Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Blake
T he scent of pine needles and damp earth fills the air as I trudge after my niece through the woods, Sprinkles trotting at Quinn’s heels while she searches for the perfect pinecones.
We came out here early this morning to distract Quinn, and if I’m honest, I needed something to take my mind off things, too. But I had somehow forgotten my cell phone back at the cabin, and now I’m anxious to return to the Homestead. What if there’s been an update on Grady or Chloe?
I made a promise to Quinn, though.
“Uncle Blake, look at this one!” Quinn holds up a pinecone as tall as her head.
“That’s great, princess.” I shake the already overflowing basket I hold. “With this one, I think we have enough for your project. Why don’t we head back?”
Quinn furrows her brow and scampers over to peer into the basket, counting under her breath, though there’s no way to see how many she’s collected without dumping them out.
“Nope! We need three more.” She stares up at me with hopeful, pale-brown eyes, the same shade as mine and my sister’s. My father’s eyes. “We need an even number.”
A sigh escapes my lips. “All right, three more. Lead the way, Mighty Quinn.”
She giggles and skips ahead, scanning the forest floor. Sprinkles bounds beside her, his shaggy black coat shimmering in the dappled sunlight. I trail behind them, having learned my lesson already when I tried to toss just any old pinecone into the basket. Every single one must be Quinn-approved.
I raise my hand to rub my temple, and the rainbow bead-bracelet Quinn made for me slides down my wrist. It brings a rush of happiness, as it always does, and I blow out a cleansing breath, willing the tension in my muscles to ease.
We’ll be back at the Homestead soon enough. No need to rush.
A triumphant crow draws my attention back to Quinn. She holds aloft the final three pinecones, dancing around Sprinkles like some kind of pagan ritual while the Newfoundland pants and wags his tail. Then they walk back to me, and Quinn nestles them on top of the pile already in the basket.
As she clicks the lid shut, her cherubic face turns pensive. “Uncle Blake? Have you talked to Mommy?”
My heart clenches at the worried question, and I kneel to her level, leaves crunching beneath me. “I spoke with her doctors, princess. They say she’s working hard to get better. Would you like to go visit her?”
Quinn’s bottom lip trembles. “Do I hafta?”
Sadie’s gaunt face flashes through my mind, along with the crazed way she threw accusations at me. I haven’t been back to visit my sister since she signed over guardianship, and guilt pricks at me. But there’s nothing I can do for Sadie right now. She needs to focus on her healing without me showing up and setting back the progress she’s made.
I cup Quinn’s face, her baby-soft skin warm against my calloused palm. “No, princess. This is your home now, with me and Uncle Nat, Uncle Holden, and Uncle Dom, for as long as you want.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “And Sprinkles?”
“And Sprinkles.” I brush a lock of chestnut hair from her forehead. “But if you ever want to visit your mommy, say the word. I won’t keep you from her.”
Quinn leans into my touch, bottom lip trembling. “Is she getting better?”
A heavy sigh deflates me. I want to lie, to shield her from the ugly truth, but Quinn’s been through this so many times already, and she deserves honesty. “I don’t know, princess. But the doctors are doing everything they can to help her fight this sickness.”
Quinn considers the information, far too serious for her tender years. “After she’s better, I want to see her and hug her, but I want to come home with you. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is.” A lump forms in my throat. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She flings her arms around my neck. “I love you, Uncle Blake.”
I enfold her tiny frame in a fierce embrace, her sweet scent enveloping me. “Love you, too, princess. So much.”
As I hold Quinn close, though, a nagging thought worms its way through my mind. Dad should have been back from his business trip by now, but he hasn’t returned my calls.
An uneasy knot forms in my gut. Has he discovered yet how I went behind his back to gain custody of Quinn? My biggest fear is that this will lead to a court battle, with Quinn caught in the middle.
Desperate for a distraction, I give Quinn one last squeeze before pulling back with a grin I don’t quite feel. “Come on, now, these pinecones aren’t going to carry themselves home.”
Her answering smile is as bright as sunshine as she takes one handle on the basket, and I take the other. The height difference makes walking awkward, but it’s worth it as she struts back toward the Homestead, like we’ve found treasure, and we’re bringing it home.
The aroma of herbs, roasted chicken, and something spicy greets us as we step inside, and my stomach rumbles with hunger. Holden must be back and whipping up something for lunch. The man was born to nurture through food.
“Uncle Holden’s baking treats!” Quinn drops her side of the basket to dart toward the kitchen with the energy only a six-year-old can possess.
