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As soon as I entered the farmhouse kitchen that evening and saw his expression, though, I knew there would be no relaxation in my near future. In addition to sporting an angry face, he was also chopping vegetables violently with a knife that seemed comically large for the job.
It didn’t take an intel operative to determine something was up.
“Hello, Percival,” he said with the same kind of peevish emphasis on my name Vince had enjoyed using.
“Uh, hi?”
“You owe me a half hour of my life back.” He chopped frantically. “Make that a whole hour.”
I opened the fridge to help myself to one of the beer bottles I’d stashed in there earlier in the week. “That’s probably beyond my abilities, but I’ll see what I can do,” I promised. I opened the bottle and took a long, cold slug before glancing around the kitchen. “What happened? And should we be talking about this out in the open? Where are Marissa and Levi?”
“Still in Nashville at a dress fitting, and before you ask, I saw Levi’s goons head to the bunkhouse with a stack of pizza boxes.” He gestured wildly through the air with the knife as he spoke. “As for what happened, where do I even begin? Your pals Riggs and Carter are delightful—by which I mean delightfully not-engaged.”
Fuck.
“But they’re gonna be engaged any minute,” I said in what I hoped was a convincing tone. “It’s seriously more of a technicality that they haven’t sealed the deal. And since this really smart and sexy wedding planner I know keeps telling me it takes a year to plan a wedding, I figured… why not just start planning Carter and Riggs’s do, and then it’ll be all set by the time they’re ready?”
“That is the most ass-backwards—ugh. You are not charming!” He chopped so hard tiny vegetable pieces flew through the air like confetti. “Also? Another one of your besties—that’s my sarcastic voice, by the way—thought it would be totes adorbs to stop by the shop and threaten me.” He stopped ranting for a minute and crinkled his face. “I was positive he was gonna lock me up for speeding tickets, or weapons charges, or tax evasion. Possibly murder. And do you realize how awful I look in prison orange?”
The man was impossibly sexy when he was ranting wildly, but fortunately, I knew a surefire way to calm him down, at least long enough to make sense of what he was saying.
I lunged forward and neutralized his weapon before slamming my mouth on his. He gave an aborted little meep sound before it turned into a moan of pleasure. He let me go for it until his brain reminded him he was mad at me.
“Good God! No. Off, you mongrel!” He pulled back from me, quickly lurched forward for one more kiss, then pulled back again. “I’m mad at you, remember? Jeez. Have a little respect.”
“Mad at me for what, exactly?” I asked at the same time my brain helpfully put the pieces of the puzzle together. Someone I knew threatened to lock him up? “Vince went to your place? Fuck.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “Yes. Pretty much my thought exactly.”
I felt a twist of anger and unease in my gut. I didn’t want Vince Parler anywhere near Quinn Taffet. Quinn was off-limits.
“What did he say to you?”
Quinn picked the knife back up from where I’d placed it on the counter and returned to his chopping. “He said if I didn’t help him find the Horn, you were going to be hanged in the town square at high noon.”
“Be serious.” I clenched my hands into fists to keep from grabbing him and shaking him. I needed every single detail of their conversation, and I needed it now. “Tell me everything.”
Quinn looked up at me and sighed. “First of all, calm down. Take a breath. That vein in your head is going to burst, and then I really will need to find the Horn myself.”
“This isn’t funny, Quinn. What did he say? I can’t believe he got you involved in this. That motherfucker.”
Quinn studied me for a minute. “You want to know exactly what he said? Every single word?”
“Yes!”
“Then agree to my terms.”
I threw my hands up. “Terms? What possible terms could you—”
“I need a date to the SnoBall dance next week,” he blurted.
We stared at each other. Neither of us had ever used the D-word before.
He recovered quickly. “Not a date-date. Just a… date. An escort. To keep the town matchmakers off my back, okay? Cindy Ann Johnson and her List of Potential Dates scare the crap out of me. Do this for me and I’ll tell you everything Vince said.”
I stepped closer to him and noticed his breathing hitch. “You’re going to tell me everything he said regardless,” I said in a low voice.
