Turn right, two hundred yards.
He glanced over at the navigation screen and frowned. He hadnt seen any road signs for the past mile and assumed that he was off the grid. But a few moments later the voice warned him again. Turn right, one hundred yards.
He slowed the car and watched for a sign. But all that was visible was thick brush and tall trees. Turn right, twenty yards.
The narrow side road suddenly appeared and Tristan slammed on the brakes in order to make the turn. There was no sign or any indication of what lay ahead. But the coordinates had come directly from his boss so he knew he could trust them.
As he drove deeper into the woods, the road narrowed until it was only wide enough for one car to pass. Tristan slowly rounded a curve but skidded to a stop when he saw a figure standing in the middle of the road.
Her arms were stretched above her head, her fingers spread wide. She stood perfectly still, only the breeze moving her hair. She wore a loose cotton blouse that barely covered her backsideand nothing else. Tristan watched her for a long moment, his gaze drifting lower to take in the sweet curve of her naked backside. He couldnt see her face, but somehow he sensed that she would be beautiful.
She continued to watch the trees above her head and then suddenly her hands drifted down to her sides. Tristan switched off the car and waited, remaining still and silent, afraid he might spook her. She tilted her head slightly as if shed caught some sound deep in the woods. Finally, her shoulders dropped and she slowly shook her head.
When she turned to face him, his suspicions were proven true. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. Like some wild wood nymph, her dark tousled hair fell in curls around perfect features.
This is private property, she called, bracing her hands on her waist. The cotton shirt lifted again, revealing the tops of her shapely legs. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet, which were covered with mud.
Tristan got out of the car, closing the door behind him before he approached. What were you looking for?
I wasnt looking, she said. I was listening.
Then what were you listening for?
An owl. A great gray owl. Every now and then when I walk along this stretch of road, I hear him. I just cant tell where the sound is coming from. Maybe its just the wind playing tricks on my ears. Or maybe its a ghost.
What does he sound like? Tristan asked.
Im not very good at bird calls, she said.
Give it a try. Im curious.
Actually, it sounds just like sex.
Sex?
Yeah. Its kind of a soft, grunting sound. Uh, uh, uh.
I thought owls said who, Tristan joked.
Thats only in cartoons, she murmured. I once saw a red-necked grebe. Thats very rare for this area. Indigo buntings are my favorite, but hard to spot. Theyre the most beautiful shade of blue, but not really indigo at all. She met his gaze. Closer to lapis. Or azure. Are you lost? she asked. Can I help you?
A little dazed by her quick change in subject matter, Tristan tried to refocus on the task at hand. Im looking for this old artists colony. I read about it and wanted to check it out.
An artists colony? Ive never heard of anything like that, she said. Are you sure youre in the right place? Theres nothing but cottages at the end of this road.
Im certain, he said. Fence Lake Artists Colony. It was founded in the fifties. By three sisters? He met her gaze. None of this sounds familiar?
She shook her head. Nope.
Tristan knew she was lying. Hed never met a beautiful woman who was a decent liar. Hell, he could read any woman, gorgeous or Plain Jane, in half the time he could read a man. It was one of the talents that made him a great litigator.
Well, if she was going to lie, then hed be forced to counter her deception with one of his own. Hmm. Thats too bad. I was really hoping I could spend a week or so there.
Youre an artist?
He nodded. Writer. Im not published, but I have a publisher interested in my book. I need to rewrite part of it and Im blocked. I was hoping a new environment would help. He glanced over his shoulder at his car. I should probably get going. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
She stared at him for a long moment. Yes, she definitely knew much more than she was willing to reveal. But how much? I suppose I could help you out, she murmured.
You have a map?
I can take you to the colony, she said. Im staying there myself.
Are you a writer?
Artist, she said. Painter. Sculptor. Whatever medium and subject catches my attention. Lately, its been owls.
I dont want to take you away from your bird-watching, he said.
She shrugged. In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks. She smiled. John Muir. Do you mind if I drive? The road is a bit tricky.
