The Wild One, page 8
"Yes, you heard correctly," Rachel replied, only just managing to keep the dryness out of her tone. She glanced at her wristwatch. "She's over in the other section, but I'm expecting her back any minute."
The sound of the loader at work had been silent for a couple of minutes, so Quinn was probably on her way back right now.
A small frown of irritation crossed Laurel's face. She also checked the time on the diamond-encrusted watch on her slim wrist. "I guess I can wait then. If you don't think she'll be long."
"She shouldn't be." Rachel knew she could walk over and fetch Quinn, tell her she had a visitor, but with Phil busy with a customer it would leave the office unattended. As there seemed no urgency, Rachel decided Laurel could wait the short time it would take Quinn to walk back to the Garden Center.
"Would you like to sit down? There's a chair in the office."
Laurel glanced in the direction of Rachel's office with barely concealed distaste.
"Or you can look around," Rachel added with some relish. She wasn't sure which would horrify Laurel the most. Sitting in the office or wandering around among the plants.
Laurel's gaze moved over the rows of healthy potted plants, her expression telling Rachel she was totally unmoved by the kaleidoscope of variegated colors. "Oh, I'll just... I might look around," she said and, without a backward glance at Rachel, she walked carefully over to the cacti section.
Rachel shrugged and returned to her office. When Phil finished with his customer, no doubt his good looks and charm would be more appealing to Laurel Greenwood.
Unless Colleen's insinuations were true, that Quinn and Laurel had been more than friends. But Laurel was married and had been for at least ten years. If there was anything in what Colleen intimated, then it would have simply been the experimenting of adolescents. Wouldn't it?
For some reason Rachel didn't care to dwell on that particular question. But she did wonder if Quinn and Laurel had been in touch at all over the years. Quinn certainly hadn't mentioned the young woman who had been her best friend. Yet why would she? Rachel asked herself disdainfully. There was no reason why Quinn should treat Rachel as a confidante.
Rachel touched her keyboard and brought up the accounts she'd been working on before Laurel arrived. It was none of her business, she told herself reproachfully, and she made herself concentrate on her work.
But she was also aware that she was listening for the sound of the opening of the gate between the two sections of the Landscaping Center. The gate squeaked, the hinges needing attention. Rachel and Phil had both been meaning to fix it.
"Well, roll out the red carpet," Phil said sotto voce from the doorway. "Our presence has been graced by her ladyship."
Rachel looked up from her computer.
"The lovely Mrs. Mike Greenwood," he explained with an indication of his head. "I saw you talking to her."
"Oh. Laurel. Yes, she's waiting to see Quinn," Rachel said evenly.
"So she told me before she firmly dismissed me." He looked back into the Garden Center. "Nice packaging, but no center, that one. What does she want with Quinn?"
"Just visiting, I guess. They were friends at school."
"They were? I would have said Quinn was younger," he remarked and paused as he went to walk away. "Rachel?"
Rachel looked up from her screen again.
"Steve told me about Quinn being in jail. I vaguely remember my mother writing to me and telling me about Mark Herron getting killed, but I just didn't associate that with Quinn. She must..." He frowned. "It must be pretty difficult carrying all that around with you."
"Yes, it must," Rachel agreed.
"I guess we all did stupid things when we were young. Most of us didn't get caught or were lucky enough to get away with it without any damage to ourselves or others. What I mean is, Quinn's done her time, and I just wanted to say I'm glad you gave her the job, Rachel. She's great to work with."
Rachel nodded, and Phil walked away.
Only minutes later Rachel heard the squeak of the gate. She shifted in her seat so she could look out the window.
Quinn walked toward the office with her long strides, her short dark hair shining in the sunlight, and something shifted in the region of Rachel's heart. Quinn looked lean and healthy, and the smile she turned on Rachel as she came through the office door made Rachel's mouth go dry. A warm flush of pleasure colored her cheeks.
"Hi, boss." Quinn greeted Rachel. "Old Mr. Sorenson was just in to collect his forest mulch. He's singing Ken's praises over the retaining wall and paving he's just finished. Another satisfied customer."
