Patchwork Family

Epilogue

Chapter One

Blood pumped through Molly Blake’s body as she raced across the town square of Tyler, Wisconsin.

“You’re being ridiculous!” she panted to herself as she ran, but she didn’t slow down. Instead, her mind listed the reasons for panicking.

Thank God, it wasn’t a large town square. It wasn’t a large town, for that matter. But if she’d had to run any farther, she might have collapsed.

She leaned for only half a second by the discreetly lettered brass plate that read Trask and Spencer, Attorneys-at-law. With a prayer of hope, she drew a shuddering breath and shoved away from the red-brick wall of the building and slammed back the door to the law offices.

Warmth flooded her. After all, it was winter in Wisconsin, the beginning of December. Every occupied building had its heat on full blast. And she was still wearing a knitted cap over her messy long braid, still had her navy pea jacket wrapped around her, her gloves on her hands, boots on her feet.

She shivered. The cold was coming from deep within her. From her fears. From—

“May I help you?” a pleasant woman asked.

In the almost shadowy interior of the building, Molly hadn’t really seen her.

Gasping for air, Molly got out, “I need to see Mrs. Trask, at once. It’s—it’s an emergency!”

With the calm precision of someone who loves routine, the woman asked, “Are you a client of Mrs. Trask’s?”

Molly wanted to leap over the desk and yank the woman to her feet by the elegant lapels of her gray suit, even though she couldn’t blame the secretary for her lack of enthusiasm. Molly knew she wasn’t at her best.

She’d run a few brief errands at the post office and the grocery, after dropping off her child at day care. She’d planned to hurry home to continue refinishing one of the wooden tables she’d bought for the dining room. The stained sweat suit beneath her coat wouldn’t do her any favors in the impression department, either.

“Yes!” she said, drawing out a hiss as she fought to control her temper.

“Your name and the nature of your business?” the secretary prodded.

Dear God, she might throttle the woman yet. “Molly Blake. And I’ll explain the nature of my business to Mrs. Trask. Just tell her I’m here and it’s an emer—”

“I can’t do that, Ms. Blake.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s out of the office.”

“What?” Molly almost screamed, unable to retain any semblance of sanity. If she didn’t get help, she wouldn’t be sane, anyway. If there was no hope—

Just as the woman began to caution her for her unruly response, a door to the left of the reception desk opened and a handsome man stepped out.

“Problem, Mrs. Allen?”

Molly had seen him before. Heard stories about him. Overheard him explain with great clarity his distaste for children. She wanted nothing to do with Amanda Trask’s partner, Quinn Spencer.

Anyway, he wouldn’t understand.

“Yes, sir,” the secretary said, nodding her head like a bird considering a worm. “This lady seems a bit overheated.”

“An amazing feat in this weather,” the lawyer drawled.

Molly’s dislike instantly turned to hatred. How easy to be above it all with a wealthy family, a secure job, a life of—of jet-setting!

She drew a deep breath and faced Mrs. Allen. “When will Mrs. Trask be available?”

Surely she had made that request in a calm, professional manner. Why was the woman hesitating?

It took a nod from the attorney for the secretary to open an appointment book on her desk.

“I believe she’s free on the eleventh…of January,” the woman said. She looked up at Molly over the rims of her glasses, pen in hand. “Do you want that appointment?”

“No!” Molly cried, pain filling her voice and her body. By then it would be too late. Too, too late. “I can’t wait,” she gasped, reduced to pleading. “Please, if you’ll talk to Amanda, I’m sure—”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man, Quinn Spencer, murmured.

Molly stared at him, shock making it difficult to even figure out what he’d said. He wanted to do the politically correct niceties when she was dying here? With a nod, she turned back to the dragon guarding the entrance to the secret cave. “Please—”

“I’m Mrs. Trask’s partner. Did you say you’re a client of Amanda’s?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

Before she could again plead for help, he spoke to the secretary. “Mrs. Allen, if you’ll pull Mrs. Blake’s file and bring it into my office, I’ll see if I can assist her, since she said her visit is an emergency.”

She might not like what she knew about Quinn Spencer. She might have decided thirty seconds ago she hated him. But she did know everyone considered him to be a brilliant attorney. Any port in a storm, as her dad had always said.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and hurried into his office as he held the door for her.

QUINN SPENCER CLOSED the door behind him even as he considered Amanda’s client. Had he made a mistake, agreeing to see her? He’d heard her name—maybe Amanda had mentioned it—but he couldn’t quite put together what business the woman was conducting with his partner.

She’d seemed nearly hysterical, but at least she didn’t seem dangerous at the moment.

And he was considerably larger than she. His solid six feet weren’t exceptional in Tyler, but he had a good seven or eight inches on her. And in spite of the bulky coat, he suspected she’d have trouble weighing more than one-hundrd-and-ten pounds.

She was still standing, her face tight, her body tense.

“Sit down, Mrs. Blake. Take off your coat. It’s too warm in here to be all bundled up.” He could do the manners thing. A lot of times it helped ease the situation, whatever it might be.

“Please! You don’t understand!” She waited until he circled his desk. Then she began pacing his spacious but pleasantly cluttered office as if she were in a psych ward unit. Wringing her hands. Frowning fiercely. Well, as fierce as a five-foot-four blonde with big blue eyes could seem.

“No, but I will if you’ll stop pacing and explain it to me.”

He didn’t win any brownie points for his calm demeanor.

“I’m going to lose everything! I can’t— I’ve budgeted very carefully! It’s— I can’t! I won’t let that woman—”

There it was again. That raw emotion, the pain, the anger. Not the first time he’d heard those things, but there was no question she was feeling them all.