Chapter Two
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Quinn said, his best smile in place. “Are you keeping warm?”
The quilting circle of older women smiled back at him, as welcoming as ever. Each lifted her cheek for the kiss he always bestowed on them, patting his arm as if he were a little boy.
Maybe that was the charm that frequently brought him to Worthington House. To the rest of the world, he was a playboy. To the ladies here in this sun-drenched room that looked out on a cold world, he was Quinn, a young lad with a good heart.
Or maybe, he reluctantly admitted to himself, these ladies were his surrogate mothers, making up for his mother walking out on her family so many years ago. His friends would laugh at the thought that Quinn Spencer longed for his mother. Or any woman.
He’d been only seven years old when his mother, Violet, had left them. They’d been in Tyler only six months, his father having relocated from New York where he left behind his lucrative career on the stock exchange for a quieter, gentler life in the small town. Elias had hoped his high-strung wife would learn to relax once she was out of the bustle of the city, but Violet couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change. She’d run off with Ray Benedict, her lover from New York, much to the shock of their social circle in the city and the residents of Tyler. Not to mention her husband and three sons.
“We didn’t expect you today, Quinn dear,” said Martha Bauer, one of the older members, calling Quinn back from his memories. She patted an empty chair next to her. “Sit down.”
“I’d love to as long as you share your M&M’s,” he teased. Martha had a sweet tooth and he kept her supply of candy well stocked.
Tillie Phelps nodded her head. “We even have cookies today. Bea made a fresh batch this morning.”
Bea Ferguson, at sixty-seven, was one of the younger members. She blushed but nudged a plate toward Quinn.
“Don’t mind if I do, Bea. These look terrific.” And they were. He enjoyed them more than any expensive hors d’oeuvres he’d ever been served.
As he munched, he watched the ladies set tiny stitches in the colorful quilt they were making. Each quilt was either given to charity or sold and the money used to help the community. The women had become legendary both for their incredible artistry and their hearts of gold.
“Where is this one going?” he asked, while he considered how to bring the conversation around to the reason for his visit.
Merry Linton, another newcomer to the group, smoothed a loving hand across the patchwork quilt. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? It’s called Bachelor’s Puzzle.”
He nodded, still tangling with his own puzzle.
Bea answered his question. “That lovely young woman with the new bed-and-breakfast has purchased it.”
He choked on a cookie crumb. Clearing his throat, he asked cautiously, “Do you mean Molly Blake?”
Martha and Tillie exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret, but it put him on his toes. Something was up.
Martha smiled. “Why, yes, dear, have you met Molly? Isn’t she wonderful?”
Quinn frowned. He could agree that Molly was attractive. Wonderful? The distraught, angry woman he’d faced in his office that morning was hard to fit into the simple word wonderful.
Complex, challenging, sexy. He shook his head. No, not sexy—
“You haven’t met her?” Tillie asked, obviously interpreting his shake of head as a no.
“Yes, yes, I have. This morning, in fact. So, you like the idea of a new bed-and-breakfast?”
“Oh, yes,” Emma Finklebaum said with a sigh. “Such a lovely idea. A romantic bed-and-breakfast. And she’s going to plan the decor of each suite around one of our quilts.”
“Ah,” he said, like Sherlock Holmes uncovering a vital clue. “You’re glad because you’ll make money!”
The ladies chuckled. Through the years, they’d expressed amazement at the rising value of their efforts.
“It’s more than that,” Martha said. “She’s a lovely person…and the best mother in the world.”
“Mother?” That subject hadn’t come up in their visit that morning.
“Oh, yes,” Merry agreed. “Her little Sara is a charmer. Molly brings her to visit us sometimes.”
“Sara likes my candy,” Martha added, as if that were a vital piece of information.
Quinn smiled, charmed by Martha’s pride. He wouldn’t tell her that every kid liked candy. He would never do anything to make Martha feel less important than she did.
Tillie, who had remained silent until now, asked, “Why did she come to see you? Is there a problem?”
At her question, all the ladies stopped plying their needles and stared at Quinn.
He held up a hand. “Client confidentiality,” he murmured, then waited quietly for their response. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Ursula!” Bea exclaimed.
“I can’t believe she’s still causing difficulties,” Merry exclaimed.
But, then, sweet Merry never believed the worst of anyone.
Emma leaned even closer. “What’s the problem?”
Quinn carefully phrased his question. “I wondered if any of you had been approached about signing a petition.”
“Of course we have!” Martha exclaimed, adding a snort of derision. “That woman thought we’d want to sink poor Molly’s plans. As if we would!”
“Why does she want to stop the opening of the bed-and-breakfast?” he asked.
Tillie leaned closer. “She says it’s because the business will destroy the peace and quiet of Ivy Lane.”
“But you don’t believe her?”
“Of course not,” Bea, unusually animated, replied. “She thinks Molly stole Christopher from her Lila, don’t you know.”
“As if he were a prize,” Emma added.
Quinn tried to picture Christopher as the answer to a woman’s dream. In particular, Molly’s dream. He’d been trying to do so ever since Molly had left his office.
“And he wasn’t?”
The ladies all looked at one another. Finally Martha responded. “No, Quinn dear, he wasn’t. He was a selfish, egotistical man. A playboy!” She put all her disgust into her last words.
Quinn cleared his throat. “I’m considered to be a playboy, too,” he reminded her.
Martha leaned over to pat his cheek. “But we know better, dear.”
Quinn smiled but shook his head. Maybe that was why he loved these ladies. They saw him through a proud mother’s eyes. Instead of a mother who’d obviously been so unhappy she’d run away and left her three sons—with no word for over twenty-three years.
“Do you think the neighbors will go along with Ursula?” he asked.
All the women proclaimed their hopes that Molly would come out on top.
Emma capped off their remarks with, “Ursula needs to get a life!”
Such a flippant, with-it comment from eighty-year-old Emma brought a smile to Quinn’s face. “I believe you’re right, ladies. And I’ll see what I can do to help things along.”
Amid their praise, he eased himself from the room, promising to visit them again soon.
Heading back to the office, he thought again about