"That's good to hear. George Sorenson isn't easy to please. Ah, Quinn ..." Rachel paused. "There's someone to see you."
Quinn raised her eyebrows. "To see me? Who?"
"Laurel Greenwood."
The expression on Quinn's face froze, and Rachel was sure the other woman paled slightly.
"Laurel?" Quinn said softly and then seemed to pull herself together.
"She's out in the Garden Center." Rachel watched Quinn turn to glance out the window. "Have you seen her since . . . since you came home?"
Quinn's gaze returned to Rachel, and she shook her head slightly.
"Do you want to wait here and I'll send her in?" Rachel offered. Quinn frowned.
"No. I'll just..." She indicated the door and went to walk away. Then she stopped and turned back to Rachel. "I won't be long."
"Take as long as you like."
Quinn stood silently for long moments before turning and leaving the office.
Before Rachel could prevent herself, she stood up and followed Quinn to the door, watched her pause and glance around, catch sight of Laurel and walk toward her. Rachel guiltily returned to her desk, ashamed of herself. She had no right to spy on Quinn. She made herself concentrate on her accounts, and it was closing time before she caught up on all her paperwork.
Rachel waited while Quinn locked the gates and climbed into the station wagon beside her. She put the car in gear and turned out of the parking lot, following Phil's four-wheel-drive up the road.
They were halfway home before Quinn spoke.
"Laurel was my best friend," she said softly. "Right from first grade."
"Yes, I know."
"You hung out with Janey Watson, didn't you?"
Rachel nodded. "We were friends, too, from the day I started school here after Mum and I came back to town. Janey and her husband live in Mount Isa at the moment. They have four kids, and Janey and I still keep in touch."
"Laurel and I were . . . pretty tight."
Rachel sat silently, waiting for Quinn to continue, and she realized her hands were gripping the steering wheel. She made herself relax a little, knowing she was half-afraid of any confidence Quinn might want to share.
"You know, the only thing I remember from that night was, well, afterward." Quinn shifted in her seat, adjusted her seat belt. "Looking for Laurel." She ran her hands absently along her thighs, let her hands rest on her knees, her long, thin fingers in Rachel's peripheral vision.
"I still have nightmares about it. Of the absolute darkness. The silence. The smell of petrol and beer and blood. And desperately looking for Laurel."
Rachel slowed the car and took the road leading up to the estate, past a clump of leafy gum trees that overlooked the river. At the height of summer the river was barely a creek, shallow potholes of water strung among the rocks and sandy silt that made up the watercourse. Not far from here the creek branched off the river, the same creek that flowed close by the road where Quinn's accident had happened. Rachel headed the car up the hill.
"Becky wrote and told me when Laurel got married." Quinn sighed. "Laurel said they had a big house up on the hill behind town. And that sports car she was driving, Mike gave it to her for her birthday."
Rachel felt her lips twist.
"Seems she's done well for herself," said Quinn, her tone completely inscrutable.
"Yes, I suppose she has," Rachel agreed inadequately.
"I could never picture Laurel marrying Mike Greenwood. I mean, she couldn't stand him."
Rachel felt Quinn looking at her and she glanced sideways, her gaze momentarily meeting Quinn's.
"Life's funny, isn't it? You always seemed to fob off Rob Weston, and then you married him. And back then when Mike started showing an interest in Laurel, she said he was a stuck-up rich kid, told him to take a hike. Then she married him."
Rachel shifted uneasily in her seat. Yes, she'd married Rob, but she'd hazard a guess that Laurel hadn't married Mike for the same reason that Rachel had married Rob. Or had she? Did she have more in common with Laurel than anyone knew?
Turning the car into the driveway, Rachel used the remote to open the garage door.
"They, Laurel and Mike, have three boys." Quinn gave a soft laugh as Rachel stopped the car inside the garage and turned off the engine. "I also can't imagine Laurel with kids. Never in a million years would I have seen her as a mother figure. But then again, no doubt she felt the same about me having Katie. She said as much."
