20. John
The rain started later that night and continued all day Friday. It was the exact kind of rain we needed. Steady, letting itself soak into the thirsty dirt and giving all us farmers and ranchers a break. Surprisingly, there was little thunder, and Pumpkin slept through the night and was content to stay inside, coloring and playing with her dolls.
“I think you wore her out last night,” Quinn murmured. “All the wrestling.”
I grinned at her over my cup of coffee, rubbing my chest. “Some more practice and she’ll be good. Her last punch landed okay. Not a lot of power, but that seems better for her than the karate chop.”
She smiled with me, and I winked. “What about her momma? I wear her out too with all the mattress-wrestling that happened?”
Quinn’s cheeks colored, and I chuckled. I loved the fact that after sucking my cock and begging me to fuck her hard, she could blush if I mentioned sex.
It was endearing to me.
And I meant what I had said last night. I wanted her to stay. I wanted my girls in my house. It made it a home again. I wanted to sleep with Quinn every night and wake up to her every day. I wanted to be in trouble for teaching Abby about shit and laughing about it together later like we did last night.
I wanted forever.
Now I just had to convince her she wanted it too.
“You ready to leave tomorrow morning early? We have ten a.m. admission to the aquarium.”
“Yes.” She sat back, running a hand through her hair. “It feels odd not to be at work. I feel lazy.”
I chuckled. “Perks of being the boss. Trust me, the place will not be busy. When it rains like this, everyone stays home and uses the downtime. I guarantee you Tammy will close up early.”
“I told her to do that if it was quiet.”
“Besides, consider it the start of your birthday weekend.”
She rolled her eyes. “I go from no birthday to a whole weekend? Not sure I can cope with that.” She got up from the table, heading to the sink. “One day is fine.”
I caught her around the waist, pulling her to my lap and kissing her soundly. “Weekend, darlin’. It’ll take me all weekend to celebrate you.”
She met my eyes, hers soft and warm, the green vibrant this morning. “I love you,” she whispered.
I kissed her again. “Love you right back.”
We were in the truck bright and early, all of us anxious to start our adventure. I had woken Quinn up early, making love to her, then giving her the first gift of many to come. The simple gold chain with an infinity symbol on it glinted on her neck when she turned to me with a wide smile as she buckled her seat belt. She wore a pretty sundress in blues and greens with a headband keeping her long hair off her face and highlighting her eyes. I loved it when she wore her hair down. She still had on sneakers, but they were blue and lacy, and she looked lovely. Abby wore a pink dress and matching sneakers, and her hair was done in a French braid with pink ribbons to match her outfit woven into it.
I wore a button-down and dark jeans. I’d realized my sneakers were a mess, so I pulled on a pair of cowboy boots Laura had given me. They were comfortable, and I knew how much walking we’d be doing, so I was okay with it. I knew Abby and Quinn would get a kick out of my choice of footwear. I’d save my less-than-comfortable dress shoes for dinner later. I brought my only suit, and I knew Quinn had a dress for the evening. I was looking forward to having her all to myself later. Abby was excited at the prospect of the movie night with other kids and the crafts listed. All in all, it was a day we were all looking forward to.
Abby asked a multitude of questions on the way into Toronto. I knew her world there had been very sequestered and not happy. I told her as many stories as I could about the places we were going, wanting to keep up her excitement.
We arrived at the aquarium on time, and with the crowds around us, I lifted her onto my hip, holding her tight until we got inside. I kept my other hand wrapped around Quinn’s.
As we approached the doors, I looked down at Abby’s excited face. “Ready, Pumpkin?”
“Ready!”
“Let’s go, then.”
I leaned over the table, smiling at Abby. “What was your favorite part?”
“The dolphins,” she replied immediately, holding up the pink heart-covered stuffed dolphin I had bought her at the gift shop. “And the sharks,” she added. “The colored jelly ones. All the fishes!”
“So, all of it?” I asked.
“Yes!”
