CHAPTER TEN
Jenna went to sit down, but Catherine grabbed her hand and said, “Now, what’s this you were saying about Kurt’s death and something sinister? What do you mean by that?”
Suddenly the fire grew hotter and the oxygen levels must have dropped by 50 percent, because sweat formed between Jenna’s breasts and her head felt all floaty and strange. “Ah…”
“I think we’ll need another round for this,” Quinn said. “Have a seat, Catherine, and we’ll fill you in.”
By the time Boomer and Quinn made it back with more beer and water, Alby, Santos, and her grandparents had retired for the night.
“I think Pepita and I will head in, too,” Sidney said.
“Madre.”
“It’s a school night.”
“I’m fourteen, not four.”
“Bryan?”
“It’s only eight,” Boomer said. “Unless you have homework?”
“We didn’t have any today.” Pepita turned to Sidney. “Please?”
“You think it’s a suitable topic?”
Pepita pulled out her earbuds. “I’m gonna listen to music. Tarkin made me a playlist.”
“Hey, who’s Tarkin?” Boomer mock-glowered. “No boyfriends until you’re thirty-three.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a friend who’s a boy.” But Pepita’s smile, all teeth and dreamy eyes, gave her away. Good thing she didn’t have her sights set on joining the Vegas poker scene or the CIA.
“In by nine.” Sidney headed into the cabin.
Pepita grinned and pulled Dale’s chair next to Boomer. Sitting sideways, she threw her legs over the armrest and used the big, bad Marine as a footstool, tapping a steady rhythm on her thigh. Thud dadud dud, thud dadud dud, thud dadud dud.
Now there were enough camp chairs to go around. They settled in loose pairs on the upwind side of the fire. Boomer and Pepita, Quinn and Jenna, Hank and Mac, and then Catherine.
The fire had burned low, the coals white with ash but radiating plenty of heat for a mild night. Thousands and thousands of stars blinked on and off, in a blackness that went on and on and on.
“Shooting star!” Pepita called out, her voice extra-loud, her head bopping and her feet tapping to the music funneling into her ears.
“So, what were you saying about Kurt?” Catherine’s steady voice was a sharp contrast to the way her fingers absently shredded her tissue into smaller and smaller pieces.
“Jenna and I don’t believe Kurt’s death was accidental or a suicide,” Quinn said.
Catherine’s fingers stilled. “Then what do you think it was?”
“Murder.” Boomer cut a quick look to Pepita, but she was staring at something on her phone, her feet never missing a beat.
Jenna waited for Catherine’s eyes to widen or for her to burst into tears or deny what they were saying. But to Jenna’s surprise, the lines of worry between her brows eased, and her lips lost their frown. “You think so?”
Catherine sounded so hopeful, Jenna didn’t have the heart to tell her they had nothing to prove that yet, and with the sheriff unconvinced, he wasn’t calling in reinforcements to work on the case—if the sheriff’s department even did that kind of thing.
“Nothing they can prove yet,” Boomer said.
“But some things don’t add up.” A nervous energy buzzed in Jenna’s chest. If they could prove Kurt hadn’t taken his own life, it would not only go a long way in relieving everyone’s guilt, it might mean there was still hope for Healing Horses and the list of waiting veterans.
Quinn gave Catherine a brief rundown, from the wrong sleeve being rolled up on Kurt’s shirt, to the texts to Crystal, to Kurt skipping out on his meetings, to Quinn’s run-in with Moose.
“This El Verdugo guy,” Catherine said, “what makes you think he’s involved?”
Pepita’s foot stopped tapping, but when Jenna glanced over at her, the teen still seemed engrossed in her phone, her thumb moving up and down as if she was scrolling through a site.
“We don’t know whether he is,” Boomer said. “But it’s very concerning that El Verdugo is back—”
Pepita popped out of her chair, knocking Boomer’s water out of his hands.
“El Verdugo is back?” The words flew out of her mouth, part-disbelief, part–sheer horror, part–utter and complete panic.
“Whoa, now.” Boomer came out of his seat. “You were supposed to be listening to music.”
Sidney ran out the cabin door. “What’s going on? Pepita?”
“They said El Verdugo is back!”
