9. John
9
JOHN
W e ended up grilling hot dogs, and with the leftover fried chicken and the tossed salad Laura had brought with her, we convinced Quinn and Abby to stay for supper. After, the kids sat on the steps, eating huge slices of ice-cold watermelon. The grown-ups ate theirs in a bowl. Far less messy but, judging from the laughter from a few feet away, far less enjoyable.
“You settling in all right?” Laura asked.
“Oh yes,” Quinn said. “She loves her school. The staff I hired, especially Tammy, have made it so easy. She takes the morning shift, I come in after taking Abby to school, and I get to pick her up. Our hours work well. If I have to stay late, Mrs. Grainger takes her, and I pick her up there.” Quinn shook her head. “A bit of a dream, how quickly our life has found a rhythm, to be honest.”
“What will you do for the summer?”
“I have her in a few camps. Swimming, a kids cooking camp, and a music one at the school. I’ll hire extra staff to cover the days I need to be at home. She can come to the restaurant if needed. Mrs. Grainger will take her at times too.”
“I can help out.”
Everyone stopped and looked at me, and I shrugged. “Pumpkin and I get on well. I’ve looked after Cody.”
Laura smiled. “I can help too if needed. And there is a great camp Cody goes to every summer—but it’s a stay for a week place. Would she like that?”
Quinn was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure. Since the incid—” she stopped talking, clearing her throat “—I mean the divorce, she is clingy, but I could ask her.”
I shared a look with my sister. Quinn had stumbled over the word incident. Not divorce.
What had that fucker done?
I hadn’t even realized I had curled my hands into fists or made a noise until Laura leaned over, patting my arm. “Take a breath, big brother. Maybe two. This isn’t the time.”
Quinn regarded me with wide eyes, and I forced myself to relax. She blinked and turned to look at Abby, and I exhaled a long gust of air.
What the hell was wrong with me today?
“I can go with you if you want to check it out,” Laura volunteered. “Cody’s been going since he was six. He loves it. I know the owners well, and then you can decide if you want to broach the subject with her.”
“Sounds good,” Quinn replied.
The conversation turned to other things. Crops, the restaurant, the troublesome woman Laura was dealing with. Bob shared some funny stories from the store, and before it grew dark, the kids ran around kicking the soccer ball and climbing the fence to see the cows.
When they came back, Abby stood beside my chair and yawned. Loudly. I bit back my amusement and patted my knee. She climbed up, snuggling in as if she did it every day. I put my arm around her, still talking to Bob about the apartment units’ plans. I met Quinn’s shocked gaze, and I stopped.
“Sorry. Did I overstep?”
“No,” she replied. “I’ve never seen her do that.”
“I like Farmer John,” Abby muttered sleepily. “He’s big, and his hug is nice.”
“There you have it,” Laura stated. “Good hugs.”
Cody laughed. “Uncle J gives the best.” Then he grinned sheepishly. “Next to you and Dad, of course.”
Laura ruffled his hair. “It’s okay, kiddo. Uncle J has always given the best hugs.”
We talked as darkness descended. Cody read a book he had brought, sitting close to the lamps on the table.
Quinn leaned in. “We should go. She’s asleep, and if I get home fast enough, she’ll stay that way.”
I looked down in amusement. Abby was snuggled in, and I had been stroking her hair, not even realizing it. One of her little hands gripped my shirt, and the other was tucked under her chin. “I’ll carry her to the car.”
I followed her as Laura, Bob, and Cody said goodnight and headed inside.
I slid Abby into her booster seat, snapping on the seat belt. I shut the door quietly so as not to wake her, and I went to the driver’s side.
“I still have your shirt,” Quinn whispered.
I had loved knowing under her overalls it was my shirt she wore, the sleeves too big and the shoulders hanging down her arms. “Keep it.”
She tilted her head up, smiling. “I’ll wash it and bring it back.”
“No rush.”
“Thank you for today. It was wonderful.”
“Thanks for the company and the fried chicken. My family ate my lunches for the week.”
“I’ll bring you more.”
I reached over and ran my finger down her cheek. “I’d like that.”
“Do you know what I’d like?”
“Tell me,” I replied, my voice dropping to a husky whisper.
“I heard your hugs are the best. I’d like to find out.”
I pulled her close, holding her in my embrace. She fit against me, looping her arms around my waist. I held her tight, breathing her in. Then I slipped my fingers under her chin and stared down at her. “Do you want to know what I want?”
“I’m hoping it’s the same thing I want,” she murmured, kissing my thumb that lingered near her mouth.
With a groan, I captured her lips with mine and kissed her. There was nothing gentle and sweet about it. It was hard and deep. Claiming. I explored her, drinking her in, sliding my hand to her ass and cupping it. She responded, her breathy sounds egging me on. My cock hardened, trapped between us, and it was only the sleeping child in the back seat that stopped me from pinning Quinn against the vehicle and ravishing her completely.
I heard the squeak of the wooden door, and regretfully, I eased back, but not before dropping three fast kisses to Quinn’s wet lips. She blinked up at me, her gaze unfocused and filled with passion.
“Call me when you get home.”
“I don’t have your number.”
I took her phone and programmed myself in, then called so I had her number.
“Call me.”
She climbed in, starting the car. She shifted into drive and looked at me, rolling down her window.
“What is it?” I asked.
“They were right. Best hugs ever.”
Then with a wink and a wave, she drove off.
I waited until her taillights disappeared and went inside to face the inquisition.