Here Comes Trouble (15 page)

Stella glanced in the direction he indicated.
Cans of potting soil and some of her gardening
implements lay on the ground along with the shelf
he'd butted against. "I've got only one question.
Why were you stooping down?"

Quin rubbed the toe of his shoe against the
rough wooden floor. "To read the bottles."

Had he lost his mind? Maybe all those years out
in a cold dark world had taken a toll on his sanity?
"Why would you want to read them?"

"I was curious about what chemicals you were
using on your garden." He didn't look her in the
eye.

"You couldn't just ask me? Besides, I recycle
the bottles from the high school. The labels don't
mean anything."

"Oh. Well."

"You're not making any sense. Are you sure
you're okay?" He didn't seem ill just extremely guilty about something. "Why don't you come in
and eat the lunch I made?"

He allowed her to lead him into the house and
took a seat at the table. Despite her job as a biology teacher, she didn't know much about controlled substances. Surely he didn't think she kept
anything that could be distilled to make a dangerous chemical? Surely he hadn't developed an addiction?

Placing her hand over his, she said, "You trust
me, don't you?"

"That's exactly the question I was about ask
you," he said. "If you had a secret, you'd tell me,
wouldn't you? We always shared our secrets."

"Well, if I had a secret and it created a problem
for me, then I certainly would. I'm here for you if
you have a problem. You know I'd understand?"

"I have a problem?" he asked as his brows drew
together.

"It's not surprising, really, when you think
about it. I mean, all alone in those foreign countries." Stella shrugged, "Who could blame you if
you wanted to escape?"

Quin said nothing.

"We could go into Wichita to get you help." She
took a seat beside him, bringing a hand up to cup
his face. "No one in Littlemouth would have to
find out. Unlike our mothers, Quin, I don't gossip."

"You think I need help?" Quin pulled her hand
down. "Just what are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just wanted
to assure you that if you had a problem, I'd see
you through it."

"Stella!"

"Yes?"

"I don't have that kind of problem."

"You don't?"

"The only kind of problem I have is in following your chain of logic."

"You have a logic problem? Join the club! What
on earth were you doing in my shed?"

"Investigating."

"Oookay." Stella puffed with frustration at her
bangs. "Care to explain?"

"I suppose I do owe you an explanation," he
said, sounding as if he were completely rational
which of course he couldn't be. She couldn't think
of any sane explanation for his actions.

"Start with the truth?" she suggested mildly.

"I heard a rumor about you and I wanted to find
out for myself if it was true or not."

"And what did this rumor have to do with my
toolshed?" Stella placed a hand over her mouth.
"No. Don't tell me. You thought I was making
dangerous chemicals."

"No. That's not it."

"Well, I'd like to know what it is."

"I heard you were doing topsecret scientific experimentation for the government."

Stella couldn't hold back a shocked laugh. "You
honestly believed I'd be qualified to do any such
thing? That the government just farms out top secret experiments to any of high school teacher for
the asking?"

"I hadn't thought about it that way, Stell. Honestly, though, you're special. You're bright and
clever and more than capable of doing it. You're
like a superwoman."

"Why I think that's the nicest compliment
you've ever paid me, Quin, even if it is patently
delusional."

Quin slumped his forehead onto hers. "Thank
heavens. I was losing my mind."

"Why couldn't you have asked me?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't be allowed to reveal
it if it was true. So I figured I'd better find out for
myself and look for evidence. I have to admit,
those chemical bottles gave me quite a shock."

"You're a sorry case, Quinlan Gregory."

"I know."

"Promise me one thing." Again she cupped his
face in her palm. "In the future, if you have any
questions about me, just ask. I promise to be as
truthful as I know how."

Now that he knew she wasn't a superwoman or
a spy, Quin breathed a huge sigh of relief. He loved Stella as he'd always thought of her. Sweet
and uncomplicated, gardening, sewing, and teaching kids science.

Adding bestselling novelist to the list had been
hard for him to accept, but the idea that she was
a secret agent had nearly driven him berserk because it placed her so far out of his reach.

When he'd first seen her again, he felt a bit
smugly superior with all his worldly experience.
He'd been a dumb guy-he admitted it.

However, he'd always imagined Stella waiting
for him to come home. Everything he'd learned
about her since returning proved that assumption
false.

He considered the possibility Stella might not
want him. It wasn't simply a case of making up
his own mind, but rather, of making her see him
as her equal, as someone she could fall in love
with.

Earlier, when he'd heard the Troublemakers
gossiping, he could feel Stella evaporating from
his grasp. As if she were so far above his league,
he hadn't a hope of ever capturing her heart.

The thought of losing her made him admit just
what she meant to him. Wherever Stella was, he'd
find both excitement and home.

Why hadn't he realized it before? Sure, he'd
been determined to travel, to find life and adven ture, but why had he been blind to the fact it was
here with her?

Somehow, he must have known it all along.
Why else had he brought Tramp to her? Why else
would he head to her whenever he was confused?
Travel and excitement lost their luster when there
was no home to return to.

Stella was his home. Additionally, she was the
most exciting woman he'd ever met or would
likely ever meet. Fortunately for him, he had her
where he wanted her.

Seated beside him.

Within his reach.

Stella saw embers flare to life in the depth of
Quin's eyes. He whispered, "I love you, Stell."

"Do you mean it?"

"Uh-hmm," he answered, lightly brushing his
finger tip against her lips. "There's something I
want to ask you."

Hope fluttered like butterfly wings in her stomach. "Yes?"

