Quinn woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She had eaten little the day before, just a banana purchased at the gas station on her way out of Billings and a bag of chips from the vending machine in the hangar. Breathing in the delicious aroma, she stretched, arms above her head and toes pointed, her body a twisting line of graceful curves.

Remembering she had gone to sleep surrounded by the half dozen men who hadn’t felt like driving home, Quinn contracted at once, her cheeks instantly hot. Lifting her head, she looked around. The cots were empty, the men and their gear gone.

Except for one cot—Barrett’s. He was absent, but his gear waited in a tidy pile.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice rumbled.

She looked toward the kitchen door to find him standing there in the jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing when they first met. He had expanded the prior day’s ensemble to include a blue apron with white blocky letters.

Quinn squinted to make out the words.

MR. GOOD LOOKIN’ IS COOKIN’

The apron was one hundred percent accurate, she thought, her hand lifting to hide a grin.

Returning to the stove, he called over his shoulder. “I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“Not in a million years,” she answered. “Do I have time to use the bathroom before that’s ready?”

He looked at Quinn, a hint of speculation as his gaze traveled over her body. She was too shocked to blush. Was he actually ogling her?

Not possible, Wool-for-Brains.

Quinn’s certainty that a man with Barrett’s face and body couldn’t be mentally undressing her wavered as he refocused his attention on the stove, a dark rose staining the tan cheeks.

“So long as you don’t mean to shower before breakfast, you’ve got plenty of time.”

It took Quinn a second to find her voice.

“No shower,” she agreed, grabbing a small travel bag from her suitcase. “I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

I should be miserable, she thought, closing the bathroom door and catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror over the double sinks. She half looked it, but the grin was back and unhidden.

She put the hygiene bag on the vanity and dipped into one of the stalls to relieve the pressure on her bladder. Returning to the sink, she did a double take at the back of the bathroom door. Someone had taken down the large poster of a voluptuous bikini-clad model hugging her nearly overflowing chest, her elbows tucked tightly against her nearly non-existent waist.

Had to be Barrett, she decided, her smile deepening as she washed her hands and ran cold water over her face. The poster had stayed up while she was there alone with the hangar’s caretaker, an old man in his seventies. Of course, someone else on Barrett’s team could have taken it down, but they had no reason to know she would be spending the night. And she had seen the speculation in their gazes when she came in and took the cot next to Barrett’s.

She hadn’t felt threatened in the least, but she wouldn’t brand any of the other guys as enough of a gentleman to tear down the lewd photo. Plus Barrett had said her granduncle meant a lot to his family. That’s why he was being so protective of her and why he was most likely to have made sure the poster disappeared before she had to see it again.

Satisfied she had it all figured out, Quinn swished some cinnamon mouthwash around, spit it down the sink and headed for the kitchen to see what else her knight-in-sooty-armor was cooking up.

Barrett emerged from the kitchen with two plates. He nodded at the dispatcher’s desk where bottles of orange juice from the vending machine waited alongside forks and paper towels folded like napkins. For a second place to sit, he had hauled over a lidded trash can.

“You are an excellent improviser,” she laughed.

He put the plates on the desk and slid the chair out for her.

“And a gentleman,” she added.

There was more she could say. A lot more. Considerate, handsome, and off-the-scale sexy when the entire package was rolled together.

Dipping her head, she tried to conceal the blush quickly fanning across her cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, whoops,” he said, stretching his hand toward her. “So accustomed to eating alone or out with the guys that I’ve fallen out of the habit except for Sunday at my mother’s.”

She looked up, uncertain what Barrett was talking about. The hand he had extended across the table was palm up. His eyes were closed, his head lowered and the broad shoulders humbled.

Covering his hand with hers, Quinn bowed her head, grateful he couldn’t see the smile.

