Breath of Dawn, The (9 page)

But she groaned. He was out of town. She didn’t know when he’d be back. She knew he wasn’t thinking of her, or the cabinet and whatever was inside. He might not even care when he got back. He’d wanted it left alone. She straightened her arm and started to pull the door—then stopped again.

She should break the spell he’d cast the night he dared her to take his check. And that, of course, reminded her that it was his. Sighing, she removed the key and stepped back from the cabinet and the promise of the old bottles. It was history. It was answers. And she may as well stop arguing. However it had happened, he was in this with her. And she wanted him there. So she would wait.

His welcome home consisted of Livie breaking into uncontrollable sobs as he entered the great room. “Hey.” Surrounded by Rick, Liam, and Noelle, Morgan dropped to his knees and clutched her so tightly neither could breathe.

“I miss you, Daddy.”

“I missed you too, honey. But here I am, and here you are.” He scooped her up and swung her from side to side. “Shhh.” Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her crown again and again. “It’s okay.”

If he’d been going to work and coming home regularly, it wouldn’t be so traumatic. But before he left, they’d been together almost every minute. Her heaving chest against his made him feel both helpless and whole. “I’m here, honey. I’m here.” Two weeks had been too long. “Livie, please. Please,” he rasped.

The sobs slowed, her tiny chest shuddering, her chin shaking. He kissed her wet, salty cheeks, her damp eyelashes brushing against his skin. He begged Noelle, “Tell me it hasn’t been like this.”

“Not until now. A few flurries, but no flood.”

He rubbed Livie’s back. “That’s my girl.”

“Jelly bean,” she whispered in his ear.

“Sweet pink cotton candy,” he whispered back, heart squeezing.

“Want some dinner?” Rick said.

He could smell whatever one of them was making, and it wasn’t bad, but he said, “I think Livie and I have a date.” There was no fast food in Juniper Falls, no McPlay Place, and the parks were cold and getting dark. But she loved the spiral-sliced flash-fried potato chips at the Roaring Boar Pub and Grill. Food was served all day, and it was too early for the kind of drinking that accompanied the live music—though “live” was debatable for some of the bands in the winter months.

He bundled her up, and after the short drive, they stepped into the warm scent of barbecue and beer. He’d spent a lot of time in this place, even had a date here with Noelle before Rick. It was a local treasure, but he didn’t come in much anymore, and the hearty greetings of the crowd told him he’d been missed. But since the outing was all about Livie, he nodded his head at a small corner booth where they’d be out of the way.

“Sure,” the bartender, Scotty, said, indicating he’d serve them there. A bad case of acne had cratered his cheeks like shriveled balloons, but his friendly nature and quick hands made him great behind the bar and at the tables. His tips reflected it.

As Morgan turned with Livie toward the table, the door opened and Quinn entered. Blinking in the dimness, it took a few moments before she noticed them, then her face lit. He felt a kick in his stomach. The last she’d seen, he was imitating a heart attack. Now it seemed he might have one of another kind. Not. Good.

She pushed her hair back in what had to be a continuous quest for order and said, “You’re back.”

He managed, “Just.”

She tickled Livie with a single finger, then said, “I’ve been hoping to tell you, I found a key.”

It took a second, and then he answered, “To the cabinet?”

She nodded, eyes shining.

“Was it everything you wished for?”

She folded her arms. “I haven’t opened it.”

He frowned at her, confused, as this was the cabinet she’d quivered before like a puppy for a bone.

“I was going to, but it seemed like you should be there.”

The earnestness in her voice caught him unprepared. “Oh.”

Her smile dimmed. “I’m catching you at a bad time.”

“No. Yeah.” Silver-tongued devil. If the team could see him now.

She waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Listen. I’m having a date with my daughter. Can I meet you there in an hour?”

“Sure.” She backed up a step, then headed for the bar. He stood long enough for her to start placing a to-go order, then walked with Livie to the booth.

Carrying the paper bag that held her order, Quinn left without looking back. Seeing Morgan after two weeks had lit her like a torch, and she’d shown it, but he was there with his little girl. The thought of a daddy-daughter date made a lump in her throat she couldn’t seem to swallow. She put her truck in gear, wishing she hadn’t extended the invitation. But for all practical purposes, she’d finished at the house and he’d be moving in. It might be her last chance to open the cabinet.

