19. Quinn
19
QUINN
J ohn slid his hand over mine in the truck on the way back to the farm. Abby was asleep five minutes after we headed home, exhausted from her horseback riding, full from the delicious piece of cake she’d eaten, and delirious with joy when she was told she could come back anytime and ride Ginger.
“She’s so pretty, Momma! And she ate an apple from my hand and kissed it! She likes me.”
“Pumpkin had a good day,” he mused.
“She did.”
“I was thinking of buying Ginger for her. We could stable her at the ranch.”
I gaped at him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, John. She loves it today, maybe not in a week or a month.”
He pursed his lips. “She’s a steady little thing,” he said, looking thoughtful. “I think she’ll keep wanting to go. And when she shows she can do it, we can move the horse to the farm, and she can care for it there and ride her anytime she wants.”
I felt a flutter in my chest at his words. I still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he’d told me he loved me. Now, he was talking future plans.
Talk about steady.
When I had joined Sadie, she’d filled up a coffee mug and slid it my way. “Nice to see John look happy.” She winked. “That’s rare.”
I had laughed and taken a sip of my coffee.
“He’s crazy about you and the little one,” she mused.
“Why would you say that?” I asked, curious.
“The way he looks at you. Both of you, actually. Protective. Loving. His father used to look at his mother the same way. They were a wonderful couple.”
I felt myself blush. “He is pretty awesome. The gruffness is to keep people away.”
She nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ve known him a long time. He became gruffer the past few years.” She eyed me knowingly. “And I’m sure you know why.” She tutted under her breath. “That woman was awful. He deserves so much better.” She patted my hand. “And I think he’s found it.”
“I think I’m pretty lucky.”
She eyed me over the rim of her cup. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. I’d say he’s lucked out as well.” She smiled at my red cheeks. “Now, tell me about your plans.”
“John,” I admonished gently. “We don’t have to rush things.”
“Not trying to rush anything.” He shrugged. “Those are my thoughts, so I’m letting you know. No worries.” He glanced at me. “I’m a straight shooter, Quinn. I love you. I said it and I meant it. I plan on moving forward with you and Pumpkin. You want that too, right?”
“Yes. But?—”
He shook his head. “But nothing. We’ll do what we want, when we want. I have never let society or anyone dictate my life to me, and frankly, you let someone else dictate to you long enough. You tell me what you want, I’ll tell you what I want, and we’ll figure things out. And what I want is a life with you and Abby in it.”
The words were out before I could stop them.
“Do you really want children?”
He flashed me a wide grin. “With you? Absolutely. I want to make a few of her all over again.” He indicated Abby sleeping in the back seat. “Get to be there with you to go through everything. Hold them as a baby. Watch them take their first step.” He paused. “As long as you want more.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then we agree.”
“Um, not like tomorrow.”
He laughed, lifting my hand to his mouth. “Good. I want to spoil you for a while. Let you get to know me and all my bad habits, then decide if you want to risk my DNA mixing with yours.”
“I love mixing our DNA.”
He winked as he pulled into the driveway. “Later, darlin’. I promise you lots of DNA later.”
I squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
Abby woke up as we parked, and we headed down to the watering hole, the coolness refreshing on our skin. She splashed and played, John tossing her into the deeper water, staying close to make sure she was safe. I watched how natural they were together. How in tune he was with her, and I could only imagine him if I was pregnant. The protectiveness I saw in him would be multiplied.
Not that I minded.
I lounged in the shallower end, laughing when they joined me, Abby’s hair wet and John looking like a drowned rat. I had heard lots of splashing.
“Having a good day, baby?” I asked Abby.
“The best.”
“Good.”
She grabbed one of the toys, floating on it, looking thoughtful. She turned to me. “Momma, what are we doing next weekend?”
“Um, nothing.”
“But it’s your birthday. We always do something fun on your birthday.”
John’s head snapped my way, and I felt his stare. He came closer, looming over me in the water.
“It’s your birthday next week?”
I waved him off. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I protested.
“It is, Momma. We have a special day!”
“What is it you do for your birthday?” John asked.
Abby grabbed his arm. “Last year, we went to a salon, and I had a pedicure! Then we went to a movie. After, we had McDonald’s. It was so fun!”
John tilted his head. “I bet it was.”
“The year before, we went to a pizza place. They thought it was my birthday, so I got a piece of cake, which made me laugh. But I shared it with Momma, and I got to play in the ball room. She watched and said it was the best day ever.”
John nodded, his eyes on me. “I see.”
I smiled. “I’ll think of something, Abby.”
John shook his head. “Oh no. I think this year, I get to make the birthday plans.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head again in warning.
