Quinn's Folly: King's Folly

By Elizabeth Spaur

He never wanted to live in King's Folly. She never wanted to live anywhere else. Can two damaged souls find love and healing together?

 

Quinn Wilder was only going to in King's Folly long enough to keep the family paper afloat while his father recovered from a stroke. Once his dad was on his feet he was gone. The only thing standing in his way? A gorgeous woman who makes him rethink everything he always thought he knew.

 

Maggie Wilder was King's Folly born and bred. She never wanted to live anywhere else. When her boss is sidelined by a stroke, she's going to keep things going until he's back on his feet. The last thing she needs is to deal with his son whose plans conflict with all of hers.

 

When Quinn and Maggie meet, sparks fly and love is in the air. Will the story of their lifetime lead them to love or loss?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Spaur
• Release date: Sep 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781732534384

Book preview

QUINN’S FOLLY

A King’s Folly Romance

By Elizabeth Spaur

First Electronic Publication: September 2021

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means in whole or in part, without express written permission.

Please Note: This is a collection of adult fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.

This book is a work of fiction and therefore a produce of each author’s imagination, including, but not limited to names, characters, places and incidents. Any similarity is entirely coincidental. Unauthorized distribution of this work in any form, known or unknown, is illegal. Snippets for review purposes are allowed. All others must have written permission of the publisher or the individual author. Copyright infringement, for money or not, is a crime. It’s investigated by the FBI, punishable with prison and a fine up to $250,000 meant to recoup FBI costs and the authors loss of revenue. This publisher and each author reserve the right to pursue any copyright infringement.

© 2021 Elizabeth Spaur

ISBN – 13 is 978-1-7325343-8-4

Cover Photos courtesy of @mishoo, @RobHainer and @valuavitaly

All rights reserved.

Dedication

To my Mom and Dad, the first love story I got to see up close and the one that made me the woman I am.

AND

To my husband, who was the real man I’d been looking for all along.

AND

To Margo, my friend, my confidant and the woman who can talk me into re-writing the ending at absolutely the last second possible.

Acknowledgements

While writing may be a solitary task, publishing requires a lot of help. This book wouldn’t be in the world without:

Margo and Mia, your critiques and support make me a better writer.

Karen, Kim, Renee, Rebecca and Belinda, your comments helped me more than I can say.

If you’re interested in learning more about what’s next for the folks who live in King’s Folly, be sure to sign up for my newsletter.

OUT NOW

GRIDIRON KNIGHTS SERIES

Season One

Second Chance Option

Shotgun Romance

Romancing the Receiver

Love in the Zone

Bootleg Love Affair

Loving the Lineman

KING’S FOLLY SERIES

Quinn’s Folly

COMING SOON

KING’S FOLLY SERIES

Quinn’s Folly

Holiday Folly

Love’s Folly

Passion’s Folly

Fool’s Folly

Folly for Two

Chapter 1

What was the protocol when your childhood crush came back to town after more than a decade of roaming the world? Maggie Slater didn’t have an answer to that question. Even though she’d been asking herself that very thing for what felt like forever.

Of course, after he’d left for college, the man in question had come home for holidays once in a blue moon. The only people he saw on the rare occasions he’d deigned to return to the place where he was born and raised were his family members. He’d never gone anywhere but his parents’ house.

The truth was that he hadn’t come back to King’s Folly at all since he’d graduated college more than a decade ago.

It was hard to build a fantasy around a shadow, but she’d accomplished that feat.

In the secret place in her heart that she guarded even from her sisters, she’d created an entire life with him. Safe from the harsh realities of life.

Where people left you.

In her imagination, they were married with a passel of little girls running around the house.

In reality, he was only coming back to town because his family needed him. He’d left his life behind to help his father, and she was obsessing about her clothes. That almost irritated her more than anything about this whole self-created drama.

She didn’t obsess.

About anything.

Ever.

Especially not something petty and meaningless like what to wear to work.

And yet, she had changed her outfit six times this morning.

There were a million other things she should have been doing. That didn’t stop her from standing in her closet going through her wardrobe trying to figure out the absolute perfect thing to wear for her first meeting with him in what felt like a lifetime.

More like a dozen lifetimes.

In the week since her boss, Dan Wilder, had had his stroke, the small staff at The King’s Folly Dispatch had pulled together to keep the presses running.

Since graduating college she’d worked at the town’s paper and couldn’t imagine working anywhere else. She’d never wanted to. Living in King’s Folly and writing for The Dispatch was all she ever wanted.