Why hadn’t she just done it?

At the intersection, she crunched a homemade chip, waiting for a car to pass, then moved through. She parked outside of Vera’s and ate in her truck, watching snow fall and thinking about Morgan spending an hour with his little girl, one-on-one, as though no one else in the world mattered. She bit into the usually mouth-watering pulled-pork sandwich that now left her taste buds uninvolved.

She’d spent time with Pops—fishing, talking, following his hound through the woods—time stolen from chores and service and studies. Her father had no time to waste, but Pops made time, and truth be told, she preferred it that way. With Pops there was no lesson behind every single thing she was expected to bury in her heart.

She got out of the truck. It had been a bright and sparkling day, but clouds were now scudding across the dimming sky. The air was dry and cold but not yet frigid. If enough clouds gathered, it wouldn’t be a question of whether but how much it would snow.
At these mountain elevations it could do that in August if it tried. In November, it didn’t have to try.

She let herself into Vera’s—Morgan’s—house and did a slow tour. No one would believe that weeks ago the walls couldn’t be seen, and the floors were reduced to paths and patches. As frustrating as some of it had been, she wasn’t complaining.

She had the money from the antiques, and her warehouse held more collectibles than ever before. The completed auctions had ended quite profitably. She’d already shipped out a number of Hummel and other figurines, decorative plates and glassware, and blessed Vera for caring for them. Where those things were concerned, she’d been a conscientious collector. It felt good dispersing those treasures to others who would love them. In this throwaway world she liked to think of things passing from hand to hand with care.

That made her think of Vera’s journal and Morgan’s offer. She’d been waiting to see if she would find anything else, but even now the thought of looking in the cellar sent a shiver up her spine. To Morgan it was finished, and she was glad to call it quits. Maybe he’d send her with the journal, or maybe she’d send herself.

The best part of all was giving RaeAnne her dad. It had been a wonderful day meeting RaeAnne and Noelle in the fog. She smiled thinking of it. From the moment of RaeAnne’s
“Pretty, isn’t she,”
something had clicked between them. Noelle seemed nice, too, she thought, then jumped when the doorbell made its grinding wheeze.

She’d completely cleared her head, but the calm she’d accomplished vanished when she opened the door to Morgan and his daughter. She was only human.

“Well, Livie. How was your date?”

Livie giggled. “I have chips.”

“Chips are the best. Guess your daddy’s a keeper.”

“Daddy a keeper.” Livie pressed a hand to his cheek, speaking into his eyes.

Yeah, make her a puddle right here on the floor. Getting the nerve, she lifted her gaze to Morgan.

He was staring, mouth slightly ajar, around the house. “You didn’t just clean.”

“A little paint and repair. It’s good to go.”

“Quinn, this . . .” He looked down at her. “This is more than your deal with RaeAnne.”

“No, believe me, I came out just fine.”

“But I . . .”

“You helped me sell the furniture, which I wouldn’t have earned anything on. And this one found the locket and saved me from paper-stack hell.” She touched Livie’s head with a little hitch in her ribs. “I just wanted it to be nice.”

“Nice.” He cocked his jaw. “Yeah. It’s nice.” He had a great way with understatement.

“So. Are you ready?”

He set Livie down, and as she ran around the big empty room, they went into the kitchen. She picked up the key from the hutch and held it out.

But he shook his head with a slow blink. “You do it.”

She’d been so right to wait. Drawing a breath, she inserted and turned the key. She pulled the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Morgan tugged the other knob and that door groaned open. Clutching his arm, she leaned in to see.

On the top shelf were tiny bottles with glass spires. She took one out and examined the white paper label that read Delysid (LSD-25)
D-lysergic acid diethylamide tartrate.
SANDOZ
LTD
.,
BASLE
,
SWITZERLAND
.

It looked like a perfume bottle, but she couldn’t see how to open it. Morgan closed it into his hand and took it away. She looked up. “What?”

“It’s LSD.”

She searched his face.