She’d been in awe. Turning her head constantly so as not to miss anything. Asking questions, staring at the overhead tunnel, laughing in delight at the antics of some of the fish and the dolphins. Quinn had been entranced as well, and I was glad I had been before since I had a hard time tearing my gaze away from their enjoyment.
On the elevator ride up the CN Tower, Abby had been nervous, but she relaxed when I picked her up, and she nestled into my side. In the restaurant, she had looked around, mesmerized by the view from the table, but unimpressed otherwise. The lunch was really more for Quinn. Luckily, they had a decent kids menu, and Abby was enthusiastic about the chicken fingers option.
Quinn sipped her wine, staring at the vast expanse laid out before us. We had selected the charcuterie appetizer, and I ordered the steak, while Quinn chose the blackened chicken. Abby snacked on a few bits from our appetizer and was now busy chatting up her new stuffie, telling her all about Enid and Fluffy.
I leaned over to Quinn. “Having a good day so far, darlin’?”
“Amazing,” she replied.
“We’ll check in to the hotel after, then walk over to the boat.”
There was a small ruckus at a table across the restaurant, a man’s condescending tone reaching my ears. I shared a grimace with Quinn. “Someone’s not happy.”
“I used to hate going to restaurants with Preston. He always complained about something. Demanded to speak to the manager and get some sort of compensation. I found it embarrassing.”
“Some people are like that.”
Our food arrived, and I rubbed my hands together. “Ignore them and let’s enjoy our meal.”
Quinn nodded. “Sounds good.”
We ate and talked about the aquarium and the upcoming boat trip. Abby, as usual, was droll and clever, making me laugh. I had preordered dessert, and Quinn’s eyes were round, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as a small cake was placed on the table and the staff sang happy birthday to her. We ate the rich dessert, somehow finishing the whole thing, even as we protested about being too full. It was a great lunch, and I was almost giddy with how well the day was going.
That feeling came to a complete and abrupt halt as we headed to the elevator, Abby between us. The lobby area was empty except for one couple waiting already, their backs to us. There was something recognizable about the woman, but I couldn’t place her. Something about her height and the tilt of her head seemed familiar. The man beside her spoke, and I recognized the timbre of his voice as the complainer in the restaurant. Quinn gasped quietly when he talked, stepping back. I looked at her, concerned, as the couple turned and the identity of the woman became clear to me. As did the man to Quinn.
Quinn’s voice was horrified as she spoke.
“Preston?”
I glared at the woman clinging to his arm, my voice a low snarl.
“Moira.”
QUINN
For a moment, we all stared. I felt as if I were trapped in some farce, and I waited for someone to yell Gotcha! But it didn’t happen. Abby pressed into my side, staring up at her father, her grip on my hand tightening. I felt John’s anger, and I stared at the woman standing beside my ex.
There was no denying she was beautiful. Her hair and makeup perfect. Her clothes probably worth more than my rent for a month. But if you looked closely, you saw the coldness in her eyes, the pinched look on her face, and the boredom of her expression.
Preston had changed since I’d seen him last. Though he’d always been tall and lanky, now his shoulders were more rounded than before, his posture not as stiff as it used to be. He’d grown a beard, and his hair, something he’d fussed and preened over, had thinned some and was now more gray than dark. He wore glasses, another new addition, and the frown lines around his mouth and forehead were deep. He looked discontented and haughty.
A look that only grew when he saw me and Abby.
“Quinn,” he said in a mocking tone. “What a surprise to see you.” His gaze flickered to Abby. “And Abigail.”
“Abby,” she responded.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Typical,” he muttered.
John made a low noise in his throat, and Preston cast a look at him, slowly taking in his stance. His gaze lingered on his boots. He chuckled, the sound dry and nasty. “Dating a cowboy now, Quinn? How…quaint.”
Abby dropped my hand, folding her arms over her chest the way John did when he was upset.
“He isn’t a cowboy. He’s a farmer . That’s important.”
Preston ignored her the way he always did.
“I heard you moved to some hick town, Quinn. No doubt you fit in well with the locals. Having a big day in the city, are we?” His pitch was condescending, bordering on snide.
