Page 27 of Gabriel: Duke of Bencalor

She pulled a beer out of the re­frig­er­a­tor and un­screwed the top. “Let’s sit out­side.”

As the sun sank be­hind the high basalt wall at the back of her small yard, they set­tled on the stone pa­tio in the com­fort­able wicker chairs. The spicy fra­grance of vaho hi­bis­cus per­me­ated the air, and Quinn filled her lungs with it.

“A small Eden,” Pete said, swirling his whiskey in the glass as he fol­lowed the progress of a golden but­ter­fly from flower to flower.

Usu­ally, the ten­sion in Quinn’s neck and shoul­ders be­gan to ease af­ter two swigs of beer and a few min­utes in her gar­den. This evening, though, she braced her­self for the shock of what­ever Pete wanted from her. He wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t sig­nif­i­cant.

“How’s Dad?” she asked.

“Thriv­ing. He’s a changed man, thanks to what you did for him.” Pete’s voice turned se­ri­ous. “He’s kept all his prom­ises to you.”

She wanted to be­lieve that her fa­ther was now a law-abid­ing cit­i­zen, but Pete wasn’t the most trust­wor­thy source of in­for­ma­tion on that front.

She knocked back the rest of her beer. “What’s he do­ing?”

“Oh, a lit­tle of this and a lit­tle of that. You know Bren­dan, he’s a wheeler-dealer. All per­fectly le­gal, though, I swear to you.”

Pete’s word was worth about as much as her fa­ther’s, but there was no point in push­ing him.

Pete drank the fi­nal swal­low of his whiskey. “Can I treat you to a nice din­ner, lass? You choose the place since you’re the lo­cal.”

It must be a big ask if Pete was go­ing to spring for din­ner. She hated to turn down his in­vi­ta­tion. “Un­cle Pete, it breaks my heart to say this—and I know you won’t take it the wrong way—but I can’t be seen with a con­victed felon. I shouldn’t even have let you into my house.”

His chin sank onto his chest as he sat silent for a mo­ment, his shoul­ders sub­tly slumped. “We’re so far away from all that un­pleas­ant­ness at home. I’d hoped you might show me the sights of the is­land.” He lifted his head and turned his blue gaze to­ward her. There was no anger, only re­gret. “Truth is, I miss you, Quin­nie. Your dad isn’t the same since you left ei­ther.”

The lat­ter was a good thing, but her heart twisted at Pete’s sad face. She gripped his fore­arm where it rested on the chair. “I wish I could take you sight­see­ing, but the man I work for took a big chance by hir­ing me. I can’t af­ford to have any shad­ows cast on my rep­u­ta­tion or my in­tegrity here in Cal­eva.” She gave his arm a lit­tle squeeze. “This is my fresh start. I can’t blow it, be­cause it’s un­likely that I’ll get an­other one.”

If it hadn’t been for her col­lege pro­fes­sor’s con­nec­tion with Mikel, she would be flip­ping burg­ers at a fast-food joint. Not sur­pris­ingly, the job of her dreams had evap­o­rated with her con­vic­tion. She should have known bet­ter than to think she could live a nor­mal life any­where in the vicin­ity of her fa­ther. Mikel’s of­fer had put an ocean be­tween them. She hoped it was enough.

Pete sighed. “Your dad’s a lucky man to have a daugh­ter like you.”

“You helped raise me,” Quinn said. “You get some of the credit.”

“And so I did,” he agreed with a twin­kle in his eye.

“Now tell me why you came all the way to Cal­eva.” Quinn re­leased his arm and sat back in her chair, try­ing not to let him see her dread.

“Well, your un­cle Pete’s got­ten him­self into trou­ble with some nasty char­ac­ters. Not drugs or guns or any­thing like that,” he added. “If I don’t get a wee in­fu­sion of cash soon, I might find my­self on the re­ceiv­ing end of a painful in­ter­ven­tion.”

Re­lief flooded her. All he wanted was money. “You could have called me in­stead of fly­ing all the way here.”

That shadow of sad­ness crossed his face again. “You don’t be­lieve that I wanted to see you?”

Shock jan­gled in her chest. Tough old Pete had feel­ings that she’d hurt? Shit! “Of course I be­lieve you.” She knelt in front of his chair and took his hands in hers. “I just feel guilty that you came all this way when I can’t of­fer you any hos­pi­tal­ity.” If he’d called first, she would have told him that, but he em­braced her fa­ther’s phi­los­o­phy: Ask for­give­ness rather than per­mis­sion.

Pete’s ex­pres­sion bright­ened. “I’ll be able to tell your dad about your fancy house and that you have a gar­dener, so that’s some­thing.” He leaned in to kiss her fore­head. “You’re a good girl.”

Tears burned in her eyes, but she didn’t let any­one see her cry any­more, so she blinked them back. “Tell me how much money you need to get the nasty char­ac­ters off your back.”

“I al­ways liked that you don’t beat around the bush the way your fa­ther does,” Pete said and named a shock­ingly large sum. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

Quinn sat back on her heels as she con­sid­ered her fi­nan­cial af­fairs. “I can give you about half that right away. I’ll have to sell some se­cu­ri­ties to come up with the rest.”

“Don’t you get the gov­ern­ment money from the lilies? I hear that’s a tidy amount.”

She snorted. “They aren’t stupid on Cal­eva. You have to live here for two years be­fore you get the sub­ven­ción del lirio, the lily sub­sidy.”

“So you have to wait an­other year and a half for your first pay­ment? I shouldn’t be tak­ing money from you, then.”

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