The Mighty Quinns: Jamie

This wolf is seeing red...

At first, Regan Macintosh was certain that the hot—and shirtless—stranger in the woods was harmless. That is, until he sweet-talks his way into her grandmother’s lodge and gets her to sell him cherished family land. Yes, now Regan sees past Jamie Quinn’s roguish charm to the wicked wolf she knows he really is.

Jamie has no idea what he’s done to earn Regan’s suspicion, or her efforts to block his project. His motives are purely altruistic—well, aside from wanting to kiss her until she’s breathless with want. But Jamie never expected to experience the intensity of desire he feels for Regan. And if they’re not careful, their hungry passion could make them both lose control...

Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s The Mighty Quinns

“The Mighty Quinns: Thom does a great job of showing the characters’ flaws, and their redemptive journey makes the love story that much more potent.”

—RT Book Reviews

“[Kate] Hoffmann always brings a strong story to the table with The Mighty Quinns, and this is one of her best.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Eli

“[Hoffmann’s] characters are well written and real. The Mighty Quinns: Eli is a recommended read for lovers of the Quinn family, lovers of the outdoors and lovers of a sensitive man.”

—Harlequin Junkie

“The [Aileen Quinn storyline] ends as it began: with strong storytelling and compelling, tender characters who make for a deeply satisfying read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Mac

“A winning combination of exciting adventure and romance... This is a sweet and sexy read that kept me entertained from start to finish.”

—Harlequin Junkie on The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm

“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from. Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”

—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot

Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe, but this title, The Mighty Quinns: Jamie, is my 90th story for Harlequin. I’ve come such a long way from that first novel.

I’ve worked with many different editors on books for many Harlequin series, including Temptation, Love & Laughter and Blaze, as well as various miniseries and novellas. I’ve scoured the world for Quinns, creating a family saga that is currently thirty-seven books long.

Is this the last of the Quinns? It’s hard to say. But I will be working on some exciting new projects in the future, so be sure to stay tuned.

Happy reading,

The Mighty Quinns: Jamie

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE HOFFMANN’s first book was published by Harlequin in 1993 and in the twenty-some years since, she has written ninety stories for the publisher. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys genealogy, golfing and directing student theater productions. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her two cats, Winnie and Gracie.

To Malle Vallik,

who took a chance on me and gave me my first Harlequin contract.

Number 90 is for you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” Jamie Quinn asked, staring at the bright yellow card stapled to the front door of their house on Downey Street in Minneapolis.

“It’s an eviction notice,” Thom said. His older brother reached for the shiny new padlock that had been attached to the door, preventing them from entering. A shiver of dread rattled through Jamie’s body, but he clenched his teeth and ignored it. He’d learned to control his deepest fears. He could be as strong as his older brothers if he had to be.

“How can they evict us?” Tristan asked. “We paid the rent last month.”

“Yeah, but we were already five months behind,” Thom explained.

“All our stuff is inside. How are we going to get it?”

“We’ll break in,” Thom said. “But we’ll wait until it gets dark. There’s a broken window in the basement that Jamie can squeeze through. Until then, we’re going to have to find a place to sleep for the night.”

The trio walked off the crumbling porch and headed down the street.

It wasn’t fair, Jamie thought to himself. Grown-ups could find a job and pay for the rent. But how were kids supposed to have a home if they couldn’t have a job?

He’d tried to find a way to make money. He’d asked if he could deliver newspapers and they’d said he was too young. And when he’d tried to carry groceries for tips, the owner of the store had chased him away. And most of the neighbors were too poor to pay him to walk their dogs.

“If we’re not at the house, how is Ma going to find us when she gets out?” Tris asked.

Their mother had been caught shoplifting last month and was serving three months in the county jail. Somehow, Social Services had lost their address and the boys had been on their own since then. Now, with the eviction, their lives had been turned upside down all over again. They were on the street and they were vulnerable.

“We could sleep in my fort,” Jamie suggested.

“Your fort? Since when do you have a fort?” Tristan asked.

Jamie shrugged. “Since I discovered it last month. I’ve been collecting some stuff. It’s warm and private and we can all sleep there. No one would know.”

Thom studied him for a long moment. “You wanna show us where this fort is?”

“It’s supposed to be secret,” Jamie said as he led them around to the back of the house. “So you guys have to swear that you’ll never tell anyone else.”

“Who are we going to tell?” Tristan asked.

Jamie led them through a maze of alleyways, keeping his eye out for anyone who might see them pass. When he was certain they weren’t being followed, he backtracked until they came to a ramshackle garage about a block from their house. “You stay here,” he ordered his two older brothers. “Don’t let anyone see you. I’ll show you how to get in and then you follow me.”