Right before his stroke, Dan had promoted her to assistant managing editor. A lot of journalists in small markets were looking for the big story that would propel them to the national or even international stage.

All she wanted was to report on the comings and goings of the local citizens. Her friends and family. She was King’s Folly born and raised and had no desire to be anywhere else. Except the occasional tropical beach or snowy mountain for vacations, depending on her mood and the season. And which sister planned the vacation.

That wasn’t to say that she couldn’t take on the big stories. Her leg work had contributed to more than one major national story. None of them were stepping-stones to somewhere else for her.

There was nowhere else she’d rather be. Nowhere else she could be.

Maggie sat at her desk staring at the door willing it to open and for Quinn Wilder to finally walk in.

To finally come home.

To finally see her.

It had been so long since she’d let anyone really see her. The thought that Quinn might be the one to notice there was more to her than the face she showed the world made her heart beat double time.

A part of her knew this was insane. She was ridiculous. Obsessing over a man she barely knew because of a moment from her childhood.

But here she was.

She sighed.

How did I get here?

The noise of the huge newsroom dulled to a low murmur as she stared across the room at the door from the hallway. The large bullpen atmosphere might as well not have existed. All she could see was the place where he would appear.

The clacking of the computer keys sounded like the ticking of a clock.

What seemed like hours but was likely barely a few minutes later the door opened. He came strolling in and her breath caught in her throat.

His dark hair black hair was cut short. She couldn’t see his eyes from across the room, but his stormy gray gaze was burned in her brain. At six foot two he was a few inches taller than her, which was probably one of the things that continued to draw her to him.

Not a lot of men were taller than the Slater sisters.

He was dressed in jeans and a button-down flannel. It was a little surprising, given that Dan preferred to wear a jacket and tie to work. As publisher, editor in chief and managing editor, he liked to set a professional tone.

Despite his casual dress, Quinn Wilder stood in the doorway studying the room like a king surveying his serfs.

She drank in her first sight of him in more than a decade, trying to memorize every detail. There were scars on the right side of his neck and at his right temple. They were still slightly red and must have come from his recent accident. Dan had made it sound like it was no big deal, like his injuries weren’t serious.

Either Quinn had misled his father or Dan had softened the details for her benefit.

She couldn’t stop staring at him.

Maggie pulled at the hem of her pencil skirt, suddenly wishing she’d worn one of the other five outfits she tried on this morning. She fisted her hands to keep herself from patting her intricate chignon.

Why did I go for Breakfast at Tiffany’s instead of Broadcast News?

She watched him approach knowing he’d have to pass her desk to get to his father’s office. Other than Dan’s office and a couple of conference rooms, the newsroom at The Dispatch had always had an open floor plan. It was a small-town paper after all.

All the greetings she’d rehearsed in her head played over and over at rapid speed as he approached her desk. She hoped the smile on her face looked real and not pasted on.

She opened her mouth to say hello when he stopped in front of her.

Get me a cup of coffee and bring in a note pad. We’re going to make some changes. Without so much as a please or thank you, he walked into his father’s office and shut the door.

What the actual hell?

Maggie sat at her desk, frozen. Had that just happened? Had Quinn Fucking Wilder, the love of her life, the subject of all her girlhood dreams, walked into her workplace, treated her like an intern, as rudely as he could, and walked into his father’s office without so much as a good morning.

Every gaze in the newsroom was focused on her. She looked around at her friends and colleagues. The mix of expressions on their faces told her some of them were gleefully anticipating her explosion while the others were dreading the detonation.

She took a deep breath, stood up and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her skirt. Once on her feet she rolled her neck. The crack echoed through the room.

This is not how this is going to go.

She squared her shoulders and stormed into the office.

I know you were raised you better than that?

He looked up then narrowed his eyes. Excuse me?

First, you made an assumption about my job here based on my looks, second, you barked orders at me without so much as a please or a thank you, third you’ve been in this office for a matter of seconds for the first time in a more than a decade and start talking about changes. Like I said. I know that you were raised better than that.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. And how do you know that?

Because Quinton Edward Wilder, she emphasized every syllable of his name, I was born and raised in this town, and I’ve been working at this paper every summer since high school and full-time since college.

Did you graduate yesterday? He all but sneered.

What is your problem? She tapped her toes, wishing she could smack the sass right off his face.

His expression didn’t change. Right now? You. I would think my father would hire a more cooperative assistant.

Your father doesn’t have an assistant. We all help with administrative duties. I’m a reporter for The Dispatch. She’d hit him with the assistant managing editor later.