Tristan shook his head. I dont even know your name. Why would I let you drive my car?
Because the road is very curvy and narrow. I wouldnt want you to wreck your car. She held out her hand. Lily Harrison.
Tristan held his breath as he tried to hide his surprise. Hed been warned about this woman. But hed never expected her to be so youngor beautiful.
Lily Alicia Hopkins Harrison. Her mother was heir to the Pigglestone fortune and her father heir to the Harrison fortune. But instead of following in her parents footsteps, Lily had become an artist, activist and protector of the three Pigglestone sisters. Meanwhile her family had hired his law firm to convince the elderly sisters to vacate the land.
Last summer, Lily and the aunts had chained themselves to the porches of their cottages when the bulldozers had arrived to demolish the colony. Shed appeared in the news media and marshalled her forces on social media to make the rest of the family look like greedy Scrooges trying to toss three old women out of their homes.
Have you ever had an accident? he asked. Any speeding tickets?
No to both, she said.
May I see your license?
I dont have one, she said. Never got one. But I drive really well.
How do you get around?
I make do, she said with a shrug.
Right. Her first car had probably been a limousine.
Its a pleasure to meet you, he said, taking her hand. ImIm Quinn. Quinn James. His brothers name was the first that came to mind. It would have been too easy for her to Google his name and find out he worked for the very law firm that had been causing her trouble. With an alias, he could hopefully maintain his anonymity long enough to get to the three aunts and make his proposal. After that, it wouldnt matter.
Thats a good name for a writer, she said. What kind of book are you writing?
Since that was another lie, he decided to change the subject. Id love to see some of your work. You said you painted owls?
No, she said. Owls have just been on my mind lately. They visit me in my dreams. I think its a sign but Im not sure what it means. Do you know what it might mean?
He slowly shook his head. Im afraid I dont. Tristan walked to the car and opened the drivers-side door, waiting for her to slip behind the wheel.
So far, things had gone much easier than hed imagined they might. However, his problems were mounting. Now, if he managed to wrangle an invitation to stay at the colony, hed have to produce a novelor at least a few pages. But his biggest test was still the three sisters.
He circled the car and jumped into the passenger seat. Hed cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he was determined to get to know this strange yet beautiful woman. He sensed that Lily might be the key to everything he wantedboth professionally and personally.
* * *
HES A LAWYER. Id be willing to bet my life on it.
Lily paced the length of her aunt Violets front parlor. Violet, dressed in her usual dance attire of black unitard and chiffon skirt, casually sipped at her tea. Her gray curls were covered by an elaborately tied scarf and her eyes were ringed with dark makeup. Do sit down, Lily. I think your imagination has run away with you again.
Im right, Im sure of it. He says hes a writer, but no writer Ive met would drive a car like that. A Mercedes convertible? In Minnesota? Do you know what that car says?
I wasnt aware automobiles had acquired the power of speech.
Lily rolled her eyes. You understand what I meant.
Please, Lily, be more precise in your speech. If you dont stop this tendency of yours to wander off topic, youre going to start sounding like Daisy. Trying to follow her train of thought is like chasing a hummingbird through the woods.
Im not going off topic. That expensive convertible says that hes a lawyer. It tells anyone who bothers to notice that hes wealthy enough to have a summer and a winter car. And then there are his shoes. And his watch.
Perhaps hes a lawyer who is attempting to be a writer, her aunt suggested. Must you always be so suspicious? Not everyone is out to get us.
Im just trying to protect us all, Lily said.
The door to Violets cabin opened and her two sisters hurried inside. Rose, the youngest of the trio, wore her long gray hair in an untidy knot on the top of her head. A composer, she was currently working on a new series of songs inspired by art. Over the course of the day, shed stuck pencils in her hair until she looked like some deranged geisha.
The middle sister, Daisy, was an artist like Lily and could normally be found wearing a paint-stained smock and a scarf covering her hair, which had been dyed a shocking shade of pink for the last few months. Before that, it had been lavender, a much more appropriate tone for someone of her age.
