Hearts on the Line Read online

  “Well, how bad is it?” Becca asked before the silence became uncomfortable and she started prattling.

  “The estimate?” He opened his folder and took out a sheet of paper. “See for yourself. This will take care of the kitchen, the flooring in the attic and the ceiling in the bedroom.”

  Before she peered at the paper he held, she quipped, “Since your brother was a cop, you do realize how little we are paid?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, you’re definitely underpaid for the work you do. After what happened the other day, I’d double your pay.”

  Her gaze lifted to his. Suddenly they were back on the rooftop of the unfinished building, both trying to keep David James from jumping. A bond sparked the air, and Becca felt as if she had known Quinn well for years.

  She broke their visual connection and reached for the paper. Her hand quivered as she grasped it and hoped he hadn’t seen her reaction to what had just occurred. She didn’t trust easily, having seen the seamy side of life for too many years. And yet there was something in Quinn that called to her, that urged her to put her trust in him.

  After studying the figures, she said, “This is very reasonable. This includes replacing the cabinets in the kitchen?”

  He nodded. “I’m going to do some of the work in the kitchen myself.”

  “You are? Why?” she asked without really thinking.

  “Because I haven’t had a chance to do a project like this in a long time and I’m treating myself. I miss working with my hands. Lately I’ve been doing too much of the administrative part of my job, especially with supervising the rebuilding of our barn and shop that was destroyed in the fire. So I’ve decided to personally oversee this renovation, if that’s all right with you.”

  “All right? Yes, of course it is! I’ve heard Brendan talk about the staircase you carved in your house. It sounds exquisite.”

  “It took me four months, but I like how it turned out. I’ll show you one day.”

  The thought of going to his house and seeing some of his work thrilled her. “I’d like that.”

  “Actually, if you’ve got some time today, I could take you now. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “I’d be honored to see your work and—” she took the pen he held and signed the estimate “—I agree with your terms.” Handing the paper back to him, she continued, “I never thought I would get personal attention from the owner of the company.”

  A dimple appeared in his cheek when he grinned. “The honor is all mine.”

  “When can you start?”

  “Wednesday. I have a few things to clear up. We’re moving our stuff back into the shop and barn tomorrow. It’s been an intense couple of months getting everything done since the fire.”

  “I guess it pays to own a construction company.”

  “In this case, yes. I won’t be taking security lightly, either. I’ve hired several extra people to look out for our offices and outlying buildings.”

  Relief flowed through her. “Good. I’m glad you’re being careful.”

  “If you’re a Vance or Montgomery lately in Colorado Springs, you have to be.”

  “Which reminds me, we arrested Ritchie Stark. He’ll be charged in Neil O’Brien’s murder.” She started to stand.

  “I know.”

  She halted in midmotion, slicing him a look. “How? It just happened late last night.”

  “Sam told me this morning at church.”

  Becca straightened, for a few seconds hovering over Quinn until he rose. He stood only a foot away, his clean, fresh scent that reminded her of a pine forest wafting to her. Dressed in tan slacks and a navy blue polo shirt, he looked like he had come right from church.

  “What was Stark’s motive?”

  “He’s not saying at the moment. He lawyered up. Maybe some jail time will loosen his tongue. I doubt he’ll make bail.”

  “I keep wondering if all this is connected. Everything started with Max’s attempted murder. I’ve been thinking—Escalante has to be behind the attempt on the mayor because of what happened last year. But what connection does Escalante have with Neil O’Brien? With Dahlia Sainsbury? Was Alessandro right about Dahlia working for Escalante? If so, why is she dead? What changed?”

  Becca skirted her glass coffee table and snatched up her purse. “You ask some very good questions. Ones we hope to get answers to soon. Stark’s arrest is our big break. Having suspicions is one thing. We need proof to hold up in a court of law.” She withdrew her car keys. “I’ll follow you to your house.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “But that means you have to come back here.”

  “I have to anyway. I need to get some measurements in your kitchen. I’ll need a few things from my house.”

  “I have a yardstick.”

  “Not exactly what I need. It’s only fifteen minutes away and remember, I have the whole afternoon.”

  “You sound like you don’t know what to do with free time.”

  “Free time. What’s that? I haven’t had any in months.”

  “Then I insist you wait until Wednesday to start. I don’t want to take away any of your free time. Believe me, I know how hard it is to come by.”

  “So we have established we’re both workaholics,” he said with a laugh, stepping outside onto the porch while she locked her front door.

  “Is there any other way?”

  “Actually, yes. Before Dad retired and I took over the business, I knew what a vacation meant. This is temporary for me. I don’t intend for my whole life to be work. There’s so much more to life.”

  Work was all she knew, Becca thought, not sure she could live any other way. “Vacation? What’s that?”

  “Perhaps I need to teach you how to play, Becca Hilliard.”