Jamie used a garbage bin to boost himself up onto the roof. Scrambling up the slope, he was careful not to slip on the patches of unmelted snow on the old shingles. When he reached the peak, he hung over the edge and kicked open an old window. Then, with one swing, he landed lightly on the sill. A few seconds later he was inside, motioning for his brother Tris to follow his lead.

When all three brothers were in, Jamie shut the window, pulled a curtain over it and reached for the light. In an instant, the loft of the old garage was illuminated, revealing a tidy array of cardboard boxes and crates. Jamie smiled to himself.

Inside, the garage was state-of-the-art. The owner had camouflaged his sleek workshop beneath flaking paint and crumbling shingles. Jamie walked over to the edge of the loft. “The guy keeps the place heated in the winter. And there’s water and electricity and a refrigerator.”

“Wow, look at this place,” Tris murmured. “It’s nicer than our house.”

“If he takes care of his cars this way, you gotta wonder how he treats his kids,” Thom said. He peered over the railing at the pair of vehicles, hidden beneath canvas covers. “What kind of cars does he have?”

Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know. Something foreign.”

“What if he comes?” Tris asked.

“He only comes on the weekends, during the day. And all the lights turn on as soon as he opens the door, so he wouldn’t notice if we were here.” Jamie moved over to the far wall. “I found some old blankets. And I’ve got books. And he even has a television downstairs.”

Thom reached out and pulled Jamie into a fierce hug. “You did great, little brother. We’ll stay here for now. When Ma gets out of jail, we can find a new place.”

Jamie smiled to himself. It wasn’t often his brothers gave him credit for doing something useful. He was usually the one dependent on them for all of life’s necessities. But this time he’d managed to find them a temporary home—a place that was safe and warm and comfortable.

Someday, when he was older and had a job, he could use his money to help people who didn’t have a home. He could put a home in the loft of every garage in the neighborhood so there would always be places to live.

Or he could buy some wood and build houses that no one could take away. There would be no landlords and no rent, and absolutely no evictions. Everyone would be safe and warm, and Social Services would never come to take any kids from their parents.

His teachers always told him that everyone should have a dream. He’d always thought they were talking about stuff like being an astronaut or a basketball player. Maybe it was enough to be a guy who built houses...

1

THERE WAS SOMETHING about the very beginning of the day that Regan Macintosh loved. That moment when the first light appeared in the eastern sky and washed away the previous day, preparing her for a completely fresh start. No worries, no disappointments. Just the possibility of a perfect day ahead of her—and perhaps the perfect photograph.

Her internal clock followed the seasons, always waking her up precisely fifteen minutes before the sun appeared on the horizon. The late September weather in Minnesota was a mix of warm and breezy days followed by chilly nights. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and flocks of geese lifted from the lake each morning and headed south.

When she spent the night at her grandmother’s place on the eastern shore of Pickett’s Lake, as she’d done last night, she often took advantage of the early start and got up to take a walk, her favorite camera in hand. The light was always the best in the early morning hours, and the most unexpected images could be captured when the rest of the world was still asleep.

Regan wasn’t sure when she’d begun the search, but the need to find the perfect image had grown more important to her as she got older. Just once, she wanted to snap the shutter and be completely and totally satisfied with the image, no need to alter it on her computer, no regrets about how she’d framed it.

Regan dropped her camera strap over her head, then opened the door and slipped outside. She drew a deep breath of chilly morning air, the smell of the Minnesota woods and lakes filling her head. So different from the smell of her winter home in the desert of Arizona.

As she walked up to the road, a sense of anticipation built within her. A low fog hugged the floor of the forest, and in the distance, she could hear the cry of a blue jay.

Her parents and siblings had joked about her search for perfection when she was younger, teasing her about all her lists and plans. But she’d always been that way, finding something she was passionate about and then pursuing it with every ounce of her energy and every second of her time.

Her fascination with photography had grown from one of her biggest childhood obsessions—brides. It had begun when she’d first watched the wedding scene in The Sound of Music. After that, she wasn’t happy unless she was wearing a long white gown and a veil. Sometimes they were made of clothes she’d stolen from her mother’s closet, other times they were made of toilet paper or tissue paper.

Every Halloween, she wore the same costume—full bridal regalia, down to a rhinestone tiara and jeweled shoes. On her sixth birthday, she’d received a digital camera from her parents, who’d hoped she’d find a new obsession. Instead, she’d learned to use the timer and took photos of herself dressed in her bridal creations.

