The Mighty Quinns: Jamie. Kate Hoffmann

yellow Mercedes parked down the street. “Tell me, Mr. Quinn, what do you intend to build on my land? A nice little summer cottage for your wife and children?”

      Jamie chuckled. “No,” he said. “I don’t have a wife. Or children.”

      “Really?” She smiled. “I’m surprised. Why is that? You seem like a very nice man. Handsome. Successful.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “You’re dressed well. And you’re interested in my property, which won’t come cheap.”

      “I’m planning to build a model home, a modular design that my company produces. We’ll use the home for photos and to show investors. And when we don’t need it any longer, in three or four years, we’ll take it down and return the land to its original state.”

      “I could lease you the land,” she said. “But what if I wanted to keep the cottage? Maybe you could just leave it where it was?”

      “You’re a very shrewd woman, Miss Celia.”

      “I am.”

      Jamie helped her into her car, then jogged across the street to his pickup. He made a U-turn and tucked his truck in behind the Mercedes, following her down the main street and along to Shore Road, where they maintained a lazy pace through the tight curves that cut through the thick woods.

      He recognized the route. It had been the same path he’d taken that morning on his jog. His mind flashed back to his encounter with the brash but beautiful photographer.

      He’d meant to ask about her around town, see if anyone knew who she was. But until now, he hadn’t been sure he’d be staying in Pickett Lake. The resort community was quite close to Minneapolis, which made it an ideal location to build the model quickly. But it was also a small town, and he’d been aware that the chances of finding available and affordable land he could lease would be small. Running into Celia had been a godsend. And if he did secure a piece of property here, maybe he could get to know the intriguing photographer.

      He remembered that she was beautiful, and that the color of her eyes had been mesmerizing—a deep, emerald green. And her voice had been soft and melodic, as if she could persuade anyone she met to do her bidding.

      Even now, he could imagine that voice, teasing at his ear, saying his name, convincing him to let down his guard, to surrender to his—

      Jamie stopped himself. This was crazy. He hadn’t asked the woman’s name because he’d thought he was leaving town. Besides, he was the kind of guy who didn’t like to be tied down. He made it a point to avoid messy romances. He preferred women who wanted nothing more than a night or two of physical pleasure with long intervals between. But this woman was far too beautiful to settle for no-strings sex. He could imagine that she had men hanging on her every word, men lining up to date her. Men ready to pledge their lives to her.

      Hell, she was probably married. Or involved. Why hadn’t he lingered a bit longer and introduced himself?

      The brake lights on the old Mercedes flashed and Celia quickly slowed the car and pulled it into a narrow paved driveway, not far from where he’d met the photographer. Maybe Celia knew who she was. Jamie made a mental note to ask her just as soon as it wouldn’t seem strange.

      The house, or more accurately, the lodge, was made of logs and set in a wide clearing that overlooked the lake. Though he knew there were neighbors around, the trees were so thick that it gave the illusion of complete solitude and privacy.

      Celia pulled to a stop in the wide circle drive, then elegantly stepped from the car, smoothing her hands over her hair. Jamie had noticed her air of wealth in the hardware store, but after seeing her house, it was clear that Celia didn’t need the income from her land to be financially secure.

      Jamie hopped out of the truck and strolled over to stand next to her. “This is quite a place,” he said.

      “My late husband, Kenneth, built it so we could have the whole family here during the summers,” she explained. “But everyone has gone off in different directions, and my husband passed two years ago. The only time the house is full is at Thanksgiving, Christmas and on my birthday in July.”

      “How many children do you have?” Jamie asked.

      “I have five children and seventeen grandchildren,” Celia said. “Let’s walk out to the point first, and I’ll show you the land.”

      They walked around the house to a wide stone terrace that offered a picturesque view of the lake. A second-story deck surrounded the back of the house and stairs led up to a wall of windows. “This is beautiful,” Jamie said. “Like paradise.”

      “I used to think so. Now it’s just a big, empty house filled with memories.”

      Jamie pointed to a small building close to the lake. “Is that a boathouse?”

      “No, that’s a guest cabin. It was on the property when we bought it. My husband and I lived there while we were building the lodge.”

      “I need a place to stay while I’m building the model,” he said. “Would you consider renting the cabin?”

      “I suppose I could. The furnace isn’t working and the plumbing is turned off. But I could probably get it ready. When would you want to move in?”

      “Well, I have to get the permits to start building, and that could take a few weeks. But I have to finish before the end of October, or the weather is going to get bad and our investors might get antsy. So I’d probably be back in mid-October?” He laughed. “But I haven’t even seen the point yet. Maybe we should start with that.”

      As they walked along the lakeshore, Jamie explained the goals of his company, the need for simple ways to provide housing for the homeless and how lake cottages would help fund their altruistic aims.

      Celia listened intently, asking questions along the way. As he explained, her enthusiasm for the project seemed to grow.

      Once they arrived at the point, Jamie could tell it would be perfect. Now all they needed to do was come to terms and hope her family didn’t object.

       2

      REGAN FUSSED WITH the folds of the pretty crocheted baby blanket, then stepped back to check the composition of the photo.

      A local family had booked her new baby package and she’d spent the afternoon shooting the young couple and their infant daughter. They’d begun outdoors among the bright colors of fall, and now she was finishing up with mother and baby relaxing in a rocking chair in the nursery.

      “There,” she whispered. “Now, just turn your head slightly and look out the window.”

      Regan focused on the sleeping baby, her gaze taking in the precious details of the little girl’s features—the long lashes, the tiny nose, the Cupid’s bow lips. She swallowed hard as the usual flood of emotion hit her. It always did in moments like these, whenever she was shooting a baby.

      After Jake, she’d given up her dreams of a fairy-tale marriage. And she was content with the decision. She couldn’t imagine ever allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. But along with giving up on marriage, she’d also given up on children of her own in the near future. And occasionally that still stung.

      Someday, if she still wanted a baby, she’d have one. She didn’t need a husband, though she would have to find someone to donate the genetic material. But how hard could that be?

      As she peered through the camera, her mind drifted back to the man she’d met on the road a few weeks ago. Whenever she had a spare moment, she couldn’t help but think about him. He’d been just about the most exciting thing to happen in her life in the past year.

      She’d asked around town, a few discreet questions here and there, but no one had heard of any strangers staying in town. She’d