Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best summer books .TXT) 📗

back of the house gleamed darkly, reflecting solar lights around the pool’s patio. Abby opened the sliding glass door and flicked on the lights, and they stepped into a homey, country kitchen. The frosted-glass globe under a wide copper dome gave a warm honey color to butcher-block countertops and polished oak cabinets. Cabinet doors of opaque bubble-glass reflected copper-bottomed cookware hung above a central island.

Abby set the chicken down on the oak table and combed through its honey-brown feathers.

The damn chicken matched the damn kitchen.

An enormous gray tabby cat leaped onto the table to survey the proceedings. Georgia hopped onto one of the ladder-backed chairs and propped her chin on the table, watching.

Chickens, cats, and dogs, apparently all felt free to dance on the dining-room table. Quinn reminded himself never to eat over here without offering to wipe down the table beforehand.

“I don’t see a scratch on her,” Abby said. “Do you?”

“Not yet.” He moved the flashlight, following Abby’s gentle fingers as she turned the chicken on its side and lifted one of its wings, revealing sparsely feathered white skin. She repeated the process on the other side, then held the bird like a baby with its yellow claws in the air. The chicken struggled to break free, and Abby adjusted her grip. “Can you check her belly?”

Quinn held the light with one hand and sifted through the bird’s feathers with the other. “Not a mark on her.”

Abby sighed. “Thanks be. I’ll go put her back in the coop.”

Back outside, Quinn led the way to the chicken coop with the flashlight. Georgia jumped into an opening in the side of the coop, sniffed around, then hopped out again, tail wagging.

“Everybody there?” Abby checked on the other chickens and closed the coop door. “Yep, everybody’s there.”

She patted the closed door. “Sorry for the scare, everyone. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Turning to Quinn, Abby wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a totally unselfconscious hug. “Thank you for everything.”

A zing of awareness flooded his body, reminding him how many months he’d been celibate—nine, exactly. But a brief period of postdivorce promiscuity had convinced him that he’d rather be alone than indulge in meaningless hookups that left him feeling even more unsatisfied.

Abby released him and stepped back, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. “It means a lot to know that my aunt has a good neighbor she can count on.”

He patted her shoulder. “Good neighbors,” he repeated inanely. He could have corrected her assumption that he planned to live next door. But that would have been awkward, and anyway, what did he owe her? She wasn’t his actual neighbor, in any case. Her aunt would figure out his plans to sell the estate next door when he put the new For Sale sign out front. He needed to keep a friendly distance from these new neighbors. Abby was sweet and attractive, sure. But her aunt’s unconventional home-based business might stand between him and the high-dollar sale of the property on which he had gambled everything. And if that wasn’t reason enough, he had Melissa to remind him of the dangers of falling for a pretty face.

* * *

Wolf hid in the shadow of the frog-pool’s house. Guilt and longing swirled with the burning acid in his empty belly. Algae-green water couldn’t keep him alive, and neither could the frogs and bugs and worms he ate when the last three rabbits he chased outran him. Over the last few weeks, he had lost muscle, strength, and stamina.

Georgia, once she recognized him, let him have the chicken he had caught so easily. But the woman, Abby, said no, and her attitude about sharing sustenance with Wolf was clear in the way she secured all the animals behind locked doors and closed gates. Why didn’t people want him to eat? Did he not deserve to live, too?

Head on his paws, he closed his eyes and ignored the clenching fist of hunger that squeezed a little harder each day.

He had hoped his people would come back. But he couldn’t redeem himself if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. And because he couldn’t redeem himself, his family wouldn’t come.

No one would.

* * *

That night, limp with exhaustion and relief, Abby settled under the covers and petted Georgia and the cats that hopped up and curled beside them. She checked her text messages and found another one from Reva:

Sorry I didn’t call last night. We were told at orientation that we’ll be way too busy to chat with folks back home. Plus, weak cell service, and only one old-fashioned landline phone on each floor of the dorm—with a curly cord attached to the receiver! We just got done for the day, and already there’s a line of young people (I’m realizing that I’m OLD!) standing halfway down the hall waiting for the phone right now. I guess we’ll be doing a lot of texting. How are things at the farm? Fine, I hope. If you need me for anything important, you will have to call the office here and leave a message at the desk. I’ll send that contact info separately. (Photo of a tiny dorm room with two fold-down single beds.)

Abby replied: All is well here. (No reason to confess her lapse in not making the new kitten’s appointment at the vet.) Nice digs. Seen any roaches yet?

She also decided not to tell Reva about the chicken incident or the new neighbor, including Elijah’s kerfuffle with the guy. Biddle would be okay. Elijah hadn’t seriously injured Quinn, who turned out to be nice, cute, and handy with a flashlight. If Abby hadn’t sworn off men after barely escaping the last one, she might be tempted.

But she had, so she wasn’t. Maybe Reva would; Reva was a young fiftysomething wise woman while Abby felt like a washed-up thirty-three-year-old failure. Reva seemed to have some supernatural knack for floating above life’s traumas and dramas. Even when everything was going well, Abby found it difficult to