“My plans,” he murmured, lowering his head. “And you should have told me.”
“I don’t make a big deal of it,” I whispered. “I make the day fun for her.”
“Well, things have changed. Both my girls will be having fun. And I won’t hear any arguments, Quinn.” He met my eyes. “Right?”
He was serious, his gaze steady. I swallowed hard.
“Right.”
He kissed me, hard and fast.
“Good girl.”
JOHN
Later that evening, I sat on the porch. Quinn came outside to join me, sitting in the other rocker. I sipped a coffee, and she had a bottle of water.
“Abby asleep?”
“As soon as her head hit the pillow. She sleeps so well these days.”
“She feels safe.”
She glanced at me. “Yes, she does. She told me what you said to her—about covers, John. I think it gave her something she needed to hear.” She paused, her voice filled with wonder. “You know exactly how to make her feel safe and looked after. Important.”
“She is all those things. So are you.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. You show me all the time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday next week, Quinn? Were you really going to let it pass without letting me know?”
She looked sad, crossing her legs and rocking in silence for a moment. “I didn’t purposely not tell you. It’s just…” She trailed off.
“Just what?”
“My birthday was never a big thing after I went into foster care. Preston took me out for a fancy dinner when we were dating to celebrate, but once we were married, I was lucky if he remembered it. I only ever did something on it with Abby because she loved her birthday so much. I tried to make hers special, and when she asked about mine, I made up things that seemed like they were for me…” She shrugged.
“But they were for her.”
“It hasn’t been a big deal for a long time.”
“It is to me. I think the day you were born should be celebrated. So, we are going back to making it a big deal. And we can do it in a way that still includes Pumpkin.”
“That would be nice,” she said, but she still looked sad.
I reached out and took her hand. “Hey, I’m not mad. I want to understand, though. And I want you to realize things are different now. You matter. What you think matters. How you feel matters. And I want you happy.”
She cupped my face. “Oh, John, I am happy.”
“Then let me celebrate the day with you.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“What about a trip into the city? You said you’ve never been to the aquarium. I thought it was awesome, and I think Pumpkin would love it. I checked, and there’s an afternoon cruise on the harbor. We’ll do lunch at the CN Tower because the view is spectacular, and you’ve never been. You and I will do a late dinner together—the hotel has childcare, so Abby will be looked after and everyone gets what they want. Pumpkin is included, I get to celebrate you, and you get to enjoy the day. Laura is planning a family dinner on Sunday, so they get a chance to celebrate you as well.”
I watched as tears filled her eyes. “When did you plan all this?” she said with a sob.
“This afternoon, while you and Abby worked in the garden. I called Laura, and between us, we figured it out fast. She helped me make the reservations.” I held out my hand. “Come here, darlin’.”
She let me pull her to my lap, and I wrapped her in my arms. “Why the tears?” I asked, wanting to understand.
She was quiet for a moment, and I allowed her to gather her thoughts.
“I’ve been invisible for so long,” she whispered. “I haven’t been important enough to bother planning something to celebrate my birthday since my parents died.”
“You’re important to me.” I tilted up her chin. “You’ve become the focus for me. I want to celebrate the day. Celebrate you.”
“Okay,” she sniffed. “That would be lovely.”
“Quinn.” I waited until she met my eyes. I wiped away the tears on her cheeks. “Those days are behind you. You aren’t going to be alone anymore. You and Abby are mine. My family will be yours. We will be a family. Hopefully, a growing one. You will never be unimportant again. I swear that to you.”
She buried her face into my neck and wept. I held her tight, letting her tears soak into my shirt. She needed to cry it out. I remembered my mom saying that to my dad about Laura when he’d expressed his worries about her teenage emotions.
“Girls and women sometimes need to cry, dear. It’s our way of letting out the fear and worries we keep inside so we can start fresh.”
So I rocked us, letting Quinn cry out her fear and worry. And when she was ready, we’d start again fresh. I was determined to show her a life where she was important. I’d love her until she forgot about the past and the loneliness and only knew how deeply she was adored.
QUINN
All week, I was excited about the upcoming weekend. The last birthday I had celebrated, there had been cake, balloons, and presents, and my parents and grandparents. I had been a child and filled with excitement and delight. At the foster home, if they remembered, I was wished a good day, and on occasion, Joanne made a dessert I liked, but it wasn’t often. Still, I felt obligated not to complain. And Preston ignored the day after the one dinner. Once, he stopped as he was leaving the house and looked at me.
“It’s your birthday,” he said with a frown.
I shook my head. “Last week.”
“Oh.”
I waited, hoping he would smile and say he’d make it up tonight, but he simply shrugged. “Don’t forget to pick up my dry cleaning.” Then he walked out.
