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  He’d been social tutor for her and Zeke from the start. It felt like role reversal to text back, “Ask Josh. He knows the local customs. Then tell me.”

  She’d truly blossomed since she’d met Josh Kincannon, the principal of Drago High School. Quince had to give the guy a lot of credit for breaking through her defenses.

  “Guest room? This is the master, isn’t it?” Larry’s question didn’t have much questioning in it.

  That brought Quince’s head up. Everett developed an abrupt interest in the view out the window.

  They’d put him in the master bedroom.

  Larry was going on. “But I guess downstairs makes sense if they’re going to keep using it after you leave, Quince.”

  “We aren’t. It goes when he goes,” Everett said.

  Quince recognized that abrupt defensiveness as an invitation to battle, but ignored it, because he also recognized it as an attempt at diversion. He stepped in front of the older man to prevent him from following Larry out. “This is the master bedroom?”

  Everett met his eyes with a flat, level look. “Yeah.”

  “The room Anne shared with your nephew?”

  “Great nephew.”

  “You could have told me,” he said mildly.

  “None of your business. It’s the room we rent out. You agreed to rent it. Over and done.”

  The older man sidestepped Quince and limped past him, then started downstairs. The syncopated sound of his steps conveyed the difficulty he had with his leg.

  Everett was right. It was a straightforward transaction. They’d offered it and he’d accepted. It wasn’t like he’d requested this room.

  The room where Anne Hooper had slept with another ma— with her husband.

  Her husband.

  He pivoted and started for the stairs, too.

  None of his business.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Happy New Year!”

  It wasn’t yet the new year for them, but the crowd at the brand new Drago Community Computer Lab cheered lustily along with video streams of the Eastern Time Zone’s celebration.

  The core group had been celebrating most of the day, with time zone after time zone reporting in as it stepped into the new year.

  Mrs. Richards, in conjunction with friends she’d made in the past month around the globe while volunteering at the lab, had orchestrated the celebration. Zeke-Techers helped set up the communications, including web cameras, and the good people of Drago contributed food, spirits, and designated drivers.

  Drago’s turn to celebrate its New Year would come at the top of the next hour.

  For now, Quince was enjoying watching conversations spill from Mrs. Richards to Wales, from Malaysia to young tech whiz Warren Wellton, and from Turkey to Malcolm Cottle, a high school counselor who coordinated classes at the lab. And then the conversations crossed and mingled.

  Zeke and Darcie were part of a group near the heavily laden buffet table, along with their high school classmate and friend, Jennifer Truesdale, and her significant other, Trent Stenner.

  High school aged kids also mixed in, a good percentage of them from the football team that Trent helped coach. Larry and a couple other Zeke-Techers were talking with Jorge O’Fallon from Stenner Autos and Ted Warinke, who owned the hardware store.

  Quince spotted a flurry of activity at the front door, sending an eddy through the crowded room as three newcomers made their way inside.

  “Ms. Irish! Ms. Irish!” called the first one in, a high school senior named Fay O’Hearn.

  She was trailed by a man and woman, both beaming.

  Years of habit as the designated people person among the three Zeke-Tech founders had Quince edging through the crowd to reach Vanessa Irish’s side at the same time the girl did.

  But Vanessa didn’t look beleaguered, as she usually did in social situations.

  Another way her relationship with Josh Kincannon had changed her.

  Her relationship with Josh, and his three kids, Quince supposed.

  He didn’t know if she’d voluntarily opened up to the Kincannon family, or if it had been a coup, but either way, being drawn into their clan had relaxed her as never before in the years he’d known her.

  The smile she gave Fay provided further evidence of that.

  “It came in today’s mail,” Fay was saying. “Aunt Rose and Uncle Al brought it to me at work — I was helping serve at a party — and when I opened it, they said I could come to tell you — I got it! All the financial aid I need. My first-choice school. I wasn’t even sure I’d get in — and then to get it all.”

  The girl flung herself on Vanessa.