With Sidney’s blazing red pixie-cut hair and her fairy body size, it was obvious why Boomer called her Irish. If Tinker Bell had a badass sister with a fiery temper, Sidney would be her. Racing down the stairs, Sidney threw Boomer a smooth-move glare and pulled Pepita into a reassuring hug.
“We don’t know that for sure, honey.” Sidney rubbed her daughter’s back.
“Don’t make me go back.” Pepita’s voice cracked. “You can’t make me. I love it here. I finally have friends, I have—”
“Pepita. Sweetheart.” Boomer peeled Pepita from Sidney, taking hold of her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length to talk to her face-to-face. “Why would you think we would ever send you back there?”
Pepita stared at the ground, tears streaking her face, unable to meet his gaze. Boomer gave her shoulders a gentle shake. “Sweetheart?”
She swiped at her cheeks, took a shallow breath, and said, “No reason.” But the way she said it said otherwise.
Jenna glanced at Quinn, who hadn’t seemed to notice Pepita evading the question. Then eyed Mac and Hank. Mac had her hand over her mouth, not in surprise, but as if she was trying to hold something down. Hank gave Jenna a tight nod.
He’d noticed Pepita’s evasion, too. What was that all about? Most people might pass it off as normal teenage behavior, but Pepita wasn’t like that. Or, at least, she hadn’t been. If something was on her mind, she usually wasn’t shy about letting everyone know.
“Sidney and I are doing everything we can to make you ours,” Boomer reassured her. “You’re not going anywhere if we can help it. Got that?”
Pepita nodded, and Boomer tucked her against his chest and planted a kiss at her temple. “Alright. I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
She caved, taking Sidney’s outstretched hand.
“And, sweetheart?” Pepita glanced back at Boomer. “Next time keep your music on and your earbuds in.”
She rolled her eyes, but he got a hint of a smile out of her.
When Sidney and Pepita were back inside, Boomer collapsed in his chair. “Jesus. What the hell was that all about?”
By habit, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two one-dollar bills and stuffed them into the cup holder of the chair for the cuss jar.
“Something we don’t know?” Hank asked before Jenna could.
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. See what I can find out.” Boomer turned to Catherine and filled her in on Pepita’s story.
“Poor girl,” Catherine said. “Probably dredged up a lot of bad memories for her.”
“That’s just it.” Jenna reached down, grabbed her beer, and popped the top. “Pepita talks about the cartel all the time. About how she would do this or that with the animals. Or she’ll cook us something she’d learned to make at their camp. It’s not this deep, dark secret that no one acknowledges. She even did a report on it for her social studies class last year.”
Jenna’s beer must have looked good, because Quinn opened his own and took a sip. “So, why the freak-out?”
“Who knows.” Boomer bobbed his chin toward Mac. “You spend a lot of time with her. What do you think?”
Everyone turned toward Mac. She’d been quiet all evening, which wasn’t like her. At all. Especially when it came to the cartel that everyone loved to hate. “I think—” Mac slapped a hand over her mouth and from under her hand said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Mac sprinted to the nearest tree.
“Oh dear,” Catherine said.
Hank ran after her. “What the hell, Army? I’m taking you to a doctor.” He held her hair back while she heaved and retched and puked.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Mac said when she came up for air.
“This has been going on for days, and you aren’t getting better.”
She straightened. Boomer tossed Hank a bottle of water. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to Mac. She rinsed her mouth and spat it out.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Hank waved his hand at the mess on the ground. “Clearly.”
“Hank.” Jenna recognized Mac’s don’t-mess-with-the-Marine tone, though her father was too stubborn to hear it.
Jenna jumped up and went over to them. “Dad, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll take Mac home.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Mac growled.
Hanging around Mac and Boomer all these years, she’d learned a little bit about how to handle them. Coddling wouldn’t cut it. Especially with Mac. That flat-out pissed her stepmother off. Jenna cut Mac a look. “Zip it.”
Mac obeyed, and the corners of her lips twitched more up than down.
“Go.” Jenna shooed her father with both hands. “Relax. Drink your beer. We’ve got this.”
Hank leaned in and kissed the side of Mac’s head. To Jenna, he said, “Let me know if anything changes.”
* * * *
Jenna stared at the plus sign on the pregnancy test, inanely wondering if the positive test constituted anything changing, as her dad had put it.
