sure I’ll have the cellar emptied by then.”
“We can work on it.” He almost said together before recalling he needed life simple.
“I still have to deal with the dining room and clean everything for your walk-through.”
“You’re cleaning too?”
“I traded RaeAnne service for stuff.”
He looked around. “Then you ought to sell these antique cupboards and tables. Take pictures and post them at Rudy’s general store. I bet they’re snatched up in a few days. People like local pieces, and these have obviously been around awhile.”
“How would I deliver—”
“Post them for pickup. Or use your truck. I’ll help you load.”
“With your injured hand?”
He looked at the bandage on his palm as though it had just appeared there. Doc’s treatment was hazy, but not Quinn’s. “It’s stitched shut.”
“How many stitches?”
“Enough to hold it through eternity.”
“Or until you get them out.”
“Or that.” A smile touched his mouth. “Doc doesn’t work halfway. I’ll be fine.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I’d have to search comparable pieces for pricing.”
“Or just decide what you want.” From the wallet in his back pocket he took a blank check and wrote it for six hundred dollars. “For mine.”
She looked from the check to him. “I already sticky-noted it to stay.”
He set the check on the table. “That’s no more than it’s worth.” He’d intentionally kept it reasonable yet high enough to induce her to try the others. She’d be cheating herself otherwise.
“Why do I feel bad?” A search of her face showed she did.
“Because of what I said, about hustling me. But I came here intending to buy, not take.”
Still hesitant, she nodded. “I guess I will post the others at the store, if the guy’ll let me.”
“He’ll let you.” He didn’t imagine many people turned Quinn down, and Rudy was even less likely. Before he started looking for reasons to stay, he said, “I’ll see you around,” and let his daughter and himself out the back door. They started across the pasture through the trees. This time, she could take as many tiny steps as she wanted.
Quinn looked at the second check Morgan Spencer had written her and wondered if it would be worth more as a collector’s piece from the elusive success guru than at face value. The thought of auctioning his signature brought a laugh. Maybe she’d be awestruck if he wasn’t so starkly human.
She looked out and saw them under the trees—Livie staring up the white bark of an aspen to the wealth of golden leaves, Morgan staring at his child as though she were worth far more than gold. Quinn pressed a hand to her heart. How could his wife leave them? Or had he left her? No, he’d have taken off the ring. Either he hoped to reconcile, or else . . . That wasn’t possible. And if that was the case, the sorrow made sense, the loss in his eyes.
She backed away from the window when he sent a glance over his shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her watching. She went out the front door to her truck. Using the camera she kept there, she photographed the antiques, drove to her place to price the items and print the pictures, and brought them to the general store.
“Sure you can hang the pictures,” the brawny guy behind the counter told her. “Tape them to the window by the door. I’ll point them out and spread the word.”
“Okay. Are you Rudy?” And when he nodded, she said, “Thanks, Rudy.”
He must have done a good job of talking them up, because, within the hour, a woman bought two of the hutches for displaying her porcelain dolls, and a couple hours later, Rudy called to say a friend of Vera’s wanted the pressed-oak cupboard but couldn’t pick it up.
She told him, “No problem,” and for the second time that day,sought Morgan at Noelle’s ranch. Dressed in a collared shirt and khakis, he came out on the porch as she pulled up and powered down the passenger window.
“We can work on it.” He almost said together before recalling he needed life simple.
“I still have to deal with the dining room and clean everything for your walk-through.”
“You’re cleaning too?”
“I traded RaeAnne service for stuff.”
He looked around. “Then you ought to sell these antique cupboards and tables. Take pictures and post them at Rudy’s general store. I bet they’re snatched up in a few days. People like local pieces, and these have obviously been around awhile.”
“How would I deliver—”
“Post them for pickup. Or use your truck. I’ll help you load.”
“With your injured hand?”
He looked at the bandage on his palm as though it had just appeared there. Doc’s treatment was hazy, but not Quinn’s. “It’s stitched shut.”
“How many stitches?”
“Enough to hold it through eternity.”
“Or until you get them out.”
“Or that.” A smile touched his mouth. “Doc doesn’t work halfway. I’ll be fine.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I’d have to search comparable pieces for pricing.”
“Or just decide what you want.” From the wallet in his back pocket he took a blank check and wrote it for six hundred dollars. “For mine.”
She looked from the check to him. “I already sticky-noted it to stay.”
He set the check on the table. “That’s no more than it’s worth.” He’d intentionally kept it reasonable yet high enough to induce her to try the others. She’d be cheating herself otherwise.
“Why do I feel bad?” A search of her face showed she did.
“Because of what I said, about hustling me. But I came here intending to buy, not take.”
Still hesitant, she nodded. “I guess I will post the others at the store, if the guy’ll let me.”
“He’ll let you.” He didn’t imagine many people turned Quinn down, and Rudy was even less likely. Before he started looking for reasons to stay, he said, “I’ll see you around,” and let his daughter and himself out the back door. They started across the pasture through the trees. This time, she could take as many tiny steps as she wanted.
Quinn looked at the second check Morgan Spencer had written her and wondered if it would be worth more as a collector’s piece from the elusive success guru than at face value. The thought of auctioning his signature brought a laugh. Maybe she’d be awestruck if he wasn’t so starkly human.
She looked out and saw them under the trees—Livie staring up the white bark of an aspen to the wealth of golden leaves, Morgan staring at his child as though she were worth far more than gold. Quinn pressed a hand to her heart. How could his wife leave them? Or had he left her? No, he’d have taken off the ring. Either he hoped to reconcile, or else . . . That wasn’t possible. And if that was the case, the sorrow made sense, the loss in his eyes.
She backed away from the window when he sent a glance over his shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her watching. She went out the front door to her truck. Using the camera she kept there, she photographed the antiques, drove to her place to price the items and print the pictures, and brought them to the general store.
“Sure you can hang the pictures,” the brawny guy behind the counter told her. “Tape them to the window by the door. I’ll point them out and spread the word.”
“Okay. Are you Rudy?” And when he nodded, she said, “Thanks, Rudy.”
He must have done a good job of talking them up, because, within the hour, a woman bought two of the hutches for displaying her porcelain dolls, and a couple hours later, Rudy called to say a friend of Vera’s wanted the pressed-oak cupboard but couldn’t pick it up.
She told him, “No problem,” and for the second time that day,sought Morgan at Noelle’s ranch. Dressed in a collared shirt and khakis, he came out on the porch as she pulled up and powered down the passenger window.
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