Her Christmas Hero (14 page)

He ignored the snarky attitude. “Does Britt know you're here?”

Ona shook her head. “Nope. We're over twenty-one and do whatever we please.”

“I figured that one out on my own.” He turned toward his office. “I'll get my coat and take you home.”

“Did you get any beer?” Enzo asked again.

Quinn stopped in his tracks. “Enzo, I'll buy you beer on the way home. How does that sound?”

The wrinkles on the old man's face weaved into a smile. “Like the pearly gates are opening.”

“Hallelujah,” Ona said. “I drink beer, too.”

Great,
Quinn thought as he slipped into his coat. He was getting two old people drunk. Well, then maybe they would stop trying to kill him.

 

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER
they were in Enzo's room, the elderly man stretched back in his recliner, sucking on a Budweiser. Ona sat beside him in a chair, doing the same thing, her feet propped on a small coffee table. The TV blared full blast.

Quinn was about to leave when there was a knock at the door and Britt walked in. She stared at him, shock in her dark eyes, before her gaze swung to her grandmother, to Enzo and then back to him.

“Quinn, what are you doing here?”

“Your grandmother and Enzo paid me another visit and I brought them home.”

“What did they do?”

“We didn't do nothing, my pretty.” Ona took a big swallow of beer. “Enzo wanted his gun back and I baked Mr. Hot shot a pie for saving your life.”

“You didn't…” Britt whispered to him.

“No. I didn't give him the gun,” he whispered back.

“She baked you a pie?”

He nodded. “It's in my car. I wonder if it has strychnine in it?”

A smile curved her lips and his heart zoomed as if he'd stepped on a gas pedal.

“You look great,” he said, his eyes lingering on her face.

She wrinkled her nose. “I smell like margaritas. I've been serving them all evening.”

He leaned in closer and breathed deeply. “I love margaritas.”

“Hey, hotshot, we need two more beers,” Ona called.

Quinn groaned, but went to the compact refrigerator for the beer. Popping the tops, he handed the cans to them.

“See, Ona?” Enzo said, taking his. “He's not a bad man.”

“Onnie, where did you get the beer?” Britt asked before he could say anything.

Ona thrust a thumb toward Quinn.

Britt gaped at him. “You bought my grandmother and my uncle beer?”

By the tone of her voice he surmised that wasn't a good thing.

“Yes,” he replied. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“He's ninety-two. She's eighty-three. You figure it out.”

“Just because they're older doesn't mean they can't still enjoy life.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Really? Enzo pees on himself if he has more than one beer and Onnie gets crazier than she already is.”

“Oh, sorry.” Quinn reached for his coat. “On that, I think I'll leave.”

“Hey, hotshot,” Ona shouted. “Why don't you come for dinner tomorrow? I always cook plenty.”

“Thank you, Ona. I appreciate the invitation, but I'm visiting my family.”

“Just as well,” Ona muttered. “I'd probably try to poison you, anyway.”

“Hell, no, Ona,” Enzo yelled. “He buys us beer.”

Quinn shrugged into his coat and his eyes caught Britt's. “I really am sorry.”

She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “It's okay. You're the only person I know who puts up with them, even after they tried to shoot you.”

“I think they're all bark and no bite.”

“Don't always count on that.”

“I won't, believe me.” He stared into her eyes. “Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I will. Dillon will be home for the afternoon.”

“Good night,” Quinn said to her alone, his voice low. Then he called to Ona and Enzo, “'Night.”

“We need more beer,” Enzo shouted.

Oh, God, what had he done? Quinn hurried to the fridge and removed the last two beers, stuffing them into his coat pocket.

“Hey…” Ona protested.

“Party's over.”

At the door he paused, staring into Britt's eyes one more time. He needed the warmth he saw there to last him the rest of the weekend.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she murmured.

“You, too,” he replied, walking out the door and wondering how happy it would be without her.

For the first time he realized how deep his feelings were for Britt and how much they'd grown since he'd rescued her from the flood. He didn't have to ask his sister how it felt to be in love.