They both climbed out of the car, Quinn following Rachel into the house as the garage door slid down behind them. Quinn walked over to the door between the house and the unit.
"Quinn." Rachel said quickly. "I . . . Want to share a salad?"
Quinn looked back at Rachel, her hand on the doorknob. "I can't tonight." Her eyes didn't meet Rachel's. "But thanks, Rachel. I'm going out tonight."
"Oh. That's okay then. I'll see you tomorrow."
Quinn gave a nod. "Love changes everything, doesn't it?" she said cryptically as she disappeared into her unit.
Quinn and Rachel were in the pool after what had turned out to be a very long day for both of them. Quinn had driven up to the farm to see Katie, stayed the night, and driven back in time to start work this morning. And Rachel had slept badly, alone in the house, refusing to acknowledge the thought that she had missed Quinn's presence in the adjoining unit.
Apart from that, she couldn't seem to prevent herself from thinking about Quinn and Laurel, seeing them as carefree teenagers, as the adults they were today. And she wondered for the hundredth time where Quinn had gone that night after Laurel appeared at the Garden Center.
Had Quinn arranged to meet Laurel? Rachel was disgusted with herself for the direction of her thoughts, yet she couldn't seem to reign in her fertile imagination. And she'd had to drag herself out of bed to go to work this morning.
On top of that they'd been so busy at the Garden Center today they'd all barely had time for more than a hurried snack on the run at lunchtime.
As the day passed, clouds formed and the humidity rose, making everyone hot, sticky, and irritable. So when Quinn had suggested stopping at a local casual restaurant for dinner when they finally left the Garden Center, Rachel couldn't get into the air-conditioned restaurant quick enough.
By the time they arrived home, by mutual consent, they both headed outside for a swim.
Quinn leaned back against the side of the pool and ran her fingers through her wet hair.
Chapter Twelve
"This is the coolest I've been all day. What a scorcher." She looked across at Rachel. "I had a good time up at the farm again yesterday, and the car's running much better since Charlie had a look at it. Your mother-in-law and her husband are very nice people."
"I knew you'd like Rose and Charlie. They're two of the kindest people I know," Rachel agreed, submerging herself to her chin in the cool, silky water. "And I'm glad you feel confident enough to leave Katie up there with them."
"When Rose let Katie hold one of those little yellow chicks last weekend I knew I was lost," Quinn said wryly.
"I noticed."
"It's difficult to, you know, I just want Katie to have a . . ." Quinn shook her head. "If I say I just want Katie to have a better life than I had, it sounds as though I had a miserable, deprived childhood. But I didn't, really." She slid a glance at Rachel. "Not like Johnno and Liam and Becky did."
Rachel didn't know what to say.
"Everyone said my father had mellowed a bit by the time I arrived," Quinn continued. "But he'd still knock Johnno or Liam across the room if they looked sideways at him. Liam became an expert at making himself scarce, but my father was always hardest on Johnno."
"Did he ever hit you?" Rachel asked quietly.
Quinn shrugged. "Occasionally. Not like he took to the boys and Becky, though." She gave a mirthless laugh. "Now that's something for the psychologists. He physically abused the other three but usually left me alone. They turned out to be model citizens, while I'm the only bad apple in the Farrelly barrel."
"You were never that," Rachel said quickly. "Just, well, high-spirited."
Quinn laughed. "There are a lot of people who would say you were being too kind, Rachel. I'm afraid I was a lost cause back then."
Rachel knew this had been the general consensus.
"But I distinctly remember the last time my father hit my mother. I mean, he still got drunk and abusive, but I never saw him hit her again." Quinn went on. "I guess I must have been four or five because Johnno would have been Kerrod's age.
"Dad had been drinking all afternoon, and Becky and my mother were cooking dinner. Looking back, I can see that when my father started to drink the whole house seemed to take on a gathering pressure. It was sort of poised, waiting for the explosion. My mother looked drawn and pinched. We kids kept as out of the way as we could.
"Anyway, that particular evening I hid under the kitchen table when I heard Dad coming. He abused my mother about what she'd cooked, and food and crockery went flying.