Chuckling, I follow at a more sedate pace, only to pause in surprise once we’re through the door.
Dominic stands at the stove, muttering under his breath as he leans over an enormous copper stockpot, stirring it with more force than necessary.
His raven hair has started to unravel from its braid, waving tendrils framing a face set in concentration. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal toned forearms, and Band-Aids wrap around two of his fingers. A sharp scent of citrus cuts through the savory notes, announcing his agitation.
The remains of the chicken carcass from last night sit on the island, along with castoffs of vegetables he must have chopped up. A bag of flour sits off to the side, and the top of the butter dish rests on its side, the plate empty except for a pale-yellow smear.
“Uncle Dom?” Quinn’s brow furrows. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”
I want to know the same. Since when does Dominic cook?
He startles at the question and peers over his shoulder, his cheeks flushed and dampened by the steam rising out of the stockpot.
At our arrival, his shoulders relax. “Oh good, you’re back. I promised to make chicken noodle soup, but… Holden makes this seem so easy. Would it kill him to keep cans of pre-made stuff on hand? Not everyone is a professional chef.”
Holden’s not technically a professional chef, either, with his degree in business marketing and a minor in computer science, but he has the Midas touch of the culinary world, which is why he cooks all of our meals.
I gasp in mock-shock. “Bite your tongue before he hears you blaspheming in his kitchen.”
Quinn tugs on my pant leg. “What’s blass phony ?”
“Yeah, Uncle Blake.” Dominic raises one black eyebrow. “What’s blass phony ?”
“It’s what Uncle Dominic is concocting on the stove.” I glance around. “Where is Holden? I thought he’d be in here stress baking.”
Something flickers across Dominic’s face, too fast to catch, and he turns back to his concoction. “He’s helping Chloe take a bath.”
My world tilts. How did I not scent her as soon as we stepped inside? “She’s here?”
As soon as the question leaves my lips, I want to smack my forehead. Of course, Chloe’s here if Dominic is back home.
I turn for the door. “Is she in her old room?”
“Don’t go rushing in there.” Dominic’s warning brings me back around. “Holden’s taking care of her.”
What does he mean by taking care of her? Is she hurt? Or are they…? My mind flashes pictures of creamy skin turning pink and breathy sighs. Would Holden be that bold?
Quinn, not understanding what the adults are talking about, bounces on her toes, eagerness radiating from every pore. “Can I help? I’m going to be a chef like Uncle Holden.”
I set our basket of pinecones on the only clean spot on the island. “Didn’t you want to be an artist?”
She puffs out her chest. “I’m going to be a writer-artist-chef!”
“That’s ambitious of you.” Dominic turns off the burner and pulls the stockpot aside. “You can help next time, kiddo. This one is dead.”
I hate to see my bondmate so down, so I grab a bowl from the cupboard and join him at the stove. “It can’t be that bad.”
“By all means.” Dominic gestures to the ladle and steps aside.
I scoop some of the broth into the bowl, blow on it, and take a sip. Spice hits my tongue hard, and I fight down the urge to choke, swallowing the mouthful.
How did Dominic mess up such a simple recipe?
Conscious of Quinn watching, I choke out, “Yummy.”
“I’m hungry!” Quinn tugs on my arm. “Can I have some of Uncle Dom’s soup, too?”
“It’s a little too spicy for you, princess.” I turn to Dominic and whisper, “Why is it so spicy?”
Helpless to answer, Dominic gestures at the mess on the island in frustration. “You tell me.”
My friend’s shoulders slump and his head droops, looking like a kicked puppy. “How am I supposed to win Chloe over when I can’t even do something as simple as bringing her soup?”
My heart goes out to him. Dominic desperately wants this to work with Chloe, but he put way too much meaning into being able to bring her sustenance when he’s not the cook in our house. He over-complicated something that’s supposed to be simple.
I set the bowl on the counter and open my arms. “Come here, bondmate.”
He gives me an incredulous stare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Bring it in, big guy.”
“Uncle Dom?” Quinn pipes up. “What do we do when we’re feeling down?”
A grin splits my face. “That’s right, princess. What do we do?”
She thrusts her arms into the air. “We hug it out!”
“You heard her.” I turn back to Dominic, who still stands with his arms crossed. “Come on, it’s happening.”
“Hug it out! Hug it out!” Quinn chants, pumping her little fists.
Dominic’s stern facade cracks, and with an exaggerated sigh, he drops his arms to his sides. “Fine.”