He looked her up and down like he thought it might be a joke. You’re a reporter?

Do you have a problem with that? She looked him up and down right back, doing her best to ignore the scars. The last thing she wanted to do was focus on anything that would make her feel more sympathetic towards him.

Now that she was closer to him, she recognized the patterns from his scars. She’d done a few stories on people who had survived explosions. Local veterans who’d stepped on IEDs, workers who’d been in manufacturing explosions.

Based on what she knew and his scars, it must have been terrible.

Don’t feel sorry for the asshole. Don’t feel sorry for the asshole.

What do you write? He cocked one eyebrow.

Local features. She focused on looking him in the eyes. Staring at his scars would be rude. It would also fan the ember of sympathy building inside her into an inferno.

There would be no sympathy for man while he played this game. Whatever this game was.

Figures. He sneered.

His nasty attitude doused the flames of empathy into slushy ash. What on earth is wrong with you?

Local features were the lifeblood of small town papers.

You mean besides the fact that my father suffered a major stroke and was admitted to the hospital for who knows how long? Or the fact that my career is on hold because I got blown up while doing my job? Or the fact that I have to waste my time running a rinky-dink paper?

Blown up?

She couldn’t think about that now. It was time to focus on what she could actually deal with.

Rinky-dink paper? Had she heard the words that came out of his mouth correctly? Did he really say that about his family’s legacy? Are you out of your damn mind?

Careful, whoever you are. He leaned forward in his chair. As acting Editor in Chief, I’m in charge of hiring and firing right now.

Who made him acting anything? All she’d been told was he was going to help out.

I’m Maggie Slater. Now that she was closer, she could see the dark circles under his eyes and lines of exhaustion at the corner of his mouth. More scars, finer than the ones visible from a distance, crisscrossed at his temples and across his neck.

Her breath hitched and the muscles in her belly tightened. The more she saw of his injuries, the more she realized that whatever happened had been so much worse than Dan had told her. Maybe worse than Quinn had told Dan.

She squared her shoulders and curled her hands into fists. And if you’re threatening to fire me. I dare you. Your daddy would get out of his hospital bed and beat your ass red.

Provided I don’t strangle you first.

He blinked and his eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down again.

What makes you so special? His acidic tone practically screamed the ugly thoughts that were so clearly doing the cha cha through his mind.

Did he actually think?

She stared at him for a moment before she blinked.

He actually thinks…

Ewwww.

You can stop that train right in its tracks. Your daddy is as in love with your mama as he was the day they met. There is no hanky or panky going on in this office. She gave herself a shake to try and dislodge the thought his tone had planted in her mind. He’d kick your ass because I’m one of the reasons you have a thriving not a dying local paper help run, temporarily. She emphasized the word temporarily and made air quotes when she said run.

The fact that he thought he needed to step in at all told her that he hadn’t talked to his parents about the paper recently. If he ever had.

You think a lot of yourself don’t you. It didn’t look like he was going to back down. Not even an inch.

Well. Quinn Fucking Wilder might think a lot of himself. But she was Margaret Maiara Slater. She could handle him every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Even with a broken heart.

Or a bruised one.

She went to the office door and threw it open. Not surprisingly, most of the staff was gathered outside. They didn’t bother to pretend they weren’t listening in on the conversation.

Eavesdropping was almost a professional sport in King’s Folly.

She raised her arms in a magician’s assistant pose as if to say, ‘ta da,’ What are the three reasons Dan Wilder says The Dispatch is doing so well?

Hard work, a reporter said.

Good reporting, an editor added.

Maggie Slater, everyone said in unison.

Thank you. She shut the door knowing it wouldn’t give them any privacy as she turned back to Quinn.

He looked from the door to Maggie, to the door, to Maggie. Did you all rehearse that?

Why on earth would we do that? Did he not remember how things worked in this town?

To try and make me believe that you’re indispensable.

Nobody is indispensable. She put her hands on her hips.

He smirked. We agree on something.

She stepped forward and put both her hands flat on the desk. It was that or smack the twist of his gorgeous lips right off his stupid face. But I’m pretty darn close.

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. What’s wrong with trying to modernize the paper?

Define modernize. She didn’t think they would agree on the definition of the word. Especially because, despite the antiquated appearance of the newsroom they were state of the art. Underneath the old school newsroom beat the heart of a cutting edge operation.

Cover important stories outside the four corners of this town. Become a part of the national and international conversations.