“Thank you, God,” she started, her voice barely a whisper because she had never prayed out loud before or even intentionally inside her head. “Thank you for putting Barrett Turk in my path. And thank you for the family who raised him to be kind to others and…”

She hesitated over the words. She really was a novice at this. The last plea to Heaven she could remember was when she was around nine, looking in the mirror, tears streaking her face as she tried to bargain with God to keep Richard, her father, from leaving, or at least have Richard take her with him.

Barrett offered a comforting squeeze, lending Quinn his strength so she could finish.

“Who raised him to be kind,” she repeated. “And to walk in your grace.”

She lifted her head, tears swimming in her eyes, to find Barrett’s calming green gaze focused on her, soothing and full of approval.

* * *

Staring at the big house of wood and stone with its long porch that disappeared out of view and the cathedral-sized window of tinted glass, Quinn had to push against her chin to keep her mouth from hanging open.

“Your mom lives here? Is it like a retirement home with staff and a lot of residents?”

Barrett laughed, the sound of his amusement filling the cab of her rental truck.

“Mom is 59,” he continued, wiping tears from his eyes as his chuckling subsided.

“Let’s keep my question our little secret,” she said.

“Alright, but the limit is three.”

Unhooking her seatbelt, she turned in the seat to study his face.

“The limit?”

He nodded, his expression only half serious. “Daddy said only two secrets. Mama said women needed at least one more on account of how they confided amongst themselves more than men do. So they settled on three and that’s what they taught us. Friends can’t keep more than three secrets between them. More than that is bound to break the friendship or cause some other harm.”

Quinn brought her hand up to her mouth, the gesture itself secretive because she wanted to hide the pleased smile that Barrett already thought of her as a friend. She wanted to think of him that way, too, but she had a hard time trusting people—especially anyone being nice to her.

“So, how exactly does this work? I mean, if we get to three and I want to tell you a fourth, do I have to call up your mom and confess?”

“Nope, doesn’t matter if or how the secret comes out. It still counts as one of three.”

Her brows shot up. That was a tough rule.

“Is there any wiggle room?” she asked.

“Well, don’t call it a secret, silly,” Barrett teased. “Just say something like ‘let’s not mention…’”

“Doesn’t that completely undercut the rule?”

Grinning, he leaned in and threw her a wink. “Not at all, but I’m still completely free to mention it…as opposed to swearing to take it to my grave.”

Deflecting his wink with a mock pout and a roll of her eyes, Quinn opened the passenger door and stepped out. Barrett made quick time of unfastening his seatbelt and jogging around the truck, handing Quinn the keys to the rental just as a woman around the age he had mentioned for his mother opened the screen door and walked onto the front porch.

“Morning, Mama.”

Coming down the steps, she smiled at Quinn and then at her son.

“Morning, Baby Bear.”

Quinn threw a side glance at Barrett just in time to catch a thin veneer of soft pink glossing his tanned cheeks. Clearly, mother and son had only reached an agreement about his childhood nickname at a level of “let’s not mention.”

“You must be Quinn,” the woman said, offering her hand. “I’m Lindy. We all loved Jester dearly. I’m so sorry to hear of the fire.”

Quinn bobbed her head, her throat thick from the kindness the woman extended and from the sense of growing loss she felt over never meeting her grand uncle. He must have been a good person because these good people thought so much of him. She couldn’t imagine any acquaintance of her mother genuinely trying to offer the comfort of condolences.

“Mr. Cross called and said he needed to push the meeting to eleven, that gives us half an hour.” Lindy waved them up onto the porch. “We’d best get inside before Leah finds a new distraction.”

“Leah?”

Quinn kept the question simple and the delivery casual. She didn’t want to sound nosy and she wasn’t about to ask if it was a puppy and find out it was Barrett’s grandmother or something. It was bad enough suggesting his mom must be old enough for a retirement home. But she wasn’t used to houses this palatial being lived in by nice, normal people.

“My granddaughter,” Lindy answered. “She turned three this summer. I thought she was a handful at two—”

Stepping through the front door, Lindy gasped then growled.

“Leah Grace Ballard!”

Something clattered to the ground. Quinn surreptitiously lifted onto her tiptoes to see what had caused the growl and the noise.