Not giving him a chance to change his mind, I surge forward and wrap him in a bear hug, squeezing him tight enough to lift his feet off the floor.
He lets out a startled oomph and wheezes, “Can’t…breathe…”
Quinn’s giggles fill the kitchen, the sound warming my heart. After everything she’s been through, it’s a joy to hear her laugh.
I give Dominic one last squeeze before setting him back on his feet.
Dazed, he staggers a bit.
Before he can recover, Quinn darts forward and stretches her arms up to him, face shining with adoration. “My turn, Uncle Dom!”
Dominic’s expression gentles, and he swoops down to scoop her into his arms, grinning as she shrieks with laughter. “How could I say no to a hug from our princess?”
Quinn winds her skinny arms around his neck, pressing a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Don’t be sad. The only way you learn is through trying! And Uncle Blake said your soup is good!”
“A good try, huh?” Dominic tickles her sides, and she writhes with giggles. “I suppose this means your hugs are even better than Uncle Blake’s!”
“Hey, now,” I protest in mock outrage. “Let’s not get carried away.”
As my bondmate spins my niece around the kitchen, both of their faces alight with laughter, and I can’t hold back a grin. Dominic may be hopeless in the kitchen, but when it comes to cheering people up, he has a magic touch. He just needs to focus on what he excels at: identifying what people need and making it happen.
He understood Holden was the best Alpha to care for Chloe right now, and Holden would want to feed Chloe, so he offered to fill that role to give our Omega what she needs most. He just needed to take it one step further and outsource the soup.
Thoughts of Chloe draw my attention toward the doorway. She’s so close, right down the hall. Every instinct tells me to go to her, to see for myself that she’s here and okay. But Dominic’s warning holds me back.
Why is Holden taking care of her? Is she sick? Hurt? The possibilities churn in my gut. After losing her once, the thought of anything happening to her again is unbearable.
I drag my attention back to the giggling pair and paste on a smile. One thing at a time. Right now, Dominic needs me. And Chloe… She has Holden. Much as it stings not to be with her, I trust my bondmates to take care of her.
For now, I’ll focus on solving Dominic’s soup dilemma.
From the fridge, I pull out some chicken bouillon. At least Dominic boiled the noodles in a different pot and hadn’t added them to his concoction yet. I fill a glass measuring cup with water and pop it into the microwave to heat.
While I wait, I pull out a fresh bowl and fill it with noodles from the colander in the sink.
“All right, you two, break it up,” I call out. “We need soda crackers.”
Dominic lowers Quinn to the floor. “Shall we see who can find them first?”
“I’m going to win!”
The two race off down the hall.
The microwave beeps, and I pull the steaming cup out to add the bullion and stir until it dissolves. Then I pour the broth over the noodles.
As I pull out a tray and add the soup to it, Quinn and Dominic race back into the kitchen. Dominic holds the requested crackers, and Quinn hugs a bag of jumbo marshmallows to her chest like a teddy bear.
Dominic sets the box on the island. “One of us forgot the mission.”
With a shake of my head, I pull out a second bowl and add it to the tray.
Quinn pries open the bag and plops three fluffy white pillows into it. “Marshmallows make everything better.”
Dominic ruffles her hair. “They sure do, kiddo.”
I add a sleeve of crackers to the tray, along with a spoon. “There we go. Soup’s ready for delivery.”
Dominic studies the tray and frowns. “You made it, so you should take it to her.”
I level him with a flat stare. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sterling. Now go, before the soup gets cold.”
He hesitates, a muscle in his jaw ticking, the gears in his head turning. He wants so much to make her happy, and he’s starting at a deficit the rest of us don’t have to overcome.
With Quinn absorbing everything we do, I don’t want her picking up on the tension. I give Dominic a little shove. “Go on.”
He accepts the tray. “Thank you.”
He sweeps out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my niece and a giant mess that he can clean up after he gets his Chloe fix.
Hands going to my hips, I turn to Quinn, whose cheeks bulge with marshmallows like a chipmunk. “What’s the next step in this pinecone project of yours?”
“Glitter!” she mumbles around her mouthful of sugary fluff, sending a few stray pieces flying.
“Of course it is.” I grab a dishcloth and wipe the sticky residue from her chin. “Okay, let’s bring out the craft buckets.”
With the bag of marshmallows clutched to her chest, Quinn turns and sprints for the door.
I chase after her. “Don’t run with your mouth full!”
Patience isn’t a quality I possess, but for Chloe and my pack, I’ll learn. My time with our Omega will come soon enough.