  The idea intrigued Becca more than she wanted to admit. Then she remembered all the unsolved cases of late and knew she wouldn’t be playing anytime soon.

  THREE

  Quinn pulled into his driveway, wondering if the reason he was drawn to Becca was because they both needed to work less and play more. God, are You trying to tell me something? I know I’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately. I plan to slow down—soon. I don’t want to go back to how I was after Maggie’s death. If You hadn’t knocked some sense into me, I would have self-destructed.

  “Somehow I figured you for an ultramodern kind of guy.” Becca gestured toward his large Victorian house, painted white with forest green shutters and a profusion of multicolored flowers adorning the beds along the front.

  He switched off the engine. “Why?”

  “I’ve seen a couple of the buildings your company has constructed. They’re all glass and chrome.”

  “Not all the buildings. Besides, I have to follow the architect’s plans. I execute someone else’s dream.”

  She angled around so she faced him in the cab of his truck. “Did you want to be an architect?”

  Her innocent question threw him back twelve years in the past, to a time when he had been full of dreams. “At one time,” he said, aware there was a pensive quality to his voice, but he couldn’t disguise it.

  “What happened?”

  “Life’s little unexpected twists. My father had a bad accident and needed me to run the business. He was laid up for almost a year. In fact, he still uses a cane because of that accident. I quit college and never went back even when he took over the reins again.”

  “Why not?”

  He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I found I also love working with wood, making beautiful things. And my father needed me. The company was growing so fast and he couldn’t do it all.” Remembering the war that had raged inside him brought back a rush of emotions he hadn’t experienced in years. He had wanted to return to college and finish his degree in architecture. His father had wanted him to continue working in the business so he could take it over one day.

  “Family has a way of consuming our lives.”

  “Yes, but i
t’s a good thing. I want a large one someday. You should see some of our family gatherings. Kids running all over the place. Laughter. Adamant discussions that never totally explode into an argument. That’s why I went into the business. For the family.”

  Becca picked up her purse from the floor of the cab. “I know what you mean. After my mother passed away, it was either me raising my siblings or the state placing them in foster care. I couldn’t let that happen. I quit college, got a secretarial job at the police station and took them in.”

  “When did you decide to become a police officer?”

  “Almost from day one. But it was two years before I went to the police academy.” A thin layer of perspiration coated her upper lip. With the air-conditioning off and the windows rolled up, heat began to build up in the small cab. “How about the grand tour?”

  He laughed. “I’m not sure about the grand part, but I’ll show you a few of the things I’ve done to my house. It might give you some ideas of possibilities for yours.”

  When Becca climbed from the truck, she scanned the lawn with its lush green grass, not a weed among the blades. Landscaped and well-tended beds added a richness to the front of the house with its orange, yellow and red flowers. “Do you like to do yard work, too?”

  “Not my thing. I have someone come once a week to work in my yard. I love a beautiful lawn. I just don’t want to do the work.”

  “A man after my own heart,” Becca murmured, then realized what she had said. She didn’t normally blurt out the first words that came into her mind, but with Quinn she found herself relaxing around him to the point where she had talked about things she usually kept private. Most unusual and not altogether unpleasant.

  She mounted the stairs to the wraparound porch with forest green wicker furniture and a swing mounted from the ceiling. Her assessment of Quinn Montgomery was evolving and shifting the more she was around him. He was a wealthy, successful businessman, a prominent figure in Colorado Springs society, and yet he seemed so down-to-earth and nonchalant, except where it concerned his family, when a fierce protectiveness entered his demeanor. She liked that about the man.

  When she stepped into his house, her breath caught at the beauty of the staircase that curved down from the second floor. Made of a rich mahogany, polished to a shine, its intricate carved railing made a sweeping statement of beauty as a person entered his house.

  “You did this in four months? I’m impressed.”

  “I wanted something that would capture people’s attention when they walked in.”

  “Well, you succeeded. How long have you lived here?”

  “Almost four years. I bought this as a fixer-upper and just recently completed what I wanted to do with it.”

  Becca strolled into the living room off the large foyer, and again stood transfixed, taking in the beauty before her. The massive mahogany fireplace and mantel were every bit as intricate as the staircase. White crown molding accentuated the dark-taupe-painted walls and bookcases carved with swirls and leaves lined one wall. Glimpses at the titles of some of the books hinted at the man standing beside her. Historical books and biographies adorned the shelves, along with a few mysteries.

  She walked closer to the bookcase. “Are you a history buff?”

  “Yeah, you could say I am. I believe in order to understand the present you have to understand the past.”

  “I agree. People are shaped by their past.”

  “Exactly. Escalante has revenge in mind for the Vance and Montgomery families because of what happened last year. You can’t escape your past, no matter how much you want to. It eventually catches up with you.”

  The tension in the warm, cozy room heightened. Becca didn’t want to journey back any more into the past. She had given up her dream for her family and didn’t regret raising her siblings. She would never have let them be raised by anyone else, but still she wondered from time to time what her life would have been like if the situation had been different. “How did we get on such a heavy topic?”

