Two weeks, he reminded himself. For O’Halloran Security, he could put up with anything.

Even Abby Porter’s smile.

Quinn paused, silently judging the distance between the buildings before cataloging everything else around him. The lodge. The cabins. The boathouse. Even the trees. It gave him an immediate sense of what fit so he would instantly know if something didn’t.

So far, the only thing that didn’t quite fit was Abby’s reaction to him.

She got as tense as a new bowstring if he got too close.

Her bright smile and unexpected sense of humor rose easily to the surface, but several times during the tour Quinn had sensed her retreating within herself. And the flash of panic in her eyes when he’d told her that he planned to stay on-site had bothered him, too. For a split second, she’d seemed…afraid.

Or was he imagining things?

KATHRYN SPRINGER

is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper” family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter and hasn’t stopped writing since! She loves to write inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.

A Place to Call Home
Kathryn Springer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I sought the Lord, and he answered me;

he delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to him are radiant;

their faces are never covered with shame.

—Psalms 34: 4, 5

To Anna

Because I have no doubt there will come a day

when you dedicate a book to me! Remember,

“He who began a good work in you will carry

it on to completion.” That’s a promise!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

“Quinn? There’s a headache waiting for you on line two.”

Ignoring the phone, Quinn O’Halloran shot a wry look at his secretary and reached for the cup of coffee he’d poured over an hour ago instead.

“Mel Burdock,” he guessed.

Faye McAllister shook her head. The movement sent the slender gold chains on her bifocals dancing. “No, Burdock’s more like the tension headache that climbs up the back of your neck and camps out in your temples. This guy—instant migraine.”

“Feel free to correct me on this, but I thought I hired you to intercept the migraines.”

“You did. But this is the third time today I’ve intercepted this particular one.” Faye aimed a scowl at the phone. “When I told Mr. High and Mighty that your policy is to return phone calls between four and five o’clock, he didn’t seem to think it applied to him. He insists on talking directly to you but won’t say what he wants. And—” another scowl “—he refused to tell me his name. Must be from out of town.”

Quinn suppressed a smile. Faye took pride in her ability to deal with anyone who walked through the door of O’Halloran Security. It was one of the reasons he’d hired her. Quinn preferred to work behind the scenes and let Faye handle the customers. Those she didn’t manage to scare away usually ended up signing a contract.

Glancing at the clock, he mentally scrolled through the rest of his afternoon schedule. If he ate lunch in his truck on the way to Mel’s, it would give him an extra five minutes to deal with the anonymous headache on the line.

“I’ll take it in my office.”

“I’m sorry.” Faye huffed the words. “If I let a salesman get through, I’ll bring in doughnuts tomorrow morning.”

Quinn grinned. “Are you kidding? If you let a salesman through, you’ll bring in doughnuts for the next month.”

After topping off his cup, Quinn followed the worn path down the center of the carpet to the oversize closet in the back of the building that doubled as his office. The red light on his desk phone continued to blink out a warning. A testimony to the caller’s patience. Or stubbornness.

With a shake of his head, he picked it up. “O’Halloran.”

“It’s about time,” a voice snapped.

Faye was right. Instant migraine.

“Good morning, Mr.—”

“Alex Porter.” There was a significant pause, as if he expected Quinn to recognize the name. “Porter Hotels.”

Now Quinn recognized the name.

The deluxe hotels had their roots in Chicago, where Quinn had lived for eight years before returning to Mirror Lake, Wisconsin. Under Alex Porter’s management, offshoots now sprouted in other major Midwestern cities. Not only did they successfully compete against the larger, well-known chains, but the fact that Porter Hotels remained a family-run enterprise made it even more unique.

“What can I do for—”

“I want to hire you.”

Quinn let out a slow breath. No wonder the guy had raised Faye’s hackles. Everything Alex Porter said came out sounding like a command instead of a request. As if he expected his name would open doors that were closed to mere mortals.

The trouble was, Quinn thought with a trace of bitterness, it probably did. He’d dealt with people like Alex Porter before and had no desire to repeat the experience. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to turn down business. Any business.

Pride or a paycheck?

Over the past year, while trying to resurrect the business his father had spent the last years of his life determined to bury, Quinn had discovered the cause and effect relationship between the two. Sometimes the first one depended upon the second.

“Are you buying a condo? Building a hotel in the area?” Quinn searched his desk drawer—the Bermuda Triangle of office supplies—for a pen that actually worked. “O’Halloran Security custom designs security systems to fit the needs of each client. We can set up an appointment to discuss the details—”

“I don’t need a new security system.”

Quinn frowned. “I thought you said you wanted to hire me.”

“I do. You recognized my name, and I recognized yours when I was researching businesses in the Mirror Lake area. I don’t need an alarm system. This is…personal.”

Personal.

Quinn’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Sorry. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I don’t think so.”

“O’Halloran Security is strictly buildings. I don’t provide personal security.” Not anymore. “I’m sorry you wasted your time. But I have an appointment now, so you’ll have to excuse me. There are other reputable agencies in the Chicago area. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

To walk you to your limo, Quinn added silently.

“It isn’t for me. It’s for my younger sister.”

Something in Porter’s voice stopped Quinn from hanging up the phone. A hint of emotion that cracked the surface of the cool, CEO voice. “Just hear me out.”

Don’t ask.

“Please.”

Coming from Porter, the word sounded as if he’d started speaking a foreign language. So, against his better judgment, Quinn asked.

“What’s going on?”

“Abby turned in her letter of resignation at the hotel a month ago and bought a run-down lodge a few miles outside of Mirror Lake. She plans to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.” The disapproval leaking into Alex’s voice told Quinn how he felt about his sister’s decision. “You must have heard about it.”

“Maybe.” Quinn deliberately kept his voice noncommittal as a conversation he’d overheard stirred in his memory.

Although he tried to keep to himself, he had heard a rumor about the sale of the former Bible camp while waiting for his breakfast one morning at the Grapevine Café, where local gossip brewed as fast as Kate Nichols’s industrial-strength coffee.

“So far, Abby refuses to listen to reason and come back to Chicago where she belongs. It looks like I’m going to have to play this her way for a while.”

“So why did you call me?” Quinn’s lips twisted. “You need a bodyguard to keep the local riffraff away from her?”

That was ironic. At one time, his family portrait would have appeared beside the word riffraff in Webster’s Dictionary.

Alex chose to ignore the sarcasm. “A few weeks ago, someone started harassing me. Vandalized my car. Painted some, shall we say, rather unflattering graffiti on the window of my office. There haven’t been any overt threats made, but I want someone to keep an eye on Abby until my private investigator finds out who I angered.”

“That could take a while,” Quinn said under his breath.

To his amazement, Alex laughed. “It might,” he admitted. “I’m not concerned about myself as much as I am about Abby. She is…fragile. I can’t believe she’s serious about opening a bed-and-breakfast, but it doesn’t change the fact that right now she’s miles away from civilization, living in a house with hook-and-eye locks on the doors and windows that won’t close all the way. I want to be sure she’s safe.”

Some memories were so bitter he could taste them. “Then you should have done your homework. Because if that’s the case, I guarantee you called the wrong person.”

A tense silence stretched between them, and Quinn guessed it was because not many people had the guts to point out that Alex Porter made mistakes. Maybe he’d save Quinn the trouble and hang up first.

He didn’t.

“You spent four years in the Marine Corps. Seven years with Hamlin Security,” Alex recited evenly. “You moved back to your hometown a year ago to take over your father’s locksmith business after he died. Since then, you expanded to specialized security systems designed for summer homes and luxury condos.”

Apparently Porter had done his homework.

All those things were true. But Porter had left out a six-month gap in Quinn’s employment history. “You forgot something.”

“That you got a raw deal while you worked for Hamlin? Doesn’t matter.”

Didn’t matter?

Under different circumstances, Quinn might have been flattered. Except that he couldn’t believe someone could neatly condense the last thirteen years of his life and then dismiss the single event that had ripped it apart. Especially when it had cost him his career—and his reputation.

“I have a business. And it isn’t babysitting the rich and famous.” Been there, done that. Still pulling out shrapnel.

“I need the best. That’s you.”

“What you need to do is buy your sister a rottweiler and remind her to lock the doors at night,” Quinn shot back. “It sounds to me like you’re overreacting to a threat that doesn’t exist. And even if one does, it’s in Illinois, not Wisconsin. She’s probably safer here than anywhere.”

“I’m not taking any chances when it comes to Abby’s safety.” A hint of steel sharpened the words. “I want someone with her who’s experienced in sensing potential threats.”

That was funny. Because Quinn was sensing one right now. A threat to the life he’d started to rebuild.

It was proving to be challenging enough to erase the stain of having the last name O’Halloran without people getting wind of the reason he’d returned to Mirror Lake. Quinn figured if they knew the truth, he’d have to start at square one again. If he was allowed to start at all.

From the sound of it, the only thing Abby Porter was in danger of was being smothered by an overprotective brother. Getting involved with the Porters would be a bad idea, for more reasons than Quinn could count.

“I can’t help you.”

“You mean you won’t help me.”

It boiled down to the same thing. “I can give you some names,” Quinn offered reluctantly. “Talk to some people I used to know.”

Not that he could guarantee those people would talk to him.

“You’ve heard of the White Wolf Run condominiums, right?” Alex asked. “Jeff Gaines happens to be a close friend of mine.”

“Really?” Quinn’s voice was stripped of emotion.

Apparently, Porter had not only done his homework, he’d done the extra credit. O’Halloran Security had put in a bid on that job.

A wave of frustration battered Quinn’s resolve. This was the difference between the haves and the have-nots. When you belonged to the first group, all you had to do was open your wallet to get your way.

“I can put in a good word for you,” Alex said.

The underlying message was clear. If Quinn agreed to work for him.

The confidence in Porter’s voice rankled. And brought back that pride versus the paycheck issue again. Designing a security system for the White Wolf Run condos would boost Quinn’s income enough to wipe out some of his start-up debt, install an air conditioner in the sweltering office and allow him to replace outdated equipment. It would also go a long way in securing his business’s reputation in the area.

And your own.

Quinn ignored the mocking voice that infiltrated his thoughts.

“How does your sister feel about someone invading her personal space?” He wasn’t agreeing to anything yet. Just…inquiring.

“It doesn’t matter because Abby isn’t going to know why you’re there. Or that I hired you.”

Quinn’s internal alarm system went off. “What do you mean she isn’t going to know why I’m there?”

“She can’t find out that I’m involved in this. We had a bit of a disagreement when she turned in her resignation. Abby refuses to accept any help from me. She can be a little…stubborn.”

Apparently a Porter family trait.

“What a shock,” Quinn muttered, silently adding that bit of information to what he’d learned about Alex Porter’s younger sister so far.

Impulsive. Temperamental. Stubborn—Quinn translated that as spoiled. Oh, and what was the other word Alex had used to describe her?

Fragile.

All of them added up to one thing.

Trouble.

“Abby is focused on getting the place ready for her grand opening in August,” Alex continued. “Her carpenter, Daniel Redstone, just won an all-expense-paid, two-week vacation with a professional fishing guide. You’re going to take his place.”

“How lucky for Daniel,” Quinn said dryly.

“A person makes their own luck.” Alex dismissed his comment. “You’ve helped Redstone out in the past when you were short on cash. That makes you an obvious replacement for him. No one will think twice about it. Neither will Abby. You’ll be able to keep an eye on her and in between pounding nails and painting the outhouse, you can install a security system.”

“You are…” Quinn paused. With so many issues to choose from, it was difficult to pick a winner.

“Thorough.” Alex filled in the blank.

Quinn had been leaning more toward arrogant. Or smug. But he guessed that description fit as good as any.

“Two weeks. Until Daniel comes back.” It was all Quinn was willing to spare. Other than Faye, he only employed two part-time employees. Both men were responsible and would appreciate the extra work, but Quinn didn’t want to look as if he were shirking his responsibility. People already told him that he resembled his father. The last thing Quinn wanted to do was act like him.

“Two weeks,” Alex agreed. “24/7.”

“You have got to be kidding.” There was overprotective and then there was downright paranoid.

“That’s my offer.”

“The person harassing you hasn’t bothered your sister.” Quinn raked a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“I told you.” Alex’s voice was as cold as spring water now. “I’m not taking any chances when it comes to Abby’s safety.”

“You want me on-site. Round the clock. For two weeks.”

“That’s right.” And before Quinn had a chance to turn him down flat, Alex proceeded to tell him what he would pay for the inconvenience. “Do we have a deal?”

Everything inside Quinn warned him to walk away. But he couldn’t. Not if it helped O’Halloran Security succeed.

“We have a deal.”

Quinn reminded himself that he’d walked through the fire before. Only this time he had an advantage. He knew how to avoid getting burned.

Chapter One

Abby Porter didn’t realize she had company until Mulligan’s tail began to thump a welcoming beat against the ground.

Swinging her feet over the side of the chaise longue, she began a hasty search for the sandals she’d kicked off. She’d located one and was in the process of looking for its mate when Mulligan lumbered to his feet.

As the dog trained his gaze on the corner of the house, Abby ignored the shiver that sowed goose bumps up her arms.

Thank you, Alex.

Her older brother’s scare tactics were finally getting to her. All part of his plot to get her to come back to Chicago where he could keep a protective eye on her.

“Not a chance,” she muttered, tamping down her unease. If she was going to be an innkeeper, she had to get used to people coming and going.

“Who is it, Big Guy? Who’s here?”

In response, Mulligan let out a friendly woof. Which told Abby absolutely nothing. The dog’s instincts weren’t exactly an accurate barometer when it came to assessing a potential threat. A week ago, she’d had to intervene before he got up close and personal with a porcupine during their morning walk around Mirror Lake. Mulligan loved everything, from the squirrels that scolded him from the branches of the oak trees to her reliable, good-natured carpenter Daniel.

Relief swept through her, causing the goose bumps tracking her arms to subside a little, when Abby remembered that Daniel Redstone was supposed to stop by to pick up his paycheck before he left on vacation.

For some reason, he’d expected Abby to be as excited as he was when he’d won an all-expense-paid trip with one of the best professional fishing guides in the state of Wisconsin.

Abby hadn’t been excited.

The elderly handyman might have worked at a speed that hovered between slow and a dead standstill, but the final result of his effort was no less than breathtaking. If it hadn’t been for Daniel’s promise 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 afloat.

“After that,” Abby went on, “it ended up in the hands of a developer. He planned to replace the lodge with condos but later realized it wouldn’t appeal to tourists who wanted a full recreation lake…and easier access to civilization. Most of the people who come back to Mirror Lake think of it as a second home rather than a vacation spot. They appreciate the slower pace.”

“That’s why you chose to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast rather than a resort,” Quinn guessed. “It will attract the type of clientele looking for peace and quiet.”

Abby gave him an approving look. “It sat empty for almost five years until my Realtor happened to mention it a few months after I started looking. Believe it or not, I had to beg her to show it to me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the first time I saw it, I knew it was perfect.”

Quinn looked over at the lake, as clear and smooth as window glass, beyond a stand of towering white pines. He’d moved to Chicago after his tour of duty because he’d been ready to take on the world. Ready for a fresh start where no one knew the name O’Halloran. The energy and pace of the city had matched his lifestyle. Or so he’d thought. Until he moved back to Mirror Lake.

That first night Quinn spent in his childhood home, temperatures had dipped into the forties, but he’d crawled out the window of his old bedroom and sat on the roof.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to see the stars at night. To drive for miles without seeing a single house or apartment complex. Quinn may not have wanted to return to the town where he’d grown up but he hadn’t expected to feel a tug on his soul, as if he were still connected to it. Especially when his memories of the place weren’t exactly the Hallmark kind.

Sensing that Abby was waiting for a response, Quinn’s gaze moved from the lodge to the weathered cabins strung like wooden beads along the shoreline. Work, work and more work. But he was reluctant to strip the sparkle from Abby’s eyes. Again.

“It’s got potential,” he heard himself say.

Abby turned and smiled up at him. “I think so, too.”

Once again, Quinn wasn’t prepared for the force of Abby’s smile.

Focus, O’Halloran.

“What time does the rest of the crew usually get here?”

Abby shot him a puzzled look. “The rest of the crew?”

“The work crew,” Quinn clarified.

Abby’s low laugh went straight through him. “Now that Daniel is gone, you’re looking at it.”

She couldn’t be serious. “You and Daniel have been doing everything yourselves?”

“That’s right.” Abby reached down to fondle Mulligan’s ears. “I hired some teenagers to do some painting, but they have other jobs so they’re only available on the weekend.” She skipped up the wide plank steps and opened the front door. “I moved in at the beginning of June and started working on the main house right away. It was in fair condition but I’m still in the process of…”

The rest of the words dissolved in Quinn’s ears as he stepped through the doorway into the great room.

The place was a wreck.

Fair condition, Abby had said. The grand opening was a month away but Quinn saw three months of hard labor. At least.

No wonder her Realtor had tried to discourage her from purchasing the property and her brother had had a fit.

Quinn didn’t have to be a professional carpenter to see that the hardwood floors needed to be varnished, the walls painted and another coat of stain applied to the tongue-and-groove pine ceiling.

Abby tilted her head and a strand of sun-streaked blond hair molded itself to the curve of her cheek. “So, what do you think?”

“Wow.” That about covered it.

Abby grinned. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Can’t wait, Quinn thought.

He followed her, silently adding projects to the list with every step. New baseboards. New trim. New light fixtures.

It didn’t make sense. Abby Porter was an heiress. She had the resources to level the entire place and have it rebuilt in a week. So why was she doing the bulk of the work herself?

“The kitchen is original to the lodge when it was built in the 1940s, so it has a lot of vintage charm.” Abby paused in the doorway.

Vintage charm. A Realtor’s term for gold linoleum and chrome-trimmed Formica countertops.

He stepped past her, bracing himself for what was behind door number one.

“Your eyes are closed,” Abby said.

So they were. Quinn opened them. “They’re adjusting to the change in light.”

He had to look. No getting around it.

Relief crashed over him when he stepped into a room that could have been featured in a home decorating magazine. Given the fact the place was going to be a bed-and-breakfast, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Abby had devoted most of her time and effort to the kitchen.

She’d stayed true to the time period by keeping the original glass-front cupboards and painting the bead board walls a sunny shade of yellow. Old-fashioned dish towels had been recycled into valances.

The marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen blended seamlessly with the vintage decor but the granite sink and gleaming stainless steel appliances were definitely modern, state-of-the-art tools for the serious cook.

Quinn’s gaze continued around the room and snagged on an ancient green oven, straight off the set of a seventies sitcom.

“I couldn’t part with her.” Abby followed the direction of his eyes and accurately read his expression. “She’s an icon.”

“She?”

“Mrs. Avocado.”

She’d named the oven. “Does she…it…still work?”

“Sometimes.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you’re running a bed-and-breakfast, don’t you need an oven that works all the time?”

“She’s a little temperamental but we’re getting to know each other.” Abby gave the appliance an affectionate pat.

Quinn steeled himself against the woman’s infectious charm. Abby Porter was a job. He didn’t want to think of her as a person. And he certainly didn’t want to like her.

Maybe Faye didn’t need a new air conditioner in the office that badly….

Unaware of his thoughts, Abby tapped the toe of one sandal on the ceramic tile beneath their feet, setting the plastic petals into motion. “The floor was a bit of a challenge because it wasn’t even when I started.”

“You did all this yourself?”

Abby’s shoulders lifted in a modest shrug. “It wasn’t that hard. I bought a book.”

She’d bought a book.

“Are you ready to see the rest?” Abby was already on her way out the door. “I hate to rush the tour but I still have a hundred things to do today.”

“More like a million,” Quinn muttered.

“Excuse me?” Abby paused on her way out the door.

“Nothing. Lead on.”

While Abby took him through the rest of the house, Quinn followed along, taking mental notes along the way. Alex, he discovered, hadn’t been exaggerating. The windows on the first floor were the old-fashioned casement kind that had gone the way of the eight-track tape player. And a chimpanzee with a nail file could have picked the locks on the doors.

Abby wanted him working on the cabins but Quinn knew he’d have to come up with a plan that would put him alongside Abby at the lodge in order to make the house secure.

“This bedroom is called Serenity.” Abby paused to open one of the doors. “I finished painting the trim this morning.”

“This morning?” Quinn raised an eyebrow. He’d pulled in to the driveway at nine. “What time this morning?”

Abby tucked her full lower lip between her teeth before answering the question. “Mmm. I think it was around four.”

“Four o’clock in the morning?”

One slim shoulder lifted. “And some people think insomnia is a bad thing.”

Quinn didn’t comment because he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Abby had been up before dawn. Working. He could relate. He’d done the same thing after he’d moved back to Mirror Lake. Slept a little, worked a lot. Especially because his father, in his final months, hadn’t bothered to put money into anything other than the cash register at the local liquor store.

“So what do you think? Does it live up to its name?”

Abby’s question yanked him back from the edge of those memories and he looked past her into the bedroom.

Quinn had expected Abby to copy the more popular rustic decor—characterized by an overabundance of largemouth bass and whitetail deer—used in other places that catered to tourists.

Instead, by combining cool blues and soft greens, Abby had brought the outdoors inside. And in the process, provided a comfortable oasis guaranteed to instantly lower a person’s blood pressure.

“Very serene.” Quinn’s own blood pressure didn’t agree with the assessment. Not with Abby standing close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of…cinnamon?…in the air. Not exactly a designer fragrance but oddly appealing. “Where is your room?” he asked abruptly.

Abby blinked. “On the third floor. I didn’t want to take up space the guests could use. Plus, there’s an enclosed, private staircase leading up to it, so I have my own entrance.”

“There’s a third floor?” Considering the two levels of windows on the house, Quinn wouldn’t have guessed the house had an additional story.

“It’s more like an attic, really, but if you don’t count the cabins, I have the best view of the lake.”

Quinn debated whether he should ask her to prove it but decided to wait for another time. When Abby was occupied with something else he’d take a look at it.

“Speaking of the cabins, maybe you should show me the one I’ll be staying in so I can start unloading some of my things.”

“The cabin you’ll be staying in?” Abby echoed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll be living on-site until Daniel gets back. Didn’t he mention that?”

“No.” Abby’s eyes darkened with an emotion Quinn couldn’t quite identify. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”

Chapter Two

“Is there a problem?”

Definitely more than one, Abby thought as she tried to tamp down her rising panic.

She might have been rambling on like a cruise director who’d downed a shot of espresso, but she thought she’d done a pretty good job hiding her emotions after Quinn O’Halloran introduced himself as the new carpenter. But once again the man had thrown her completely off balance.

“You can’t stay…here. I don’t know what Daniel was thinking if he told you differently.”

“Why not?” Quinn leaned against the door frame and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

Why not?

Abby wasn’t sure how to respond to the question. Was she being silly? Or worse yet, paranoid? Daniel had assured her that the carpenter he was sending over had worked with him before and came with excellent references. But having Quinn O’Halloran working on the property and having him living on the property were two different things entirely.

Over the past month, she and Daniel had settled into a pleasant routine. Abby concentrated on renovations in the main lodge while he tackled the cabins. During their lunch break, Abby coaxed Daniel to sample the results of a new recipe while the elderly carpenter entertained her with stories about small town life. His off-key whistle provided comforting background music in the late afternoon when Abby moved outside to weed the flowerbeds.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Quinn’s presence wouldn’t be quite so comforting.

“You must have a place of your own,” she stammered.

“I live a few miles north of town, so I would have a half hour’s commute every day,” Quinn said. “Look at it this way—I can put in longer days if I’m staying on-site. Shave some time off the project. Nothing against Daniel, but I work a little faster than he does.”

“I don’t—”

“And I could use the hours.”

Abby’s protest died in her throat. Quinn’s voice had remained neutral but the subtle tightening of his jaw told her the admission had cost him. She felt a stab of guilt, knowing her hesitance had forced him to confess that he needed the extra income.

She could pay his mileage…

Just as she opened her mouth to make the offer, another thought pushed its way in.

Was it possible that Quinn was, in a roundabout way, an answer to her prayers? The grand opening was scheduled for the beginning of August but even Daniel had been skeptical they’d make the deadline. Abby planned to focus her attention for the next few weeks on the great room but several of the cabins still needed work. If Quinn finished remodeling them, she could be at capacity opening weekend.

Just because God hadn’t answered her prayer in the way she expected didn’t mean that He hadn’t answered it.

Okay, God, I’m going to assume Your hand is in this.

Abby forced a smile. “You might be ready to escape at the end of the day once you see what kind of shape the cabins are in.”

“I’ll stay until the job is finished.” Quinn’s eyes met hers. “You can count on it.”

Abby’s heart did a curious little flip and she backed away from that quicksilver gaze. Realizing her hands were clenched into fists at her side, she forced herself to relax.

Daniel, she reminded herself, was the closest thing she had to a friend in Mirror Lake. He wouldn’t have asked Quinn to take his place if he didn’t trust him. And with the grand opening looming, Daniel probably thought he’d done her a favor by suggesting that Quinn live on the grounds.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Two of the cabins are finished so you can take your pick. Both have kitchenettes and full baths…”

The cell phone in her pocket interrupted, playing the dramatic opening notes of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. A special ring tone for a bossy big brother.

Abby took it out of her pocket but instead of answering it, she shut off the sound.

“I don’t mind if you take a call,” Quinn said.

“That’s all right. I don’t mind ignoring this one.” Abby released a sigh. “My brother calls at least once a day to ask if I’ve come to my senses yet.”

“Come to your senses?”

“He’s a little overprotective.” An understatement, but at the moment Abby couldn’t come up with a better description. “He’s part of the reason I bought this place. I love my brother but he doesn’t understand that God might have a different plan for my life than the one he thinks I should follow.”

God.

The comfortable way she said the word made Quinn…uncomfortable. Sure, he believed that God existed, but if the people living in Mirror Lake were reluctant to give an O’Halloran a second chance, Quinn didn’t expect that God would, either. Especially when they’d parted company long ago.

“What does your brother think you should do?” he asked.

“Give in,” Abby muttered under her breath.

Quinn raised a questioning brow.

“We have a…family business and he wanted me to stay there.” A fascinating blush of pink tinted her ivory cheeks.

Interesting. Abby seemed reluctant to let him know just what that family business revolved around.

It seemed they both had their secrets.

“You didn’t like it,” Quinn prompted.

“I didn’t say that.”

He frowned. “Then why—”

Abby’s phone rang again. Quinn gave her points for her sense of humor. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the ominous opening notes from one of Beethoven’s most famous symphonies warned of an incoming call from Alex.

“Did I say overprotective?” Abby rolled her eyes. “I meant overbearing. And persistent. Which means I should probably get this over with or he’ll keep calling.”

And calling and calling, Quinn wanted to add. The normally unflappable Faye McAllister was still suffering from post-traumatic Porter syndrome. “Not a problem. I’ll meet you down by the cabins.”

“Thank you.” Abby’s bright smile surfaced. And lingered in his memory as Quinn left the room.

“Hi, Big Brother,” he heard her say. “And yes, you can take that in the George Orwell 1984 way that I intended it.”

As the screen door snapped shut behind him, a smile pulled at the corner of Quinn’s lips.

Alex had mentioned that he and Abby had had a falling-out when she’d left Chicago, but Quinn didn’t miss the exasperated affection in Abby’s tone when she’d described her brother. And Alex’s frustration over her decision to move to Mirror Lake hadn’t overridden his desire to look out for her, no matter how stubborn he thought she was being.

They cared about each other.

Quinn ignored a pinch of envy. That kind of family loyalty was foreign to him.

Stepping onto the deck, he almost tripped over Mulligan, asleep in a pool of sunshine. He shook his head. Abby could have chosen a more protective breed, especially given the isolated location of the inn.

Abby thought everyone deserved a second chance.

If Abby Porter lived in the real world instead of an ivory tower, she’d realize that most people didn’t share her view.

Mulligan rolled to his feet and trotted after Quinn as he crossed the lawn toward the cabins.

Home, sweet home. For the next two weeks.

Even though he’d agreed to Alex’s terms, Quinn planned to play by his own set of rules. That meant he would satisfy the job requirements by being close enough to see the main house and yet be able to keep an eye on whoever was coming and going.

And on Abby.

The ease with which he shifted back into his former role surprised him a little. A little over a year ago, he’d emptied his locker at Hamlin Security, nodded to the former colleague who’d walked him out of the building and drove away without a backward glance.

Until Alex Porter had temporarily forced him back into the business.

Two weeks, he reminded himself. For O’Halloran Security, he could put up with anything.

Even Abby Porter’s smile.

Quinn paused, silently judging the distance between the buildings before cataloging everything else around him. The lodge. The cabins. The boathouse. Even the trees. It gave him an immediate sense of what fit so he would instantly know if something didn’t.

So far, the only thing that didn’t quite fit was Abby’s reaction to him.

She got as tense as a new bowstring if he got too close.

Her bright smile and unexpected sense of humor rose easily to the surface but several times during the tour Quinn had sensed her retreating within herself. And the flash of panic in her eyes when he’d told her that he planned to stay on-site had bothered him, too. For a split second, she’d seemed…afraid.

Or he was imagining things?

At one point, Quinn had trusted his instincts about people. Not anymore. A six-month assignment working for the Raynes family had cured him of that.

Forcing thoughts of Abby aside for the moment, Quinn walked toward the cedar-sided cabin positioned closest to the house. The one with an unobstructed view of the driveway.

His foot touched the first step. And went right through it.

Perfect.

Quinn tugged his shoe free and continued the inspection. The wooden screen door sagged on its hinges and it looked as if a family of chipmunks had taken up residence in the fireplace.

He was prowling around the tiny kitchen when he heard Abby’s breathless voice. “Are you in here?”

“Yup.”

When Abby appeared in the doorway, her cheeks were flushed. Quinn wasn’t sure if it was from a run-in with Alex or because she’d run all the way from the house. No matter what the reason, she looked way too fetching for his peace of mind.

Quinn turned his attention to the fieldstone fireplace instead.

That’s right. Because you’ll really be effective looking out for Abby when you can’t even look at her.

“You’ll probably want to move into North Star Cabin,” Abby said. “Daniel finished it last week.”

Quinn had seen the sign over the door of that particular cabin and it sat on a curve of shoreline, surrounded on three sides by a fortress of mature trees. “This one will be fine.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “The windows are broken and the screens need to be replaced.”

“So?”

She laughed. Laughed. “Are you kidding? The mosquitoes will treat you like an all-you-can-eat buffet if you sleep in here.”

“I’ll install the windows this afternoon, then. I figure if I stayed in one of the cabins that needed remodeling, I’ll be motivated to get it done faster.”

Indecision skimmed through Abby’s eyes. He’d used the magic word again. Faster. The pressure to be ready in time for the grand opening would convince her to let him have his way.

Her lips compressed. “I can’t let you stay here, Mr. O’Halloran.”

Or not.

“It’s Quinn.”

“Quinn.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “What if it rains? The roof leaks.”

He could tell she was wavering.

“Clear skies predicted through the weekend. And I’ll replace the shingles on the roof after the new windows are in.”

“The new furniture is on back order. You’d have to sleep on the couch and it’s not very comfortable.”

Tell that to the chipmunks, Quinn thought. They seemed to be pretty comfortable there. “I’ve slept in worse conditions, believe me.”

The indecision on Abby’s face changed to curiosity, and Quinn mentally kicked himself. The less she knew about him the better. Granted, if she wanted to get an earful about the O’Halloran family history, all she had to do was ask some of the old-timers in town. But as far as Quinn knew, no one, not even Faye, knew what had happened while he’d been employed at Hamlin.

He planned to keep it that way. It was difficult enough to erase the stain from the name O’Halloran without bringing up the reason he’d returned to Mirror Lake after a fifteen-year absence.

“Fine.” Abby finally gave in. “I’ll make sure you have fresh linens. When will you be…moving in?”

“Today.”

“Today?” Abby’s arms locked around her stomach in a protective gesture that set off warning bells in Quinn’s head.

“If that’s all right with you,” he added, watching her body language.

Abby’s arms dropped to her sides but her fists remained clenched. “I suppose so.”

On a hunch, Quinn took a few steps back and propped a hip against the antique trestle table in the center of the room. Abby’s shoulders relaxed but the wary look in her eyes lingered.

Was she afraid of him? Or had she gotten skittish because her brother provided daily updates on the person harassing him, in an attempt to convince her to come home? Both possibilities left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth.

“Where did Daniel leave the tools?” Quinn hoped the subtle reminder that he was going to get to work right away would put the light back in her face.

It did. But not as quickly as he’d hoped.

“He didn’t leave anything here. He probably assumed you’d use your own.”

“Right.” Because any self-respecting carpenter would use his own tools.

He’d have to stop in at the hardware store and pick up some new ones. And send Alex Porter the bill.

Chapter Three

Abby spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, perfecting a recipe for the baking powder biscuits she planned to use to make strawberry shortcake that evening.

Some people escaped to the gym or a spa when their stress levels went off the charts. Abby escaped to the kitchen. Until she’d become friends with Jessica Benson, who’d joined the staff as a pastry chef at Porter Lakeside the previous winter, she hadn’t looked at herself as anything more than a dabbler in the culinary arts.

Jessica was the one who’d dared her one evening to serve her chocolate mousse crepes with raspberry vanilla sauce to the hotel guests rather than the appreciative wait staff that usually reaped the rewards of Abby’s stressful day.

They’d been such a hit that Jessica had included them on the dessert menu. The next day, she’d asked Abby why she was wasting her talents, doing what was expected of her, rather than being in the kitchen doing what she loved.

Once Abby had gotten over her initial defensiveness, they had become the best of friends. Not only had Jessica encouraged her not to settle on the path of least resistance, she’d been instrumental in bringing Abby to a crossroads where she’d made the most important decision of her life. To surrender her heart to God and follow Him. No matter where He led her.

And Abby was convinced, in spite of her fears and the occasional setback, that He’d led her to Mirror Lake.

She tipped her face toward the ceiling.

Thank You, Lord.

She felt as if she’d been repeating those three simple words over and over, but nothing else seemed to fit. She was thankful.

Don’t hold on to your fears, Jessica had told her the day she’d left. Hold on to God instead.

Sometimes that was easier said than done, but Abby was trying. While Jessica had sent her off with a hug and words of encouragement, Alex had lectured her. Warned her that sharing her home with the guests was a far cry from simply handing them a keycard and leaving them to their own devices. No privacy, he’d told her. Your life won’t be your own.

If Abby hadn’t understood the underlying reason for the warning, she might have been tempted to tell him that her life had never felt like her own anyway. But after she’d turned it over to the Lord, the excitement over what He planned to do with it overrode her fears. Most of the time.

Lost in thought, Abby stared down at the bowl of ingredients, wondering if she’d added the right amount of flour. With a sigh, she dumped it back into the canister and began to measure it out again.

This time, she couldn’t hold Alex responsible for the dozens of biscuits cooling on wire racks around the kitchen. Or the reason she was so distracted today. This time, her new carpenter was to blame.

Quinn O’Halloran.

She’d seen him mask his dismay when he’d walked into the lodge that morning. Not that she could blame him. There was a lot of work left to accomplish.

The to-do list taped to the refrigerator filled one side of a piece of paper and half the other. Daniel’s absence had already put her behind schedule. Which was the reason she’d agreed, against her better judgment, to let Quinn stay in one of the cabins.

As long as the cabins were ready for the grand opening, everything else would work out. Abby had discovered she wasn’t ready to put guests in the main house right away. Years of having her privacy fiercely guarded had seeped into her personality in ways she hadn’t acknowledged until she’d moved out from under the protection of her family’s last name.

The rhythmic tap of a hammer paused for a moment and Abby couldn’t resist peeking out the window. Quinn had left after she’d shown him the rest of the cabins but returned a few hours later and went straight to work. True to his word, he’d started with the cabin windows. Most of the building materials had been delivered before Abby arrived in Mirror Lake and she’d shown Quinn the musty garage where everything was stored.

His progress—and that, she told herself sternly, was what she was checking on—gave her a renewed hope that she would be open for business right on schedule.

Something moved near Quinn’s feet and even from the distance separating them, Abby knew what it was. Mulligan. He’d whined at the door when Quinn’s truck had returned, preferring to nap in the great outdoors at the new carpenter’s feet than with her in the sunlit kitchen.

The traitor.

After removing the last batch of biscuits from the oven, Abby cleaned up the kitchen and then slipped out the back door, where she’d hung a load of sheets and towels on the line.

On warm afternoons, she preferred to put the sun to work instead of the industrial-sized dryer in the utility room. The Porter Hotels’ housekeeping staff would have shaken their heads at the extra work but Abby found pleasure in doing things the old-fashioned way.

As she approached the cabin where Quinn was working, two dogs streaked toward her. Mulligan barked several times, as if introducing her to the lively, buff-colored cocker spaniel that bounced at his side as if it had springs in its paws.

Abby braced herself for impact but the dog pulled up short at the last second and sat down, lifting one dainty paw for her to shake.

Charmed, Abby set the laundry basket down and dropped to her knees. “Aren’t you a little sweetheart? What’s your name?”

“Abby, Lady. Lady, Abby.” Quinn sauntered over, pushing the hammer into the leather tool belt that rode low on his narrow hips. He’d swapped the khaki pants he’d been wearing that morning for a pair of well-worn jeans. “We’re roommates, so I had to bring her along.”

Which meant that other than Lady, Quinn lived alone. For some reason Abby’s heart—totally on its own accord—lifted and performed a brief pirouette at the thought.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Abby sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. “I wasn’t thinking anything. But now that you mention it, Lady is…”

“She’s what?” Quinn’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d heard it before.

Not the type of dog Abby would have pictured riding shotgun in Quinn’s pickup.

“Beautiful.” Abby smiled as the spaniel tried to squirm into her lap. “Mulligan will love having company. If you ask him, I think he’d tell you that I’m pretty boring.”

Not with that smile.

Quinn slapped the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

Apparently his former life wasn’t as ingrained as he’d thought. Because he’d broken one of the cardinal rules of the trade. Don’t get personally involved with a client.

You tried that once, remember? Look where it got you.

Frustration surged through him. Because nothing, beginning with his first glimpse of Abby Porter, had gone the way he’d expected.

First, he got another earful from Faye when he’d stopped by the office on his way through town. Even though the appointment book had a lot of white space, she’d been suspicious from the moment Quinn had informed her that he would be temporarily filling in for Daniel Redstone. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Faye scolded him often enough about his tendency to micromanage the business, so his sudden decision to turn O’Halloran Security over to his part-time employees for two weeks had been out of character. The promise of a new air conditioner had finally appeased her, and he’d managed to escape.

Conscious of the time, Quinn had driven home, tossed some of his possessions into the back of the truck and boosted an ecstatic Lady into the passenger seat.

On the way back to the lodge, Alex had called him. Twice, because Quinn had ignored the phone the first time. He wanted to know why Quinn wasn’t with Abby. He wanted to know how work on the inn was progressing. And he wanted Quinn to give him updates—daily updates—on how his sister seemed to be handling the stress.

The last request had given Quinn the opportunity to educate Alex on the difference between providing personal security and spying. Porter hadn’t been happy with the lesson but Quinn knew he had to draw the line somewhere. Plus, Alex’s attitude toward Abby had rubbed Quinn the wrong way. It was true she didn’t seem like the type to take on a project as large as renovating an old former Bible camp but something in the determined set of Abby’s chin made Quinn wonder if she wasn’t up to the challenge.

Quinn had been tempted to tell Porter that, too, except he didn’t know how to say it without sounding as if he were getting emotionally involved. And because he didn’t do emotionally involved anymore, he’d simply cut the conversation short and decided he’d be screening his calls from now on.

There’d been no sign of Abby when he parked the truck in the driveway, but he’d heard her singing along with the music filtering through the open windows. Relief had poured through him. If Abby was inside, it meant that he could be outside. And Quinn welcomed the chance to clear his head.

It had worked. Up until the moment he spotted Abby walking across the yard, a laundry basket anchored against one hip. The sight of her felt like another kick to his solar plexus.

If possible, she looked even prettier than she had that morning.

Quinn tried not to notice the way the sunlight picked out the gold and platinum highlights in her hair. Or how the bright pink apron, fashioned to look like a slice of watermelon, accentuated her slender waist and the gentle curve of her hips.

“Have you had Lady since she was a puppy?” Abby asked, unaware that her smile scraped like sandpaper against Quinn’s already frayed nerves.

“I inherited her.”

“Inherited her?”

“My dad passed away last year. Lady belonged to him.”

Quinn didn’t bother to add that the dog had been another innocent victim of his father’s neglect. The day before the funeral, Quinn had followed a rusty chain anchored around the post of the deck to a box made of scrap wood underneath an oak tree in the backyard. He knelt down to look inside and was stunned to see a pair of bright but wary eyes staring back at him.

Quinn hadn’t known his father even owned a dog but it didn’t surprise him a bit that he hadn’t taken care of it. Mike O’Halloran’s legacy was one of abuse and neglect. He’d let his family splinter apart, his house practically fall down around his ears and his locksmith business slide to the verge of bankruptcy.

While Quinn debated whether he should try and lure the dog out or simply call animal control, Lady had taken charge of the situation. She’d sidled up to him, her coat matted and dirty, and politely lifted a paw for him to shake.

Quinn had picked her up, taken her into the house and fed her. Then he gave her a bath. That night, Lady staked a claim near his feet when he went to bed.

She’d been there ever since.

“I’m sorry about your father.” Abby rose to her feet and laid her hand on Quinn’s arm. It took all his self-control not to jerk away from her touch. “My parents died when I was fourteen. They were flying home from a convention in a friend’s twin-engine plane. There was some sort of mechanical failure…” Her voice trailed off, the memory—and the pain—as fresh in her eyes as if it had happened only the week before.

“You mentioned a brother. Alex. Do you have other siblings?” Quinn thrust his hands in his pockets, jostling her hand from his arm.

A heartbeat of silence preceded her answer. “No. Just Alex. He’s eight years older than I am. He was finishing his last semester of college but he came home and took over the…I mean—” Abby caught herself. “He kept things going.”

Took over, Quinn thought wryly, was probably a more accurate description. Still, he couldn’t imagine the kind of pressure Alex Porter had faced after the death of their parents. Not only had he stepped into his father’s shoes as CEO of Porter Hotels, he’d become an instant guardian to a much younger sibling. It went a long way in explaining why he was so protective of Abby.

Their eyes met and she backpedaled, almost tripping over the laundry basket in the process. “I’ll put these sheets and towels inside the cabin for you.”

Quinn released a sigh as the two dogs bounded after her. When he followed a few minutes later, he found Abby in the kitchen, eyeing the meager bag of groceries he’d dumped in the middle of the kitchen table.

“You brought…food.”

“I don’t expect you to provide my meals.”

Abby’s teeth tucked into her lower lip, a habit that Quinn had noticed seemed to coincide with her desire to say something she wasn’t sure she should. The trait must have slipped through the cracks of the Porter DNA. Alex had no trouble saying what was on his mind.

“I know, but…” She picked up a can of ravioli and it looked to Quinn as if she shuddered. “It’s silly to cook for myself when I can easily make enough for two.”

Sharing meals with Abby. Quinn stifled a groan. Granted, it meant more time in her company but it also meant…more time in her company.

He scooped up a few cans of tuna and shoved them in the cupboard. “That isn’t necessary. I’ll make do.”

“I’ve been trying out different recipes to serve to the guests.” Abby paused to study the label on a loaf of white bread. “Daniel was my official food critic. And since you’re taking his place as my carpenter, you might as well take his place as the taste tester, too.”

The offer was reasonable. And generous. At the moment, Quinn wasn’t sure he was in the mood to be either. He didn’t want to get to know Abby better. “Thanks, but I’ll get more done if I work at my own pace and don’t have to stop for meals at certain times.”

I’ll get more done. He’d said the words deliberately but Abby didn’t react the way he’d expected. Instead, she stared at him thoughtfully, as if he were a chessboard and she was studying her next move.

“Mmm.” That was all she said. But instead of leaving, Abby began to sort through the groceries and put them away. Quinn joined in, only to speed up the process so he could get back to work. And put some distance between them again.

She clucked her tongue with something that sounded like disapproval.

Quinn slanted a look at Abby and caught her frowning at the can of soup in her hand. “What’s wrong? Is it expired?”

“It’s chicken noodle.”

“So?”

“If you put chicken and water and some noodles into a pot, it turns into chicken noodle soup. Homemade. Which means it tastes better.”

“That takes time.”

“So?”

Quinn resisted the urge to smile when Abby tossed the word back at him. “So I work a lot. It’s easier to open a can.”

Both were the truth. He didn’t work full-time as a carpenter, which was what Abby assumed he did for a living, but the long hours spent rebuilding O’Halloran Security called for sacrifices in other areas. Like his entire life. But that didn’t appear to matter. Abby rolled her eyes and put it in the cupboard next to a box of generic macaroni and cheese.

“Macaroni. Cheese. This isn’t hard to make, either,” she muttered.

“Really?” Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Because I would think it’s extremely challenging to locate fluorescent orange cheese, grind it into a powder and seal it in a tiny foil package.”

Abby laughed. The lilting sound poured through the tiny kitchen. And swept right through his defenses. Fortunately, Abby’s cell phone chirped, granting him a few moments to shore them up again.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced at the number and a shadow skimmed through her eyes. “I should take this.”

“No problem.” Quinn retreated to the cabin deck and picked up one of the windows. Through the screen, he could hear one side of the conversation.

“I don’t care and I don’t think my attorney will, either.” A long silence followed before Abby spoke again, her tone glacial. “Did he mention that Abby Porter is the one who called? No? Well, you might want to mention my name…yes. Thank you.”

Quinn’s lips twisted.

He’d never have put that autocratic, hand-me-my-crown-and-scepter voice with the woman in the paint-splattered T-shirt who’d offered to make him dinner.

What’s the matter? You expected to see this side of her.

That was true. But he hadn’t expected to be so disappointed.

Chapter Four

“In other words, the Lord is giving you another opportunity to trust Him. And to grow.”

Abby sighed, knowing her friend was right. Jessica always had a wonderful way of cutting to the heart of an issue and letting God’s light shine through the cracks.

“With all the opportunities He’s been giving me lately, I should be growing as fast as Jack’s beanstalk,” Abby grumbled good-naturedly.

Jessica chuckled. “No one said opening a bed-and-breakfast would be easy. But do you still think it’s worth it?”

“Yes.” Abby didn’t hesitate.

“There you go, then.” Jessica’s smile was evident in her voice. “So, what happened today that made you doubt it? Another pleasant phone call from Alexander the Great?”

Abby choked. “Jessica.”

“Sorry. Did I say that with a lack of proper reverence? I didn’t mean to.”

She had and they both knew it. Abby grinned. “I’m surprised Alex didn’t fire you after I left. He suspects you were the one who put the idea of a bed-and-breakfast into my head, you know.”

“But if he fires me he’ll also lose one of his best managers. Who, by the way, happens to be my loving—and very loyal—husband.”

“You’re right about that.”

Alex, for all his controlling ways, depended on Tony Benson to keep the cogs in all four hotels running smoothly. If he ever decided to leave, Abby knew that her brother would feel as if he were missing his right arm.

“Of course I am,” Jessica said smugly. “So if I can’t blame Alex, what was the challenge of the day?”

An image of Quinn’s face flashed in Abby’s mind before she could prevent it.

“I told you that Daniel Redstone won a vacation and took two weeks off, right?” Abby plucked a wooden spoon out of a ceramic crock on the counter. “His replacement showed up this morning.”

“And you don’t think he’s going to work out?”

Abby hesitated. So far, she couldn’t complain about Quinn’s work ethic. The last time she looked outside, he’d already moved to the windows on the other side of the cabin.

Out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

“I’m sure he’ll work out…fine.” Abby dumped out the contents of the bowl and a cloud of flour rose into the air. She wrinkled her nose to subdue a sneeze.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“You’re making bread, aren’t you?”

Abby put her hands protectively over the mound of yeast dough, as if Jessica was looking over her shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Jessica repeated. “So that’s a big yes. You know you only make bread when something is bothering you.”

“That’s not true.” At least, not always. But Jessica was right. There was something very therapeutic about pummeling—kneading—bread dough.

“So, what’s this new carpenter like? What’s his name?”

“Are we playing Twenty Questions?” Abby asked. “Because I prefer I Spy. Or Scrabble.”

“Hold on a sec, Abbs.” Jessica didn’t bother to muffle her voice. “I’ll be right there, honey. I’m on the phone with Abby. She’s making bread.”

“Uh-oh.” Tony’s baritone boomed in the background.

“Okay, I’m back. Continue. New carpenter…”

“Quinn O’Halloran.” Abby punched down the dough with a little more force than necessary.

“What’s he like?”

Reserved came immediately to mind. Confident. Incredibly good looking…

Abby put the brakes on her thoughts, refusing to let them continue down that path. Too dangerous. “He works faster than Daniel, so the cabins might be ready for the grand opening.”

“Then what’s the problem…” Jessica’s voice trailed off, replaced by an audible smack as her palm connected with her forehead. “I’m sorry. Stupid question. Sometimes I forget.”

“Don’t apologize,” Abby said quietly. “I want you to forget.”

She wanted to forget.

“Does he make you uncomfortable?”

“Daniel recommended him.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Abby hesitated. She knew what Jessica was really asking but wasn’t sure how to answer. Did Quinn make her uncomfortable? Yes. But not in the way her friend assumed.

“I’ll talk to Tony.” Jessica drew her own conclusion from the silence. “We can take a few days off. Drive up for the weekend.”

Abby was touched by the offer. “And if you looked in the rearview mirror, you’d see Alex’s Viper right behind you. We can’t let him think that I’m afraid and calling for reinforcements.”

“You’re right,” Jessica muttered. “He’d dispatch the deprogrammers and you’d be back in Illinois before sunset.”

Somehow, her friend always managed to make Abby smile. “You should get back to Tony. He must be feeling neglected.”

“It makes him appreciate me more.”

The distinctly masculine snort that followed the comment made them both giggle.

“I’m praying for you,” Jessica whispered.

“I know. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“You give me way too much credit. You’re there because you listened to God and faced your fears.”

Listened to God, Abby hoped so. Faced her fears? That was more difficult. Especially when they kept popping up like targets in a shooting gallery.

“One step at a time, remember?” Jessica said, as if she’d read Abby’s mind. “And if this O’Halloran guy makes you nervous, you can find someone to take his place. It’s okay.”

“He doesn’t make me nervous. Not like that.” Abby had worked hard to overcome her wariness of strangers but there were times it crept back in, especially if she was in a confined space with someone she didn’t know. Or if someone turned up when she wasn’t expecting them.

With Quinn, it had been both.

The strange thing was, Abby had felt as if he’d somehow sensed her unease. There were times she could have sworn that he’d stepped away from her on purpose. Given her some space. And the few times they had been in close proximity, instead of feeling vulnerable, Abby had felt…safe.

She hadn’t experienced that before.

That was what made her nervous.

Quinn flipped over on his back and swam leisurely to shore, letting the cool water flow over the kinks in his muscles. He’d replaced the last window in the cabin as the sun began to sink into the horizon, making the trees look as if they’d been planted in liquid gold. Venus, the first planet to appear in the evening sky, winked at him through a tear in the bank of apricot clouds above his head.

After working in the hot sun all afternoon, Quinn had looked forward to cooling off in the lake with a relaxing swim. The cooling off part was successful. The relaxing part, not so much. His thoughts weren’t cooperating.

Not with Abby Porter all tangled up in them.

Two weeks. That’s all I can spare.

The words he’d said to Alex came back to mock him. Because less than eight hours later, he was ready to bolt. Faye would understand about the air conditioner….

Who was he kidding? If that was the only thing at stake, he would be on his way back to town by now.

Reaching the dock, Quinn grabbed on to the ladder and pulled himself up. By the time he toweled off and started back to the cabin, the low drone in the bushes made him glad he’d repaired the hole in the screened porch.

There was no sign of Lady. She’d wanted to swim out to the raft with him but Quinn had made her stay behind. Because what the little dog lacked in size, she more than made up for in volume. If a car pulled into the driveway, Lady let him know about it. No one could get past her without sounding the alarm. Because she rivaled the best system O’Halloran Security had to offer, Quinn was willing to turn over guard duty to her for a while.

He’d never worked as a bodyguard with the intent of staying as far away as possible from the client before, but Quinn was up to the challenge this time.

Whenever his traitorous thoughts had started to conjure up Abby Porter’s smile or her laugh, all Quinn had to do was squelch them by recalling the phone conversation he’d overheard through the cabin window. A glimpse into the woman’s true nature. She was like so many of the people who’d hired him when he was with Hamlin. Sweet and personable as long as everything went their way. Ready to use the weight of their name and bank account number when it didn’t. Like Serena Raynes.

Quinn’s stomach rumbled suddenly, chiding him for turning down Abby’s offer to cook for him. He ignored it. There was nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned can of sodium-saturated broth with pieces of mystery meat floating in it.

He stopped short as he entered the kitchen. And then looked around to make sure he hadn’t walked into the wrong cabin by mistake. Nope. The canvas duffel bag containing his clothes was on the floor where he’d left it; flannel shirt tossed over the back of the sofa.

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