“They’re ampules of psychedelic drugs. You don’t want to break it open. It might absorb through your skin and send you on a trip you weren’t planning.”

Jaw falling slack, she turned and stared at the cabinet filled with LSD and who knew what else. “I sold you illegal drugs?”

His mouth pulled as he replaced the bottle, closed and locked the cabinet. “We didn’t know.”

“But . . .” She felt completely flummoxed. “LSD in a mental hospital?”

“What do you think it was developed for?”

“I don’t know.” She glared at the cabinet. “I thought we’d find . . .” Herbs? Chamomile tea? “Something interesting and historical, not illegal.”

“I warned you the mystery might be better than the truth.”

She paced two steps and back. “What are you going to do?”

He said, “I’m thinking.”

While he thought, she decided. “I have to give your money back.”

“Stop.” He said it like she was being silly, but she wasn’t.

“You paid me five hundred dollars for LSD. That’s a drug deal.”

His eyes crinkled. “Don’t worry, SWAT’s not closing in.”

“This isn’t funny. We should call the sheriff.”

He leaned his arm on the cabinet, looking in. “Let’s hold off.”

“Why?”

“I want to show someone. After Thanksgiving, we’ll turn it over.”

She searched his face. “We leave it here for the next week and a half?”

“No one knows it but us.”

“I just . . .”

He clasped her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

Heart suddenly skittering, she turned to see Livie, performing a little skip that hardly lifted her from the floor. Her cuteness was calming, as though nothing could be too wrong in the world. “Okay.” If Morgan had a plan, she’d leave it to him. “See you for Thanksgiving.”

D
eep-frying a turkey took about half as long as roasting one, according to the directions. The unopened fryer had been in the pantry of her A-frame, like the weirdest housewarming present ever, when she moved in. It had sprung to mind when Noelle invited her, so she hauled it over with the pumpkin pie and cornbread pudding she’d baked the night before, along with the fixings for the rest.

With her boots compressing last night’s snow with a crush and squeak in every step, she reached the door. Rick greeted her with warmth in his brown eyes and a hint of solicitude. “For the record, I think you’re getting the weak end of this invitation.”

She looked up around the boxed fryer in her arms. “Honestly, I’m glad for something to do.”

“Can I take that?”

“I have it, but you could grab stuff from the truck. The turkey’s in a brine bucket.”

He held the door for her to go in, as he had on their first encounter. Though she’d spent time with Morgan and Livie since then, she still barely knew Rick or Noelle or their rambunctious Liam. The day could be interesting, but she was looking forward to it.

She passed through the kitchen and out the back to a snowy patio, where she unpackaged the big stainless vat. The peanut oil Rick brought her glugged into it in a golden stream. While that heated, she would start on the side dishes. She’d brought a variety of vegetables to roast in olive oil and garlic—squashes, onions, carrots, and yams without the gooey stuff that choked going down.

Since a deep-fried turkey would leave no drippings, and canned or powdered gravy should be illegal, she had to improvise on the potatoes too. She chose mashed with butter and sour cream. She’d have included chives but guessed the little ones wouldn’t like it.

Back inside, she found Rick waiting for instructions. Noelle had warned her she might not make it to the kitchen, and according to Morgan, that was a good thing, so she’d take what help she had. She turned over the bag of potatoes, and, tall and rangy like a classic cowboy, Rick stood at the kitchen sink and peeled.

Just as she was starting to feel strange in someone else’s kitchen with someone else’s husband, Morgan came in, as darkly handsome as ever. At the hitch in her ribs, she shifted from his face to Livie’s tearful one.

He said, “She disagreed about the need for a coat.”

As she wore an adorable red coat with black embroidery and hood fur, it appeared her daddy won the discussion—and paid the price. He looked almost as crestfallen as his child.

He stood her on a chair and said, “Now we can take it off.”

Livie gripped it at the neck with a forbidding frown, and Morgan laughed grimly. “Liam’s rubbing off.”

“Oh sure,” Rick said from the sink. “Blame it on my son.”

“It’s human nature to emulate the older.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Rick carried a colander of peeled and rinsed potatoes to the counter by the stove and asked, “You want these cut?”