  “Beats me.”

  His grin produced her own smile. “Show me your kitchen. I need some inspiration.”

  He swept his arm toward the dining room. A long table with clean, simple lines dominated the space. The maroon brocade on the eight chairs complemented the darkness of the cherrywood, adding an elegant tone to the room.

  “You have excellent taste in furniture.”

  “Thank you. I just finished making that.” He pointed toward a cabinet that housed a few pieces of a china set that looked old.

  Its simple lines matched the table’s, prompting Becca to ask, “Did you make everything in this room?”

  “Everything in the house. I still have several rooms to finish.”

  “Do you ever sleep?” she asked, stunned by the amount of work that had to have gone into each piece of furniture.

  “I don’t require more than five or six hours, which helps.” He shrugged. “My brother says I don’t have a life.”

  That was probably what many people would say about her. The connection she had felt that first day on the rooftop strengthened even more. “Is he right?”

  His grin reappeared, self-mocking this time. “Yes. I’m working on changing that. I only work six days a week now. Sunday is my day off.” He started toward a door on the other side of the room.

  “But you’re working today.” Becca followed him into his kitchen.

  His gaze snared hers and held it for a long moment. “This isn’t work.”

  Her throat went dry and her pulse sped up. For several heartbeats she saw only him, before she tore her attention away and examined his kitchen, which was one of the reasons she was here.

  “Wow,” was all she could say as she swept her gaze around the room.

  The first thing she felt was she would like to cook in his kitchen. This was a place where family would want to congregate, with its welcoming warmth in the dark tones of the cherry cabinets, its cream-colored marble countertops with various shades of brown swirls and its hardwood floor with a lustrous finish occasionally broken by an area rug that picked up the room’s golden brown, dark red and forest green colors reflected in the plaid wallpaper. Her gaze rested upon what had to be the focal point, the built-in range with a mosaic tile pattern behind it on the wall with a glass-door cabinet flanking each side. Beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces of china and glassware were showcased.

  Quinn walked around, trailing his hand along the counter. “This is my mother’s influence on my life. She felt the kitchen was the most important room in the house, therefore it should be put together first, which is what I did when I moved in here.”

  “I can see why you like to cook.” A picture of herself creating some dish in this kitchen flashed into her thoughts and took hold. Its impact stole her breath. “You have carte blanche to do with my kitchen as you see fit. That is, anything within my meager budget.”

  The instant the words were out of her mouth she should have snatched them back. She didn’t give control up easily and she had just given him free rein. From the wide-eyed look on his face her statement must have taken him just as much by surprise.

  “What do you like in here?”

  She spun around in a slow circle with her arms outstretched. “Everything. But I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to replicate your kitchen at my house, especially since this looks expensive.”

  “Not as much as you would think, but then I did the labor and I do have some resources.” He paused, his gaze intent on her face. “You know you have to tell me more than that.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want what I have. It’s cold, outdated and impractical.”

  He sighed. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue.”

  He started to say something else when she added, “But then I also like green, yellow and red.”

  His chuckles floated on the air. “Maybe it would be easier if I asked if there’s a color you don’t like.”
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br />   “Hmm.” She rubbed her finger along her chin and looked toward the ceiling. “Nope, not really.”

  “You’re making this hard for me.”

  “But I like all colors. I don’t really have one favorite. That should make it easier. You can’t go wrong with any color scheme you pick.”

  “So you would be okay with purple and, say, orange?”

  She winced. “Well, maybe not those two colors together, but I do like them combined with other colors.”

  With lightness deep in his eyes, he covered the short space between them. “Then I’ll just have to get to know you better so I can figure out what will work best.”

  Words lodged in her throat, but for the life of her she couldn’t voice any of them. Mesmerized by the deep chocolate of his eyes, she found herself being drawn into those rich depths, like a hot fudge sundae, lured from the safe, emotional world she had created for herself into an unknown one where feelings dominated and threatened to take over. And, like the sundae, both hot and cold, at the same time.

  Swallowing several times, she blurted out, “I trust your judgment after seeing what you did with your house.”

  After she said that statement, surprise gripped her like a vise Quinn would work with. The day had been filled with one surprise after another. She took a step back to give herself some space because with him so near she obviously wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Trust wasn’t something she often gave and especially when knowing someone for such a short time. What was it about Quinn that put her at ease? Yes, they had formed a bond up on the rooftop. Yes, she knew his younger brother, Brendan, and respected him. Yes, she had known who Quinn was casually. But those things weren’t really what made her stay up at night thinking about him or doing something out of character like wearing a sundress, the only one she owned.

  Puzzlement drew his eyebrows together. He combed his fingers through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What do you like to cook? Fancy meals? Gourmet food? Simple fare?” A touch of desperation entered his eyes.