A little angel with honey-colored hair sat on the floor, yarn coiled around her shoulders and head like she was a kitten on crack. Next to her on the floor, a wooden bowl held what was left of the skein.

Instead of breaking into tears, the little girl shook her finger.

“Inside voice, Gam-Gam.”

“I’ll inside voice you, young lady.”

Lindy marched toward the toddler. She bent down as if to pick the child up then turned around and tidied an oversized side chair.

“Come here and bring the bowl.”

The toddler obeyed, her expression warping from a mock scolding to absolute contrition.

“Leah was helping.”

Shaking her head, Lindy began to unravel the yarn from the child. “Did I ask for help?”

Leah cupped her grandmother’s cheeks. “You don’t know how.”

Barrett laughed, his body shaking with enough amusement that his shoulder brushed Quinn’s.

“She’s got you there, Mama.”

“Don’t encourage the child or I’ll suggest to Jake you mind her in the offseason.”

“Barrett!”

“What?” he chuckled at his niece. “Are you just now noticing me, Honey Bee?”

She nodded, then pointed at Quinn.

Barrett settled his hand against the small of Quinn’s back and invited her to approach the couch.

“This is my friend Quinn. She’s from…”

Rolling his lips, he stopped and looked at Quinn.

“Los Angeles,” she answered, her gaze darting to where Lindy was untangling the yarn from the child...or the child from the yarn.

What did the woman think about her son bringing home a stray without even knowing where Quinn was from?

“That’s right,” he said, as if he had known but forgotten. “That’s where they make the movies, Honey Bee.”

“Movie Town?”

Quinn nodded. It was a nicer name than she would ever give the valley.

Leah clapped then made a half-twist, a turn, another half-twist and a quarter turn to slip completely free of the yarn. Lindy held up what looked like a spider’s web of the crisscrossing strings that had been tangled around the little girl.

“Okay, Houdini, you got me stumped on that one.”

Cupping her hand, Leah lifted it in the air and shook it back and forth. Barrett leaned close to Quinn and whispered in her ear.

“That’s Leah’s version of sign language for when she thinks someone is talking crazy.”

“Houdini did magic,” Lindy explained to the child. “He was a magician.”

“Leah is a fairy, not a magici…kan.”

Free, the little girl barreled toward Barrett and Quinn. He bent to scoop the toddler up, but she wrapped her hands around Quinn’s wrist.

“Show you playroom.”

Sighing, Lindy took her scissors to the tangled strings.

“If you haven’t been around toddlers much,” she joked. “You basically treat them like short, drunk tyrants.”

Barrett glanced at his watch.

“We’ve got a few minutes. Sage in her office?”

Lindy nodded.

Leah tugged.

Mesmerized, Quinn let the little girl lead her.

Before they cleared the room, Lindy called after them.

“We’ll have time to chat after the attorney, dear. I rounded up a few photo albums that I’m sure have some pictures of Jester in them.”

Quinn stopped and looked back, her nose suddenly stinging so hard she couldn’t stop blinking.

“It’s alright, dear. You may not have known him, but, in a way, you will.”

Nodding, Quinn surrendered to Leah’s soft tugs.

Passing out of the great room, they entered a long hallway. Leah released Quinn’s wrist and sprinted ahead. She disappeared through a doorway then popped her head back into the hall, waving her hand for them to hurry up.

“She’s adorable,” Quinn whispered.

“Don’t let her know,” Barrett whispered back. “If she finds out, we’ll never get her trained.”

“I think the training is all over,” she laughed. “And she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

He shook his head, his denial almost as adorable as the toddler. Reaching the doorway Leah had disappeared through, he put a thick arm up and braced it against the frame, momentarily blocking Quinn from entering.

“What makes you think she has me trained?”

“The way your face is lit up, for starters.”

His mouth did a little dance, shuffling back and forth between a pout and a smirk. At the same time, his gaze grew heavy, the eyelids sinking until they were at half-mast as he looked Quinn over.

