to send over a suitable replacement to fill in for him, Abby would have been tempted to offer a sizeable—but anonymous—donation to the fishing guide’s favorite charity if he agreed to cancel the trip.
That the thought had even crossed her mind told Abby that she was already showing some early symptoms of “Alex Porter Syndrome.” A disease characterized by an intense desire to control the universe.
In the end, she hadn’t had much of a choice but to agree to send Daniel off with her blessing. And consider it another surprise to add to the growing list of surprises she’d encountered since her move to Mirror Lake.
Mulligan’s low woof thinned to a whine, and Abby quickly figured out why.
The man rounding the corner of the house wasn’t Daniel Redstone.
This man was younger. Much younger. He wasn’t stoop-shouldered and thin as a fly rod, either.
Lost tourist?
Abby rejected the thought immediately.
There was nothing lost about the man. He moved with the kind of fluid, confident stride she’d always envied. The kind that said he didn’t simply know his place in the world, he’d carved it out himself. Khaki cargo pants paired with a plain cotton T-shirt accentuated the man’s lean, muscular frame but made it difficult to pinpoint what he did for a living.
Abby’s eyes narrowed. It would be just like Alex to send one of his minions to keep an eye on her even after she’d told him not to. She loved her brother to pieces but he did have a tendency to bully people to get his way.
She hadn’t expected Alex to take the news of her departure well, but she hadn’t realized how strongly he would respond to what he labeled her “defection.”
A few short months ago, his reaction would have caused her to give in, but this time it had only made her that much more determined to break out on her own. It was time. And the way things had fallen in place, it seemed that God Himself had gone before her to clear the path.
She could only pray that Alex would eventually come around and accept her decision. If Abby were honest with herself—another thing she’d been practicing lately—she had to admit that it was partly her fault that Alex didn’t have a lot of confidence in her. For a long time, she hadn’t had much confidence in herself.
The stranger spotted her and veered down the uneven brick path leading to the gazebo. As he drew closer, the ruggedly handsome features became more defined. Strands of silky, ink-black hair lay even with the five o’clock shadow darkening his angular jaw. Mirrored sunglasses—Abby had never been a fan—concealed his eyes.
“Hello.” Ignoring the second crop of goose bumps that sprouted up her arms, Abby forced a smile. She spotted her flattened sandal in the spot where Mulligan had been dozing and discreetly toed it back on. “Can I help you?”
He stopped several feet away, close enough for her to see her distorted reflection in his sunglasses. “Are you Abby Porter?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m here to help you.”
Abby blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Quinn O’Halloran.”
The name meant nothing to her. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Daniel Redstone sent me.” He yanked off the glasses and Abby found herself staring into a pair of slate gray eyes. “I’m your new carpenter.”
“My new…” Abby couldn’t push the rest of the sentence past the knot in her throat. She tried again. “He didn’t mention you’d be coming over today.” Better. The squeak that had made her voice sound like a rusty screen door was barely noticeable now.
He shrugged. “According to Daniel, you’re under a tight deadline and need to keep the project moving along. I thought I’d stop by and take a look around to get a feel for things before I start.”
“I am under a deadline but—Mulligan, no!” Abby lunged for the dog, who’d finally summoned the courage to inch close enough to swipe his tongue against Quinn’s hand. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. We’re still working on basic etiquette.”
“You’re a golfer.”
“Golf?” At first the meaning behind his statement didn’t sink in. When it did, Abby smiled. “No, I borrowed the term because I adopted Mulligan from the animal shelter an hour before he was to be euthanized.”
“Another chance.” The pale gray eyes lit with sudden understanding.
“It seemed to fit.” Abby ruffled one of Mulligan’s floppy ears. “And I happen to think everyone deserves a second one, don’t you?”
Quinn didn’t answer. Because Abby Porter’s megawatt smile had momentarily short-circuited the hardware in his brain.
He knew her.
No, Quinn silently corrected the thought. He’d seen her before. On billboards strategically placed around the city of Chicago. Wearing black velvet and pearls. The reigning princess of Porter Hotels.
Only this princess looked different. And not only because of her smile. Honey-blond hair, caught in a casual knot at the base of her neck, accentuated delicate features dominated by a pair of eyes that were silver-green like an aspen leaf.
Instead of black velvet, she wore figure-hugging jeans, a paint-splattered T-shirt and a pair of sandals decorated with the gaudiest plastic daisies he’d ever seen.
But looks could be deceiving. He’d learned that the hard way. As far as Quinn was concerned, a diva in blue jeans was still a diva. Before she’d been aware of his arrival, he’d caught a glimpse of her reclining on the chaise longue with a book propped in her lap. Obviously she was so motivated to get the inn ready for her grand opening that she was taking a break before the day had barely started.
Quinn steeled himself against her smile, unnerved that it had had such an effect on him.
“Do you think you can spare a few minutes to give me a tour of the place?” He leveled a pointed gaze at the chaise longue.
“Of course.” Abby’s smile faded.
Quinn wasn’t quite prepared for the direct hit to his conscience. If he’d forgotten the reason he’d changed his professional focus from providing security to buildings instead of people, a few seconds in Abby Porter’s company had brought it crashing back. Buildings were easy to figure out. People, not so much.
They fell into step together, and Abby switched into tour guide mode.
“The main lodge started out as a private vacation retreat for a wealthy family, but eventually they donated it to a local church.” She gestured toward the sprawling two-story split-log home that Quinn had passed on his way to the gazebo. “The congregation built five additional cabins on the water and turned it into a retreat center and Bible camp. Eventually, though, they couldn’t keep up with the larger, more modern camps and had to turn it over to the bank.”
Quinn could empathize. He knew all too well what it felt like to struggle to keep a business