As she walked down the empty road now, she thought back to the carefree summers she’d spent at her grandparents’ lake house. When she turned eight, she’d been allowed to ride her bike into town, and that’s when she’d discovered real weddings. All summer long, beautiful brides and their handsome husbands would celebrate their wedding in the old stone chapel.

Sometimes she’d sneak in and take photos from the balcony, though most often she was forced to wait outside. But every summer, she’d fill scrapbooks full of photos, every year learning new ways to make them more beautiful.

The chapel came into view as she came around the bend, appearing out of the mist. She picked up her camera and snapped a few frames. But as she came closer, she noticed movement on the front steps—a fox sat on the top one. The fox hadn’t noticed her and she slowly brought her camera up. The light was dull, but it would get better if she waited.

Slowly, step by step, she moved to a better vantage point, keeping the camera trained on the fox. As she waited for the sun, her mind spooled back to her own wedding day. She’d known Jake Lindstrom for most of her life. His family owned the huge house on the eastern shore of Pickett Lake, and their parents had socialized in the same circles in the city.

It was supposed to have been the wedding of the summer, with a huge reception planned at the local country club. She’d spent her last year of college planning every detail, and after trying on over two hundred wedding gowns, she’d finally found the perfect dress.

Everything had gone as planned until she reached the altar. That was when the man of her dreams, her fairy-tale prince, had blurted out a drunken apology before running for the door.

In that instant, every dream she had of being the perfect bride had been destroyed, along with her belief in the perfect relationship. How was it possible to love someone and then just stop? What was wrong with her that she didn’t deserve the fairy-tale ending?

From that moment on, she’d kept the men in her life at a distance. She’d dated and enjoyed some passionate short-term affairs, but she’d kept her heart locked away. Most men found her approach attractive and enjoyed the no-strings sex. And though most of her lovers would have been happy to continue, Regan had always been the one to end it.

As she continued to watch the fox, Regan thought about all the photos she’d taken as a wedding photographer. People said she had a way of capturing emotion in her photographs of inanimate objects—rose petals on a white runner, a wedding program left on a church pew, a veil tossed across the back of a chair. She mixed these photos with stunning candids and beautiful portraits, capturing the day in a way that no one else could.

It was easier to believe in the fairy tale when she stood behind the camera. It was like a filter that took away the everyday realities of love and marriage and froze the moments of perfection for all time.

A soft breeze buffeted the dead leaves that covered the roadside, sending them onto the pavement in swirls of color. Suddenly, the low morning light finally broke through the trees. Horizontal shafts of illumination reflected off the moisture in the air and the colors shifted, becoming supersaturated, an emerald so vivid it seemed unreal.

She brought the camera up again and began to shoot. The fox sniffed at the wind, then flicked her tail, turning its attention to the road. Regan held her breath as she continued to shoot. It was as if the fox sensed that Regan meant no harm. In fact, she wanted her photo taken.

The sunlight moved up the facade of the chapel and had nearly covered the fox with a diffuse light. Suddenly, the fox’s ears pricked up and she cocked her head. Regan let out a soft gasp as she heard the sound of singing echoing through the woods.

“Give me some men, who are stout hearted men, who will fight for the right they adore.”

In a heartbeat, the fox bounded off into the woods. Regan looked up from her camera, cursing softly, as the voice grew louder. A few seconds later, she saw a runner approaching from the opposite direction. He wore running pants and trainers, but he’d removed his long-sleeved shirt and tied it around his waist. His chest was bare to the cold and gleaming with moisture.

He continued to sing the song until he caught sight of her. Then he stopped in the middle of the road, as if he were startled to see somebody out so early in the morning. Steam seemed to swirl around his body—from the cold air meeting his warm skin—and for a moment, Regan wondered if he was real.

They stared at each other for a long moment, like predator and prey, although Regan wasn’t sure which one of them was which. She wanted to scream at him and throw rocks and sticks until she punished him for ruining her photo session. But all she could manage was a frustrated shriek and a sarcastic “thank you.”

She spun on her heel and started back toward her grandmother’s house. The family of foxes would have been a cute photo, one that she could have turned into a postcard for the tourists who flocked to Pickett Lake every summer. Instead, some bonehead more concerned about his washboard abs and muscled calves than appreciating nature had ruined it.

A few seconds later, the runner caught up to her. “Did you just thank me?”

“I wasn’t being grateful,” Regan said. “You just scared away my shot.”

“Your shot?”

“A fox. Sitting on the chapel steps. Perfect light.”

“All the better,” he said. “You might’ve killed me.”