  Quince put a hand to Vanessa’s back to keep her from staggering into the people behind them. She steadied herself quickly, and hugged the girl back.

  “That’s wonderful, Fay. You deserve it. You worked hard.”

  “If it hadn’t been for you, it never would have happened. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, and for you to be so generous—” The girl broke off on a sob and hugged Vanessa again, even tighter.

  The man who had to be the uncle Fay mentioned reached them, grabbing Vanessa’s hand from Fay’s shoulder and pumping it. “All you’ve done, all you’ve done.”

  The aunt put an arm around Fay, then pressed Vanessa’s hand, still caught in Uncle Al’s grip. “Oh, Ms. Irish, we can’t thank you enough.”

  “All you’ve done, all you’ve done for our Fay,” the man kept saying, pumping Vanessa’s hand.

  “So wonderful!”

  “An angel.”

  Quince saw two things then — the scene was about to overflow Vanessa’s comfort level and Josh had nearly reached them, his gaze on Vanessa.

  “Hey, Josh, did you hear Fay’s great news?” Quince’s question drew Josh’s gaze — only for a second, but long enough to see they were on the same track. “I bet everybody here would like to know — maybe a general announcement?”

  “Absolutely. C’mon, Fay, let’s get to the front.” Josh wrapped an arm around Fay, detaching her from Vanessa. He pressed his other hand to Vanessa’s shoulder for an instant, before using it to corral the aunt and uncle.

  Quince eased Vanessa toward a line of chairs at the edge of the room, where they sat, out of sight, as Vanessa generally preferred.

  Josh hushed the crowd, got the computers muted, then made the announcement.

  The room erupted into cheers and congratulations.

  Vanessa smiled and put a hand to her heart, a gesture Quince had never seen from her before.

  As the tumult eased, she faced him. “You always do that, Quince.”

  “Do what?”

  “Step in like that, when things get … emotional, and I get uncomfortable.”

  He smiled. Vanessa noticing it was a major change. “Maybe I do.”

  “You do,” she said.

  On the other hand, she hadn’t changed entirely. She remained blunt.

  “Okay, I do. So where are the kids toni—?”

  Before he could complete the sentence, she said, “Xena’s at a sleepover. Topher and Livvy are with Josh’s aunt. You step in and then you back off.”

  He stilled. Just for a breath, but he saw her recognize it.

  “I always thought it was because I was uncomfortable and you were doing it for me. But you’re uncomfortable, too,” she said with something like wonder. “Peter Quincy uncomfortable? Mr. Smooth?”

  “Mr. Smooth?” he murmured with most of his usual humor.

  It didn’t deflect her. “Some of the employees call you that. Why are you uncomfortable?”

  Blunt could land a blow when you were on the receiving end. His chuckle wasn’t quite right. He heard it. Hoped she didn’t.

  “We all have our moments, Vanessa. Even Mr. Smooth.”

  He saw sympathy and regret sweep across her face. “Oh, Quince. I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “I never noticed. You’ve been a good friend to me all these years, and I ne
ver — never noticed you. Not really.”

  His mouth quirked. “Don’t apologize, Vanessa. You have no idea what a safe haven you’ve been.”

  “Oh. You mean because emotions never entered into the equation.” She considered her own words, then frowned. “But, Quince, with the executive coaching and, uh, other things, I might not be a safe haven any more for you.”

  He laughed. It sounded and felt fine. “I’ll muddle along, Vanessa.” Then he sobered. “As long as other things make you happy.”

  She smiled slowly. “They scare me to death, but they do make me happy.”

  Josh reappeared, and Vanessa’s expression proved the inadequacy of happy.

  Quince felt a twist of concern. Vanessa was a special woman, not used to romantic entanglements. This man better treat her right or—

  Quince saw Josh’s expression and his protectiveness eased.

  “Hey! Everybody listen up!” It was Darcie, using her cop voice. “There’s another announcement.”

