check and the ten-dollar bill he’d handed her. The bill had only been six dollars and twenty-six cents, and he’d toyed with giving her the ten and a penny, just to watch as she tried to figure out that she’d then owe him an even three dollars and seventy-five cents’ change. But then he decided that would just be plain mean.
“The meal was fine, thank you,” he told her as she turned to the cash register, sighed, and began punching in numbers with her beautifully manicured fingertip. “This is a nice place. Have you worked here long?”
“Hmmm?” she asked, still concentrating on what she was doing, then grinning as the drawer opened and she could count out his change. Okay, so he wasn’t one of the locals, or he wouldn’t have asked that question. He was just a very handsome man, passing through. How nice for him, and why did he have to be so nosy? “Have I worked here… ? Oh. Oh, yes, yes, I have. East Wapaneken born and bred, as they say.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Quinn raised one eyebrow as he looked at her, called her on her fib. “Must be a new cash register then,” he remarked, motioning toward the battered piece of machinery. “I mean, I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve been treating the thing as if it might bite you if you press the wrong button.”
“You’ve been watching me? Why?”
Well, that was better, Quinn decided. Never explain, Miss Taite, that’s the ticket. Just go on the attack, ask a question of your own. Keep this up, lady, and you might last out here in the big bad world for, oh, another twenty minutes or so.
“Sorry, force of habit, I guess,” he said, quickly falling back on his prepared story. “I’m a writer, you see. I guess watching people is just something I do. The human condition, all of that.”
Man, but she smelled good.
“A writer? Would that be for a newspaper? A magazine?”
He sensed her panic at coming face-to-face with the fear of discovery. He could tell her he wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer, then watch as those lovely brown eyes filled with panic. But that wouldn’t do him any good.
“I was,” he said instead. “I wrote for a magazine, that is, a travel magazine you probably never heard of. But now I write travel books, going around the country on road trips, writing about the people, the sights, the little out-of-the-way places like East Wapaneken . I’m my own boss, and it does pay the bills. I’m really glad I discovered this place, you know. Full of local color, that down-home, small-town ambiance eveiybody loves to read about even if they wouldn’t set foot outside their penthouses even to look in this direction. I guess you could call me the Charles Kuralt of the coffee-table book set. Oh, and please let me introduce myself. The name’s Delaney. Quinn Delaney.”
“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Delaney. Your change?”
Quinn stopped smiling, feeling as if he’d just described a great set of encyclopedias to the little lady of the house who was now going to slam the door in his face. Not only had he made no first impression on her, he was making a pretty damn lousy second first impression on her.
He really didn’t like this woman. Not even a little bit. Worse, he wasn’t even feeling sorry for the poor little rich girl anymore. Not now that she seemed to have landed on her feet. Yeah, landed on her feet, and taken a good job away from some poor schmuck who really needed it. No, he really didn’t like Shelby Taite.
“Sir? Your change?”
“Oh, right,” he said, taking the money; then he decided to push at her one more time. “Thanks. Say, you wouldn’t know of a good place to stay around here, would you? I’m figuring I’d like to make East Wapaneken sort of my home base as I tour the area, drink up the local flavor. I mean, you did say you’ve lived here all your life, right?”
He watched as Shelby almost visibly squirmed inside her designer suit that screamed “Made anywhere but East Wapaneken.”
“The meal was fine, thank you,” he told her as she turned to the cash register, sighed, and began punching in numbers with her beautifully manicured fingertip. “This is a nice place. Have you worked here long?”
“Hmmm?” she asked, still concentrating on what she was doing, then grinning as the drawer opened and she could count out his change. Okay, so he wasn’t one of the locals, or he wouldn’t have asked that question. He was just a very handsome man, passing through. How nice for him, and why did he have to be so nosy? “Have I worked here… ? Oh. Oh, yes, yes, I have. East Wapaneken born and bred, as they say.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Quinn raised one eyebrow as he looked at her, called her on her fib. “Must be a new cash register then,” he remarked, motioning toward the battered piece of machinery. “I mean, I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve been treating the thing as if it might bite you if you press the wrong button.”
“You’ve been watching me? Why?”
Well, that was better, Quinn decided. Never explain, Miss Taite, that’s the ticket. Just go on the attack, ask a question of your own. Keep this up, lady, and you might last out here in the big bad world for, oh, another twenty minutes or so.
“Sorry, force of habit, I guess,” he said, quickly falling back on his prepared story. “I’m a writer, you see. I guess watching people is just something I do. The human condition, all of that.”
Man, but she smelled good.
“A writer? Would that be for a newspaper? A magazine?”
He sensed her panic at coming face-to-face with the fear of discovery. He could tell her he wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer, then watch as those lovely brown eyes filled with panic. But that wouldn’t do him any good.
“I was,” he said instead. “I wrote for a magazine, that is, a travel magazine you probably never heard of. But now I write travel books, going around the country on road trips, writing about the people, the sights, the little out-of-the-way places like East Wapaneken . I’m my own boss, and it does pay the bills. I’m really glad I discovered this place, you know. Full of local color, that down-home, small-town ambiance eveiybody loves to read about even if they wouldn’t set foot outside their penthouses even to look in this direction. I guess you could call me the Charles Kuralt of the coffee-table book set. Oh, and please let me introduce myself. The name’s Delaney. Quinn Delaney.”
“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Delaney. Your change?”
Quinn stopped smiling, feeling as if he’d just described a great set of encyclopedias to the little lady of the house who was now going to slam the door in his face. Not only had he made no first impression on her, he was making a pretty damn lousy second first impression on her.
He really didn’t like this woman. Not even a little bit. Worse, he wasn’t even feeling sorry for the poor little rich girl anymore. Not now that she seemed to have landed on her feet. Yeah, landed on her feet, and taken a good job away from some poor schmuck who really needed it. No, he really didn’t like Shelby Taite.
“Sir? Your change?”
“Oh, right,” he said, taking the money; then he decided to push at her one more time. “Thanks. Say, you wouldn’t know of a good place to stay around here, would you? I’m figuring I’d like to make East Wapaneken sort of my home base as I tour the area, drink up the local flavor. I mean, you did say you’ve lived here all your life, right?”
He watched as Shelby almost visibly squirmed inside her designer suit that screamed “Made anywhere but East Wapaneken.”
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