3. Quinn
3
QUINN
Q uinn turned onto the long driveway of the farm, admiring the gorgeous vista of evergreens as she did. Whatever it might mean for their harvesting plans, the falling snow over the trees was so beautiful that it made her feel like she was in a picture book.
She was just pulling up to the small barn to unload the oil when she noticed that the stake bed truck was raised up on jacks inside the barn.
What in the world?
She parked quickly and hurried out of the truck, nearly bumping into Frank Gorman, who was heading back up to the field.
“What’s going on in there?” she asked Frank.
“Bossman’s son wanted to have a look at the truck,” Frank said, shrugging. “He’s been in there a while now.”
Great. The owner’s kid is here and he’s going to ruin the truck right before harvesting.
“Okay,” she said, nodding and managing not to wince.
Quinn was grateful for everything she had in life, and the list was long—parents who loved her and were in good health, the opportunity they had given her to get an education in the thing she loved most, her wonderful job here… but once in a while, it was hard not to feel a little flash of envy when she thought of Beau Wilson, who was going to be living her dream when he inherited the family Christmas tree farm one day just because of his name.
It hurt to think that Beau himself appreciated the blessing so little that he hadn’t even bothered to stick around to work with his dad. And now he was treating one of their most important pieces of equipment like it was a toy to be tinkered with.
Stop that, she demanded inwardly, feeling a little horrified at herself for even having that thought. He was away serving his country, and that should be proof he loves this place even more than you do.
“I’m headed out to do a little shearing in the low field,” Frank added. “Like we talked about.”
The way Frank said it was respectful, almost like he was asking her permission. Quinn felt grateful all over again that she had worked here for a year after graduation, so the guys got to know her and trust her opinion before she was put in charge.
“Thanks, Frank,” she said. “And I really appreciate that you’re early.”
“It’s that time of year,” he told her with a wink and a smile before tromping off toward the section with the bigger trees. “Other guys will be here soon enough.”
She weighed asking him whether he thought they could get enough guys in to start cutting early, but decided against it. It would be better to talk with Anne-Marie Wilson first before getting the workers excited, maybe about nothing.
But before she could even think about asking that question, she had a much bigger problem to deal with.
Quinn hurried toward the small barn, reminding herself that Beau was the owner’s son after all, and that meant it was basically his truck to destroy if he wanted. She should be feeling nothing but gratitude when it came to the Wilsons. But her heart still ached at the thought of that loyal machine not being treated with the respect it deserved.
She entered the barn and cleared her throat so as not to take him by surprise. After waiting a polite moment, she figured he wasn’t too worried about who was out here.
“Uh, hey, Beau,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Quinn,” a deep voice boomed from under the truck.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Beau had been ahead of her at school, but she remembered him being on the boyish side his senior year, with twinkling eyes and a silly streak a mile wide.
“I kept wondering when I’d run into you,” the deep, masculine voice went on. “I noticed the truck was burning oil.”
“Me too,” she told him. “I was just out grabbing more. We’re so close to the harvest that I figured we could just top it off as needed for now, and then have the truck serviced after the trees are gone.”
“Good idea,” he said. “But you won’t have to do that now.”
She bit her lip, wondering how long he would tinker before he gave up and she could call the shop.
“Heard you went to school for Agro,” Beau went on. “What was that like?”
“It was amazing,” she told him honestly. “I loved it.”
“I would have thought your parents would make a smarty-pants like you go to law school or something,” Beau replied.
“Nope,” she told him, happy for a chance to repeat what Joe Cassidy had just told her. “Farming’s in my blood. That’s what my granddad said.”
“My parents would agree,” Beau said, his voice a little more serious now. “Dad told me that you were the best thing to happen to this place in a long time.”
Tears suddenly burned Quinn’s eyes and she felt a pang of sadness for Beau that his dad was gone. Clyde Wilson had been the kindest boss a person could ever have. He had taken Quinn under his wing when she came to him for a job last year. And the opportunity to run things now in his absence was bittersweet.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Beau,” she managed.
“I know you two got close,” Beau said. “I’m glad he had someone around last year who was as obsessed with this place as he was.”
He chuckled and the deep, happy sound rolled through the barn, sending the corners of her mouth ticking up.
“Yes, I guess that’s the perfect way to describe it,” she agreed. “He loved this farm so much. I know he would be so happy to know you were back here.”
Oddly, Beau didn’t respond to that. He just kept banging away under the truck.
He probably feels bad that he wasn’t here, she realized. I’m an idiot.
She knew she should probably go up to the big house and talk to Anne-Marie about the day’s schedule and the harvest before she made things worse. But something in her heart told her that taking this moment to talk with Beau about his dad was important.
What can I possibly say to him that would make either of us feel better?
“Well, I think that’s that,” Beau said, rousing her from her thoughts.
“It’s okay,” she told him gently as he removed the jack blocks. “I’ll see if the guys at the shop in town can take a look.”
“No,” he said, from where he was crouched on the other side of the truck. “I mean it’s fixed.”
“Fixed?” she echoed.
Beau straightened and she looked up, and up and up, into his eyes. Had he been this tall back in high school? His eyes were still the same twinkling blue, like she remembered. But his jaw was chiseled now, and his body was absolutely enormous. She tried not to let her eyes stray to the thick muscles straining the arms of the lined flannel he wore.
“It was fixed before you walked in,” he told her. “Just a bad PCV valve. I changed it out already. I was just tuning her up a little. Should be good to go now. Why don’t you give her a spin?”
He held out the keys and she automatically moved to take them.
When his big hand brushed against hers, a shiver of magic rushed through her. It felt almost like the first sight of the snowy trees, or the spark of satisfaction she felt when she got the books balanced at the end of the month and saw that everything was just as it was supposed to be.
It felt… right.
Beau’s eyes flashed with sudden interest before he turned away.
“I’d better get a move on,” he told her gruffly without looking back. “Let me know how the truck does for you.”
She watched after him, wondering what in the world had just happened.
When his big frame finally disappeared from view, she snapped out of it and hopped into the truck, holding her breath to see what would happen when she tried turning it on.
She slid the key into the ignition and was astonished when the truck fired right up, the engine running smoother than ever, its rumble making her unexpectedly think of Beau Wilson’s deep chuckle.
The person that had just walked out of the barn definitely wasn’t the boy she remembered from high school anymore.