Read Online Keepsake by Antoinette Stockenberg - Free Book Online Page A

drive-ahead girl he remembered at all.
    In a merry mood, she reached behind him and gave a little yank on his ponytail. "What's this thing all about?" she asked.
    And then she slipped her arm through his.
    She had Quinn on the ropes. He didn't know which of the hits to respond to first; all he knew was that he never saw them coming. He lied about the ponytail, making something up about a centennial celebration back in California , and as for the arm that was looped through his—he decided simply to savor the heat. So bemused by her was he that he hardly registered the occasional glare aimed his way.
    They reached the turnoff for the bistro, but Olivia had other ideas. "That Entre Nous is such a pretentious little place," she said, which naturally made Quinn feel pretentious as well. "Let's grab a couple of deli sandwiches and go back to your car. I have a surprise for you that I think you'll really like."
    His disappointment fell away, replaced by curiosity, and he agreed to the terms of her counteroffer. They picked up two monster pastramis on rye and a couple of cartons of milk, then doubled back to the parking lot. He wasn't crazy about driving Olivia around in a lowly pickup truck—hence the choice of a restaurant in town—but she didn't seem to mind.
    "Is this the one that got the windshield bashed in?" she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat with their food.
    Ah, Keepsake.
    "The very same," he said, giving her a bland look. The expression on her face was guileless, but he decided that she was simply a damn good actress. "So. Where to?"
    "The gardener's cottage," she answered, breaking into a sudden, broad grin. "I think you know the way."
    At first he said nothing. Then, quietly, "You can't be serious."
    "Of course I'm serious!" she said, laughing, and then she realized that he had no stomach for going there.
    "Quinn, it doesn't look anything like when you and your father lived in it," she said in a more earnest tone. "It's a guest house now. My mother has done it completely over. Really, you won't make any associations at all."
    Annoyed that she seemed to think he was an emotional wimp, Quinn put the truck in gear and said, "You misunderstand my reluctance. What I mean is, do your parents know you're doing this?"
    Even worse. Now it sounded as if he were worried about coming over to play without her parents' permission. Frustrated, he said, "Liv, haven't you noticed? I'm public enemy number one in this town. I'm assuming that your parents are on the long list of people who'd like to see me leave, not the short list of people who're glad to renew an old acquaintance."
    "I have no idea how my parents feel," she said, dismissing the subject. "They're not in the habit of saying."
    He wasn't surprised; they never were in the habit of saying. "You heard about the effigy?"
    "Yes, I did. I wasn't going to bring it up."
    "Then why did you bring up the windshield?"
    "I wanted you to know that I knew. It was less painful to do that with the windshield than with the effigy."
    Jesus. Definitely not a California girl. Dizzy from breathing the rarefied air of her Yankee scruples, Quinn sighed and said, "All right. We will go to the gar—guest house."
    The drive out of town was short; upper Main wasn't that far from the quaint shopping district. The street itself took a sharp turn past a rather grand driveway flanked by two massive granite gateposts—the entrance to the Bennett estate. For reasons he couldn't define, Quinn had so far avoided that end of Main . Hastings House, a block or so down the hill, was the nearest he'd gotten, and even there, Quinn had felt edgy.
    Olivia punched in a code and the heavy iron gates that blocked the drive swung slowly open. Quinn drove through them, noting with satisfaction that the landscaping had suffered since his father's tenure. It wasn't so much that the big copper beech was gone—over that, he felt genuine sorrow—as that the grounds simply didn't look loved anymore. Not the