Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I was right, judging from the delight on Abby’s face and Quinn’s wide smile, even as she protested my bringing food. Unable to resist, I bent and silenced her with a kiss. The soft coo from Abby as I lifted my head made Quinn’s eyes widen.
“Farmer John,” Abby hush-whispered. “You kissed my momma.”
“Yep.”
“Are you her boyfriend?”
“Ah—”
Quinn bent down. “That’s a personal question, Abby.”
“But Momma, he kissed you! In the front yard! It’s not like when he kissed you in the kitchen the other day.”
I met Quinn’s shocked gaze. Obviously, the kid was stealthy, and we were busted.
“Yeah, I’m your momma’s boyfriend.”
“Okay. I like you.” She skipped away. “Let’s have pizza!”
“I guess we have her approval,” I mused, handing Quinn the box and reaching for the tote.
“You bring pizza, swings, and share your cake. Hardly a shock,” Quinn informed me.
“Does Momma approve?” I teased.
“Depends what toppings you put on the pizza. There had better be some olives.”
“I got the Kitchen Sink. Basically every topping, but I skipped the hot peppers.”
“Then you’re a keeper.”
I grinned all the way into the house.
After we ate, the rain hit. Growing up, Laura had loved storms. We both had. We’d sit on the porch with our parents, watching the rain dance on the hard ground, the way the wind moved the trees, and we were fascinated watching the lightning light up the sky, eager for the rumble of the thunder that followed.
This wasn’t the case with Quinn and Abby. Abby clutched her doll and teddy, looking fearful and upset. Quinn was stronger, but she jumped at the sound of the gathering force of the storm. Quinn had lit some candles in case the power went out. She had some cushions and blankets on the sofa, but I saw the way they were eyeing the hallway to the bedroom.
Not really wanting to sit in a closet, I sat on the floor, patting the space between my open legs. “Quinn—here.” Confused, she did as I asked, and then I beckoned to Abby. “Your turn.”
She scrambled onto her mother’s lap, and I draped a blanket around us and wrapped them in my embrace. “Nothing can hurt you,” I assured them. “I have you both.”
I felt Quinn relax, and Abby curled up, patting my forearm with her little hand.
“Can you sing, Momma?” she asked, still nervous.
I wasn’t prepared for Quinn’s voice. She sang softly, one hand sifting through the curls on Abby’s head. Her voice was sweet. Lyrical. Rich. I shut my eyes, letting it roll over me, the sound so beautiful I lost myself to it. She sang and hummed, her talent evident.
Outside, the storm began, the rain heavy. The lights went out, but we stayed a huddled little ball of bodies, arms, and legs as Quinn sang. The candlelight flickered on the walls and the wind rattled the windows, but I kept my girls safe. I didn’t have to do much. Murmur quiet words of comfort. Press a kiss to Quinn’s head. Squeeze Abby’s hand that rested on my arm. Praise the song Quinn finished, hoping for another. She sang some old songs, a couple I recognized from the radio and a few cute kid songs, having Abby sing with her.
I enjoyed myself in a way I didn’t expect. Protecting them felt good. Holding them felt right. Hearing Quinn sing was incredible. Feeling their trust caused an emotion I hadn’t experienced for a long time. Despite the reason for it, it was a heady sensation. One I liked and couldn’t recall feeling before. Time passed, the lights coming back on, but still, we sat together.
Quinn fell quiet, and I peered over her shoulder. “She asleep?” I whispered.
“Yes. She never falls asleep in a storm.” Quinn tilted her head back, meeting my eyes. “You made her feel safe, John.”
“I think your singing did the trick. You have an incredible voice, Quinn. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Oh.”
“You must know that.”
“I always loved to sing. Preston told me my ‘warbling’ was irksome. When I reminded him that he used to enjoy it, he told me he only said it to be polite.”
“Do you have his address?” I asked, my voice mild enough.
“No. I know where he works, but why—” She stopped. “Don’t be silly. You’re not going to go beat him up.”
“I want to. I want to show him how words and fists can feel the same.”
Her eyes shone. “No. But I admit, I love that you want to.”
“Should we put Pumpkin to bed?”
“Yeah. I have to figure out how.”
“Move forward a little.”
She did, and I slid out, hauling myself up onto the sofa. Then I stood, stretched and bent, lifting Abby from Quinn’s lap. She was easy to hold with one arm, and I held out my hand, pulling Quinn to her feet.
“Good God, you’re strong,” she muttered.
I followed her down the hall, amused. “I basically work out from morning until night. I hope so.”