Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
QUINTON
“You want to tell me what happened?” I hug Maise into my side as we sit on the back steps of the house two hours after my neighborly encounter.
We watch the drum of furniture pieces burn down as the last of the day’s light sinks over the horizon.
Luckily for my daughter, I was able to usher Hank back to his house without any drama before she came outside.
The new caretaker was—
“Nope.”
“Maise . . .”
“She started it,” she mutters.
“She started what?”
“Being a bully to Casey.”
“And Casey is . . . ?”
“The girl I was buddied up with for my first week.”
“Ah, okay. And you finished it, I gather.”
Her hands snap to her hips as she looks up at me, serious as hell. “Sure as shit did.”
“Maisey Emmaline MacKelvie,” I growl at her for the language, but I can’t seem to wipe the proud damn grin from my face. So to hide it, I turn away, pretending to study the neighbors’ houses.
“Sorry, Daddy. She just was so mean. She made Casey cry. And I only started there, and—”
She’s getting herself all worked up over this.
“Hey, kiddo. You were defending her. But if we are going to stay at that school, you can’t hit people.”
“Why not? What if they deserve it so bad?”
I huff a laugh and shake my head. “No, kiddo, not even then.”
She pouts like I knew she would.
And I return my gaze to the windows of Hank’s house. I hope he’s okay. I was taken back by the woman who opened the door. She is definitely not Marie. Much younger. And those damn eyes, those curves.
Fuck.
I hope she’s good to Hank. He was dealt a shitty hand with that disease.
“. . . Daddy?”
“Hey, sorry, what’s up?”
“Who was the old man in my snuggle blanket?”
Shit, I just grabbed the first one I saw. I didn’t even realize it was hers.
“Hank from next door, he gets confused sometimes. Thought it was summer and was wanting a swim. I’ll get your blankie back tomorrow.”
“Why is he confused?”
“His mind can’t stay focused, and he forgets.”
How else do you explain dementia to a five-year-old? ’Cause I have no idea.
“Oh, okay.”
She pops off the step and wanders around the yard, collecting leaves and twigs for who knows what.
I pull out my phone and check business emails and the accounts, to make sure outstanding invoices have been paid.
Nothing worse than having to tell the guys payday will be late because a customer bailed or paid late.
The accounts are looking a little sad, and after a little digging I find three invoices that are outstanding. Typical.
I send reminder emails and pluck up the beer I brought out here after dealing with Hank. It’s still cold, thanks to the current Vermont weather. Just another thing me and Maise will have to get used to.
“Hello?” a feminine voice calls from the front of the house. It’s barely audible from the back steps, and I wait a beat. Maybe it was next door?
“Anyone home?”
Nope, that is definitely my coming from my porch.
I push up and walk through the house, opening the front door.
Dark eyes look up at me. Her fine features are framed by dark wavy hair. Her pert little nose has already started to redden and her pretty pink lips are currently pursed. A hand juts toward me, Maisey’s blanket folded and resting in her palm.
“I washed it, just in case you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
I don’t know what it is about this woman, but my usual fully functional language skill set is nowhere to be found. Apparently, it ran off with my manners. I stare at her, unable to pull my gaze from her face.
She shifts on her feet with a huffy laugh.
“Right, so much for friendly small towns. I see that was just a nineties thing.” She turns on her heel and stalks from my porch, crunching her way through the snow back to Hank’s house.
Her front door slams.
Creature of habit, I see.
I close my door and walk back through the house, tossing the blanket onto the sofa as I go past. Maise comes flying into the house a second later, claiming to have found a pet bird that looks like it’s half frozen. Great, now we’ve got to try and resuscitate the damn thing.
Fuck my luck.
She lays the bedraggled thing on the kitchen counter and races off to find something. The bird is in shock, by the looks of it. Probably won’t last the night. A heartbeat later, she reappears, distraught.
“I can’t find a shoebox!” She spins around, hands flying upward. “Daddy, we need a shoebox to keep her warm!”
Sighing, I tug my coat from the hooks by the door. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Maise is fussing over the bird as I step outside and pull the door shut behind me. The first flakes of the evening’s snowfall start to drift downward as I crunch my way toward Hank’s house. He’s the closest neighbor for half a mile. If he doesn’t have a shoebox, we ain’t getting one.
By the time I make the front porch, curiosity has the better of me, and I’m half hoping the new caretaker will answer the door.
Not that I’m interested.
I knock, brisk—all business.
The bird. Right, the bird.
Not that I have any desire to get into to anything serious with a woman after the last disast—
The door swings open.
Instantly, the pretty face that greets me twists with annoyance.
“Come to check if I locked the doors and windows, lest you’re inconvenienced again?”
I would laugh at her sassy first words, but heat floods my neck and face. I didn’t mean to come off as inconsiderate or uncaring, but apparently that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Nothing new, I suppose. I’ve been told time and time again I’m too blunt.