“Is it lit up?”

She nodded, her cheeks hurting from her fixed, involuntary smile, her eyes threatening to water again, this time from too much mirth.

“It kind of feels lit up,” he murmured. “You might be onto something.”

Stepping back, he waved her in. Leah was busy pulling stuffed animals from their chairs around a table. It looked like the motley gang had been having lunch, the table decked out with plates and glasses.

A tall blonde, her hair a close shade to the little girl’s, appeared at the threshold of a door connecting the playroom to an office.

“I see she rounded up some human test subjects.”

“Funny, Sage,” Leah said, shaking her head and waving her cupped hand.

Sage stepped into the room. Feeling the woman’s cool scrutiny, Quinn forced herself to relax as Barrett made the introductions.

“Sage is Leah’s aunt, twice over.”

Quinn offered a blank look.

“My brother is Leah’s father,” Sage explained. “And I’m married to her mother’s brother. It’s only aberrant in a statistical sense.”

Barrett leaned in, cupped his hand to Quinn’s ear and whispered.

“It’s been a little more than a year, but my sister Dawn and our father died in an accident. Leah does okay as long as we skip mentioning the dead part.”

“Oh…”

A cold fist wrapped itself around Quinn’s throat before she could say anything else. Words would only be inadequate. The little girl had lost her mother—a great mother if she was anything like Barrett and Lindy Turk.

She looked at the man who had already done so much for her and then at his sister-in-law. Mouth gaping like a fish yanked out of the water and onto the grass, Quinn finally managed to scratch out another few words.

“I’m sorry.”

Sage nodded, her smile warming, then walked into her office, the door remaining open.

Leah grabbed Quinn’s hand and walked over to the table where the stuffed animals had been sitting. The little girl turned to Barrett next, but he stepped out of reach.

“I need to talk to Auntie Sage for a second. Whatever you’re cooking, make me a double portion.”

She nodded and let him go, her attention quickly re-directing to a child’s vintage style dream kitchen in petal pink enamel. Pulling out a skillet, she grabbed a spatula perfectly sized for her small hands and slid a rubber fried egg into the pan. Then she grabbed a mixer and pretended to make up some batter.

Without trying to eavesdrop, Quinn heard Barrett talking to his sister-in-law.

“I heard you might have a little glow around you.”

Sage caught her breath in a backward hiss. “Want to tell me which someone can’t keep a secret?”

Barrett chuckled, the warmth of the sound traveling down Quinn’s spine and forcing her eyes shut.

“Nothing was said. I just saw the crocheting pattern Mama tried to hide under her cushion. She only makes that one for Turk babies.”

Sage exhaled and settled into her office chair. “We haven’t said anything because we don’t want the news to reach little ears until the first trimester is done.”

“Well, you are glowing.” Barrett said.

From the corner of her eye, Quinn watched him lean over and kiss his sister-in-law on the cheek. Quinn didn’t feel jealous, knew she had no right to, but there was a moment of envy when she wished it was her cheek he was kissing—and not because she was his pregnant sister-in-law.

“Mmm…” he rumbled, patting his stomach as he returned to the playroom. “Eggs and pancakes. My favorite.”

Getting on his knees, he opened up the pretend refrigerator.

“Need some milk—oh, cupcakes!”

“No, Barrett,” the toddler admonished. Wielding her spatula with precision, she steered his hand away from the pretend cupcakes and shooed him toward the table to sit with Quinn.

Before he could make it over, the phone in Sage’s office rang.

“House line,” she said then picked it up. “Yep, I’ll tell them.”

She put the phone down and leaned forward in her seat until she could see Quinn and Barrett.

“Attorney is here. Lindy said she’s taking him to the library for you. The equipment’s still set up in case you need to fax or print anything.”

“Sorry, Honey Bee,” Barrett apologized as Leah came over with a plate stacked with rubber pancakes. “We have to go talk to a man about some land.”

Sighing, Leah put the plate on the table and walked back to the stove, her delicate hand cupped and twisting above her head.