Once Abby was old enough, I’d do fun things with her to celebrate. It was more for her than me, although sharing the day with her made me feel a little better.
But this year, John had taken over the planning, and I had to admit, I was looking forward to the day.
On Thursday, I stopped by the house to pick up a dress I had that would be suitable for dinner on the weekend. Inside, I was startled to feel the cool air greet me as I walked in. I went back outside, surprised to see a new air conditioning unit installed and running quietly.
I returned to the kitchen, perplexed. John hadn’t mentioned the air was fixed. I hesitated, then took the dress I’d picked, plus a couple more outfits for Abby, then headed back to the farm. I saw the tractor in the fields and knew John would have Abby with him. She adored him, and he felt the same way back. I never imagined the man I’d traded barbed words with would ever be the sweet, protective lover I had fallen for so quickly.
In the kitchen, I chuckled at the pile of fresh-shucked corn that sat on the counter. John had mentioned he had a small section of corn ready to pick, so I assumed corn was on the menu tonight.
I knew there was cold chicken, so I put together a nice Caesar salad and decided to grill the corn and serve it with a compound butter. I got it ready, smiling as I heard the heavy footsteps on the porch outside.
The door swung open, and John and Abby came in, both looking hot, tired, and happy. I couldn’t recall my daughter ever looking this happy. She glowed these days. “Hey, you two.”
I was greeted with kisses and hellos, which I was happy to get, although they both smelled a little ripe.
“How’re the crops?” I asked.
“Desperate for the rain that is supposed to come tonight,” he replied, sitting down heavily and accepting the cold water I offered him. “I hope it rains as long and steady as they’re predicting. We all need it.”
“Were you, ah, working in the barn?”
He chuckled. “I was fertilizing earlier. I know I smell. I’ll go shower.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Manure, Momma. It helps the plants grow.”
“Ah.”
She nodded sagely. “Cow shit.”
I had to swallow back my laugh. “Abby,” I choked out.
“It is. Farmer John told me.”
I met his amused eyes. “I was explaining it to her. How we reuse things other people would think are useless.”
“Like cow shit,” Abby said again. “It’s better than pig shit because of cooties.”
“E. coli,” John corrected gently.
“That’s what I said. Farmers make shit useful. It’s good for the envir-envir… What is it, Farmer John?”
“Environment.”
“Yes. Most people don’t know that, Momma. But us farmers do.”
I tamped down my chuckle and put on a straight face. “You call it manure, Abby. Not cow shit. That can be considered a bad word.”
She scratched her nose. “Like asshole? Farmer John says some of the men in town are assholes and about as useless as pig shit. I mean, manure.” She turned to John. “Is it still manure if it’s pig shit, Farmer John?”
He was looking everywhere but at me, and I knew he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, it is.”
She looked thoughtful. “So, some shit is better than others.”
“That pretty much sums it up.” John made a funny noise, stood, and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go take that shower.”
And like a coward, he hurried down the hall. He barely got the bedroom door shut before I heard him start to laugh.
With a sigh, I sat down and explained to my daughter why some of the things Farmer John muttered needed to be kept at home.
“You don’t use those words in public with strangers and other people, Abby.”
She looked at me as if I were crazy. “I know that, Momma. But we’re at home. And Farmer John says we can be ourselves at home and say what’s on our mind.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, your mind needs to think polite words, young lady.”
She stood. “Farmers have different ways of thinking, Momma. I’m a farmer now. You better become one too so you get it.”
And she walked down the hall.
For a moment, I was in shock. Then I went outside, around the corner, and I laughed.
I decided Farmer John needed a good talking-to.
Dinner was interesting. John looked everywhere but at me, trying not to laugh. I’d given him a fast dressing-down while he’d stood in the shower, the water sluicing over his shoulders and back. He’d continued to soap himself up, trying to look abashed but failing.
“It’s kinda funny, Quinn. No one would take offense here.”
“Not the point.”
“Jesus, she is smart. She said it best. Some shit is better than others.”
“Stop laughing.”
“You wanna come in here and let me apologize?”
“No!”
He grinned. “I’d make you forget about manure.”
I turned and headed back to the kitchen.
But not before reaching in and turning off the hot water.
His yelp of surprise gave me more than a little satisfaction.
Abby prattled on about her day. “Bethy taught me how to karate chop someone,” she said. “Take down a bully.”
John looked impressed. “You need to show me later, Pumpkin.”
“We don’t karate chop people, Abby,” I said, trying to stay patient.
“What if they karate chop me first?”
“We use our words.”
“Well…” John began.
“ Our words ,” I stressed.
