossed the room to Mary. She looped her arm though the older woman's, then drew her along to the door. “Why don't we take a break and have some sweet tea and a few of those cookies you brought me.”

As they walked back through the house, Elodie made a mental note to talk to Dev about his mother's determination to resume her old duties. As much as her help was appreciated, Elodie was in no position to pay her. Maybe Dev could convince her to stay home.

She wondered if she ought to call him. He'd called her last night and again early this morning, but he hadn't suggested they get together. Perhaps he regretted what had happened that first night. If people in town found out they were involved in a sexual relationship, it could mean trouble—for both of them.

If he'd decided to stay away, she had to trust that Dev knew what was best. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

* * *

I
T
WAS
D
EV
'
S
favorite time of day, when most of the citizens of Winchester were through with their supper and settling in for the evening, maybe watching a ball game, maybe relaxing on the porch as they searched for a cool breeze or the scent of rain.

His shift was over at 10:00 p.m., and as he got closer to that time, his mind was increasingly occupied with thoughts of Elodie. He'd made a point to stay away from the mansion on Wisteria Street at night, knowing that the temptations there were just too great to deny. But he had checked in with her, and she seemed to be busy working on the house.

He had the day off tomorrow and had decided to find a way to spend it with Elodie. He could help with some of the work around the house, maybe do some painting or clean up the brush in the old gardens.

Just the thought of returning to her orbit made him a bit uneasy. It took all his strength to keep from touching her, and his mind was constantly filled with seductive images of their intimate encounter on her porch. It seemed like a dream, he mused. As if he'd somehow imagined it. Would it happen again? Could he make it happen again? Should he?

He kept telling himself that caution was the key, and he hoped going over there during the day would keep him from kissing her and hauling her off to the bedroom. There were more excuses during daylight hours.

Dev glanced at the clock on the dash, then pulled the cruiser over to the curb in front of Zelda's. A cup of coffee should give him enough energy to finish off his shift. But he knew he was in for another restless night. He hadn't slept well since Elodie had arrived in town, and he didn't expect that would change anytime soon.

The café was almost empty when he stepped inside. He slid onto a stool at the counter, then fixed his eyes on the refrigerated case next to the cash register. A few seconds later, Joanie walked up, the coffeepot in her hand. She flipped a cup over in a saucer and poured.

“Quiet night?” she asked.

“Yeah. I'll take a slice of that cherry pie, please.”

“Ice cream?”

“Sure, why not,” Dev said.

She set the pie in front of him, then leaned against the counter. “Jimmy Joe's got himself quite a little enterprise, thanks to you. You just seem to watch out for everyone in this town, don't you?”