He knew.

Peyton had outdone herself. The table was tastefully decorated with china, silver and crystal on a linen tablecloth that had been in their family for years. His sister couldn't boil water before she'd married Wyatt, so the turkey, dressing and all the trimmings were like a miracle in his eyes. And the fact that it made Peyton happy was an even bigger miracle.

Wyatt occupied the head of the table, while Garland, Quinn and Peyton's stepfather, took the chair at the other end. Maureen, their mother, and Mae, Wyatt's mother, sat on one side, along with Jody, and he and Peyton were seated across from them. J.W. was tethered in his high chair between Wyatt and Peyton.

Jody said the blessing and ended it with, “God bless Elvis.” No one batted an eye because they knew Jody's Gramma Mae loved Elvis and it was always part of the pray er in the Carson household.

Mae was as eccentric as Ona. They could even be friends. Quinn shook his head, knowing he was getting ahead of himself. He had no idea what the future held for him and Britt. The next four weeks would be crucial. Philip Sr. would make a move soon, and Quinn would have to make the biggest decision of his life.

Peyton was puzzled by the chocolate pie he'd brought,
but everyone loved it, and he had to admit it was the best he'd ever eaten. Of course, he didn't tell Peyton, but her pumpkin pie didn't hold a candle to it. It was clear Ona was in a class all by herself in the cooking department. And a few other departments.

The conversation was lively, but Quinn's mind kept wandering to Britt. He kept glancing at his watch. Had Dillon arrived at Britt's? Was she happy?

“You're very distant today,” his mother said. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I just have an important case coming up.” He wasn't talking about the Morris case.

Peyton shook a finger at him. “No work today, big broth er.”

He made a face at her.

Maureen straightened her napkin in her lap. “I want all of you to come to Dallas for Christmas.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Peyton said. “We want the kids home for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Jody added. “Santa won't be able to find us.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Maureen hastened to reassure her. “Santa will find you wherever you are.”

Jody glanced at her mother and Peyton was quick to say, “Sorry, Mom, but you and Garland are welcome to come here and watch the kids open their gifts.”

When Peyton was younger, she'd never stood up to their formidable mother. It did Quinn's heart good to see her now guarding her happiness like a lioness. He admired that.

And just like that, he realized he loved his family, but this wasn't where he wanted to be today. He laid his napkin beside his plate. “I hate to eat and run, but I have to get back to Austin.”

“What?” The protest echoed from his sister and his mother.

He stood and kissed Peyton's cheek. “I really have to go,” he whispered in her ear.

“Oh. Okay.” She looked puzzled but didn't try to stop him.

He said his goodbyes, kissed Jody and J.W., and headed for the entry to get his coat. His mother followed him, as he knew she would. She was tenacious, one of the reasons she was so good in politics.

“Quinn, honey, do you have to go?”

“Yes.” He slipped on his coat and looked into her concerned blue eyes. “I'm fine, really,” he added. In that moment he knew his mother loved him and worried about him. She had done the best she could with her marriage to Quinn's father, and Quinn had no reason to harbor any resentment from his childhood. It only embittered him and he didn't want that. But he had to say something before he could completely let go of the resentment. He hadn't even known it was there until Britt had brought it up when they were waiting to be rescued.

He hugged his mother tightly and she hugged him back. “I forgive you,” he murmured.

She went completely still, but didn't ask what he was for giving her for. She knew. “I loved your father, but we grew so far apart we could never find our way back to what we once had.”

“I know. Dad was hard to live with.”

“I tried.”

“I know,” he said again. “And you don't have to explain anything to me.”

She drew back and looked into his face. “What brought this on?”

“I'm finding out what real love is, and I don't want to hold any animosity in my heart that will tarnish it.”

She held a hand to her breast. “Oh, Quinn.”

He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mom.”

“Thank you, son.” She paused, eyeing him. “Who…?”

Smiling, he opened the door and ran to his car. He wasn't answering that question.

Driving toward Austin, he could think of only one person.

Britt.