“Don’t—” Mac heaved into the toilet, but by now, nothing much was coming up. The bathroom in the old foreman’s house was tiny enough that Jenna could sit on the wood floor against one wall and reach her leg out and flush the toilet with her toes. Which she did. She tossed Mac a hand towel.
“Don’t tell your father.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You have to tell him.”
Mac settled back against the tub, hugging the cold porcelain to the side of her face. “I will, but not yet.”
“Why? I thought you two wanted a kid.”
“Well, yeah. But that was years ago.” She took a sip of water from a glass, rinsed her mouth, and spit it back out into the toilet. She slouched with her back against the tub. “Your dad’s forty-two now.”
“So.”
“So…” Mac shook her head when no words came.
“But if you were trying to get pregnant, he’ll be thrilled. I mean, who wouldn’t want another me?” Jenna gifted Mac with her cheesiest smile.
“Well, we weren’t trying anymore. I hadn’t gotten pregnant, so we figured it wasn’t going to happen for us. But we weren’t preventing it, either.”
Something about Mac’s concern about her dad’s age didn’t ring true—a dull, sour, tuneless tone. “It’s not my dad’s age, is it?”
Mac laughed, but it was rueful. “It seems like yesterday I was taking the seventeen-year-old you to the clinic for birth control.”
“After all that, I never did use them. You think they’re still good?” Jenna was mostly kidding.
“Quinn?” Mac asked.
Jenna thumped the back of her head against the wall a couple of times. Not enough to hurt, but enough to knock a little sense into her head. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she and Quinn had any kind of future.
When Quinn’s leave was up, he’d get his wings back, and he’d forget her again. “Yeah,” she eventually admitted. The word came out thin. A hard truth that had to be yanked out of her.
Crawling partway over Jenna’s outstretched legs, Mac rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink and handed her a box of condoms.
“Ohmygod. Mac, I’m old enough to buy my own condoms.”
Mac settled back against the tub, the effort turning her a light shade of green. “Do you have any?”
“No, but—”
“Take them. Go on. I’m too wrung out to argue with you.”
Tucking the box into the back pocket of her jeans, Jenna said, “Fine.”
“Might want to check the expiration date.”
“Mac.”
Mac shut up. Jenna checked the date. Not expired. Jenna swallowed her smile. They sat there a moment, then Jenna gave Mac a do-you-really-think-I’m-that-stupid smile.
“What?” Mac asked.
“I’d forgotten how good you were at misdirection.”
Mac’s eyelids got droopy, now that the dry heaves had settled. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why haven’t you told Dad you’re pregnant? And don’t give me some bullshit story about his age.”
“I need a little time to get used to the idea.”
“How long have you known?”
“A week.”
“A week!”
Mac cringed as the words echoed around the tiny bathroom.
“You know, when that baby pops out, you’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do.”
Mac bumped Jenna with her foot. “I’m gonna tell him. I promise. I just need a few more days.”
“Why? You’ve had years to get used to the idea of being a parent.”
“Years of an idea. It wasn’t real. And now, this…” Mac waved a hand in the general direction of her stomach. “This kid is so real.”
“Yeah.” Deep down, jealousy stirred. An ugly, hairy beast that reveled in the great pleasure of telling Jenna how lucky the kid was going to be to have two parents to love it, nurture it, and help it grow up strong.
Not a kid whose mother couldn’t be bothered to stick around.
Not a kid whose father had spent more years on the rodeo circuit than not.
Not a kid who would always hold back, wondering who would abandon her next.
Jenna took a mental club and beat the monster upside the head. This wasn’t just any kid. This was going to be her kid brother. Or kid sister. She swallowed and cleared the bitter taste of jealousy from her mouth. Mostly. “The kid’s lucky to have you two for parents.”
* * * *
The barn’s porch lights threw light into the round pen, but not so much it was harsh and glaring. Quinn didn’t need that.
Vader certainly didn’t.
Quinn climbed over the top rail with a halter and lead rope and softly dropped down on the other side. Vader’s head popped up, and he stopped munching the mouthful of hay, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t run.
“Easy, boy.” Quinn kept his voice low and smooth like a midnight DJ on an all-love-song radio station.
