Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

“Either way, you need to get going,” Abby reminded him. “That tractor can’t run itself.”

Feeling good in spite of the fact that he’d just been kicked out, Quinn ambled up her drive and down his, then spent a few hours on the tractor, running the bush hog that impressively chewed up weeds and brush and even small trees, covering the ground with a pulpy mass of vegetative debris. When he had decimated about a half acre of overgrown underbrush, he lowered the tractor’s bucket and shut off the engine.

He used a chainsaw and hedge clippers to denude the trees of clinging vines and skin off any branches that dared to grow lower than he could reach. He stacked all the branches that were large enough to be used as firewood into a pile between two of the larger trees. Smaller branches and vines went into the tractor’s bucket, to be deposited onto a burn pile that he and Sean would set on fire Sunday afternoon.

He put his hands on his hips and admired his handiwork. Man, oh man, this property would be beautiful when he was done with it. And if he could somehow afford to buy the bayside property behind the estate and turn it into a private beach for the residences on this road, this place would be worth a million or more, and he’d make even more selling off each parcel behind the estates.

A tiny seedling of a dream—that maybe he’d stay—sprouted in his imagination, but he ruthlessly snatched it up by the roots and tossed it aside. Keeping this old house and turning it into a home for himself and his son was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He didn’t have the expendable income to build a small office annex off the living room where he could bring his clients. He needed an office in downtown Magnolia Bay, not out here on this back road. His thought of showing off the estate as proof of his carpentry and building skills, and taking on only two or three custom-cabinet or home-building projects at a time was just plain silly and self-indulgent. Just because he’d have enough money to eke by with a few custom cabinetry jobs over the summer didn’t mean he could make an actual living at it, let alone make a name for himself, a name and a trade that Sean would be proud to inherit.

Besides, the dream of building a life on this estate was an idyllic illusion; at the summer’s end, all the school buses would come back, and so would Abby’s aunt Reva. And Abby would probably take a job somewhere else, which was all well and good. She needed to prove herself to herself, not ride on her aunt’s coattails and forever doubt her own potential.

He parked the tractor in a dilapidated pole barn behind the pool house and went inside to get cleaned up. Sean would be here in less than an hour, and Quinn wanted to be ready to give his son a quick tour of the estate before heading over to Abby’s. She had texted him while he was in the shower: Shrimp scampi, broccoli—yes, broccoli—doused in cheese sauce, Alfredo noodles, buttermilk-and-cheese biscuits drizzled with honey, side salad topped with bacon crumbles, and blueberry pie with ice cream for dessert?

The old adage of the route to a man’s heart being through his stomach took on a depth of meaning he’d never before considered. Plus, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on the parts of Abby that she hadn’t yet let him touch.

He texted back: I know you’re trying to kill me, but somehow, I don’t care.

She responded: I’ll let you make up your own mind about my motives. ;-) Everything is ready to pop in the oven; just waiting for you and Sean to arrive. Can’t wait to meet him.

Sean texted that he was on the way, and Quinn met him at the curb. As Melissa said goodbye to Sean, Quinn took the mail from Bayside Barn’s big mailbox. Idly, while he pretended not to notice Sean leaning across the console to hug Melissa’s neck, he leafed through the neighbor’s mail.

Electric bill.

Water-sewer-trash bill.

Some bulk-mail junk destined for the trash.

Sean climbed out of the passenger seat and hitched his backpack over his shoulder. “Hey, Dad.”

Waiting for Melissa to drive away, Quinn glanced down at the last envelope in his hand. The first line of the return address made his stomach clench: Magnolia Bay Municipal Court. The bright-red stamped banner that partially obscured the barn’s mailing address made his heart skip a beat—and not in a good way: Important Correspondence! Time-Sensitive: Open Immediately.

Had Delia actually done something in response to his letting-off-steam phone call about rescinding Reva’s permission to keep farm animals?

God, he hoped not.

Melissa leaned out the car window and flapped her manicured hand to get his attention. “I’ll be back to pick him up Sunday afternoon at five. Make sure he’s ready.”

Quinn slipped the frighteningly official-looking envelope to the back of the pile. “Of course.”

Sean wrapped his arms around Quinn’s shoulders. The kid’s heavy backpack slung around and slugged him like a fist to the kidneys. “It’s great to see you, Dad. I’m sorry I haven’t come before.”

Quinn hugged his son, holding tight. His throat felt full with everything he wished he could say. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

With the back wall of his brain on fire from the Municipal Court envelope, Quinn forgot all about his intention to give Sean a tour of the estate. He clapped his son on the shoulder and led him down the graveled drive to meet Abby. He hardly knew her, but already she felt like a lifeline to him. He stuck the thick sheaf of envelopes into his hip pocket and resolved not to think about the letter until he had time to find out what it was about. Maybe it was nothing.

“We’ll be having dinner with