What is the problem? Daisy asked. I really need to get back to work. Did you see the sunrise this morning? She sighed. Paris, 1963.
Violet motioned for them to sit down. Lily thinks shes seen a lawyer. Here. At the colony.
What? Just wandering through? Rose asked.
No, Lily said. Hes pretending to be a writer. Hes asked to stay.
What do you call those clouds that look like horses tails? Daisy asked.
Im not sure, Lily said. I suspect hes going to try to get closer to you three.
Hes welcome to try, but you know we cant be persuaded, Violet said. Nothing he says will change our mind. Were not going to leave the colony and thats that.
Then what do you want me to do about him? Lily asked.
Well, perhaps we should take him in, Violet said. We might find him useful for other reasons. And dont they say that its better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?
Who said that? Rose asked. I do recall arguing about that very quote one night at the bar in the Savoy Hotel in London. Id had far too many gin fizzes.
Wilbur Fontaine, Daisy said.
Who?
The butcher in town, Daisy explained. I heard him say that very thing just last month. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Or maybe it was keep your musket cocked and your tinder dry. But Im not really sure what that means.
Violet sighed softly. Back to the matter at hand... We could be like cats with a mouse with this lawyer. When we grow tired of him, well send him home. We havent had real amusement here in such a very long time. Lets do ask him to stay.
I asked Finch to take him on a tour of the colony while we talked, Lily said. Hes supposed to bring Quinn back here for tea when theyre finished. But we should have our plans in place before he gets here.
How old is he? Rose asked.
I suppose hes about my age, Lily replied.
The aunts looked at each other and smiled. And is he handsome? Violet asked Lily.
No, he looks like a lawyer, Lily said, one of those shrewd, ruthless types who eat people like us for breakfast.
Oh, he cant be that bad. Even a lawyer has to have some redeeming qualities.
They can get you out of jail when youve started a brawl at the Opera Ball and slapped a policemans horse, Daisy said.
Im sure, given time, the three of us can noodle the truth out of him, Violet said.
A knock sounded on the screen door and Violet stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and beneath her scarf. Well, shall we have a look at Lilys lawyer?
Lily held her breath as her aunt walked to the door. A few moments later, Mr. Quinn James stepped inside. He had an easy way of moving that made all eyes in the room follow him. Lily could see immediately that even her aunts found him attractive. What was it about him?
Was it the nearly black hair that looked as though he had just gotten out of bed? His face was a perfect balance of features, so composed that a search for any flaw was impossible. Or was it his voice? Deep and warm and so sexy that it made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster with every word that he spoke.
Violet held out her hand, arching her wrist and waiting for the customary kiss rather than a polite shake. Lily was surprised that he took the cue and touched his lips to a spot just above her fingers.
Its a pleasure to meet you, Miss Violet.
Violet introduced her sisters and Quinn kissed their outstretched hands, as well.
Quinn James, at your service, he said. He sat down next to Lily, his thigh brushing against hers. Warmth seeped into her bare leg and she found her attention fixed on the spot, her pulse pounding in her head.
Where are you from, Mr. James? Violet asked.
Call me Quinn, he said. The Twin Cities. I was born in St. Paul. Ive lived there all my life.
And how long have you been writing? Rose asked.
Five years, on and off. Ive only just decided that its something I really want to pursue.
Lily tells us youd like to stay with us for a while, Rose said.
Im not sure that we have an opening, Lily interrupted. You may have to share a cabin. And we rarely take unpublished writers. Unless, of course, we have a chance to read their work first.
Now, darling, Im sure we can find him a suitable place to stay. After all, he has important work to do. Violet fixed her gaze on him.
There is the other side of Finchs cabin, Rose suggested. And Im sure Finch would enjoy the company. Rose turned to smile at Quinn. What say you, Mr. James? Wed be happy to have you stay.
I dont mind sharing, he said.