His smile vanished. If only Robert MacGregor hadn’t fucked it all up.
With a frustrated sigh, Quinn got up and went to change into something a bit cleaner than yesterday’s travel clothes. He needed to go see Aunt Karen before she came looking for him, and he had to go get her a nice bottle of wine first. It would be the only way she wouldn’t give him grief for not waiting for her yesterday.
Aunt Karen was a force of nature, which was why Uncle Ian still called hermo chridheeven after decades together. They weren’t lovebirds by any means, but they were still very fond of each other and it showed. Now, how their only child had managed to evolve from a horny teenager into a serial monogamist—yes, Quinn’s mother gossiped sometimes—Quinn didn’t know.
Hell, in some ways, Jimmy could’ve been Robert’s son, they were that similar. Except that Robert had never been monogamous, as far as Quinn knew. He hoped the man would rot in his cell.
One of the things Quinn hated the most about Spruce Creek was the way the town reminded him that he had a father. It was easy to push the man out of his mind most of the time. Hell, he didn’t have the time or energy to think about Robert in his normal life. He had one parent and that was it. But being in town, all of it reminded him of the bastard.
By the time he stepped into the liquor store, he was frowning and pissed off at Spruce Creek, and he knew Aunt Karen would be able to read him like a book. She’d always been like that.
There was a guy in the store, someone with dark hair, crutches, and a pinned-up pants leg. Much like he should’ve, the clerk was helping him. Quinn expected a wait, not that he minded, but the clerk came to him anyway.
“Hey, what’s Karen MacGregor’s favorite wine?”
The clerk frowned briefly, likely at the name MacGregor, and then walked a few steps to pick up a top shelf wine. “This is the one she gets for special occasions.”
It was expensive, of course it was, but that didn’t matter. This was the money Quinn didn’t mind spending.
“I’ll take it. Thanks.” On his way to the till, he glanced at the guy with the crutches, but his back was still to Quinn. He didn’t seem familiar, and Quinn wasn’t one to ask the clerk, not like most of the people around here. The town was full of gossipers, probably because it was the only legal way to have fun in this godforsaken town.
* * * *
With his bottle of apologies, Quinn knocked on the door, wondering why the parking lot was so empty. Only what he assumed was Karen’s vehicle—because it was a dark pink Prius—sat by the side path to the house. His own beat-up, decade-old Chevy Tahoe looked like it had been through more than Quinn himself.
At least being alone with Aunt Karen gave him the chance to be candid with her. Well, and she with him. She’d always given the best advice, whether it was about keeping an eye on his dad’s temper or his biggest secret.
“There you are!” Aunt Karen pulled him into a hug as soon as she’d opened the door.
The familiar feeling of being squished against her ample bosom made Quinn laugh.
“Hey, Auntie,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “I brought you flowers,” he joked, handing her the bottle.
“Oh my, how beautifully do they bloom!” She smiled and ushered him inside.
She placed the bottle carefully on the wine rack in the kitchen and turned around to look at him. She didn’t have to say anything, he knew what she was thinking.
“At least one of us looks younger than their years, vibrant, and well put together,” Quinn quipped, making her roll her eyes.
She came to hug him again and this time held him close for much longer. When he relaxed in her arms, she patted his back and then let go. “There you are, my sweet Quinn.” Her eyes were filling with tears when she turned away again.
Quinn didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have the faintest idea of what he could talk about that would make the levity from a few minutes ago return.
“I love you,” Aunt Karen finally said.
“But?”
“But you shouldn’t have come back here.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, before gesturing for him to take a seat at the barstool by the island.
He sat and waited for her to bring him coffee—he still remembered the way she snapped at anyone who tried to serve themselves in her kitchen, even if it was just to grab a Coke from the fridge.
“What do you think he’ll do with the business?” Quinn asked, unable to keep his voice neutral. It sounded too sharp, but Karen wouldn’t mind.
She snorted. “I love my son, but he’s greedy. He doesn’t have the restraint his father does.”
“I assume Ian has been offered ways to…expand the business?” Quinn knew the answer already.
Aunt Karen smiled wryly. “Oh yes, more and more in the last five or so years. We’re in a good spot, an unassuming little town in a dried-up canyon in the mountains with several ways out of town,” she spoke as she went through the motions of putting on coffee.