Oh. So, your definition of the word is to destroy everything that makes us unique. She wasn’t going to mention that the paper already covered issues on both a national and international level, especially when there was a potential impact on the town.

This was his family’s paper. He should know that.

If he were the man she thought he was, dreamed he was, he would know that.

No. It’s come out of the past and join the rest of us in twenty-first century. His smirk shifted to a sneer.

Well, gee. She amped up her southern drawl for affect. You going to buy us one of those newfangled telegraph machines?

He stared at her, clearly not amused. I never wanted to be here, Ms. Slater.

His use of her last name froze her blood. This was so not how she imagined their first conversation going. There was no sweeping off of feet, no passionate embrace, no where have you been all my life.

I got up two hours early to get ready for this?

For the first time since she’d set foot in the newsroom when she was a little girl doing a school assignment, she didn’t want to be in this building.

Then why are you here? She was almost afraid of what his answer would be.

Because someone has to keep this paper from folding while my father recovers. He threw up his hands. He seemed certain that the only thing keeping this paper running was a Wilder at the helm.

White-hot rage roared through her at his superior tone. Who did he think he was?

So, you’ve come to save us from ourselves. She clenched her jaw.

That’s not what I meant. He sat forward as if suddenly sensing he was wading into waters that were deeper than anticipated.

The great Quinn Wilder is going to come back to King’s Folly and take time from his important life to keep the peasants from destroying his family legacy.

I didn’t say that. His muscles tightened and a vein on his neck pulsed.

Let me tell you something, Mr. Know-it-all Wilder. You may be a big-time photojournalist with all the awards to show for your years of trotting around the globe like some itinerant savior, but when it comes to King’s Folly you couldn’t find your ass with both hands in your back pockets.

She turned then flung open the office door. Everyone in the office jumped back and scurried to their desks like they hadn’t been hanging on every heated word exchanged in the office.

The idea of sitting at her desk and being ten feet away from the man who’d gone from dreamboat to nightmare when he’d opened his beautiful mouth made her want to kick something.

Preferably him.

Everyone focused on their computer screens pretending that they hadn’t heard her holler at their new, if only temporary, boss.

Maggie grabbed her purse. I’m working from home for the rest of the day.

I could just fire you. Quinn had followed her and now stood in the doorway of his father’s office.

She looked over her shoulder. I’d like to see you try. Stroke or no stroke, your daddy would kick your ass and your mother wouldn’t bother to wipe your tears.

With that parting shot, she left the building before she really said something she regretted.

Quinn stared after the gorgeous woman who’d just handed him his ass as an unfamiliar emotion coursed through his veins.

Doubt.

That was followed by and equally unfamiliar sensation.

Shame.

He had to acknowledge that there was a small chance that he had not handled this whole thing well. Based on the stares he was getting from the newsroom staff, some of whom he’d known his entire life, he had to admit that small chance was likely much bigger than he wanted to admit.

From the moment he’d decided to come back to King’s Folly, until Maggie had stormed out of his office, he’d been sure his father needed him to take care of the paper while he recovered from his stroke.

It had been obvious to him his years of experience working around the world would be beneficial to a small town paper.

Now, he was starting to wonder what he was thinking.

Say what you want about the decisions he’d made. He’d never doubted a single one of them.

Until now.

When he’d gotten the call from his mother about his father’s stroke, he’d made arrangements to come back immediately. He’d never dreamed he’d see his father so pale. Unconscious and frail, his dad had summoned every demon from Quinn’s past.

He’d promised his mother he’d take care of the paper and hightailed it out of the room before she could respond. He needed to dump the paper before he could be roped into sticking around.

He’d walked into The Dispatch with all his worst nightmares playing in his head and been confronted by Maggie Slater.

It had taken him a second to recognize the fresh-faced intern he’d seen on his last trip to King’s Folly. She was still as beautiful now as she was then. But the problem he had now was she wasn’t off limits because of her age.

The last thing he needed were more King’s Folly hooks sinking into him. Binding him here.

He needed to get the paper sold yesterday. For his own sanity.

She’s right you know. Joe Strong’s voice pulled Quinn from his spiraling thoughts and brought him back to the present.

The present where he was still free to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Quinn looked down at the man who had to be older than just about anyone else living in this town. About what?

You can’t fire her. The old man stared after Maggie.

Why not? He wasn’t going to admit that he wasn’t sure he could fire anyone while he was here.

Joe shrugged. Lots of reasons.

Why don’t we start with one. His sharp tone drew a look from Joe. Please.