"I'm going to have to leave Littlemouth soon.
Come with me?"

At least he'd learned something. He'd learned
to ask. Nonetheless, she was disappointed. She'd
hoped he'd stay right here at home in Littlemouth
with her. Did she love him enough to leave? To
give up everything and everyone she loved?

Yes. She could answer with a clear conscience.
There was no doubt in her mind.

That wasn't the problem.

The problem was he didn't love her enough to
do the same. She wasn't sure she could cope with
the idea that she loved him more. Love wasn't
supposed to be a contest with a winner and a loser,
but a sharing, each offering the same love and trust
to the other.

When she didn't answer right away, he leaned
back, then stood. "I guess that's all I need to
know."

She ought to be thrilled he asked her. Instead,
her heart was already broken and he hadn't left
her yet. Her lack of response was a final blow, but
she couldn't get words to form.

He turned and left the room and she heard the
silence of the door closing.

She should never have hoped. Quin would always be a wanderer and she was forever doomed
to be a homebody.

Quin felt stiff all over. He'd been sitting in the
tree house for over two hours, certain Stella was
in her house, and hoping she'd come talk with
him. Surely he could find something to say that
would make things right between them.

Her silence had given him an answer-the
wrong answer. Stella was the kind of woman who wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than marriage, and for her that meant putting down roots
in Littlemouth. She'd never be satisfied with anything less.

He pulled a well-thumbed volume of Pride and
Prejudice from the chair beside him and opened
it. Maybe it would keep him occupied. However,
it didn't, just as it hadn't the last six times he'd
opened it.

"Yo," called a masculine voice which Quin
thought he recognized. Glimpsing out the window,
he saw Brendan dressed in the sheriff's uniform
which seemed so incongruous on a guy he'd once
made moonshine with. They'd been lucky they
hadn't poisoned themselves.

"Hey, Brendan," Quin said. "Come on up."

Brendan removed the hat from his head and
scratched behind his ear. "Why don't you come
down?"

" 'Fraid you might fall out?" asked Quin as he
lumbered down the rope ladder.

"Afraid I might break the ladder."

He had to be at least six-foot-five, thought Quin,
as he reached the ground and dismounted the ladder. Brendan had always been tall for his age, but
never more so than now. He looked extremely intimidating in that uniform.

If the two of them hadn't known each other
since they were toddlers, Quin would have given the gentle giant a larger berth. As it was, though,
he slapped Brendan resoundingly on the back.

"What brings you over here?"

"I got a call." Brendan looked a little uncomfortable. He nodded toward Stella's house. "Seems
there's a prowler around here. Something about
trespassing on private property."

It took Quin a second or two, but then he realized Stella had to have phoned about him being in
her tree house. "Women."

"You said it. I'm taking you into custody."
Brendan grinned. "You can buy me a beer at the
Littlemouth Tavern."

"Aren't you on duty?"

"Not really." Brendan shrugged. "Stella insisted
I put my uniform on when I came to arrest you.
Seemed amusing at the time."

"Hilarious." Quin shot an annoyed glance toward Stella's back door, figuring she was watching. "Aren't you going to cuff me?"

"Nah, you're not resisting."

"Yeah, but it might make Stella feel guilty."

"I highly doubt it, Quin. With the mood she's
in, she'd probably insist I give her my keys."

That put all the wrong sorts of images in Quin's
head. He was already a prisoner of Stella's love.
"Let's go get that beer."

"My cruiser's out front."

As they left the yard, Quin yelled at Stella's
back door, "I'll be back."

Quin shoved his socks into his suitcase, using
them to cushion the few breakables he carried
while traveling. The phone call to his editor, Mark,
had gone well, better than he'd expected. With any
luck at all, he'd be out of Littlemouth by the next
day, and out of the country by the following. Mark
had said he'd call ASAP with an assignment and
flight information.

That had been several hours ago. He'd spent a
week thinking about where he'd gone wrong with
Stella, hoping she'd answer his phone calls, or talk
things over with him. It was as if she'd disappeared from the face of Littlemouth. Not even
Prissy would tell him where she was.

Other than Brendan, the whole town had closed
ranks against him, as if he'd done something to
deliberately hurt one of their own. He couldn't see
how he'd said or done anything to hurt Stella.
Hadn't he asked her to come with him?

Finally he'd come to the conclusion that a relationship between them simply wasn't meant to
be. His status as Littlemouth's bad boy and leastfavored citizen had been reinstated, making the
town anything but welcoming. So he'd placed that
call to Mark.

Checking the bedside clock, he saw it was al ready eleven P.M., probably too late to hear from
Mark again tonight.

Quin was antsy, restless. He needed to escape.
Pacing around the room he'd lived in for most of
his childhood, the urge to escape became too
strong for him to deny. He'd take a walk, clear
the cobwebs from his brain, tie the loose ends time
in Littlemouth had left him with.

The class reunion was scheduled for the following night. He wanted to be far, far away before
then. He didn't want to relive what he'd gone
through ten years earlier, watching Stella from a
distance and knowing she could never belong to
him and he could never belong in Littlemouth.

Nothing had changed except he'd learned a
tough lesson. You can't go back.

He'd go see Tramp, go visit the tree house. He
might never see either of them again. He wasn't
going to say goodbye to Stella. Clearly, she'd already said her farewells that day when she'd shattered his heart. But maybe, in the safety of the tree
house, he could lay to rest the ghosts of their childhood, give up the fantasy of her he'd been clinging
to.

Yeah, that was the ticket. He was going to dispel some ghosts.