“Yes, your momma is right. Words first, but if they come at you, then you can defend yourself.”
I sighed and changed the subject. “I stopped by the house earlier to get a dress.”
John’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He looked guilty. “Oh.”
“The air is fixed?”
“Yeah. Ted found a unit. Put it in today.”
“So we can head home after the weekend.” I looked at Abby. “You must miss your room?”
She shrugged.
“But you picked the paint,” I reminded her.
“I like it here.”
“You liked the house too. With the swing, remember?”
“I guess.”
She pushed away her plate. “Momma, may I be excused?”
“You’re finished?”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Of course.”
She headed down the hall, and I glanced at John. He’d stopped eating as well. “The house was awfully cool for only having that unit put in today, John.”
He balled up his napkin. “Okay, it went in on Tuesday.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I like having you here. I like coming home, knowing you and Pumpkin will be here. Hearing you laugh. Playing with her. Sleeping beside you. I didn’t want you to go yet.” He indicated the direction Abby had headed in. “I don’t think she wants to go either.”
“We have to go back eventually.”
He met my eyes. “Why?” he challenged.
“That’s our new home.”
“This can be your new home. Here. With me. I can paint her room pink. Move her swing. She likes it here. She feels safe. You like it here.”
“Of course I like it here, but that’s not the point.”
“What is?”
“John,” I said gently. “We’re so new. You really want to rush into moving in together?”
His eyes never left mine. “Yes.”
“Wow,” I mouthed, shocked. “I thought we were going to take it slow and make sure we’re ready.”
“I am ready. Move in with me.”
I opened my mouth to tell him no, but the words didn’t come out. My common sense told me to say it. Convince him it was too soon and too much.
But my heart was rejoicing. The thought of living here all the time made me want to yell the word yes and launch myself at him. Stay here—with him. Be part of his family. Have this be my home.
“I need some time.”
He stood and bent over me. “Fine. You think about it. But think about this, Quinn Harper. You’re mine and I’m yours. We’re a done deal. Why should we wait to be happy? I think we both deserve that now. And one more thing to consider.” His mouth covered mine, and he kissed me with a hunger that left me no doubt as to his thoughts. “You and me in our bed every night. Waking up with each other. Being parents for Abby. The whole package.”
Then he walked away.
Later, I sat on the porch, watching John and Abby wrestle. She showed him her karate chop, and he decided she needed a few more pointers. I had given up trying to stop him. He was on his knees so he was closer to her height, and they were play fighting.
“Gimme your best shot, Pumpkin,” he encouraged her.
She raced forward, hands clenched into fists, and drove them into his arm. He looked down, nonplussed.
“That’s a punch, not a karate chop.”
She frowned. “Oh yeah. Bethy showed me punches too.” She rocked back on her heels, flexing her fingers like a martial arts expert, made a whoop noise, and karate-chopped him on the same arm.
“Pretty good,” he said. “Now, let’s put some weight behind it.”
The next twenty minutes, he was patience personified, showing her how to throw a punch properly and use the momentum of motion for her karate chop.
“Let’s try again. Run toward me and let me have it.”
“Karate chop or punch?”
“Surprise me.”
She moved backward, swinging her arms. Then she rushed toward him, delivering a single punch to his chest, and he went down like a felled tree. She jumped on him, laughing, and he lifted her high, making her squeal and yelp in delight. I had a feeling her punch had barely registered, but he wanted her to have some confidence.
A memory stirred, one I had long forgotten. My grandpa and me on the front lawn, doing much the same thing. Him pretending I was stronger than I was and fake-diving to the grass, then tickling me and lifting me, letting me be the victor. I recalled the laughter and the joy of the simple moment, and suddenly, I realized that was what had been missing in our lives.
Even though I had walked away from Preston, I still expected Abby to be a little lady. With John, she was simply being a child. Preston had been against roughhousing or any tomboyish activities. I was less strict, but I didn’t know how to be that person with her. I had forgotten.
John was showing her. Letting her be Abby. It didn’t make her less of a girl. It simply added to her experience.
And he was right—if she was bullied, she should be able to stand up for herself. He wasn’t teaching her to fight. He was teaching her to defend. Be her own hero. And he was doing it in a fun, nonconfrontational way.
I got up and walked over to them. They looked up, expecting me to scold or tell them to stop. Neither of them expected me to drop to my knees and waggle my fingers at John. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, buddy.”
A delighted smile crossed his face. Abby clapped her hands. “Show him, Momma!”
John lunged, and I rolled out of the way. I tackled him from behind, and the game was on.
Loud peals of laughter followed as the three of us scuffled, wrestled, and practiced karate chops and punches as the evening waned away.
These were memories I hoped Abby would never forget.