Regan held up her camera, waving it in his face. “Not that kind of shot. Though the way I feel right now, I could kill you,” she said. “It was going to be a beautiful picture, and you ruined it with that ridiculous song.”

“You know that song?”

“My grandfather used to sing it every year when we dragged the dock down to the water.” Regan couldn’t help but smile at the memory of all the grandchildren lined up on either side and marching the heavy wooden structure down to the water. It was an annual rite of passage. No one was allowed to swim in the lake until the dock was in.

“Well then, I suppose I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry for ruining your shot,” he said. “And I guess if you’re determined to shoot me there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He ran a few steps ahead of her, then turned to face her, jogging backward and holding his arms out. “Go ahead, I’m ready to accept my punishment.”

Regan couldn’t help but smile again. She’d been so angry with him just a few moments ago and now he’d made her smile. Who was this man?

She raised her camera and snapped a few frames. He clutched his chest and stumbled slightly. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Regan raised her camera again, this time focusing on his face. He continued to increase the distance between them as she continued to shoot, and when she pulled the camera down, he was twenty yards away. She opened her mouth, ready to ask him to stop. She wanted to know more about him, where he came from, what he was doing on the road so early in the morning. But in the end, she let him escape. He finally faced forward and continued down the road, singing the song boisterously.

Regan quickly grabbed a few shots of his retreat, then stood in the middle of the road and listened to the last echo of his voice. She’d had a lot of strange encounters on her early morning walks, mostly with wild animals. She could say with complete confidence, though, that she’d never had an encounter with such a handsome man.

She realized it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed being with a sexy man. And she had a few months before she headed to Arizona for the winter. Regan glanced at her watch. If he ran on a regular schedule, she might catch him out here again tomorrow morning. Then she might be able to find out where he lived and who he was. And she wouldn’t be so...so tongue-tied.

Regan hurried back to the house, slipping silently inside and heading for the kitchen. She pulled the data stick out of her camera and plugged it into the laptop she’d left on the kitchen counter the night before. Tapping her finger impatiently, Regan waited while the images loaded. The instant they had, she brought up the pictures of the stranger.

Clicking on his face in the first one, she enlarged the photo until she could see every detail. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his deep blue eyes. “Oh, my,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding beneath her palm and she tried to draw a deep breath again.

The photo showed the mist and the sunlight filtering through the trees and catching the sheen of moisture on his face and body. It all combined to produce a beautiful image of an incredibly stunning man. Regan swallowed hard as she reached out to touch her computer screen.

In the image, he was holding his arms out, challenging her to shoot. His smile was playful, teasing...as if he knew exactly how to make her laugh. And she had laughed.

Handsome and sexy and funny. Exactly what she looked for in a man. Since Jake, she didn’t need to worry about anything else—like fidelity or honesty or loyalty. She never allowed her relationships to reach the point where those qualities made a difference. She wasn’t looking for Prince Charming anymore. But that didn’t mean she’d didn’t want a man in her bed every now and then.

She had twenty-four hours. Then she’d walk the road again and hope that this charming, sexy guy was a creature of habit.

* * *

A BRISK BREEZE sent leaves skittering across the main street of the small town of Pickett Lake. Jamie Quinn got out of his pickup and looked both ways before jogging to the opposite sidewalk. He climbed the front steps of the old hardware store, reaching into his jacket pocket for the business card of a local real estate agent.

He’d arrived in town yesterday evening, taking a room at a local motel. After a decent night’s sleep, a great morning run, an odd encounter with a feisty photographer and a hearty breakfast, he was ready to get down to business.

Jamie was on a strict schedule that didn’t allow for any flexibility. He had just two more weeks to find a piece of land before he was scheduled to start building his first modular home. After that, every hour would be accounted for on a time sheet that would be analyzed and discussed between him and his two business partners.

He stepped inside the store, the old wood floors creaking beneath his feet as he searched for a friendly face. He noticed that the other patrons were simply piling their purchases on the counter, then going back through the aisles to fetch the additional items they needed.

An elderly man nodded at him. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“I’m looking for Walt Murphy,” Jamie said.

“Can I tell him what it’s about?”

“I’m Jamie Quinn. I called him yesterday. I’m looking to lease a lot with lake frontage.”

“You want to rent a piece of property?” the man asked.

“No, just the land...it’s kind of a complicated story. Can you get Walt?”

“He’s in the back. Let me fetch him for you,” the clerk said.

The idea for Habikit had come a few years ago, as he and two friends had gone out for beers after a hockey game. Sam Fraley, an architect, and Rick Santino, a construction contractor, had been arguing about the “tiny house” movement and the potential effects it could have on the construction industry.