 

B
RITT WAS HAVING A LATE
lunch. Since Dillon didn't get there until one, she wanted him to play for a while before he ate. He was fussy today, wanting to be held. The separation was taking its toll on both of them.

She told her mother the whole story about what had happened last night, and Carin was aghast.

“What am I going to do with Mama?” she asked while Onnie was in the bathroom.

“Quinn said something about letting her enjoy life.”

“But she tries to destroy more than enjoy, and what was Quinn thinking, buying them beer?”

“You know how Uncle Enzo is.” Britt sliced an apple for fruit salad. “He's always asking for beer.”

“But it's not allowed in the home.” Carin shoved the sweet potatoes in the oven. “I'll probably be getting a call from Frances.” She cocked her head. “Yeah. I hope Frances does call me. I'd like to know why she can't ever have her father for the holidays.”

“He's happier with us,” Britt commented. “He and Onnie grew up like sister and brother and they're kindred spirits.”

Her mother groaned and Britt laughed.

 

T
WO HOURS LATER THEY SAT
at the kitchen table replenished from a meal mostly prepared by Onnie. Dillon had eaten and then started whining to get out of his chair. He fell asleep against Britt and she worried he was coming down with something. He wasn't his usual happy self.

“Every time I think about this custody thing I just get angry,” Carin said, watching Dillon.

“We should have killed that bastard Phil instead of the hotshot attorney,” Ona replied.

“Mama, I do not want to hear that kind of talk.” Carin got up and carried dishes to the sink, her shoulders stiff.

Britt was about to go to her when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. Three-thirty. It couldn't be the nanny. She walked to the door with Dillon cradled against her.

Looking through the peephole, she smiled and opened the door.

“Come in,” she said to Quinn, taking in his lean physique, his dark slacks, white shirt and dress coat. A manly, fresh scent reached her and her stomach quivered. He was so tempting.

“Ona invited me and I thought I'd—”

“What are you doing here, Mr. Ross?” her mother asked over Britt's shoulder. Her angry Onnie-type voice was so unlike her.

“Mom…”

“I'd prefer if he wasn't here.”

“Hey, Mr. Hotshot!” Onnie called from the kitchen. “Come on in. I'll make you a plate.”

“Did you bring any beer?” Enzo asked.

“No, Enzo,” Quinn answered, gingerly walking into the kitchen. “I'm not buying you any more beer. That got me in trouble.”

“Sucker. The women got to you.”

“See what he causes…”

Britt took her mother's arm and pulled her aside, still cradling Dillon in the other. “What's wrong with you? You're being rude.”

“I'm just so afraid we're going to lose…” Her mother's voice cracked and she stopped.

Britt hugged her with her free arm. “Mom, let me handle this. Please.”

“But he's…” Carin glanced at Quinn.

Dillon stirred against Britt and she thought it was time to get her mother's mind on something else. “Look. Dilly bear's awake.”

Carin reached for her grandson and carried him into the living room. Dillon looked back at Britt, but didn't cry. She saw that Onnie was stuffing Quinn with pumpkin pie and whipped cream. Like her mother, Britt wondered what Quinn was doing here. But unlike Carin, she was happy to see him. She couldn't seem to get it through her head that she should hate him.

“They're fattening me up for something,” Quinn said when he saw her. His voice was soothing and affable, washing away her doubts. “And I don't think it's for something good.”

“You'll never know, hotshot.” Onnie piled more whipped cream on the pie.

Her mother settled down and Dillon started playing with his toys, carrying the NERF ball to Quinn, as if he remembered. Football was on the TV and Britt sat on the floor with Dillon, and Quinn joined them. The toddler climbed all over him, slobbering on his clothes, and he didn't seem to mind. Her mother watched them closely. That didn't escape Britt.

Uncle Enzo fell asleep in a chair and Onnie snoozed on the sofa. The afternoon passed quickly. Soon Debi arrived, and Dillon clung to Britt. It made letting go that much
hard er. She told Debi to be sure to watch him because she felt he was coming down with something.

Her mother and grandmother packed up their things to go home. Quinn was in the living room with Enzo.