His fiancée snickered, covering her mouth, the large diamond on her hand ridiculous and ostentatious.
John took a step closer. “Watch your tone.”
Preston smirked. “Or what? You’ll plant me?”
“We’re here celebrating Quinn’s birthday,” John replied, ignoring his jibe. “Not that you’d understand how that works.”
A dull red soaked Preston’s cheeks. He hated being called out for what a lousy husband he had been. It was John’s turn to smirk.
“And I’m taking my girls for a fun afternoon. Shocking, no one did that when they lived here. As if someone couldn’t be bothered to look after them. Treat them the way they should be treated.”
“That’s enough,” I said quietly. I had no desire to stand here and trade insults with my ex and his cold partner. “Let’s go.”
Preston glared at me. “Maybe I’d like to spend some time with Abigail. We could catch up.”
I knew he was saying that to upset me. He had zero interest in “catching up” with his daughter.
“Over my dead body,” I hissed at the same time John cursed. But what was the most shocking was Abby’s reaction.
“No,” she said loudly. “I don’t like you, and you’re not my dad. Farmer John is the best daddy ever. He’s nice to me. He makes Momma smile. You were mean.”
Preston glared. “Be silent,” he demanded. At John’s huff, he glared. “Back off, cowboy. This doesn’t concern you.”
“No!” she said louder. “Farmer John is the best. You—you are just an asshole !”
“What did you say?” he snapped.
“ Asshole!” she repeated, once again crossing her arms . “Useless as pig shit.”
I gasped, John smothered a laugh, and then Preston’s face turned darker.
“This is how you raised her?” he snarled. “To be a mouthy, classless little brat?”
His hand flexed, and for a terrible moment, I thought he would attempt to strike her. I grabbed at Abby to push her behind me and John moved to block him, but Abby was faster than anyone. She ducked under my arm, lunged forward, her hands raised—and nailed Preston right in the nuts.
He gasped, dropping to his knees.
“You ’ re pig shit!” she repeated. “ Full of cooties! ”
Shocked, I stepped back, watching my daughter yelling at her father, calling him pig shit . Taking him down with a punch to the junk. Berating him for calling John a cowboy.
“ Farmers !” she insisted. “We are farmers !”
I had no idea how to react. I met John’s eyes. It was a mistake. He was amused. Highly amused. He lifted a shoulder. “She’s right. We are farmers.” He leaned closer, his voice low. “I guess punching is the way to go for her. Highly effective at that height.”
And suddenly, I was laughing. Uncontrollably.
John joined me, and our mirth was unforgivable. Outrageous. Undignified.
John bent and scooped Abby away from Preston, who looked shell-shocked. John handed her to me. “That’s good, Pumpkin. I think you got your point across.”
Abby buried her face into my chest. I stroked up and down her back in comforting passes. He stared down with disgust at Preston, who glared back, furious, embarrassed, and ready to fight.
“I will sue.”
John rolled his eyes. “What will you tell the court? That your six-year-old you abandoned without a thought took you down and let the world know you’re not even good enough to be cow shit?” He bent, his voice low and filled with rage, and he gripped Preston’s shoulder. “Let’s get one thing very clear. They are my concern because they are mine . And I protect what’s mine. You come near either of them, you cause one bit of trouble, and I will make sure your nuts are never in working order again. You understand me?”
Preston grunted, the bully backing down when challenged. “Get away from me,” he said, shaking off John’s hold and rising to his feet. “I tripped, obviously.”
John shook his head. “Whatever lets you sleep at night.” He turned to me, taking Abby. “I think our girl has said all that needs to be said. Unless you have something more you want to run by Abby?” he asked Preston, an evil grin on his face.
Preston seemed to shrink away. “We’re done here.”
John nodded. “I thought so.”
Ignoring the few people now watching us, I pressed the elevator button, relieved when it opened, and we stepped in. John stopped the doors closing, indicating Moira, who had done nothing except stare and look aghast and somewhat disgusted. “And good luck with that one. I’d watch my bank accounts if I were you.”
