Or he was imagining things?
At one point, Quinn had trusted his instincts about people. Not anymore. A six-month assignment working for the Raynes family had cured him of that.
Forcing thoughts of Abby aside for the moment, Quinn walked toward the cedar-sided cabin positioned closest to the house. The one with an unobstructed view of the driveway.
His foot touched the first step. And went right through it.
Perfect.
Quinn tugged his shoe free and continued the inspection. The wooden screen door sagged on its hinges and it looked as if a family of chipmunks had taken up residence in the fireplace.
He was prowling around the tiny kitchen when he heard Abby’s breathless voice. “Are you in here?”
“Yup.”
When Abby appeared in the doorway, her cheeks were flushed. Quinn wasn’t sure if it was from a run-in with Alex or because she’d run all the way from the house. No matter what the reason, she looked way too fetching for his peace of mind.
Quinn turned his attention to the fieldstone fireplace instead.
That’s right. Because you’ll really be effective looking out for Abby when you can’t even look at her.
“You’ll probably want to move into North Star Cabin,” Abby said. “Daniel finished it last week.”
Quinn had seen the sign over the door of that particular cabin and it sat on a curve of shoreline, surrounded on three sides by a fortress of mature trees. “This one will be fine.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “The windows are broken and the screens need to be replaced.”
“So?”
She laughed. Laughed. “Are you kidding? The mosquitoes will treat you like an all-you-can-eat buffet if you sleep in here.”
“I’ll install the windows this afternoon, then. I figure if I stayed in one of the cabins that needed remodeling, I’ll be motivated to get it done faster.”
Indecision skimmed through Abby’s eyes. He’d used the magic word again. Faster. The pressure to be ready in time for the grand opening would convince her to let him have his way.
Her lips compressed. “I can’t let you stay here, Mr. O’Halloran.”
Or not.
“It’s Quinn.”
“Quinn.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “What if it rains? The roof leaks.”
He could tell she was wavering.
“Clear skies predicted through the weekend. And I’ll replace the shingles on the roof after the new windows are in.”
“The new furniture is on back order. You’d have to sleep on the couch and it’s not very comfortable.”
Tell that to the chipmunks, Quinn thought. They seemed to be pretty comfortable there. “I’ve slept in worse conditions, believe me.”
The indecision on Abby’s face changed to curiosity, and Quinn mentally kicked himself. The less she knew about him the better. Granted, if she wanted to get an earful about the O’Halloran family history, all she had to do was ask some of the old-timers in town. But as far as Quinn knew, no one, not even Faye, knew what had happened while he’d been employed at Hamlin.
He planned to keep it that way. It was difficult enough to erase the stain from the name O’Halloran without bringing up the reason he’d returned to Mirror Lake after a fifteen-year absence.
“Fine.” Abby finally gave in. “I’ll make sure you have fresh linens. When will you be…moving in?”
“Today.”
“Today?” Abby’s arms locked around her stomach in a protective gesture that set off warning bells in Quinn’s head.
“If that’s all right with you,” he added, watching her body language.
Abby’s arms dropped to her sides but her fists remained clenched. “I suppose so.”
On a hunch, Quinn took a few steps back and propped a hip against the antique trestle table in the center of the room. Abby’s shoulders relaxed but the wary look in her eyes lingered.
Was she afraid of him? Or had she gotten skittish because her brother provided daily updates on the person harassing him, in an attempt to convince her to come home? Both possibilities left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth.
“Where did Daniel leave the tools?” Quinn hoped the subtle reminder that he was going to get to work right away would put the light back in her face.
It did. But not as quickly as he’d hoped.
“He didn’t leave anything here. He probably assumed you’d use your own.”
“Right.” Because any self-respecting carpenter would use his own tools.
He’d have to stop in at the hardware store and pick up some new ones. And send Alex Porter the bill.
Chapter Three
Abby spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, perfecting a recipe for the baking powder biscuits she planned to use to make strawberry shortcake that evening.
Some people escaped to the gym or a spa when their stress levels went off the charts. Abby escaped to the kitchen. Until she’d become friends with Jessica Benson, who’d joined the staff as a pastry chef at Porter Lakeside the previous winter, she hadn’t looked at herself as anything more than a dabbler in the culinary arts.
Jessica was the one who’d dared her one evening to serve her chocolate mousse crepes with raspberry vanilla sauce to the hotel guests rather than the appreciative wait staff that usually reaped the rewards of Abby’s stressful day.
They’d been such a hit that Jessica had included them on the dessert menu. The next day, she’d asked Abby why she was wasting her talents, doing what was expected of her, rather than being in the kitchen doing what she loved.
Once Abby had gotten over her initial defensiveness, they had become the best of friends. Not only had Jessica encouraged her not to settle on the path of least resistance, she’d been instrumental in bringing Abby to a crossroads where she’d made the most important decision of her life. To surrender her heart to God and follow Him. No matter where He led her.
And Abby was convinced, in spite of her fears and the occasional setback, that He’d led her to Mirror Lake.
She tipped her face toward the ceiling.
Thank You, Lord.
She felt as if she’d been repeating those three simple words over and over, but nothing else seemed to fit. She was thankful.
Don’t hold on to your fears, Jessica had told her the day she’d left. Hold on to God instead.
Sometimes that was easier said than done, but Abby was trying. While Jessica had sent her off with a hug and words of encouragement, Alex had lectured her. Warned her that sharing her home with the guests was a far cry from simply handing them a keycard and leaving them to their own devices. No privacy, he’d told her. Your life won’t be your own.
If Abby hadn’t understood the underlying reason for the warning, she might have been tempted to tell him that her life had never felt like her own anyway. But after she’d turned it over to the Lord, the excitement over what He planned to do with it overrode her fears. Most of the time.
Lost in thought, Abby stared down at the bowl of ingredients, wondering if she’d added the right amount of flour. With a sigh, she dumped it back into the canister and began to measure it out again.
This time, she