Chapter 4 Quinn & Amber
quinn & amber
Amber
By five o’clock, the farm looks like a snow globe come to life—minus the snow, of course. Not that it never snows in Texas, but it’s rare, especially in December.
Strings of lights wind through the rows of pines, the smell of kettle corn hangs thick in the air, and half of Saddle Creek is drinking cocoa from cups stamped Crawford Family Christmas Tree Farm.
Everything is perfect… until it isn’t.
“Quinn!” I yell across the clearing. “We’ve got a problem!”
My husband’s by the main generator, sleeves rolled to his elbows, clipboard tucked under one arm, scowl firmly in place. “Define problem.”
“The problem,” I say, marching toward him, “is that Roe was testing the lights on the main tree, and they lit and just went out. The gates open in just a few minutes, and we’ve only got a couple of hours until the official lighting ceremony.
Also, Johnny tried to fix the speaker, and now we’re stuck listening to Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer on repeat. ”
He mutters a word that definitely isn’t in any Christmas carol. “Where’s Hayes?”
“Trying to convince the goats not to eat the Santa photo backdrop.”
“Harrison?”
“Not sure. He and Birdie disappeared a while ago.”
Quinn scrubs a hand down his face. “Of course they did.”
I try to hide my grin. “You love them.”
He shoots me a look. “My family?” He shakes his head. “I tolerate them. You, I love.”
“Well, lucky me.” I plant my hands on my hips. “You going to fix it, or should I?”
“Amber,” he says, low and warning. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. You’ve been running around all day like a foreman on a construction site instead of letting people help you.”
“Someone’s got to make sure it runs right.”
I step closer, close enough to smell cedar and that clean-sweat scent that always makes me forget my own name.
“And that someone doesn’t have to carry the whole ranch on his shoulders.
You might be the oldest, but this is a group effort.
This entire Christmas tree farm and tonight, it’s on all of us, not just you. ”
He opens his mouth to argue—then the power goes out completely. Except, of course, the music that is still playing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.
The entire farm plunges into darkness.
“Goat on the loose,” Hayes yells.
For a heartbeat, I can feel Quinn’s stress vibrate in the air. His control, his pride, his need to fix everything—none of it helps right now.
I find his hand in the dark. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Breathe.”
He exhales hard, shoulders loosening just enough. “What now?”
“Now,” I say, “we go get the backup generator.”
“And if that one blows too?”
“Then we’ll use flashlights.” I squeeze his hand. “No one is expecting tonight to be perfect except you.”
The lights flicker back on. “Oh, my bad,” Johnny says. “I unplugged the wrong thing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Quinn says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I chuckle. “See? It’s all good.”
He pulls me closer, one hand curling around my waist. “You always know how to calm me. I don’t know why I’m putting so much pressure on myself for this.”
“Because you care. It’s what you do, who you are. You’ve taken care of this family for so long. All on your own. Let me help. Let me be your partner.”
“But I need to take care of you too,” he says.
“You can. And I can take care of you. Symbiosis,” I say.
“I love you, Amber. You’re going to be an amazing mother someday.”
I lean up on my tiptoes and give him a swift kiss. “We already know you’ll be a great dad.”
Quinn looks down at me, his expression so full of love that it makes my heart clinch.
He dips his head, kisses me—slow, and full of heat that doesn’t belong at a family event. His lips taste like cider and sugar and home. When he finally pulls back, he murmurs, “You make this whole damn ranch feel like Christmas every day of the year.”
“Then stop worrying about perfection,” I whisper. “You already built it.”
“You, my wife, are the only perfection I need.” Then he kisses me again.
And if the town of Saddle Creek gets one more scandalous photo of me kissing my husband under the glow of a hundred thousand lights… well, that’s the kind of publicity I can live with.
Two hours later, the official lighting ceremony went off without a hitch, and now I’m pretty sure I have marshmallows melted into my hair.
“Miss Amber!” a small voice calls. “Mine’s on fire!”
I lunge for the stick before the flaming marshmallow drips onto someone’s boot. “All part of the experience, sweetheart,” I say brightly. “We call that extra toasty.”
Quinn chuckles from behind me, handing over another bag of marshmallows. “You sure you’ve got this handled, Mrs. Crawford?”
“Define ‘handled.’”
“No one has caught anything but marshmallows on fire?”
“Then yes, absolutely.”