Preston turned to Moira. “What does he mean by that? How do you know the cowboy?”
“ Farmer !” we all yelled in unison as the doors shut.
Then I was laughing again.
And it felt good.
John carried Abby to the car, holding my hand tight. Once we got there, he stroked Abby’s back. “You okay, Pumpkin?”
She pulled her tearstained face from his neck. “I don’t like him.”
“I know. Me either.” He whispered something to her that made her smile. I was fairly certain he was agreeing with her about the asshole part.
She looked at me. “I used my words, Momma. They didn’t work.”
“I know, baby,” I assured her, still stunned.
“Am I in trouble? Because I said shit and I punched him? Do we have to go home so I can have a time-out?”
I looked at her and John. I recalled the look on Preston’s face as Abby junk-punched him. The lingering thought that his last memory of his daughter would be that a six-year-old brought him to his knees and informed him he was less than cow shit. He was pig shit. Full of cooties. It was certainly a memory I would never forget.
“Baby, you couldn’t have given Momma a better present.”
JOHN
At the hotel, I checked us in, and we headed up to the suite. Abby had fallen asleep on the short drive over, and I carried her with her head on my chest. No doubt, she was exhausted from the emotional scene that had occurred. The front desk staff had been charmed by her, whispering about the sweet little thing I was holding.
It was all I could do not to tell them she had just taken down a grown man who insulted us.
In the suite, I laid her on the bed, and Quinn hovered over her, pulling off her shoes and brushing her hair off her forehead. “What time do we have to be at the boat?”
“Not until four. It’s a short walk, so let her rest.” Unable to stop myself, I chuckled. “Champ deserves it.”
“John,” she hissed, and I pulled her from the room and to the sofa.
“Quinn,” I said, amusement still coursing through me. “Don’t go backward and get upset.” I hung my head, my shoulders shaking with mirth. “That was epic.”
“My daughter just assaulted her father.”
“Who was making some fast hand gestures indicating his ire. I think she felt threatened.”
“You saw that too?”
I nodded. “Your little girl just let her anger out and showed the man who walked away that she was stronger than he will ever be. I know getting hit in the nuts isn’t fun, but she is six. He outweighs her by over a hundred pounds and has fully developed muscles. I highly doubt she was strong enough to do much damage. He’s a fucking wuss.”
“She was pretty mad,” she agreed. “The whole cowboy thing was upsetting her, now that she’s a farmer and all.”
I nodded. “Defending our people.”
A snort escaped her lips, and she tried to look serious. “Do you think I need to get her more therapy for some residual anger issues?”
I started to laugh so hard, I fell back on the sofa.
Quinn glared at me. “That was a serious question.”
I sat up, wiping my eyes. “I’m a simple man, Quinn. You know this. I don’t quite understand the whole therapy thing, but if you think she needs it, we’ll get her more. Or if she wants to talk, we’ll listen. If she has anger issues, I’ll get out my old punching bag and hang it in the shed, and she can punch the shit out of it.” I huffed out a long breath of air. “I think she was mad. Upset. Caught off guard. That’s gotta be hard for a kid. And she remembered our bully talk. It was an extraordinary set of emotions and, frankly, a fucked-up encounter. We all reacted, but she reacted the fastest. It doesn’t mean she’s suddenly going to be punching everything that upsets her.”
“If she does?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” I met her eyes. “Together.”
She rubbed her head, and I let her process for a minute. She fell back on the cushion, covering her eyes.
“I need to talk to her.”
“I agree.” I nudged her. “She called me the best daddy.”
“I heard.”
“I think we should talk to her together.”
She peered at me from between her fingers. “In that talk, you are not going to use the words epic, asshole, or pig shit.”
“What about cooties?”
“John,” she warned.
“Can I high-five her for the nut-punch? I really hope there is security cam footage or someone caught that on their phone. I would blow it up into a motivational poster. David and Goliath sort of thing.”
Quinn bit her lip, trying to stay serious and not laugh.