A dull ache was building behind his eyes. Ongoing symptoms from his traumatic brain injury. He gritted his teeth, willing the pain away. He’d been doing so well, up until he’d gotten the call that his father had had a stroke.

She saved your daddy’s life.

Quinn searched Joe’s gaze. What are you talking about?

Maggie did a story on Breezy Glen not too far back. Joe acted like that statement should mean something to him.

Breezy Glen? That name didn’t sound familiar to him but hadn’t set foot in this town since he’d graduated from college. He did his best not to talk about it more than he had to.

The new retirement community. Opened up a few years ago.

What’s that got to do with anything? With the pain building in his head, he wasn’t sure he could keep following this conversation for much longer.

The problem was, he was talking to the most long-winded man he’d ever known. No one in the history of King’s Folly had learned how to speed up the process of talking with him.

Little Man that attitude of yours grew a few sizes too big for your britches while you were out in the world. Joe used a nickname that Quinn hadn’t heard in about a million years as if to remind him where he came from, as much as he wanted to forget it.

The problem was the only thing standing between him and a total breakdown was his attitude.

Quinn scrubbed his hand down his face. Can you get to the point? Please. He added the last word in the hopes that Joe would speed up the story. It usually didn’t work. At least it hadn’t when Quinn was a kid.

She did an in-depth piece on the community. Focused on their services. One of which includes recovery from major health events.

And? This wasn’t what he would call speeding up.

And our Maggie’s thorough. She did a whole follow up series for the older citizens in town about warning signs for things like heart attacks and strokes. When Dan showed his first symptom, she spotted it right away, had him to the hospital in under twenty-minutes. Doctors said given the size of his stroke, if he’d waited much longer, he might not have made it.

Quinn stared back at the doorway the gorgeous Maggie Slater had disappeared through. It was hard to reconcile the impression she’d made with the woman Joe was describing.

When he’d walked into the office and seen her sitting at the desk outside his dad’s office, his first thought was that his time in King’s Folly wouldn’t be that bad after all.

Her black hair was pulled back and up in a style that reminded him of the pin-up girls from the forties. She’d looked at him with big green eyes that seemed to know all his secrets.

He cringed at his assumption that she was an intern or a secretary. He didn’t even want to think about the second assumption he’d made.

It was beneath him.

More than that, it was beneath his father.

When she’d stormed into his office, he’d been dumbstruck by her fire and beauty. She had to be close to six feet tall in the heels she wore, and that pencil skirt hugged her curves and gave him ideas he had no business having about an employee. Especially since he was only here temporarily.

Besides, she wasn’t pulling your leg. She keeps the paper going day to day. Joe pulled Quinn out of his thoughts.

I think I can handle that. How hard could it be?

So, you’re going to fire her? Joe sounded shocked.

No. I’m going to let her cool off. She can work from home while I get to work on some of my ideas.

Joe shook his head. Your funeral. He walked away, still shaking his head.

Quinn went back to his father’s desk, it would never feel like anyone else’s, and sank into the chair.

Thankfully, Joe had closed the door behind him, and the office was blissfully quiet. The first thing he did was dig out the painkillers from his bag. They made him slightly groggy, so he didn’t like to take them. The little men with hammers trying to turn his brain to sludge made him rethink that policy.

The second thing he did, once the pain in his head had dialed back from excruciating to agonizing was send, what he believed, was a professional e-mail to Maggie letting her know that she could work at home for the next few days while she got used to the fact that he was running the paper for the time being.

Then he got to work learning the ins and outs of running his family’s paper. He’d been a photojournalist for his entire career. He should be able to figure out how to run this tiny town’s local paper with no problem.

He pulled out the English shilling he always carried in his pocket and flipped it through his fingers. A gift from his grandfather Wilder, he’d carried it since he was a child and considered it both a good luck charm and a reminder of the world outside of King’s Folly.

As he started to look through the latest emails, he stopped flipping the coin and clutched it in his hand. The savage pain in his head amped up again.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was starting to think he’d been wrong about The Dispatch.

Very wrong.

The paper only had about a dozen staff members and every one of them had come by his office at least twice with questions about the next day’s edition. At this rate, he would be the first publisher of The Dispatch who didn’t get a paper out since its founding.

The good news was that his head might explode before that fact was confirmed, which meant he, at least, didn’t have to be around to see it.

Jane Doolittle knocked on his door.

What now? he snapped.

She narrowed his eyes. Don’t you take your temper out on me, young man. I used to diaper your behind.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologize,