Free A Small-Town Homecoming by Terry McLaughlin Page A

situation. She could begin by being relentlessly reasonable and charming this evening, whether Quinn liked it or not.
     
    T ESS SAT at Charlie’s kitchen table at seven-thirty that evening, slicing bread for bruschetta. Her friend stood at the sink, cleaning potatoes to bake in the microwave. “Did you hear that?” asked Tess. “Did you?”
    “If you’re going to complain again about your stomach growling,” Charlie said, “I’m going to cram this potato in your whiny mouth.”
    “Never mind, then. Just ignore the starving guest in the corner. The one who’s helping prepare the meal.” Tess heaved a theatrical sigh and sawed through another length of sourdough. “What time is it, anyway?”
    “Two minutes since the last time you asked.” Charlie wiped her hands with a dish towel and crossed the room to gaze through the window. No doubt she was checking on Jack, who’d been sent to scrub the grill under Hardy’s supervision. “Quinn can’t help it if he’s running late. He had to arrange for dinner and a sitter for his daughter, and he said he wanted to swing by the site to check on things again on his way here.”
    His daughter. Tess struggled for a moment, caught between stubborn pride and curiosity. Only for a moment. “How old is she?”
    “Quinn’s daughter?”
    “No. The sitter.” Tess rolled her eyes. “Is she in elementary school? Junior high?”
    “Elementary. Nine? Ten, maybe?” Charlie returned to the sink and picked up another potato. “You know, you could always ask him when he gets here.”
    “It doesn’t matter. What?” Tess asked when Charlie’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What are you thinking?”
    “That you have this strange and complicated thing for Quinn.”
    “That’s absurd. The man’s a walking minefield.”
    “I know. That’s why you’re attracted to him.”
    Tess sighed again and reached for the mozzarella. “I hate to be so predictable.”
    “It’s better than being complicated.” Charlie dumped the potatoes on a baking dish. “Or touching off an explosion that might maim a couple of innocent bystanders.”
    Tess set aside the knife. “You don’t approve.”
    Charlie’s lips pressed in a thin, straight line. “I like you both. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”
    “Why would I get hurt?” Tess began to arrange the sliced bread on a cookie sheet. “I’m the one in charge in this situation, and Quinn knows it.”
    “I’m not talking about the work.”
    “You can’t seriously be talking about anything else.” She drizzled olive oil over the slices. “Because there isn’t anything else worth discussing. And there won’t be.”
    “All right. Fine.”
    “I don’t go looking for complicated, you know.” Tess stole a sliver of cheese while Charlie wasn’t looking and popped it into her mouth. “I prefer to love ’em and leave ’em on friendly terms. It’s so easy with the easy men, the guys who are looking for an uncomplicated timewith an uncomplicated woman. I just get bored sometimes with the same old, same old. I like a challenge every once in a while.”
    Charlie’s frown deepened. “Which makes me think you’re suddenly interested in a certain difficult single father.”
    “Which makes me wonder why you invited us both to dinner tonight.”
    “Jack’s idea.” Charlie leaned an elbow on the counter and watched Tess layer thin cheese and tomato slices over the crushed herbs and sea salt she’d sprinkled on the bread. “Although we both figure you know what you’re doing. If anyone knows how to handle a challenging professional relationship with a complicated, attractive man, it’s you.”
    “Nothing like a little pressure.”
    Charlie grinned. “What are friends for?”
    Hardy raced around the side of the house, barking with his stranger-near-the-gate voice. Seconds after, Jack strode inside and grabbed the platter heaped with steaks. “According to the alarm dog, our other guest has arrived,” he