Quinn almost collapsed onto the stool in Chloe’s kitchen. Judging by the amount of craft glitter on the kiddie table, it was going to take the girls a little while to clean up.

“Drink.” Chloe pushed a very full wine glass across the counter toward Quinn.

“Oh, no. I can’t.”

“This one can’t drink with me anymore, someone has to.” Chloe thumbed at Taylor, who was flipping through a text book at the end of the bar.

“You know I’m right here?” Taylor chuckled.

“I’ll drink some, not all.” Quinn could do with a little wine.

“I stopped by your place after the girls finished school.” Chloe lifted her brows.

“What?” Quinn paused with the glass in hand.

What had Owen done now?

Dear god...

“Someone’s cleaned your gutters and pulled out those things you call hedges that you keep saying you’ll get around to burning.”

“What?” Quinn set the glass down.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe frowned.

“I have to go.”

“Why? Was Owen not supposed to pull the hedges out? You always talk about how much you hate them.”

“Owen...” Quinn rolled her eyes and groaned.

“I wish I could be there for this chat.” Chloe grinned.

“Can Kierra stay here a little while longer?” Quinn needed to establish some boundaries. She was grateful for what Owen had done for them. She really was. But at some point, it had to stop.

“Sure thing. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. How about I bring her over later, with your wine?”

“Thanks. I’ll probably need it.” Quinn shrugged into her coat, grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

So much for a little girl-time after work. She’d begun enjoying these chats with Chloe and Taylor. They made Quinn feel almost normal by comparison. And truth be told, she wanted to talk out what was happening between her and Owen with someone, even if that person was Chloe. She might rub Quinn’s nose in it, but she’d give good advice.

She hopped in her car and zipped around the block.

An unfamiliar car sat at the curb.

Bundles of twigs, sticks and branches sat ready for pick up. Along with bags. Lots, and lots of bags.

Quinn pulled into the drive and got out, gaping at the difference.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows around the house, but she could already see where overgrown flower beds and out-of-control hedges had been hacked back. If it weren’t for the peeling paint, the house might actually look nice.

This had to stop.

She got out, clutching her bag to her chest.

“Owen?” she called out.

Almost on cue, he rounded the back of the house, a bundle of sticks slung across his shoulders and a bag of who knew what in his other hand. His white undershirt was plastered to his body from the rain. She could nearly trace every ridge and ripple of muscle under his shirt. She might not usually prefer the hot, hunky guys, but even she wasn’t impervious to the effect they had on a woman. But this wasn’t just any hot, hunky guy staring at her, every step bringing him closer. This was Owen. The man sleeping in her dad’s room, cleaning her gutters, fixing her window, and god only knew what else.

Quinn nearly swallowed her tongue.

“What are you doing out here?” He stopped barely a foot away, and glanced upward. “You’re going to get soaked.”

“Me? What about you?” She gestured to the rest of him.

Wet jeans plastered to muscular thighs.

Shit.

It was all too easy to recall how he’d felt holding her.

He was a pushy man, sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. Even if he was a nice guy about it, said please and thank you, made her breakfast, and fixed all the problems she couldn’t find time for.

She could not rely on him. She couldn’t do it. This was too much.

“Owen, you have to stop.” She said each word with force.

“What?” His face scrunched up and he hoisted the bundle of sticks higher on his shoulder.

“This.” She gestured at the bag. “You have to stop helping me.”

“It’s starting to rain harder. Will you go up to the porch, at least?”

She didn’t want to get soaked and cold, but she also didn’t want to give in to his very reasonable request. He knew just how to come at her from a different angle to throw her off balance.

“Fine.” She huffed so she wouldn’t cry and walked up to the wide porch.

Instead of following her, Owen took the bundle and bag to the curb, placing them each in their respective piles.

The cranky neighbors were going to love this. Now they were going to expect more. Didn’t Owen understand that he wasn’t helping? He was creating more work for her. Because she couldn’t do it all. She couldn’t be everything for everyone. She couldn’t be Mom, Dad, big sister, chauffer, cook, maid and laundress. She couldn’t be a girlfriend. That wasn’t even taking into consideration the hundred and one other things she let slide because there wasn’t enough of her to go around.