  As the crowd settled to whispers, the forest of shoulders and heads parted for an instant, and Quince saw Trent Stenner with his arm around Jennifer Truesdale and both wearing huge grins.

  A teenage girl who could only be Jennifer’s daughter stood to one side, until Trent gripped her shoulder and guided her in front of him. She wore that uniquely teenage expression of being simultaneously pissed to be ordered to join in and pleased to be included.

  “Jennifer and Ashley have agreed that the three of us should be a family,” Trent said. “We’re getting married this summer.”

  Jennifer said something to him, and he added, “I’m told it will be a small, casual wedding.”

  It was almost lost in the surge of voices and bodies as it seemed everyone in the packed room tried to reach them simultaneously.

  Quince, deciding he’d wait to add his congratulations, turned back to Vanessa in time to see her share a long look with Josh.

  He’d worked a lot of years with Vanessa, and he’d wager he was pretty close in his interpretation: It was an acknowledgement that they weren’t there — there being where Trent and Jennifer were. Not yet.

  But it held another acknowledgement, too. They both hoped they would get there together. Soon.

  “Okay with you if we head out right after the New Year?” Josh asked Vanessa in a tone that indicated there’d be private celebrating going on.

  “Yes.”

  Quince turned away, stepping into the crowd with no particular destination in mind, but he still heard the amusement — and more — in Josh’s voice as he said:

  “Good. Because there definitely comes a time when being part of a community is too much of a good thing.”

  Quince’s lack of a destination ended when he spotted Anne Hooper.

  Interesting. When he’d left the farmhouse before dinner, neither she nor Everett planned to join the celebration.

  As usual, she wore jeans, a shirt, and boots. But this combo was different. For starters, it wasn’t built for durability. If any piece of this outfit had seen the inside of the barn it hadn’t been often. The jeans fit well, the boots shone, and the cream shirt gave the impression that you could see through it if you looked hard enough.

  He’d swear she was even wearing makeup and she definitely had fresh, dark red polish on her nails.

  She was turning away from the throng still surrounding Jennifer and Trent, apparently deciding to wait until later to reach them.

  Of course she’d want to congratulate them. As Darcie had told him, Anne did the books at the recently re-opened car dealership that Trent owned and Jennifer ran.

  Tonight, he’d heard a number of other things about her.

  None of it was hugely illuminating, but he’d found that understanding people was like a jigsaw puzzle. You had to gather a lot of pieces before you could hope to assemble them into any sort of order.

  He’d heard what a hard worker she was. That the Hoopers had been in the county forever. She kept herself to herself — no surprise there. And a hint of something about the farm he couldn’t pin down.

  Chatting with Mrs. Richards’ friend and Josh’s babysitter Mrs. Mudge, he’d slipped in a statement about Anne taking over the farm when her husband died.

  “Yes. That was a shame. She’d been good for him,” she said.

  That seemed promising, but before he could explore it, someone called to her, she patted his arm, and moved on.

  Now, he plotted his route to intercept Anne.

  The shifting crowd knocked him off course a time or two, but here she was — slipping between two backs, heading in the direction of the exit.

  He stepped in front of her, plugging her escape route.

  “Glad you decided to come, Anne.”

  She looked up and frowned slightly. “Wasn’t my idea. Everett insisted the Hoopers be represented.”

  “After the unkind things he had to say about computers and New Years? I’m astonished.”

  He was half-distracted as he said that, having another matter on his mind.

  That shirt lied.

  It wasn’t see-through. No matter how hard you looked.

  “You seemed to have planted the idea in his head that he had to move with the times or be left behind,” she said, accusingly. He raised his hands, declaring his innocence. She relented slightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to have been here to hear Jennifer and Trent’s news. I’d hoped to tell them how happy I am for them, but there’s such a crowd, I gave up.”

  “Glad you did, since it brought you my way.”

  For a moment their eyes met and held.

  He saw … something. Gone too fast to grab hold of. And replaced in that instant by her intention to end the conversation, not to mention whatever he’d seen in those eyes.

