Tricia backed away. “Dear Lord, can’t you keep that dog of yours calm?”
RBG gave one of her warning growls, then a couple of quick, low grunts.
Quinn frowned. “She can’t help it. She’s responding to your mood.”
It was one thing for Tricia to pick on her, but no one—absolutely no one—was going to smack-talk her dog. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you go to Saint Marks? Or did the priest’s ears burn off after hearing your confession?”
Tricia narrowed her eyes. “Ha-ha. As if.”
Just when Quinn thought she’d have to deal with Tricia’s surliness alone, higher powers sent a reinforcement. At first, all she could see in her peripheral vision was flapping white and gray, like a wayward jaybird, hauling tail down the sidewalk. But it was Sister Daria. She wasn’t going to come out swinging, but she sure looked like she was at least entertaining the idea.
She may have been a nun-in-training, but she was still Quinn’s smart-mouthed, suffer-no-fools cousin and best friend. And one look at her expression told Quinn that Daria was in the mood to throw down some morning sass.
“Tricia, please tell me I didn’t just hear you take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Me? No! Um … well … good morning, Sister. We were just joking around.” Tricia pinned Quinn with her gaze. “Right, Quinn?”
As if. “Well, actually—”
“Actually, I have some big news,” Tricia interrupted, flipping the long bangs of her bob out of her face. She bared her teeth in something resembling a smile while thrusting her left hand forward. “Scott proposed last night! Isn’t it beautiful?”
Sure enough, there was a big, round rock, set in platinum, glittering away in the morning sun. Quinn noticed how the diamond’s fractal light shimmered like stars across Tricia’s metallic nail polish. Between her smile and the ring’s glimmer, she was her own constellation of happy.
Her cousin broke out in a wide grin. “Wow, that’s wonderful!”
“Uh, congratulations, Tricia.”
Better never break up with him. That is one man-boy who does not take rejection well.
Tricia was staring at Quinn. “Are you sure you’re happy for us?”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Your words say one thing, but your tone says something else.” Tricia put her hand on her hip, elbow out.
“There’s no tone, Tricia. Really and truly.” She tried to reassure her.
She was being truthful too. Just because Quinn couldn’t tolerate Scott for longer than a drive-by pleasantry didn’t mean she’d begrudge Tricia Pemberley the joy she’d found in their impending nuptials. Although, the idea of those two as Vienna’s new power-hungry couple was enough to make Quinn shudder. As Oscar Wilde once mused, “Some people create happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.”
Quinn summoned a kinder response. “I am very happy for you both.”
Tricia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well then, that’s good to hear. Glad there are no hard feelings.”
Hard feelings over … what exactly?
Quinn gazed skyward, shaking her head.
Thankfully, her cousin threw her a Hail Mary. “That’s an impressive haul you’ve got there. Seems like our ‘pet’ project has really taken off.”
Ah, a change of subject. Quinn mouthed a thank-you. “Yeah, I was surprised too. It’s twice the usual amount we get for donations. At this rate, y’all won’t have to buy dog food for months. Speaking of which …” She dragged the words out. “I need to get these bags inside. Can I count on some help from the blushing bride?”
Tricia’s smile melted off her face faster than lipstick on a pig in summer.
“Why, Quinn, that’s a great idea,” Sister Daria piped up. “What do you say?”
Tricia made an “eek” face. “Oh, well, y’all know I’m all about volunteering, but I’ve got to get a move on. You two have no idea how much goes into planning a wedding, especially since Scott wants to marry me as soon as possible.”
Quinn pulled down the truck gate. “Why? Is he expecting?”
Her cousin stifled her snort, coughing to cover it up.
“You think you’re so funny,” Tricia huffed.
“Oh, c’mon now—I was just teasing. You are going to make a beautiful bride.”
That was true. Quinn may not have thought much of Tricia as a human being, but she had been a gorgeous child, one who had grown into a stunning woman. There was a reason why she’d won all those pageants back in the day, even with her slightly tone-deaf rendition of “God Bless America.”
Quinn grabbed one of the dog-food bags and handed it off to her, not really giving her a choice. “Making a nun do manual labor is, like, seven years of bad luck.” She hoisted another bag toward Tricia. “That’s no way to start off your married life.”
The bride-to-be might pretend to be dainty, but that girl looked like she lived at the gym. She could handle the heavy bags.
Tricia grimaced. “I thought seven years of bad luck was for when you broke a mirror or something.”
“Oh really? You want to risk it?” Quinn asked. “Nope, there’s no way I can let you take that chance.”
“Fine, but this load is it.” She gave Quinn the stink eye before heading toward the kennel next to the abbey, with her arms full.
Sister Daria waited until the bridezilla-to-be cleared the doorway. “You know I am more than happy to help you bring this stuff in.”
“Oh, I get that. And you will.” She stretched herself across the flatbed for another bag. RBG head-butted the kibble in her direction, her adorable way of trying to help. Quinn cooed and gave her a scratch along her jaw and neck. Then she handed a couple of sacks over to her cousin.
“You know, using my being a nun as a way to mess with Trish only adds to my prayer load.”
“Please, you know the only reason she was even over here this morning was to tell me they got engaged. Everyone knows I’m always here the first Friday of the month.”
Her cousin’s shoulders shook from her silent laughter. “Don’t look at me to confirm your theory. I’m under contractual obligation with the big JC to assume the best in people—and you have no idea how much of a challenge that can be sometimes.”
“Oh please, you’re a softie.”
“Maybe so, but don’t forget: I can still pick a lock and hot-wire a car without getting caught.”
“The Reverend Mother must be so proud.”
“She is. Just because I’ve had a unique past doesn’t mean I can’t be your typical nun and be of service.”
Quinn couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter that time. “Being of service is one thing—being typical is something else.”
“I’m not that unusual of a candidate.”
“Oh please, what other novitiate chose their name after their favorite MTV animated character?”
Even with her arms full, her cousin waved the comment away like an annoying bug. “That’s just a coincidence. Saint Daria was real. After she helped convert a bunch of Romans, Daria was sent to a brothel as punishment, where a lion defended her honor.”