“Hey? Hey, what’s wrong? Quinn?”

She sucked down a breath that turned into a sob. She was going to suffocate under the weight of it all, and damn him, he wanted to help.

“Quinn? Sweetheart, breathe. What happened?” Owen cupped her face in his chilled hands.

“You.”

“Me? What’d I do?”

“Owen, I can’t do everything. I know you’re just trying to help, but...don’t you see? You’re creating more problems.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t get it.”

“The neighbors have been after me for years to clean up the yard.” She gestured at the pile of stuff at the curb to be picked up. “Now, they’re going to ride my ass even harder. And I can’t do this. I can’t do what you do. Don’t you get it? No, you don’t. You see a problem, so you fix it and you don’t consider that by fixing it you make more problems.”

“I didn’t... No...”

A jagged bolt of lightning rent the skies.

Owen muttered something under his breath and closed his eyes. He dragged a hand across his face and the muscles at his jaw flexed.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, Owen. I just...I can’t do it all. I can’t. Don’t you get it?” The tears were hotter than her skin. She covered her mouth to keep from sobbing. The weight of it all was going to crush her.

“Quinn?” Owen grasped her by the arms, his touch gentle.

Damn him for...making her coffee. Fixing the sink. It was usually easy to chase people away, but not him. Why did it have to be Owen?

He pulled her toward him.

Of course.

She’d tell him to stop being a great guy, she’d feel awful about it and he’d comfort her. There was no fixing this. No easy solution.

Quinn did the most natural thing. She buried her face against his wet shirt and let him hold her. And damn him, he was there for her. She slid her arms around his waist, never mind that he was soaking wet and now she was, too.

They stood like that for several moments. Neither speaking. Just touching. Like two familiar people.

“You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside.” Owen stroked her back and gave her a little squeeze.

She let him take her keys, unlock the door, and usher her into her own home. Wet shoes went by the door and neither of them stepped a foot onto the carpet. Owen went to the stove, turned on a burner, placed a pot on the heating element, and poured a concoction of water, milk and hot cocoa powder into it.

“You could just microwave it, you know?” she said.

“Yeah, but this tastes better for some reason.” He glanced over his shoulder.

There was something different about him. The sparkle in his eyes was gone. Snuffed out. Because she’d been an ungrateful bitch?

“Owen? I really appreciate what you’re doing, how you’re helping out. I do.” She braced her hands on the counter between them, watching his shoulders, the way his muscles moved as he stirred the pot.

“But?”

“But ,what?”

“I hear a but,” he said.

“But someday you aren’t going to be here to fix things for us, and I need to know how to do all these things myself. If I can’t do it, no one will.”

“I’ll stop,” he said.

She closed her eyes to keep from asking him to stay. If only for one more night, so she could sleep.

“They’re going to fire me,” he said.

“What?” She gaped at his back.

Owen pivoted, leaning his hip against the stove. He didn’t look at her, he stared at the ground, but she could see his eyes. The lost, sad look she knew so well because she saw it staring back at her in the morning every day.

“I needed to do something, and you said you wanted the yard cleared, so I did it. I should have asked, but...I needed to do something. It was the first thing I thought about.” He lifted his shoulders.

“I’m... Oh my gosh, Owen, I’m so sorry. Why? Can you fight it?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to.” He lifted the pot off the stove, snagged two mugs from the drain board and poured them full of frothy hot chocolate.

“But...why?”

“Because if I fought it, I’d make more work for the good guys.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes so sad. “Sounds like that’s the only thing I’m good at lately.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, Owen.”

“You just said—”

“Forget about what I said. I’m a bitch, I don’t know what I’m talking about. You can’t give up. That’s not who you are.”

“I should probably be happy to not be in jail, or anything else.”

“The thing with Jax, Ian and the rest?”

He lifted his shoulders but didn’t offer further commentary.

She searched his face, looking for some reason, some source of it all.

“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been the good guy. I...how could they fire you? What could you have possibly done wrong?”

“I did something I wasn’t supposed to, and these are the consequences,” he said.

“Bullshit.” Quinn marched around the bar and jabbed her finger against Owen’s chest. “You are the most frustrating, do-good kind of guy I’ve ever met. There’s like, no stopping you. Ever. And I’ve tried until I was blue in the face.”