“Quartered, please.”

“I’ll do it.” Morgan set his daughter on the floor. “You should check on Noelle, Rick. She’s coughing.” There seemed something a little ominous in the way he said it.

Rick nodded, obviously sharing the concern. “Show him the sharp side of the blade, Quinn.”

She looked from Rick to Morgan, not sure where the joking ended and truth began. “I’m sure you know how to use a knife.”

“Eh.” He waggled his hand. “Consuela never lets me near one.”

“Consuela . . .”

“My cook, who’s coming out soon—if I have to hog-tie her.”

“You don’t cook at all?”

“I make a mean bowl of Cheerios. Don’t I, punkin?” He patted Livie’s head.

“Make happy Cheerios, Daddy. No mean Cheerios.” She had discarded the coat and forgotten their tiff.

Quinn slid diced onions into the roasting pan. “How old is she?” She had surprisingly never asked. “Because I just don’t think she should talk that well.”

Morgan said, “How old are you, Livie?”

She held up three fingers, then added four from the other hand.

“She’s twenty-six months. Last week she learned sentence structure, and now she’s working on her PhD.”

“I believe it.” The child had changed in just the little time since they’d discovered the contraband.

He scooped up her coat and hung it over the chair before pushing up the sleeves of his slate blue—cashmere?—sweater.

She said, “You want an apron?”

“Did you really ask me that?” He leaned on one arm, masculine in every aspect.

“I did.”

“No thanks. No apron. Ever.”

She shrugged. “They’re your clothes.”

He pulled a paring knife out of the drawer and took hold of a potato.

“That’s too little. Use this.” She gave him the knife she’d finished with. It might be an act, but he was confirming Rick’s assertion. “You must have done this before.”

“Nope.”

“As a bachelor?”

“I ate out.”

“Growing up?”

“I have four sisters. And a mother who’s never bought takeout.” He made a careful slice. “You think I got near the kitchen?”

“But you’re the oldest, right?”

“How’d you know that?” He accomplished another slice. In fairness, wet peeled potatoes were tricky.

“The way you teased Rick and how you said sisters.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“You said it like they were puppies. Older sisters, it wouldn’t be that way.”

“That’s insightful.”

She turned on the oven to preheat. “I always wanted a big brother.”

“Oh yeah?”

She had no idea why she’d told him that, especially since she hoped he didn’t volunteer to fill in. “I probably wouldn’t if I had one.”

“Depends on the brother. Did Rick pay you for the food?”

“No.” She wiped the counter with a damp cloth.

“He plans to. There’s no way you’re cooking and paying.”

She rinsed the cloth in the sink, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. It made her feel like help. “So, is Noelle okay?”

“She’s lousy at pretending she’s fine. I think she and Liam are getting sick, and that’s especially bad for Noelle.” He glanced down to where Livie was pulling pans and bowls from the lower cabinets.

“I making soup, Daddy.”

“Okay, sweetie.” He cut another potato.

Glancing at the clock, Quinn said, “Time to stick the turkey in the fryer.” She bent for the five-gallon bucket holding brine and bird.

“Better dry it off first.”

When she looked at him suspiciously, he said, “I know what happens when hot fat and liquid meet. That’s physics, baby.” He took the other side of the bucket. “Let me help you with that.”

She held the turkey as together they poured the brine into the sink. That close, his scent enveloped her, a musky cologne and baby shampoo.

“Grab some paper towels,” Morgan said, hoisting the bird bare-handed out of the bucket.

They patted it dry, like a big stiff baby from a sink bath, and then she swabbed the cavity and pushed the pronged tool through. Morgan said, “I’ll carry it. You lift the fryer lid.”

Out through the door, to where the fryer had melted the snowpack from the patio, he carried the pale, bumpy turkey that would turn out a rich brown, according to the pictures. Checking the thermometer to make sure the oil was hot enough, she said, “Three minutes per pound,” and calculated the time as he lowered it in.

“How big is the bird?”

She told him.

“Good. There are two more joining us.”

“Oh?”

“I invited Rudy from the general store.”

Something in his tone and the way he looked aside caught her up short. He’d warned her this might be a setup. Was this a countermeasure?

