He thought the situation was a tempest in a teapot, but he wanted to be sure to cover every aspect. The passion in Molly Blake’s voice prodded him to be thorough.
The woman had intrigued him all day. She’d been a mess, of course, in appearance. But an intriguing mess. A woman who took charge of her future. He’d been impressed with her planning, her hard work.
Then he’d discovered she was a mother.
Any interest disappeared with that information. He’d promised himself never to be involved in a child’s life. It was too great a responsibility. One his own mother had abdicated. And he was her son.
MOLLY STARED AT HERSELF in the mirror.
She couldn’t believe the difference a few hours had made. When she’d reached the street, after her interview with Quinn Spencer, she’d seen her reflection in a plate-glass window. She’d already realized her appearance was less than professional.
But the physical evidence of her reflection shook her.
All along she’d planned to update her appearance, knowing it would be an important part of marketing her bed-and-breakfast. But she figured that part of her plan could wait. There was no urgency.
Seeing herself as Mr. Spencer must’ve seen her, however, changed her mind.
The Hair Affair, the beauty salon on the corner, became her immediate destination. Forget the table waiting at home. She had more important business to conduct.
Now she stood before a dressing room mirror, wearing navy wool slacks topped by a cream turtleneck sweater, her hair feathered around her face. The new short style made her feel younger. The manicure gave her a touch of elegance.
She closed her eyes, seeing Quinn Spencer staring at her, respect and awe in his expression. Then she burst out laughing. Talk about fantasy!
The saleswoman in Gates Department Store, the Neiman-Marcus of Tyler, asked in bewilderment, “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Bell. You’ve been very helpful. These clothes are exactly what I had in mind. I’ll take them. And also the other two pair of slacks. And the blue sweater.”
The lady beamed at her. “Excellent choices. You have such wonderful taste.”
Probably not what Quinn Spencer would say, Molly admitted, but at least the next time she encountered the worldly Mr. Spencer, she wouldn’t feel like Little Orphan Annie.
After she’d paid for and collected her packages, she realized she had almost an hour before she needed to pick up Sara from her friend Kaitlin’s day care. Instead of heading for Ivy Lane and home, she went to Worthington House.
The quilting ladies had become a refuge of support and love for Molly. With no family of her own, she’d discovered among them a sweetness and friendship that went a long way to counteracting the anger and bitterness of Ursula Wilson.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” she called out as she entered the room where the quilting took place. She always marveled at the women’s patience and hard work.
“Molly!” several exclaimed, smiles on their faces. Then they took a second look.
“Why, don’t you look pretty!” Martha exclaimed.
Merry beamed at her. “So young and fresh!”
Molly smiled at them. “Well, certainly better than I’ve been looking lately. I was so involved in fixing up the house, I forgot to fix me up!”
Emma Finklebaum asked, “What made you get all polished up today?”
Molly felt her cheeks heating up. She certainly wasn’t going to mention Quinn Spencer. Besides, she’d intended to improve herself all along. “Um, I decided I needed a more professional appearance to sell the idea of my bed-and-breakfast. After all, Ursula is trying to convince everyone I’ll be a failure. I didn’t want to help her.”
Tillie patted her hand. “Good thinking. I think you’ve made the right decision. Besides, you look so pretty!”
“You certainly do,” Bea seconded, causing Molly’s cheeks to redden even more. “Why, you might just attract a young man with that pretty smile of yours, don’t you know.”
Molly’s breath caught in her throat and she cleared it before she answered. “Um, no, I don’t think— I’m too busy with my plans to— I have no interest in men.”
Lydia Perry came in at that moment to distract her friends. Molly breathed a sigh of relief.
“Molly, dear, I’m so sorry I upset you this morning,” the lady said as she sat down.
“Oh, no, Lydia, it wasn’t your fault,” she hurriedly assured her. “I should’ve remained calm but—but I had no idea Mrs. Wilson had gone so far in her anger.”
“But did you see Amanda Trask? Did she tell you what to do?” Lydia persisted.
With all the ladies anxiously awaiting her answer, Molly couldn’t avoid mentioning the one man she wanted to forget. “Amanda is out of town, but I spoke with her partner. He’s going to look into it.”
The ladies exchanged glances and Molly wondered what they were thinking.
Bea nodded. “You can trust Quinn. He’s the sweetest boy.”
“And very smart,” Martha assured her.
“Such a dear,” Merry added, a gentle smile on her lips.
Tillie agreed. “He’s quite popular around here.”
Molly tried to fit the Quinn Spencer she knew, or rather knew about, with the ladies’ comments. But the playboy, womanizer, jet-setter and all-around man-about-town just didn’t seem “sweet” to her. “I’ve heard he’s a very good attorney.”
“Of course he is,” Martha said, patting her hand. “Don’t worry, dear, he’ll take care of you.”
Somehow, the thought of letting Quinn Spencer “take care” of her left Molly breathless.
“It’s—it’s just until Amanda returns. She should be back in town soon.” She hoped she didn’t sound as edgy as she felt.
If the ladies’ satisfied nods were to be believed, she must’ve have sounded like she had every confidence in Quinn Spencer.
Maybe she was a better actress than she’d thought.
QUINN LEFT THE MAYOR’S OFFICE the next morning, a satisfied smile on his face. The mayor had assured him the entire council was in favor of the bed-and-breakfast. Even if Ursula Wilson got the one-hundred signatures on her petition to bring it before the council, the zoning change would be approved.
He paused on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. It was one of those perfect winter days that occasionally came along, bright sunshine making everything sparkle in spite of the cold air.
Assuring himself that he was only doing so to better serve Amanda’s client, Quinn turned in the direction of Ivy Lane. A brisk walk would be good exercise, and he could personally inform Molly Blake of the good news.
He hadn’t been down Ivy Lane in a while. It was a stately avenue, lined with old homes built years ago. When he reached the Blake home, he noticed the outside of the home had been recently painted and restored.
“That must’ve cost a pretty penny,” he muttered to himself, remembering Molly Blake’s comment about her budget. At least she’d prepared for what was important. A sudden curiosity filled him about the inside. He’d visited Christopher’s home once or twice when they’d been in school. Even then the house had been showing its age.
He trod up the steps and crossed the wide porch to rap on the door. A new door, with a delicate stained-glass oval depicting flowers. With a smile on his face, he