but Charles Wayne put his back up. He preferred the daughter’s quick antagonism to the father’s charm.
“Dad.” Ellie nodded toward the stairs. “I have soup in the slow cooker for our supper.”
“Then we can have it anytime,” Wayne said, apparently oblivious to her desire to get rid of him. He smiled at Quinn. “I believe Gwen told me you’re working out west someplace.”
“Oregon. I’m with the Corps of Engineers.” He’d like to tell the man his profession was none of his business, but that wasn’t the way to find out about more about him. He’d already come within a hair of outright war with the daughter. Maybe it was time to take a step back. His mother wouldn’t be inclined to listen to his concerns if he started by alienating her friends. “Are you familiar with the West Coast?”
“Been there, of course. Now, this little town where my daughter’s settled is a far cry from our old stamping grounds.”
The tension emanating from Ellie jerked upward, evidenced by the indrawn breath, the tightening of her hands. So, there was something about that mention of where they were from that bothered her.
“And where was that?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard much about Ellie’s past.”
“I don’t find people all that interested in my history.” Ellie’s casual tone wasn’t very convincing.
“Odd, isn’t it? People’s stories are endlessly fascinating to me,” Charles said. “There was a man I met when I was working in San Francisco, or was it Santa Fe? Doesn’t matter. In any event, this man had actually taken part in a Mount Everest climb. Think of that.”
Quinn didn’t intend to be distracted by mythical mountain climbers. “You were saying you’d lived where?”
Charles gave an airy wave. “All over the place. I’m afraid I’m the original tumbleweed. Just haven’t been able to settle down in one place, unlike my daughter.” He smiled fondly at Ellie, who looked strained. “Ellen has certainly put down roots here in Bedford Creek. Not that it isn’t a charming place, but it’s not the life I expected her to have.”
“People have to make their own decisions about things like that.” Ellie took his arm firmly and turned him toward the stairs. “I’ll be up soon, Dad. How about checking the soup for me?”
“Of course, of course.” Charles glanced over his shoulder at Quinn. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again. We must talk longer the next time.”
If Ellie ever wanted to embark on a life of crime, Quinn decided, she’d have to do something about that expressive face. It showed only too clearly her relief at having gotten rid of her gregarious father and her conviction that he and Quinn wouldn’t be having any more little talks.
Ellie glanced pointedly toward the exit. “I should be closing now.”
I’m not as easy to be rid of as all that, he assured her silently. “Your father’s quite the charmer, isn’t he? I can see how my mother might find him entertaining company.”
He had a sudden longing for his own father’s solid, quiet presence. No one would have used charming or entertaining to describe John Forrester, but he’d been a man of strength and integrity.
“My father’s charming to everyone.” She smiled tightly. “It’s his way. I don’t think you need to worry that Gwen is susceptible to it. She’s got a level head on her shoulders.”
“You think so? I love my mother dearly, but levelheaded is the last thing I’d say about her. My father was always the dependable one in the family.”
She lifted her eyebrows, as if doubting his assessment. “And now Rebecca is, I suppose.”
Guilt stabbed at him. Since his father’s death Rebecca had taken on the duty that should have been his. Their other sister, Angela, had married, then gone off to Philadelphia when her husband’s business sent him there. And Quinn had been so preoccupied with the twin burdens of his career and his grief that he’d let Rebecca handle everything.
Not anymore, he promised, not sure whether he was talking to himself or his father. It was time he took on the responsibilities he’d shelved for too long.
“Rebecca has enough to do with her husband, the clinic and a baby on the way. If my mother needs anything, I’ll be the one to help her.”
He wasn’t sure whether anger or fear predominated in the look she gave him. “I’m sure she appreciates that,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meal to get ready.”
He clearly wasn’t going to get anything more from Ellie at this point, so he let himself be ushered to the door. Her relief was almost palpable when he finally set foot outside.
He stopped, hand on the door to keep her from closing it. “Where was it your father said the two of you were from?”
“Ohio,” she snapped, and closed the door so sharply he had to snatch his hand away.
Ellie wasn’t the accomplished storyteller he suspected her father was. That had had the ring of truth about it.
He watched as she flipped the Closed sign into place. She went toward the stairs, so quickly she might almost have been running away. The yellow cat leaped into the window, stared unblinkingly at him for a long moment and then turned and followed his mistress.
If he’d gone to Ellie Wayne’s shop seeking assurance that everything was all right, he’d come away knowing the opposite was true. And it wasn’t his adverse reaction to Charles Wayne that had convinced him. He could chalk that up to personal taste.
No, he’d been convinced by Ellie’s reactions. Ellie Wayne was afraid. Of him? Of something to do with her father? He wasn’t sure, just as he wasn’t sure of a lot of things about her.
She’d lived in Bedford Creek for close to five years. She’d become an accepted part of the town. But as far as he could tell, no one knew much about her life before she came here. And people knew even less about her father.
It was time that changed, and he intended to change it.
Chapter Two
“Ms. Ellie, do you really think God answers prayers?”
Ellie decided she’d never get used to small children’s ways of asking the deepest spiritual questions. She sat down next to Quinn’s little daughter the next morning. The rest of her Sunday school class had scampered out the door already, but Kristie had lingered, the question obviously on her mind.
“Yes, I think God does answer prayers.” She brushed a coppery curl back from Kristie’s cheek, sending up a silent plea for guidance. “But I think sometimes we don’t understand God’s answers.”
Kristie frowned, putting both hands on the low wooden table. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your prayer,” she suggested. “Maybe I can help you understand.”
Kristie’s rosebud mouth pursed in an unconscious imitation of her grandmother’s considering look. “Well, see, I prayed just like you