“Please come home with us,” Carin begged Britt. “I hate for you to be here by yourself.”

“I have to work at the restaurant tomorrow. I'll be fine.”

Carin glanced toward the living room. “Why is he still here?”

“Give it a rest,” Ona said, placing dishes in a bag. “There's more than one way to trap a weasel.”

Carin blinked. “We're not trapping weasels.”

“Oh, but we are, sweet daughter.” Ona grabbed her purse. “Let's go. We have to take Enzo to the home.”

“I'll take Enzo. It's on my way,” Quinn said, and Britt wondered how long he'd been standing there and how much he'd heard.

“There's no need, Mr. Ross.” Her mother's voice was as cold as she'd ever heard it.

“I'm going with Mr. Hotshot.” Enzo fitted his baseball cap on his head and reached for his cane. “He might buy me beer.”

Carin whirled toward Quinn. “Do not buy him any more beer.”

Quinn nodded and glanced at Britt. She gave a tentative smile and suddenly knew why he had come today. He wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. And God help her, that just made their situation worse.

“Are we going by any strip clubs?” Enzo asked Quinn as they walked toward the door.

Her mother gasped.

“Sorry, Enzo,” Quinn said. “No beer, no strip clubs.”

“You're still more fun than Carin.”

“Boy, he said a mouthful,” Ona remarked.

“Don't start with me, Mama.”

“Goodbye, my pretty.” Onnie hugged Britt. “Let's go, Carin. Maybe we can stop for a beer so you can loosen up a bit.”

The words hit a nerve. Her mother's face became pinched and Britt thought she was going to cry. Britt immediately went to her.

“Mom…it's okay. Onnie is teasing.”

“I'm just so worried about you.”

“Listen to me.” Britt hugged her mother. “I'll be fine. I'll get through this, but I need you to be strong.”

“Okay.” Carin sniffed. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, Mom. I'll call tomorrow.” She playfully shook a finger in her face. “And do not stop at any beer joints.”

Carin laughed and the sound made Britt feel better. They would get through this—as a family.

 

T
HE APARTMENT WAS VERY
quiet after everyone had gone. She checked the kitchen, but Onnie had made sure it was spotless. Britt picked up Dillon's toys and took a shower. It was too early to go to bed, so she decided to watch TV. It had been a while since she'd had any time to relax. She flipped through the channels and found nothing she liked. Curling up on the sofa, she promptly fell asleep.

The doorbell woke her.

She turned off the TV and stumbled toward the door, tying her robe tighter. Looking through the peephole, she was surprised to see Quinn again. Had something happened to Uncle Enzo? She quickly opened the door.

“What happened? What's wrong?”

Quinn stepped in and closed the door. “I forgot to do something.”

“What?” she asked, completely baffled.

“This.” He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. His eyes twinkled into hers as he took her lips. With a moan she leaned into him, soaking up the scent of the outdoors, the cold and him. It enveloped her, and thoughts of stopping never entered her mind.

As the kiss deepened, her arms slid up the sleeves of his coat to his neck. Her mouth opened, inviting him in to new discoveries, new heights of passion. The kiss went on until he trailed kisses from her mouth to her cheek, to her chin and to the warmth of her throat.

She arched her neck as every need in her came alive. At that moment the cold hard truth hit her and she pushed away.
He was Phil's lawyer.

She flipped back her tangled hair. “We shouldn't do this.”

“I know.” Quinn took a long breath and she saw the de sire in his hooded eyes, just as she'd seen before. She closed hers and blocked it out.
Tell him to go. Tell him to go.
But not one word left her mouth.

Nor did he make a move to leave.

“I can't get you out of my head,” he said with a ragged sigh.

“Me neither,” she admitted in a voice she didn't recognize.

He cupped her face with one hand and made circles on her cheek with his thumb. Coherent thoughts were impossible when he was touching her. Besides, she didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel.

She leaned her face into his palm, giving in to something stronger than herself. In that moment she knew she'd made a decision. He knew it, too.