MICK SLID OUT of Quinn’s bed. It was crowded with him, Quinn, Coop, and Tink.

Especially since Tink was taking up more room than anyone else, mostly because Coop didn’t want to get within hissing range.

Behind him, only Quinn stirred and sat up, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous in the puddle of moonlight and wearing nothing but a sated glow and some whisker burn at her throat, breasts, and between her thighs. Just the sight stirred him again, but he’d delayed long enough already.

“You’re leaving?” she murmured.

He pulled up his jeans and left them unfastened as he searched around for his shirt, finding it on top of her lamp. Shaking his head, he snatched it and pulled it on. Then he met her gaze and her smile faded.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re leaving.”

That had been the plan. Especially since Quinn had so clearly pulled away and he’d promised himself to respect her barriers.

But that had been before her “I love you,” the one she hadn’t meant to say but that he couldn’t un-hear because it had given him something he hadn’t had all that much of in his life—hope.

All he had to do was give her the space and time she needed to catch up to him. He could do that.

He would do that.

“I’ve got a meeting in the morning,” he said.

“So you’re going to drive home in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t mind.” He planted a hand on either side of her hips and leaned in to kiss her.

She kissed him back, which was gratifying. As was the way she wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, deepening the kiss. When he reluctantly pulled back, he wasn’t the only one breathless. He gently touched his forehead to hers. “Quinn.”

She made a soft sound and kissed him some more, until he wanted to strip back down and climb into bed again, but before he could, she gave him a push. “You’ve gotta go.”

What else could he say to that?

IT WAS THREE in the morning when he finally got home to his high-rise condo in the city. He grabbed a few hours of sleep in the bed that felt too big to be in alone.

His phone woke him at six thirty.

“Your gut’s right, as usual,” Colin said. “The construction companies contracted to build the two new Wildstone motels and the brand-spanking-new community center that’s about to break ground were the only companies contacted. The locals weren’t given a chance to bid. I went snooping into the city manager’s finances.”

“And?”

“Over the past two years, he’s paid off his rather large mortgage, put in a pool, bought himself a new car, a motor home, and a motorcycle. All high end. All paid for up front. He also went to Cabo, Maui, and the Bahamas. No credit card debt.”

“Kickbacks?”

“Unless he won the lotto.”

That Mick’s suspicions were true didn’t make him feel any better. First of all, Wildstone was still in trouble. It couldn’t really sustain two new motels, and it wasn’t a good time to build a community center when so many businesses were in trouble. It was an unnecessary expense in uncertain times. “This isn’t good.”

“Not for the city manager, no,” Colin said. “You going to stir up the hornet’s nest?”

Mick had already done so, intentionally or not, first by buying up the properties and leasing them back to the current businesses, and then at the city hall meeting when all that had become public knowledge.

“You still going to buy the Wild West B and B you’re staying at, the one that’s going under?” Colin asked. “I mean, that is the reason you’re staying there and not somewhere nicer down the highway, right?”

Mick blew out a breath. The building itself was a historical monument, which meant that hopefully it couldn’t be destroyed, but Mick didn’t want to take a chance on that if the B & B went under. “Probably,” he said.

“I figured.” Colin sounded amused. “Sucker.”

Mick disconnected and shook his head. Colin didn’t know the half of it. Because if Quinn had trouble managing the café or the house and ran into financial problems, he’d do what he could there as well.

The definition of sucker.

Shit. He had it bad. He looked at his phone and realized he had a missed call and a message that he played back.

“Mick Hennessey,” came a voice he knew all too well. It was rougher than his son Boomer’s, but Tom had the same sarcastic, wry tone. “You’ve been busy, butting into my business. Too bad you didn’t stick around to see it through. You always did run away like a little girl.”

Mick hit redial before he thought it through and when Tom answered with a knowing low laugh, Mick knew he’d made a mistake.

He’d shown his hand. After all these years of learning the hard way how to hide his emotions and feelings, one voice mail had turned him back into an idiot teenager who put it all out there for the world to see.

But if Mick had shown his hand—and his weakness—then so had Tom. “Don’t mistake my absence for running,” he said. “Because I’m not gone.”

“You hate this town,” Tom said. “Stay out of it or you’ll regret it.”

“Was that a threat?”

“A promise,” Tom said, and disconnected.

Chapter 34

I miss when my mom would come into my room and ask why everything was on the floor and I’d say gravity.

—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”

To celebrate Tilly surviving the first day of finals, Quinn bought them pizza for dinner and then . . . gave Tilly her mom’s journal.

They were sitting on the couch in the living room and Tilly stared down at the bound book in her hands. “I forgot all about this.”

Quinn blinked. “You knew about it?”

“I used to watch Mom write in it all the time. She’d sit at the kitchen table with some hot tea and write down all her secrets.” Tilly ran her fingers over the cover, not opening it. “She used to say that when she died, I should sell it to Hollywood and insist on the starring role because I’d win an Oscar.” She lifted her gaze to Quinn’s and her eyes were damp. “She didn’t want me to read it, not until . . .” She shrugged and then shook her head and swiped an arm under her nose. “It’s what made me start my own journal.”

Quinn’s gut squeezed and she scooted closer, wrapping her arms around her sister. “I didn’t know you had a journal.”

“Yeah.” Tilly held herself still, hugging the journal as Quinn hugged her. And then slowly, she let her head drop to Quinn’s shoulder.

Just like Tink, and it broke Quinn’s heart. “You don’t have to read it now,” she said quietly. “You can hold on to it until you’re ready.”

Face still pressed into Quinn’s throat, Tilly nodded. And then let go of her two-handed grip on the journal to wrap an arm around Quinn to keep her close.

AN HOUR LATER, Quinn lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. She needed to talk to Tilly about their plans, but things kept derailing that conversation. Tilly wanted to play summer league softball. Greta and Trinee wanted a vacation, and Quinn would need to fill in. They needed more staff and she’d have to do the hiring. And then there was the fact that she hadn’t yet sold her car, so none of the house updates had been done.