  Before she could, however, the man on her right, who’d had his back to them, turned, revealing a round, self-satisfied face topped by lank hair and a wide and unconvincing smile.

  “Ah, Anne Hooper, how nice to see you. Happy New Year.”

  If the sound that came from Anne’s throat was the man’s name, it sounded remarkably like a growl. The man didn’t seem to notice, already extending his hand to Quince.

  “And you must be Peter Quincy of Zeke-Tech. I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m Bob Chitmell of First Guaranty Security Trust of Drago.”

  Quince shook his hand and gave the normal responses, while most of his attention remained on the rumbling volcano of a woman at his side.

  The guy’s ruse of saying hello to her in order to introduce himself to a Zeke-Tech exec was blatant, but didn’t seem volcano-worthy.

  “In fact, I’m surprised we haven’t met before now,” the man was saying.

  “I’m sure your focus is less on the newcomers and more on what’s always sustained this area — farming.”

  “Farming,” the man repeated with a snort. “You know how to make a million farming? Start with two million and work real hard.”

  He laughed, not noticing or not caring that he laughed alone. Quince thought he heard a hiss from Anne.

  Chitmell went on. “But a local outlook can fine-tune an enterprise like yours. Even such charitable efforts as this computer lab would benefit from an experienced local eye.”

  That caught Quince’s attention on a couple levels.

  This Bob thought pretty darned highly of himself to be talking of fine-tuning, Zeke-Tech.

  Less amusing was the man’s tone and manner in dismissing the computer lab.

  That meant he was not the brightest bulb in the pack, since he was simultaneously putting down Zeke-Tech’s charity and all the work put in by the citizens of his own town.

  “They’ve done a damned fine job with the computer lab without you, Bob,” Anne said. “If you wanted to lend your experienced eye to helping Drago, you could have done it any time these past five years.”

  “Ah, if only a banker had the choice of doing what he’d like to do instead of what he must.”

  Quince had no
doubt about the effect that oily response had on the fire burning in Anne’s eyes.

  Unobtrusively, he started to put himself between the two of them. He needn’t have bothered. Bob stepped in close to him, cutting Anne out.

  “But I do hope we can talk—”

  “You know, Bob, you should meet Zeke — Zeke Zeekowsky, the CEO of Zeke-Tech. If you’d like to, of course.” With no doubt of the answer, he took the man by the arm to turn him away.

  “Sure. I’d like to meet him,” the banker said with would-be cool, though the self-satisfaction ruined the effort.

  “I thought I saw him — yes, over there.” Quince gestured Bob to go ahead of him, in the direction of the tallest man in the room.

  He shot a look at Anne and said in a low voice, “Stay here,” then followed the banker toward Zeke, who had no idea he was about to be sacrificed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a good minute, Anne stood, aware of activity and movement around her, but not part of it.

  Like a lone tree in a flooded field, potentially threatened by the force of all that surrounded her. Vulnerable to uprooting and floating away to nothingness.

  She jerked her shoulders straight.

  That might be the tree’s fate. Not hers.

  She didn’t take orders from Peter Quincy. She didn’t take orders from anybody … except maybe Everett sometimes, but that was different.

  Just because Peter Quincy was the sort of man who could finagle things to get that upgraded internet service so fast — on New Year’s Eve day, no less — did not affect the way the universe spun.

  Stay here, my ass.

  True, he and Everett handled everything with the installation while she was out in the barn trying to decide if they could salvage one useable combine out of the two pieces of junk they had, so she wasn’t inconvenienced the least by it.

  After that it would have seemed churlish not to include him in supper tonight. Besides, it wasn’t like he could go around the corner to a restaurant to eat.

  And somehow during supper it had come to be settled that Peter Quincy would be a regular at all their meals.

  It had happened without her ever being able to say no without sounding like the meanest person since the Wicked Witch of the West — the “Wizard of Oz” version, not the reconstructionist musical version.