"Then he slapped my mother and she fell backward onto the stove, seared her arm on the burner. My mother and Becky were crying; my father was swearing. And then Johnno came home. When he saw what was happening, he went berserk. He'd never retaliated until that night. He yelled at Dad that he was a drunkard and a coward. Fists started flying, and my mother was screaming.
"The neighbors must have called the police, as they usually had to do, but by the time they arrived my father was out cold and Johnno had a broken hand from hitting him.
"I remember looking at my father lying there in the mess on the kitchen floor and thinking he was dead. I thought they'd take Johnno away and we'd never be safe. That's when I added to the pandemonium by getting hysterical. It took two cops to pry my arms from around Johnno's leg." Quinn grimaced. "Just another day with your typical dysfunctional family."
"I'm sorry, Quinn," Rachel said, feeling inadequate. "It must have been awful for you."
Quinn shook her head. "You know, when I was young I used to be so angry all the time, mostly with my mother. Which was unreasonable. But I could never figure out why she stayed with him, or why she didn't at least fight back. In retrospect, I think my mother had given up long before I was born. Maybe she stayed in the beginning because she cared, but in the end she didn't leave because she didn't care."
They were silent for long seconds.
"But I was devastated when I couldn't get home for my mother's funeral." A long sigh escaped from Quinn's lips. "I'd had a couple of scares during my pregnancy when they thought I might miscarry. When Becky rang me and told me Mum had died I was in hospital, due to have Katie by caesarian the day of the funeral.
"I wanted to drive home, but Becky told me in no uncertain terms to do no such thing. The decision was taken out of my hands because I went into labor that night and Katie was born the next morning. So there was no way I could make it to the funeral."
Her gaze met Rachel's. "When I got pregnant with Katie I swore I'd never put either of us in the sort of situation I'd been in as a child."
"Was that. . .?" Rachel swallowed. "Was that why you left Katie's father?"
Rachel couldn't see Quinn's expression in the almost darkness, but she felt an invisible barrier come down between them.
"No," Quinn said at last. "No, that wasn't the reason." She glanced at Rachel and away again. "I guess we just didn't love each other enough."
Rachel wanted to ask more, but at that moment a flash of lightning lit the tumble of clouds across the sky.
"Oh! Ho! Looks like the promised storm has arrived." Quinn turned and put the palms of her hands on the edge of the pool, effortlessly springing out of the water.
Thunder growled around them, and Rachel moved over to the steps to find Quinn there before her. Quinn leaned down and offered Rachel her hand. Rachel took it and, with a tug, Quinn propelled her up and out onto the side of the pool.
Suddenly Rachel realized they were barely a foot apart, and she instinctively went to step backward. Quinn reached out, took hold of Rachel again, steadying her so she didn't overbalance backward into the water.
Quinn's hands rested on the curve of Rachel's hips, and now Rachel's body was mere inches from Quinn's. They stood immobile, the space between them alive, as charged as the air surging about the burgeoning clouds above them.
Rachel's entire body tensed, waiting for Quinn to move toward her, wanting her to so badly.
Another bright flash lit the sky as the first large drops of rain splashed down on their damp bodies.
"We'll get wet," Rachel said inanely.
"Yes," Quinn replied, her voice low and throaty, and her hands set Rachel free.
They made a dash for the shelter of the patio roof as the rain came teeming down.
"Not that we could get much wetter," Quinn shouted above the noise of the rain beating down upon the unlined roof.
Rachel made a pretence of laughing. Her entire body burned, tension holding her stiffly. Her nerve endings drummed in tune with the rain as she yearned for Quinn's touch, the feel of Quinn's body against her own. If only she had the courage to . . .
"We'd better go inside," Quinn said at last. "See you in the morning."
Rachel nodded, unable to trust her voice. And then Quinn was ducking under the carport and disappearing through the back door of the unit, leaving Rachel on her own with her tortured thoughts.
Turning unsteadily, Rachel went inside. She stood in the laundry and automatically peeled off her wet swimsuit. When she was naked she began to towel herself dry.