“Ah, no.” I rub a hand behind my neck, letting my gaze wander behind the beautiful brunette in front of me, almost searching for Hank. I’d much rather talk with him, if he’s having a good night. It changes so fast for him, almost hourly, so—
“Did you come over here just to snoop? Or just to stare?”
Huh.
Right.
If I’m blunt, she’s sarcasm and intolerance personified.
“You know what, forget it.” I turn on my heel and make for the steps.
The door slams behind me.
I shake my head and huff a disbelieving sound. Well, that didn’t take long for her to hate me. Talk about getting off on the wrong damn foot.
It should bother me that my new neighbor doesn’t like me, that her bitterness has been constant since we met. But for some reason, by the time I get back to the house, I can’t wipe the smile off my stupid damn face.
Maise is sobbing into her pillow.
Birdy, as she so eloquently named it, didn’t make it. She was gone by the time I got back from Hank’s. Honestly, I doubt she—at least, we think it was a she—would have made it through the night. Birds are always touch and go, and in winter . . . the odds are bleak.
“Maise, you did everything you could. And we were with her when she closed her eyes. She was warm and loved at the end. More than most creatures ever get, kiddo. You did good.”
She wails into the damn pillow and my heart tumbles from my chest.
Fuck.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I rub a hand over her small back. She’s had a long, dramatic day. And every inch of me hurts seeing her upset. And not all of those tears may be for the bird. She was so excited to start a new school, and I imagine today did not go the way she hoped it would.
My beautiful girl. My sweet baby . . . God, I just want to fix every problem, save her from every hurt.
But I know I can’t. I’ll never be able to do that.
Best I can do is give her the skills to take care of herself.
Lying beside her, I drag the mess of curls away from her face, and she opens her eyes. “I really thought today would be so great, Daddy.”
Her little chin wobbles.
“I know, kiddo. I know.” I hug her into my chest and her small, fine fingers wrap around the opening of my shirt.
With a sniffle, she lifts her gaze to mine. I lie on the pillow as she presses her palms to my chest. She feels cool against my skin, always chasing my warmth. Coming to my bed in the middle of the night when she was younger.
I’d wake up with her curls plastered over my face, her little body pressed up against my side, drool over my pillow. But there are worse ways to wake up.
I offer her a reassuring smile. “Today is done, but tomorrow is all ours.”
She rolls her eyes at me, and I chuckle.
“I guess,” she whispers. Her hand brushes over my days’ worth of stubble. “So scratchy, Daddy.”
“Must be time for a beard, then.”
Her face twists with disgust. “No way!”
I chuckle and pull her close, smothering her while I rub my knuckles in her hair. “Tickle time, then, hey?”
She squeals, batting her little hands into my chest. I release her a little way and poke her ribs playfully as she wriggles on the bed, kicking her legs around.
Much better.
It takes her a while to register that I’m no longer tickling her, and she settles, her laughter fading as I pull her duvet over her. I brush her hair from her face and plant a kiss to her forehead. “Night, my beautiful girl.”
She snuggles in, tugging the blanket up higher. “Night, Daddy.”
“Love you, Maise.”
“Love you, too.”
I rise from the bed and pad across the room. When I turn out the light, I lean on the doorframe, watching her cuddle her bear and close her eyes. Double-checking the thermostat is warm enough, I push from the door and walk into the hallway.
“Dada?”
Backtracking, I pop my head in her doorway.
That gets a small giggle. “Can we do the tree tomorrow when I get home from school?”
“Sure, kiddo. I’ll pick you up, and we can head to Caleb’s and pick a tree.”
Her eyes are lit up. So much for being sleepy. “A really, really big one?”
“Absolutely.”
“Night, Dada.”
“Goodnight, Maise.”
I pad back down the hall to my room, exhausted from running a small business, raising an energetic, curious kiddo, and making a new home for us in a new town.
It all takes a very real toll by the end of the day.
But when I lie my weary body, those dark eyes from the woman next door won’t budge from my mind.
Her sharp words and annoyed expression only serve to make her more endearing in a way.
But she has made it very clear—she does not like me.
At all. And with the vitriol that spilled from her tonight, the feeling is mutual.
The last thing I need right now is a shitty neighbor, so I’ll keep my distance.
It’s a pity our house and theirs are the only two on this nondescript street in the outskirts of Grafton.
It would have been nice to have a friendly face around.
Folks to be neighborly with. Grill, have a beer with at the end of a long day, or lend a cup of sugar to.
All that small-town stuff that was part of the attraction of moving here.
Kids for Maise to play with would have been great, also.
I close my eyes, rubbing my hands down my face as I second-guess every decision I’ve ever made. My latest big change is front and center of the self-doubt that rises with each thought, more depressing than the last.
How can we ever know if we’re doing the right thing by our kids?
Who knows how the school situation will pan out . . . One thing I can try to give her is good neighbors. I can try again, maybe apologize for a rough start and beg for a do-over?
One can only try, right?