Patchwork Family (9 page)

“But I have things I need to do. I can’t—”

“My point exactly. You do what you have to do, and I’ll put the dollhouse together. You don’t need to entertain me.”

She stared at him, as if weighing his words, and he waited, wondering if he’d convinced her. Not that he intended to give up.

“Fine,” she finally agreed with a sigh.

He was only being responsible, he assured himself. There was no reason to feel so relieved, as if he’d been given a reprieve.

He finished his cake and ice cream and carried the plate to the trash. “Great. I’ll get started. May I use the table?”

“Of course. I’ll wipe it off first.”

In no time, he was seated at the table, the box open, trying to read the ridiculous instructions. He was convinced they’d been written by a sadist.

Molly worked at the sink, doing the last of the cleanup. She was close enough that he could ask her what she thought the words meant. When she came
to look over his shoulder, he breathed in her scent, feeling warm and comfortable.

And excited.

T
HE AFTERNOON WAS
a unique experience for Molly. She worked in the kitchen while Quinn put together the dollhouse, casual chitchat interspersed with comfortable silence.

She’d seldom shared anything other than sex with Christopher. He’d dropped any pretense of enjoying her company once he’d realized her father wasn’t going to share his money with him. Not that her father had been wealthy. He’d been comfortable.

When he’d died the year before Christopher’s accident, she’d realized her situation and had put her inheritance in a certificate of deposit that Christopher couldn’t touch. But in the end, she’d had to use the money to pay off debts after Christopher’s death. So he’d gotten the money he’d wanted anyway.

Spending the afternoon with Quinn, sharing insignificant observations or offering suggestions, was quite an experience.

“What are you making now?” he asked her as she filled various-sized cake pans.

“A Christmas tree cake. I’m going to stack it, each layer smaller than the one beneath. With green icing and decorations, it should resemble a tree.”

“That’s clever,” he assured her with a grin. Then he held out the directions. “Look at this. Do you suppose this is slot M?” he asked, and she stepped over to the table again.

“I think so.” She stepped back, hesitant to remain too close to him, and studied the dollhouse. “You’re almost finished with it. Sara will be so excited.”

“I enjoyed seeing her face when she unwrapped it,” he said, a reminiscent smile on his lips. “What does she want for Christmas?”

“We haven’t had a chance to discuss Christmas, there’s been so much going on. But I imagine we’ll visit the Santa at Gates Department Store soon. The other children will remind her.”

She went back to work on her cake.

“Does it ever scare you?”

His question brought her around to face him again. “What are you talking about?”

“The responsibility of being a parent. Does it ever scare you?”

Molly drew a deep breath. “Yes. The other day, when she was running such high fever, I was afraid I wouldn’t do the right thing. Fortunately, I had some help that day. And I do appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help.” He appeared to be concentrating on the dollhouse, so she turned back to the stove.

“You said her father ignored both of you. Why? If he didn’t want to be married, why— Did you get pregnant before the wedding? Did you force him to marry you?”

Molly spun around and glared at him. “No! I did not force Christopher into marriage. And this is none of your business.”

“I know it’s not, but I’m trying to understand. I mean, you heard me say I had no room for children. That’s a decision I’ve made because— Well, for personal reasons. But he married you. Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders as she turned her back on him. “I’m not sure. He thought my father had a lot of money and he desperately wanted to live in the fast lane. I think, early on, he was attracted to me. Until I agreed to marry him. Then the challenge was gone.” She paused, then said in a low voice, “And Sara…Sara was a mistake as far as Christopher was concerned. He’d had too much to drink and woke me up and…”

“He wasn’t a nice man, was he?”

“No.”

“So you regret your marriage?”

“Yes, but never Sara. I could never regret my little girl. She’s my reason for living.”

“My mother didn’t feel that way.”

Molly’s gaze sharpened. Quinn seldom mentioned
his family, and he’d never said anything about his mother. “How do you know?”

“She left when I was a little boy. Ran away with her lover.”

“You haven’t tried to contact her?”

“Seth had a friend look into it. He just told us she died twenty-three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Quinn shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

The kitchen door swung open and Sara stood there, staring at the dollhouse. “Look! It really is a dollhouse. Thank you, Mr. Spencer!”

“Perfect timing, Sara, my girl,” Quinn assured her. Sara ran to his side and he lifted her into his lap. He handed her the mother, father and two children that came along with the house. “Here’s the perfect family to live in your dollhouse.”

Sara held the woman doll, one finger stroking her hair. “Look, her hair is the same color as mine and Mommy’s.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “And the daddy’s is dark.”

“Your hair isn’t dark,” Sara said, looking up at him.

“That’s true, but then I’m not a daddy.”

“Why not?”

“Sara,” Molly said, a warning tone in her voice.

“But, Mommy—”

“Do you want your dollhouse upstairs or here?” Molly asked, hoping to distract Sara.

“Can I keep it on the table?”

“No, we have to eat at the table. You can put it on the floor over by the television so you can play
with it while you’re watching some of your shows, if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll carry it for you,” Quinn said, standing.

The pair crossed the room. Molly was surprised when Quinn sat down on the floor with Sara. Much to her surprise, he played with Sara and the dollhouse for almost an hour.

“Are you two ready for dinner?” she finally asked.

“I’m hungry,” Sara agreed. “Can I have some more birthday cake?”

“Only if you eat your dinner first. Come set the table.”

When Quinn began to help, Molly protested. “Quinn, you’re a guest. Sara will—”

“We’re a team, aren’t we, Sara?” Quinn asked, grinning at Sara. “So I’ll help.”