He eased toward the wild horse, avoiding any sudden movements or anything that made him look too much like a predator. Vader tugged several quick, sharp bites out of the hay net, the nervousness building, the whites of his eyes showing as he followed Quinn’s progress through the pen.
Halfway across, Quinn stopped and turned partially away. Not enough that the horse could surprise him and put Quinn in danger, but enough to make him appear less of a threat. Stretching his head from side to side, Quinn shook off his own stress and agitation. It never helped to bring those emotions into the pen with you.
Using a technique his father had shown him when he was a kid, he zigzagged across the pen, keeping Vader in his peripheral vision, backing off a step when the horse would look at him, rewarding the look by releasing the pressure. Then he worked his way back in. Eventually he got close enough to stick his hand out, and Vader stretched his neck and sniffed it. As soon as the horse did, Quinn turned away, using Vader’s curiosity to his advantage.
Several passes later, Vader took a couple of steps toward him when Quinn offered his hand. “There you go, boy. I’m not so bad after all.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a peppermint he’d gotten from the barn. The cellophane wrapper crinkled, and Vader’s ears went up. Quinn stuck out his hand. Vader took a creeping step forward. Then another. The moonlight shone off the jet-black coat, gifting Quinn with the highlights—sleek neck, high withers, well-sprung ribs, and powerful hip.
A mild breeze kicked up, and the smell of smoke wafted toward them. Vader sniffed the treat in Quinn’s hand. In, in, in, until all the horse could do was blow his breath back out again. The moist heat dampened Quinn’s skin.
Vader lipped and slobbered on the peppermint, dropping it back into Quinn’s palm, a sticky, mangled mess. Vader lifted his nose into the air, his upper lip twitching. Then he slurped up the treat and worked it between his molars, bobbing his head up and down as he chewed and swallowed. He licked Quinn’s hand, checking for more.
Quinn pulled out another. While the horse worked on that one, he brought his other hand up and stroked the horse’s neck. Vader froze at the contact, but Quinn found the itchy spot at the base of Vader’s neck, and the horse melted against his hand.
Taking the end of the lead rope, Quinn placed it around Vader’s neck to hold him in place and slipped the halter on. Another crinkle of cellophane. Another treat. Vader sniffed Quinn’s face, blowing out a hot hay-and-peppermint breath.
Quinn led the horse back to his hay, and with the rope draped over the crook of his elbow, started running his hands down the horse’s neck, his withers, his back, not pushing his luck that early and trying to touch more sensitive areas like the flanks or legs. Right now, Quinn’s goal was to show Vader that a human’s touch wasn’t to be feared.
“You’re good with him.” Quinn had heard Jenna’s voice before she materialized out of the darkness.
There was a weird tingling in his chest that felt a whole lot like pride. It had been a long time since another’s opinion mattered. It wasn’t a bad feeling.
Strange.
Odd.
Unexpected.
“How’s Mac?”
There was no light in Jenna’s eyes, her shoulders slumped. Melancholy or madness or sadness. Quinn couldn’t tell. A wistful smile bumped a corner of her lips up, and then it was gone. “She’s gonna be all right.”
Before he could find out what was wrong with Mac, she asked, “So, did you guys fill Catherine in on the cartel?”
“As much as we know. She took the news better than I thought she might.”
“She’s a tough cookie.”
Quinn chuckled, and the rumble made Vader flinch. “She was Kurt’s mother. She had to be.”
“Do you think I can come in?”
“He’s calm. You can try.”
Jenna climbed over the rail and offered her hand to Vader to sniff. Quinn pulled out another mint and put it in her hand. “He likes these.”
“Good boy,” she praised as Vader gobbled the treat.
Quinn grabbed the arm of her sweatshirt and guided her in front of him, her back brushing against his chest. He took her hand in his, placing it on the thick slab of muscle in front of Vader’s shoulder blade. Together, they stroked down Vader’s neck. She relaxed as her fingers slid across the bulge of Vader’s strong shoulder.
“He’s so soft,” Jenna said, wonder in her voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt a horse this naturally silky. Amazing.”
“Not as amazing as you.”
Jenna stiffened and laughed. Ironic, and light on humor and heavy on condescension. A laugh that sounded like he wasn’t enough for her. Could never be enough for her. It landed like a roundhouse kick to the gut, shifting something inside. It hurt like hell, and he channeled that pain into anger.
