to hide.
Quinn entered the parlor, trying to push his concern to the back of his mind. At least Gwen would be safely separated from Charles Wayne for the next hour. After church, like it or not, he’d have the private talk with her that she’d managed to avoid for the last two days.
His mother and Kristie waited with Rebecca and her husband. He put his arm around Rebecca, kissing her cheek.
“How’s my little sister?” He looked at her closely. “Kind of washed-out these days, aren’t you?” He sent a mock glare in Brett’s direction. “Have you been working her too hard at the clinic?” He knew Rebecca loved her work as a physician’s assistant at the town clinic, especially since her husband was the doctor she assisted. Together they took care of the whole town.
Brett Elliot grinned, holding up both hands in surrender. “Not me, I promise. Blame your new little niece or nephew.”
“Speaking of which…” Rebecca’s face seemed tinged with green. She shook her head and rushed off in the direction of the rest room.
“What’s wrong with Aunt Rebecca?” Kristie pulled at Brett’s sleeve. “Is she sick?”
“Sometimes ladies have upset tummies when they’re going to have a baby,” Brett said easily while Quinn was still considering how to answer that question. Thank goodness for a doctor in the family. “I’ll see if she feels like staying or wants to go home. Catch you later.”
The choir passed them, heading into the choir loft, and Kristie grabbed his hand. “Come on, Daddy. I want to get a story paper before they’re all gone.”
He let himself be drawn toward the sanctuary and followed his mother and daughter into the pew, automatically tensing. He glanced at his mother. Did she have the same thoughts he did each time he entered this space?
Kaleidoscopic images flowed into each other—standing at the communion table for his confirmation, holding Julie’s hand while they said their vows, watching his sisters get married. Unfortunately the happy images were swamped by the sad ones of sitting in the front pew looking bleakly at his father’s coffin and then, too soon, at Julie’s. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat, and concentrated on the arrangements of roses on either side of the chancel.
A flutter of movement at the end of the pew distracted him, and he watched with disbelief as his mother half stood to wave to Charles Wayne. In another moment she’d beckoned the man to join them, and Wayne was sliding into the pew next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The organ sounded the notes of the opening hymn, and he stood, seething silently. So much for his assumptions about the way this morning would go. He sent his mother a look that he hoped conveyed his feelings, and she smiled back blandly, as if she enjoyed disconcerting him.
He tried to concentrate on the service, tried not to be distracted by Charles’s presence in the family pew or by memories of the past. It wasn’t easy.
Kristie pinched his arm, and he leaned over for her soft whisper. “Ms. Ellie plays pretty, doesn’t she?”
He nodded. The organ was half-hidden by the pulpit, but he could see Ellie when she leaned forward. Her dark hair curled around her face as her hands moved to the organ stops. Her expression unexpectedly touched him. She was transported; that was all he could think.
His gaze lingered on the line of her cheek, the soft smile that curved her lips. If not for the problem posed by her father, he might be thinking how attractive she was. Not his type, but appealing, with her vivid coloring and quick grace.
In an instant he rejected the thought, appalled at himself. The pain of Julie’s death at the hands of a drunk driver was with him every day, even after two years. On the job, preoccupied with work, he managed to hold it at bay.
But here in Bedford Creek, where they’d married, where she’d chosen to live when the corps sent him out West, it wasn’t possible. Each time he came home he had to mount a guard against the sudden onslaught of memory, pain, anger.
He’d thought the anger would go away once the driver was in prison where he belonged, but that hadn’t happened. Instead it had stayed, burning at the back of his mind, singeing his very soul.
He forced himself to pay attention to the message. Just concentrate, and the service will soon be over. He’d take his mother and daughter home, then sit his mother down for a serious talk about the danger to a well-off, naive widow posed by glib strangers.
The last Amen sounded, and he tried to hustle his little party toward the door. But at least half the congregation wanted to greet him, and he couldn’t be rude, even though the sight of Charles lingering at his mother’s side sent his blood pressure rising.
With a sense of relief he saw Ellie heading toward them, shedding her robe as she came. She’d probably detach her father.
“Ellie, dear, that was lovely.” His mother hugged her, then turned to him. “Wasn’t it lovely, Quinn?”
He felt about eight years old, being prompted by his mother to say the right thing. “Beautiful. You play very well. Where did you study?”
“Here and there.” She caught her father’s arm, tugging it a bit. “Come on, Dad, time to go home.”
“But you’re not going home,” his mother exclaimed. “I’ve already talked to Charles, and it’s all settled. You and your father are coming to Sunday dinner with us.”
To do her justice, Ellie looked just about as appalled at that suggestion as he must. “That’s very nice of you, Gwen, but I’m afraid we have to get home.”
“Nonsense,” his mother said briskly, linking her arm with Ellie’s. “I know you haven’t started dinner yet, and I have a pot roast cooking that’s just about ready. We insist you come, don’t we, Quinn?”
In other circumstances, this would be comic. Ellie clearly didn’t want to come, any more than he wanted her to. Just as clearly, they were both stuck.
“Please join us,” he said.
Ellie shot him one wary look, and then she nodded. Like it or not, the Forresters and the Waynes were having Sunday dinner together. Maybe this was his chance to get closer to her. He frowned. That should not be making him feel anticipation.
“Dad, please. Before we get there, you have to tell me about you and Gwen.” Ellie turned onto the street where the Forresters lived, her stomach tightening. They’d be there in moments, and she still hadn’t gotten a satisfactory answer from her father.
She felt him studying her face and kept her eyes on the road. “Princess, I…”
“Don’t call me that!” The nickname took her relentlessly back to the past, to a time when she really had felt like a princess—pampered, sheltered, a popular figure in the social scene of their small Ohio city.
Foolish, she added. Living in a dream world that was bound to crash. It had crashed, all right, in a scandal that took away everything she knew.
She took a deep breath and managed to glance at him. He looked hurt.
“I know you weren’t happy to see me here, Ellen. I know I let you down. But I’m a different