He’s still laughing when two boys start sword-fighting with roasting sticks. “Whoa there, partners.” Quinn steps in, his voice that perfect blend of calm and command that kids always respond to. “You joust again, and I’m confiscating your marshmallows for evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” one of them asks.
“Bad decisions.”
They giggle and scamper off.
I shake my head. “You’re good with them.”
He glances at me. “You are too.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me glance up — the way his eyes linger, soft and proud and just a little wistful.
The expression makes my eyes fill with tears.
He pulls me into his arms. “None of that, Angel. Our kids are out there somewhere. I know it. It’s just a matter of timing. I know how hard these last few years have been on you. Watching all my siblings welcome baby after baby.”
I sniff and let my tears soak into his shirt. It has been hard. So hard. All I ever wanted in life was to be a wife and a mother. I have an amazing husband, but the other illudes me.
“Maybe I’m just not meant to be a mother,” I say. “Maybe that’s why we haven’t been able to get pregnant.”
“I refuse to believe that. You have a mother’s heart,” he says. “All that love you have that you carry around with you, it belongs to some kids out there. I feel that in my soul.”
I nod. I open my mouth to tease him when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Unknown number.
I frown.
“Who is it?”
“I’m not sure.” I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end is warm but professional. “Hi, is this Amber Crawford?”
“Yes, this is she,” I say.
“This is Lydia with the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services. I’m in Tarrant County, and we received your file. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
My stomach does a flip. “No, no. This is—this is fine.”
Quinn’s already watching me, eyebrows drawn, concern flickering in his eyes.
Lydia continues, “I wanted to let you and your husband know that we have a placement match for you. If you’re interested.”
My breath catches. “Yes! Of course, we’re interested.”
She chuckles. “Your homestudy indicated that you were interested in sibling groups, primarily two of them. So this might not be a perfect fit, but I wanted to offer because I just have a feeling about this situation.”
“Okay, sure,” I say, uncertain of what else to say.
“It is a sibling group—two girls, ages four and two. But…” there’s a pause, “…there’s a baby boy as well. One month old. He wasn’t originally part of the file because the birth mother tried to hide him. In any case, the department would like to keep them together if possible.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God.”
“Take your time,” Lydia says softly. “If you’d like, we can set up the first visit after Christmas.”
Tears blur my vision. “No, we—yes. Of course. We want them. All of them.”
Quinn’s beside me now, worry etched deep. “Amber?”
I hang up and turn toward him, throat tight, heart pounding. “We got them.”
He blinks. “Got who?”
“The kids,” I whisper. “They approved us. Two girls—four and two—and…” My voice cracks. “A baby boy. A month old.”
For a heartbeat, everything stops—the crackle of the fire, the laughter, the hum of carols from the nearby stage. Then Quinn exhales, rough and shaky, and pulls me into his arms so hard I lose my breath all over again.
“Three?” he murmurs against my hair.
“Three.”
His shoulders shake once. Then he laughs—this stunned, joyous sound that breaks something open in me. “Guess we’ll be outnumbered.”
I’m laughing through tears now. “You think?”
When we pull back, his eyes are shining. “When?”
“After Christmas.”
He nods slowly, like he’s absorbing it, grounding himself. Then he grins, boyish and bright. “Then we’d better start baby-proofing the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hell yeah, I’m sure.”
Before I can stop him, Quinn turns toward the bonfire crowd. “Hey, everybody!” he yells.
Roe looks up from where he’s sitting with Callie. “What now?”
Quinn’s grin is so wide it could light the farm by itself. “We’re gonna be parents!”
The reaction is instant — cheers, gasps, and applause. Rory lets out a whoop, Harrison stands to shake his hand, and Birdie wipes her eyes. Madison rushes forward, wrapping me in a tight hug, whispering, “Oh, honey. They’re so lucky already.”
Quinn’s brothers pile around him, clapping his back, laughing, hooting. It’s noisy, ridiculous, perfect.
When the crowd finally settles, Quinn leans close again, voice low just for me. “Three kids, huh?”
“Three,” I repeat, smiling through tears. “Two girls and a baby boy.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “We can do this.”
“I know.”
He grins. “But just to be clear…”
“What?”
“You’re still on marshmallow duty.”
I laugh through my tears, heart full to bursting. “Deal.”
And as the fire pops, and the stars blink awake above the rows of Christmas trees, I realize that somehow—somewhere between the chaos and the cocoa and the kids—we got everything we ever wanted.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”