“That the best line you got, Powell?”
He couldn’t read her dark mood, didn’t know what had gotten into her. “I was serious.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. Quinn stepped back, unbuckled Vader’s halter, and let it slide down the gelding’s long nose. If he didn’t leave now, he’d say something he’d regret. He turned and climbed over the round pen, Jenna right behind.
“You leaving? Is that your answer to everything?” Jenna said.
Seriously? Are we back to that? Already a few pissed-off strides ahead of her, Quinn stopped and turned, summoning superpowers he didn’t know he possessed to keep his tone even. “I’m going to bed. It’s late.”
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“We were talking.”
He pointed to where they’d been standing. “That wasn’t talking.” He stepped up into her personal space and lifted her chin with his finger. “You expecting me to invite you back to my cabin?” His tone, mocking’s close cousin. He couldn’t help it. Her laugh, her words, had burned him.
Coming back to the Lazy S had been a stupid, awful, terrible mistake. And the thought of getting involved with Jenna again made returning to the Lazy S look like the right decision.
He stepped closer, no longer caring whether the anger crept in. “You think we would go to my cabin. Get naked. Fu—”
She slapped him. His teeth sliced his sore tongue, and he tasted blood. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes sharpened enough to slice granite.
Funny, that slap almost made him feel better.
“Fuck you, Powell.”
Quinn, you stupid, stupid bastard. Quinn immediately regretted it. Regretted his words, regretted baiting her. She turned on her heel. He grabbed her elbow. “Jenna, wait.”
Her hand pulled out of her back pocket, and a palm-sized package fell from it. Quinn snatched it up before she could. “What’s this?”
She grabbed his hand, but his fingers held tight. “Give me the box, Quinn.”
What was she hiding? He wrestled his hand free, raising the box above his head. Out of reach.
She took a step back, and her hands dropped and slapped against her thighs. “You know what? Forget it. Take it. I won’t be needing it.”
Jenna turned toward the big house, a ground-eating stride he’d have to jog to keep up with.
“Jenna. Jenna, wait!”
She didn’t wait. She didn’t slow down.
Yeah, he had that coming.
He angled the box toward the moonlight and saw the logo of a Trojan warrior printed on the side.
* * * *
Jenna jumped into the shower, washing away smoke and horse and disillusion.
She should have known better.
She did know better.
She’d only seen in Quinn what she’d wanted to see. His drive. His determination. His loyalty—to Kurt and to his country.
His ass.
Stop that.
In truth, she was disappointed. Disappointed with herself. Disappointed that she still wanted him. Disappointed that she still loved him.
The sooner Kurt’s death got straightened out, the sooner Quinn could leave, and the sooner everything would be better.
Jenna threw on an oversized T-shirt and padded down the hallway to her room, Dink on her heels and a towel turban on top of her head. She closed the door and turned out the overhead light. The bedside lamp cast an inviting glow over her bed. The room was stuffy, so she opened the window and let the cool breeze wash over her skin.
“I owe you an apology.”
Jenna slapped a hand against her chest and stifled most of her scream. “Quinn? What are you doing up here?”
“I need to talk to you,” came the disembodied voice.
Jenna pulled the screen clear of her window in a well-practiced move from her younger days. Quinn sat on a limb of a tree that arched over the roofline in front of her window.
“We’re not kids anymore. You could have used the front door.”
“I didn’t want to wake your grandparents or Catherine.”
Jenna leaned out the window. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I’m here to apologize.”
“Great. Apology accepted.” Sincerity would cost extra, and she wasn’t ready to spend the effort on him. She reached for the window sash and had the window almost closed before his hand caught the bottom.
“Would you give me a minute?”
Jenna didn’t release the window.
“Let go.”
She crossed her arms and took a step back. He raised the window and held his hand out.
“What?” she said.
“Come out here with me.”
“It’s the roof.”
“You used to love it out here.” He waggled his fingers. “Come on, Jenn.”
She took his hand and let him help her out the window. They closed the window behind them and sat next to each other, the glass cool against her back. It wasn’t cold out, but it wasn’t warm, either. She tucked her knees to her chest and pulled her shirt down over them until she was covered to her ankles.
