Page 17 of Quinn, By Design

“Did it work?” Niall hadn’t met Cam’s wife, but tough love fitted with Cam’s stories.

“I gained respect for the women, myself and the hot teacher. His eyes never strayed to places, and in ways that made me feel uncomfortable, unlike ...” She stumbled to a halt.

Niall heard her shallow breathing above the music, imagined her mouth pressed close to her phone. “Finish the thought, Liùsaidh.”

“I didn’t like some of Mum’s friends.” She offered the skimpiest, most uninformative confession he’d heard since his brother had danced around the story of their father’s death leaving debts large enough to threaten their mother’s home.

Niall was sickened by what she’d left unsaid. She’d been a child when she’d joined Cam’s household. “Do you play an instrument?”

“I used to sing in the shower.” She was giving him another piece of the puzzle. He’d always liked puzzles. “That fact’s not for general consumption,” she added. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“There’s a park around the corner from the auction venue.” He made an instant decision. “Meet me there at ten-thirty.”

“Why am I meeting you at ten-thirty for an auction preview that starts at eleven?”

“Because you’re right.” Niall stared at the open rafters. Because he’d committed to giving her fourteen days of his time. His life would be easier if he helped her select the pieces for restoration. “We need to get to know each other better.”

“I said ‘See if we can work together.’”

“Same difference.” Niall paused, then asked his far-too-personal question. “What song do you sing for your granda?”

“There’s an Alter Bridge song. One line is on permanent rotation in my head—‘I feel you in the wind.’” Her voice dropped lower. “I hear Grandpa in a breeze, a zephyr, a gale. Even a puff of wind reminds me of his deep-bellied laugh.”

“Cam would like that.” Niall’s knees threatened to buckle. She’d captured the old man’s spirit in a few simple words. “I’ve looked at the papers on the foundation. My brother’s a lawyer. He’s looked at them too. I’ll help with the initial stages, help you select the first scholarship holder.”

“I can hear a but.”

“I’ve not done any formal teaching before. A few friends have asked for pointers or sent family members to me to get a feel for the trade.” Niall confessed one of his reservations. Fair exchange for her sharing her image of her granda. “A furniture maker with an established reputation would bring more cachet to Cam’s memory.”

The phone gave them the pretence of being anonymous, rather than intimate. He and Lucy barely knew each other. Niall sure as hell wouldn’t have asked about her singing in the shower or admitted his reservations about being a mentor if they’d been in the same room. But he’d just handed her some of his private misgivings.

“Grandpa chose you.”

Her tone told Niall that Cam’s vote counted, even if she thought it was a mad or bad idea. “Yeah.”

“See you at ten-thirty on Wednesday.”

The tickle of anticipation at spending time with her was new.

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Niall found her ona bench in the small suburban park, home to old fig trees and new children’s playgrounds. Her head rested against the hard, wooden slats, and her eyes were closed, making it impossible to miss the dark smudges under them. Sleep was still eluding her, which explained why she’d nodded off on a park bench.

Lowering himself to sit beside her, he listened to her shallow breathing, ready to fend off any passer-by who strayed too close and disturbed her. A perfect day for a picnic and a nap in the park; one of those halcyon late-winter days when the wind was soft and the heat in the air promised spring. A lone kookaburra nestled in a nearby paperbark tree startled him with its raucous laugh.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head in Niall’s direction. The caught-in-the-headlights look she’d worn when they’d first met was fading.

“Punctual as well as polite.” Niall met her dazed gaze. “I mean you, not the kookaburra. His timing’s off.”

“To be punctual is to be polite.” Her words carried the weight of a dictum she tried to live by.

“Was there ever a time when you weren’t?”

“I can remember being regularly late for primary school.”

“Just school?” Niall lifted the bag he’d been carrying, passed her a plastic food container, then lifted out a thermos, two insulated mugs and a small jar containing milk.

She pushed herself upright. “Everything.”

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