Owen wrapped his hand around hers, firmly returning her hand to her side, but he didn’t let go of her.

“Drop it, please, Quinn?”

“No.” Her voice broke.

Couldn’t things just go back to the way they were? When Kierra called Owen to chase the monsters away, and then Quinn chased Owen out of the house? When things were simple, albeit strange?

“Quinn, if I don’t drop it, good people might end up hurt. It’s already taking every bit of my self-control to not fight this. It’s time to...figure out the rest of my life. When I’m stressed, I fix things. I clean. I fucked up today, I shouldn’t have—”

“Whatever. The yard doesn’t matter. What are you saying? People could get hurt? Owen?”

“I’ll make you a deal.” He held up his pinky. “You stop asking questions, and I’ll stop helping.”

She stared at his finger.

That was what she wanted.

It was what she’d come over here to tell him to do.

And now...

Owen was giving up a part of himself, his career, to keep being the good guy. She didn’t have to know more, the particulars didn’t matter, because she knew him.

“I’ll stop asking questions, and you’ll start acting like a guest in our house, deal?”

“A guest?”

“Kierra doesn’t sleep through the night without nightmares. Vivid ones. She slept when you were here, though. I want her to feel safe enough to sleep. At least for a few more nights.” And Quinn was beginning to enjoy his company. That was dangerous, but there was no going back.

“I’m not a good guest.” Owen lifted his hands and gestured to the countertops, still spotless. “I clean.”

“You may clean one area a day. That’s it.”

“I fix things, remember?”

“You may fix one thing a day. Only one.”

“I might try to kiss you again.” He smiled, some of the light coming back into his eyes.

“We can skip that part.” Heat crawled up her neck. She’d really rather not discuss that part.

“We could.” Why did he make that word sound like a challenge? He wiggled his finger at her. “Deal.”

This was a mistake, and yet...

Kierra slept safe and sound, and they had their own, personal hero on the premises.

Quinn knew what it was like to lose her dream. Having that yanked out from under her, it hurt. She knew that flat, dead look in Owen’s eyes because she’d been there. When Mom died, Quinn had to make choices about her future she didn’t like. Now, Owen would too. He’d have a long ways to fall, but maybe...maybe she could help him find his way. She might have nothing more to offer than a shoulder, but sometimes, when the world took everything away, a shoulder was an invaluable resource.

“Deal.” Quinn hooked her finger in his.

She glanced from their fingers to his face. Owen’s gaze was on her mouth. She could practically feel him tracing her lips. The brush of his skin on hers again. She sucked down a breath and rocked back on her heels.

“Hot chocolate’s getting cold,” he muttered.

“Right.” She swallowed. She’d dreamt about his kiss last night.

“I’m not going to kiss you now,” Owen said.

“Of course not, that would be silly.” Her cheeks heated. Part of her, a part with a steadily growing volume problem, wanted him to kiss her.

“No, I’m not going to kiss you because I’m pretty sure you’d kick me out right now if I did.”

Owen lifted their hooked fingers until he could press his lips to the back of her hand.

Quinn’s body was boiling from the inside out.

His lips caressed one knuckle, then the next. It wasn’t just a quick kiss. It was a caress. Sensual. Slow.

Owen opened his eyes, head tilted to the side.

She could kiss him. He was right there. His lips... She’d never really studied a man’s lips before. Owen’s were nice. The lower one fuller. They were generous, prone to smiling.

Kissing him wound be fun.

“Kierra’s home.”

“What?” Quinn struggled to wrap her brain around those two words.

“Kierra.” He nodded at the front windows. “She’s home.”

Quinn whirled toward the front door right as it burst open.

Her sister. Right. Her sister’s name was Kierra. And now she was here. Great. Awesome. Wonderful.

Hansel watched the youngest Schaeffer girl return home. The cameras were set up, doing their job. Before he made any decisions about how to move forward, he needed to know who—and what—he was dealing with.

Quinn and Owen were the targets.

The little girl, though? He’d never liked jobs with kids. Maybe that meant that deep down he had a heart or something, but he wasn’t going to kill the little girl to get at Owen. Even if that was what Hansel wanted most in this world.