“And the professor.” At her puzzled look, he added, “The historian?”

“Oh. Great.” They could talk asylum over turkey. He’d told her about that one, but Rudy? Apparently for this setup, he’d brought in a ringer.

Morgan watched Quinn make quick work of the potatoes and get them boiling. She slid the pan of vegetables into the hot oven. He wasn’t sure what he’d said or done, but she seemed to close off, her motions hard and tight.

Looking into the dining room large enough to accommodate the family and guests in cabins at full capacity, he saw Noelle had already set an artistic table. There couldn’t be much, if anything, left to do, so when male voices carried in from the great room, he said, “Come and meet them.”

“You go ahead.” Quinn took out another onion and some stalks of celery and began to cut them to within an inch of their lives. “I’ve got this now.” She never looked up, but the vegetables suffered.

“Come on.” Scooping Livie up, he herded Quinn toward the other room. “You know Rudy, right?”

“He let me tape up the cupboard pictures.”

“Right.”

Although Livie had found Rudy fascinating in the store with the counter between them, face-to-face, she wasn’t so sure. Quinn looked minuscule next to the great bear with russet-colored beard, ponytail, and gaps for two lower teeth that made his broad smile a jack-o’-lantern. His heart was just as big and just as open. For that and other reasons, Morgan considered him a friend.

“Rudy, this is Quinn. She’s responsible for the feast.”

Her clipped greeting and closed body language surprised and bothered him. Rudy deserved better. And then it struck him that she thought he’d brought Rudy in to run interference. It must have sounded like, “Check out the little lady, and she cooks too.”

She said, “I need to finish the stuffing,” then turned and stalked to the kitchen.

His disappointment in her shifted to frustration with himself. He didn’t usually make such mistakes. He cocked his jaw as Noelle came down the stairs and greeted Rudy warmly in spite of her pallor and the shadows under her eyes. If Rudy had suffered Quinn’s chill, it was alleviated now, but the situation still required finesse.

When Rick took Rudy out to see the new crossbow he kept locked in the barn, Morgan leaned in to Noelle. “Can you check on Quinn? Something’s up and . . .”

“You want
me
to solve it, Mr. Mojo?”

“Not solve, just check. It might be nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you sense something . . .”

“Just go in, woman to woman, and feel it out.” He set Livie down, and she made a beeline for the ark-shaped toy chest, seeming a little lost without Liam. “Make sure she’s comfortable with the situation.”

“She was excited when I invited her. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Sometimes things get misconstrued. And I might be wrong altogether.”

“Hmm.” Casting a backward look, Noelle moved into the kitchen.

He knelt down with Livie and helped her raise the hinged roof of the wooden ark Rick had built for Liam. Though he’d constructed
all the buildings and most of the furniture on the ranch, this was the first toy he’d fashioned. As the whim struck, his brother had added creatures until it was almost as packed as the real thing.

Livie reached in and withdrew a giraffe, then the elephants, lions, bears, beavers, kangaroos, and rabbits. Partly because of this set, she could name and make all their sounds by eighteen months. If she didn’t know the sound, she gave them a word. Rabbits said nibble, alligators chomp.

Liam liked to line the creatures up along the roof ridge and knock them off with Ping-Pong balls, then Livie picked them up and said, “You all right, rabbit? All right, frog?” Now, with no threats to their well-being, she spread them on the floor. “Daddy, want squirrel?”

“I would love squirrel.” He pretended to eat it.

“Don’t eat it.” Giggling, she tried to find it in his mouth, but he produced it in his hand. Then, of course, she fed him every other critter in the ark.

That’s how they were when Rick and Rudy came in with Dr. Jenkins.

Just watching Quinn exhausted her. Noelle sighed. “I’m so sorry this was all left to you.”

“Oh no.” Quinn hand-mashed butter and sour cream into the steaming pot of potatoes. “Both Rick and Morgan helped.”

“Morgan? In the kitchen?” Feeling light-headed, she sank onto a stool.

“He cut potatoes and got the turkey into the fryer.”

She fought a wave of nausea. “That’s something, I guess. But I wanted to get to know you, not put you to work.”