Southern Heat by Natasha Madison

Chapter 19

Quinn

"This is my house,” I say, and she turns and looks back at the house. I get out of the truck and walk over to her side, opening the passenger door. “Do you need me to help you out?" I ask, and she shakes her head.

She looks even more beautiful outside with the sun on her face than she has before. She struggles to get out of the truck, the black bag in her hand the whole time. "Welcome to my home,” I say, stepping back once I know she is going to be okay.

"Is this really your house?" she asks, and I nod.

"It was my parents’ first house,” I say. “Then I made it mine. Let me show you inside." I put my hand on her lower back as she walks up the gravel driveway.

"But …” she says, looking up at the house and then back to me. “But …"

I walk with her slowly up the two steps toward the thick brown doors. Her eyes go to the swing. “There is another swing in the back,” I say when I get to the door. “I added it when I moved in. It’s my favorite spot to sit out at night." I smile at her, unlocking the door. "Welcome,” I say. My heart beats so fast in my chest that I almost stutter the last sentence. I hold out my hand for her to step in. She takes two steps in and stops, her eyes roaming the whole entryway. There is a wooden table against the wall with a vase full of fresh flowers. "My mother said you couldn’t come home without having flowers." I step in next to her and close the door, just in case she decides to make a run for it. Which, at this point, would not surprise me in the least.

"Your mother?" She turns and looks at me.

"I held them off as much as I could, but now that you’re home,” I say, putting my hand on her lower back again. “I can’t promise that they won’t drop by."

We take five more steps into the house and come up to a small hallway on my left. “Right down here." I point and lead her down to the closed door at the end. “This is the spare bedroom." I open it, and I have never been more scared or nervous to show my house. I also have never had a woman come into my house before. This is my oasis, and I’ve always kept it private. "This is where you’ll be staying."

I open the door, and the sunshine shines right into the room. She steps in, and her feet sink into the plush beige carpet that my mother chose. “I can’t take any credit for this room."

"This is …” she says, the bag in her hand being held so tight that her knuckles are turning white. “I don’t think …"

The king-size bed in the middle of the room has a white and lilac comforter and a gray knitted blanket on top of it. I point at the wall where the bed is pressed up against. “That wall is the wood from my very first barn," I tell her, then point at the bench in front of the bed with the big beige cushions. “And that bench is the wood used in my grandfather’s barn."

"You made it?" she asks, looking at me.

"I sanded it and painted it, but my mother did the rest,” I say, walking to the door at the end of the other wall. “This is your bathroom,” I say, and she follows me, her eyes taking everything in. “It’s not big." I look at the white bathroom. “That is the tub my father had put in there when he built this house,” I say, and she looks at me. “Built it with his own two hands. I can’t even imagine changing anything. So my mother comes in every couple of years and decorates it. Hence the basket of towels." I point at the wicker basket she put in there.

"It’s beautiful,” she says softly, and then she walks back out toward the door. “But I don’t know if I can stay here."

"Let me show you the rest of the house, and then you can decide,” I say, and she just follows me. I want to tell her to leave the bag in the bedroom, but I don’t want to push her. We walk back out to the hallway, and she looks at the stairs leading to the second floor. “There are a couple of bedrooms upstairs and a movie room,” I say, and she stops before we enter the massive family room, where I have writing on the pillars leading into the room.

The most important work you will ever do will be within the walls of your own home.

"This is where I spend most of my time." I smile at her, walking into the room. The massive off-white L-shaped couch faces the fireplace with a television on top. "This is where I usually fall asleep." I point at one side of the couch, where a pillow and a folded blanket sits. "This is my second favorite place,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “I redid it all when I moved in. My mother had it all in white, and I hated it."

She looks around, gazing out the bay window into the backyard at the pool I put in last year. She walks past the island and goes straight to the windows. "Is that all yours?" She points all the way to the back of the fence way in the distance.

"It is,” I say, and I don’t tell her that the land all around it is also mine.

"Do you want anything to drink?" I ask her, walking over to the fridge and pulling it open. Her head turns to watch everything I’m doing. "There is sweet tea or lemonade."

"Quinn.” I turn and look at her. She is wearing white jeans that are just a touch too big for her, but if my family has anything to do with it, she’ll be filling them out in no time. "I can’t stay here."

I close the fridge and walk over to the island. Putting my hands down on it, I try to rein in the anger I feel when I think about her leaving. “And why not?" I ask her.

"I can’t stay in this house alone with you,” she says, and my heart sinks. Her words slice through my heart.

"Do you not trust me?" I ask. “I would never ever hurt you." The thought that she would think I would hurt her is just too much to bear. I shake my head and look at her, walking to her. Standing in front of her, I reach my hand up to push her hair away from her face. “I would never ever hurt you," I whisper, my fingers touching the side of her face ever so lightly.

"I know,” she says softly. “It’s just …"

She doesn’t have a chance to say anything when we hear the front door open, and I see the fear creep over her. She steps forward, and her eyes go to the back door.

“Hello!" we hear Amelia shout out.

I take a step away from her as my heart hammers in my chest, my fingers still feeling her. “In here,” I say, hearing her walking close to the family room.

"Hi," she says, smiling. “I put my bag in the first bedroom." She walks in and goes straight to the fridge and opens it. She looks over her shoulder at us. “You can tell your mother was here."

"Don’t listen to her,” I lean forward and whisper.

"Don’t listen to him. He hasn’t had a fridge this full since I don’t know when. He usually doesn’t even eat here."

"Oh, come on." I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “I cook my own breakfast."

"When?" Amelia turns and looks at me.

"I don’t remember,” I say, and then I hear her laugh. It’s more of a giggle, but it’s better than anything I’ve ever heard in my life. I turn and see her with her hand holding the bag pressed against her stomach. “I can cook."

"I’m sure you can,” she says between laughing.

"Did you show her all the stuff you bought her?" Amelia asks, and I can see the look in her eyes change in the blink of an eye and if I wasn’t looking right at her you would never know.

"I didn’t have a chance yet,” I say.

"Oh, good,” Amelia says. “This is my favorite part of all of this." She claps her hands. “Come on,” she says to Willow.

"You need to lie down,” I say. “And I need to go and get your meds."

"Um," she says. “I don’t have any money on me, and I don’t even know where my bank card is,” she says, and I see her squeezing the bag in her hand harder and harder. "I’ll go get them tomorrow."

"Let’s get you in bed," Amelia says, and Willow walks to her. “I can’t wait to see it all,” she says, and they walk out of the room. Amelia looks over at me and nods her head, and I know she will take care of her.

I walk out of the house, closing the door softly behind me and getting back into my truck. I pull out of the driveway with my heart in my stomach. I take one last look at the house before I take off, and I swear I feel her eyes on me.