“What am I doing out here, Quinn?”
“Look, Jenn…” He wrinkled his nose, and his smile wavered. Jenna thought about making it easier for him. Decided against it. If he had something to say, she’d sit there until he said it. “Where did you get the condoms?”
“Seriously? You climbed up the tree to my second-story window, give me a heart attack, and convince me to climb out the window, all to ask me where I got a box of freaking condoms?” Her voice raced up the octave ladder, skipping rungs on the scramble up.
A grin slid over his face, and he bumped his shoulder against hers. “You haven’t left the ranch. Come on. Where?”
This is so embarrassing. She tucked her head into her knees and mumbled, “From the foreman’s house.”
Quinn huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You stole them from your father?”
“I didn’t steal them. Mac gave them to me.”
He chuckled again, and she couldn’t help laughing with him. “Stop. It isn’t funny.”
“Isn’t funny?” He raised her chin and made her look at him. “You’re right. It’s not funny. It’s hilarious. If your dad only knew.”
“I don’t think that would be quite so funny.” She eased her chin away. “Besides, I meant what I said. I won’t be needing them.”
“Don’t be making promises you can’t keep.” His cocky grin seemed forced around the edges. Like he was afraid she’d meant it—and not just because he wanted to get into her pants.
“If that’s all you came here to say, then I’m going to bed.”
He caught her arm. “Shit. No. Jenn, I…I came here because I was a complete ass.”
“No.” She stared out through the thick canopy of leaves to the sparkle of the stars beyond. The light coming through the bedroom window highlighted the red palm print on Quinn’s cheek. She brushed her fingertip across it. “Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not.” She got some teeth with Quinn’s smile.
“Okay, then I’m sorry I’m not sorry. How’s that for an apology?”
“I’ll take it.”
The breeze kicked up a notch, and goose bumps swept over her skin. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her shirt until only her hands were sticking out. They sat there in silence on the roof. Something skittered along the branch. An owl hooted.
Quinn put his arm around her shoulders. Jenna wanted to pull away, to push him off the roof, to tell him to go to California and not come back.
But mostly she wanted to sink into him and wish for a time when life was simple, when what mattered most was that they’d loved each other.
She settled for resting her head on his shoulder.
“I meant what I said,” Quinn started. “About how amazing you were. Are. And when you laughed me off”—he shrugged, his focus on a bent shingle on the roof—“it hit a raw nerve. Truth is, I haven’t been the most balanced since Kurt. Not that his death is any kind of excuse. That’s why I needed to apologize. Tonight.”
“Not my proudest moment, either.” She was as much to blame as him. She hadn’t been looking for a fight, but after leaving Mac’s with that undercurrent of jealousy fouling her mood, she’d been ready for one. His thumb traced tiny circles along her arm, seemingly unaware he was doing it. “I’m still not going to sleep with you.”
“Probably for the best.” He pulled the box of condoms out of his pocket and placed it in her hands, closing her fingers around it. “But I’ll tell you what. You keep them. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Is this some kind of game with you?” She wasn’t mad. She was asking.
“Isn’t love a game? Winners. Losers. Your lover’s heart the ultimate prize?”
“You believe that, or are you trying to get laid?”
“Pretty cynical.”
“I want to know where you stand. You know, level the playing field.”
“I want you. I won’t deny it. But I want more than your body.” The words didn’t come out smooth, dripping with charm. In fact, by his twisted smile, to find that truth out about himself, wasn’t easy for him to digest. Like it complicated matters instead of making them better.
Her heart jumped up and gave her lungs a high five, but her brain said, I’m not sure I believe that.
An emotion flicked across his face. So dark, so fast, she couldn’t read it. “Can I kiss you?”
She leaned away, letting the light from the window shine on him. His face held a mixture of hope and reservation.
She had no desire to hurt him.
Quinn, the man, was not the same person as Quinn, the teenager. And the same went for her. He’d changed.
Maybe not all for the better.
But the younger Quinn never would have scaled the tree to apologize. The younger Quinn wouldn’t have been so open and honest. The younger Quinn wouldn’t have exposed the soft underbelly of his vulnerability.
And as much as she wanted to kiss him, to put the crappy evening behind them and move forward, that wasn’t the smartest move.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
“That’s probably not a good idea.”