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

his—by herself when she should know better than to put herself in danger. Maybe he should just move over here for the duration—at least until she got free of that damn scooter, which was a danger in itself. He’d seen it come close to tipping over a half-dozen times when he’d been nearby to grab the handlebars and steady the damn thing. What if it happened when he wasn’t here?

He followed behind the line of trotting beasts and closed each of the stall doors. It really seemed like he had no choice but to stay with Abby and save her from her own foolhardy attempts to do things for herself. “Bathing the dog,” he muttered.

She looked up from her phone. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m done here. You coming?”

She turned around and put her knee on the scooter, then hopped down the barn’s aisle. “Spaghetti for dinner,” she said over her shoulder. “I hope that’s okay. I wasted a bunch of cooking time on that bad little dog.”

Up until Abby broke her foot, he’d been having beer and chips for dinner most nights. “Whatever you want to cook will be fine.”

He held onto one of the scooter’s handlebars while she navigated the flagstone and pea-gravel walkway. She was doing better at navigating rough ground with the scooter, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, given her predisposition toward biting off more than she could chew. “Speaking of a bad little dog, where’d she go? She scratched at my door and howled to get my attention, but I haven’t seen her since.”

“Hiding under the front porch, probably. That’s why she got in trouble in the first place, for digging and getting herself dirty. Did you see the wolf dog? It almost seemed like she went to him for help.”

“Nope, didn’t notice. Just heard the howling and scratching and knew something had to be wrong over here. I came running and didn’t look back.”

“How’d you know I was in the barn and not the house?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just had a feeling, I guess.”

When they went inside, he poured a glass of wine for Abby, then opened a beer for himself. Abby browned a pound of organic beef, sauteed all sorts of chopped vegetables, and sprinkled on all sorts of spices before she even opened the jar of sauce. He hovered behind her, helping when she let him, but mostly sipping his beer and watching to make sure she didn’t hurt herself.

Okay, to be honest, he was watching the way she moved so gracefully, as if cooking was an intricate dance she did with herself. Watching the way her cropped top rode up when she bent over, exposing the tantalizing dip and curve of her spine. Watching the way her wavy, sun-streaked brown hair fell forward unless she tucked it behind her ear.

“Hey, I need a cookie sheet from the cabinet next to the oven.” She moved aside and pointed to the cabinet where vertical dividers kept an assortment of flat pans upright and separated from each other.

He lifted out the pan and set it on the counter. “We’re having cookies?”

“Buttered garlic bread.” She lined the pan with parchment paper and turned on the oven. “You get to do the honors; there’s a loaf of French bread thawing in the fridge. Slice it lengthwise and butter both sides with the garlic butter—it’s in that blue bowl.”

While he did that, she made a salad to go with: not just lettuce, but lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers and sliced olives and feta crumbles. While her back was turned, he tasted the sauce and just about moaned in pleasure. Abby’s version of spaghetti beat any restaurant’s spaghetti he’d ever had.

If he did decide to stay here—and if she decided to let him—he would have to make a point of exercising every day so he didn’t gain too much weight because of her excellent cooking. Then again, shoveling stalls qualified as exercise. And he had earmarked tomorrow morning for yard work; the grass needed mowing and edging, another thing Abby couldn’t do because of his stupidity.

Thinking of stupidity, he resolved not to fuss at Abby about her little mishap today. Instead, he would offer to stay and look after her. Because really, he had to, right? He owed her that much for leaving that roll of wire in the pasture—because he knew better. He had just forgotten to pick it up the next morning as promised.

“Abby?” He was about to make the offer to move in, but when she turned and looked at him, he changed his mind. Maybe he would wait till after dinner. Top up her wine and get her settled all cozy on the couch while he cleaned the kitchen, then propose—no, nix that word—suggest that it would be best for her safety and his peace of mind if he were to move in temporarily and take care of her while her foot mended.

“Yes?” Her wide hazel eyes were so pretty, gold around the pupils surrounded by a starburst of turquoise that melted into a deep, mossy green outlined in brown.

“Um…” He swigged the last sip of his beer. “I think I’ll switch to wine for dinner. Will you scoot over so I can reach the glasses?”

* * *

An hour later, Abby topped up Quinn’s wineglass, emptying the bottle they’d shared during dinner. He leaned back in his chair. “Dinner was amazing, as usual. Thank you for cooking.”

Abby sipped her water. “You’re welcome. Thank you for taking care of the farm.”

“I’m gonna mow the yard tomorrow.”

“Aw, you don’t have to—”

“You wanna get snakebit, too, on top of everything else? You think I’ve got time to take you to the emergency room?”

She laughed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I have a hard time accepting help, as you may have noticed.”

“You need help,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much until today. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

She set her glass on the table and spread her arms. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and it could