It wasn’t until they were almost through dinner that Sara asked the question that must have been on her mind. “If the family in the dollhouse is perfect, what are we?”

Q
UINN FELT THE SIZE
of one of the dolls. How could he have made such a thoughtless remark? It reminded him of his decision: He wasn’t cut out to be a parent.

“I didn’t mean—” His gaze flew to Molly, hoping she’d bail him out.

“Mr. Spencer meant that two parents and two children are a normal family, sweetie. It doesn’t mean other kinds of families aren’t okay, too.”

“What other kinds?” Sara asked, watching her mother.

“Well, like you and me. Or other families that
only have one parent and more than two kids. There are families where there are stepparents, or adopted children, or…or any combination.”

“Are they perfect families, too?”

“Yes, they are.” After studying her daughter’s expression, Molly added, “You know the quilts the ladies made for our bedrooms?”

Sara nodded, but she looked confused. Quinn could understand that emotion, because he was feeling the same way. What did quilts have to do with families?

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? But, really, quilts are made from leftover pieces of material. They’re like families. They’re called patchwork quilts because they take a new form, different from before, but they’re beautiful and useful. Families start out one way, but they grow and change. It doesn’t keep them from being perfect. Just different.”

Quinn stared at Molly, wondering how she’d gotten so smart about people.

“Do you have a perfect family?” Sara asked, staring at him.

Surprised by her question, Quinn was even more surprised by the laughter that rumbled through him. “No, angel, I don’t. My mother went away when I was little. So it was me and my brothers and my dad.”

“You didn’t have a mommy?” Sara asked, horror in her voice.

Quinn seldom mentioned his mother’s departure. Now, twice in one day, he’d found himself talking about it. Sara’s concern for him felt good. He reached over and hugged her tightly against him. “No, but I had a pretty good dad.”

Sara nodded, then pointed out, “I don’t got a daddy.”

“I know, but you have a great mommy.”

The child beamed at him and then her mommy. “She’s the best.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Now, finish your casserole so you can have a piece of your birthday cake.”

Quinn had intended to leave as soon as dinner was over. After all, he’d spent a lot of time with Molly and Sara. He figured by then he’d be tired of the domestic scene.

Maybe it was the uniqueness of the day.

Or the charm of his companions.

Or the warmth of the house on a cold day.

But he found himself reluctant to depart.

He could’ve gone to a concert in Chicago. He’d been invited to a party in Madison. There were several parties in Green Bay before the Packers game on Sunday.

Instead, he chose to remain in Molly’s home. He and Sara helped Molly decorate the Christmas tree cake, experimenting with different edible decorations.

When it was finished, Sara clapped her hands. “When are we going to have a real tree, Mommy? Shouldn’t we have one before Sunday?”

Molly laughed. Her calm amazed him. After his first several encounters with her, he would’ve thought she’d go to pieces at the slightest hint of difficulties. Instead, she’d been strong and reassuring.

“No, my darling child, we won’t put up the Christmas tree before Sunday. We’ll wait until almost Christmas. That way the tree won’t dry out.”

“Did we have a tree last year? I don’t ’member,” Sara said, a puzzled look on her face.

“No, we didn’t, because we were getting ready to move. Everything was packed away,” Molly reminded her. “We were still living in Chicago. Do you remember that?”

Sara shook her head. “But I like it here.”

“Me, too.”

Quinn found himself startled to realize how much he liked Molly and Sara being there, too. Two weeks ago, he’d scarcely been aware of Molly’s existence, and then only because Jenna was doing work for her. He hadn’t even known Sara existed.

Now they seemed an important part of his life. A widow and her daughter. It amazed him, because he’d always avoided Molly’s type. A nester. And he’d definitely kept his distance from children.

What was happening to him?

Sara yawned and Molly looked at her watch. “Oh, my, we’ve been so busy decorating the cake, you’ve missed your bedtime, young lady. Time for you to go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Sara said, but since she yawned in the middle of her protest, Quinn was pretty sure her mother wouldn’t believe her.

With a grin, Molly ushered her daughter to the kitchen door, telling her she’d have to take a very fast bath tonight.

“Can Mr. Spencer read me one of my new storybooks tonight?”

Molly turned to stare at him as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Um, no, sweetie, he—”

“Of course I can. I was hoping you’d ask because I like that dinosaur one,” he said.

“Me, too!” Sara said, beaming at him. “I’ll be really fast.” And she ran out of the kitchen without waiting for her mother.

“Quinn,” Molly said, “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. I promised Sara. I’ll go find the book and get ready to read while you bathe her.”

M
OLLY, AFTER TIDYING
the bathroom from Sara’s bath, slipped into her daughter’s bedroom. She discovered Quinn sitting on the floor beside Sara’s bed, his back propped against the mattress, with Sara cuddled in his lap, the two of them absorbed in the story about dinosaurs.

She fought the feeling of being excluded. Normally she didn’t have to share Sara’s attention. Was she holding her daughter too close? But the fear she felt at trusting her daughter to a man, a man who might lose interest in Sara and break her heart, couldn’t be dismissed.

And she didn’t trust Quinn Spencer, playboy extraordinaire, to hang around. Even though he’d shown no impatience with small-town life since she’d met him, she knew his reputation.

“The end,” Quinn pronounced.

“Read it again!” Sara pleaded.

Molly stepped in before Quinn gave in to her daughter’s request. “No, Sara. It’s bedtime. Thank Mr. Spencer and hop into bed.”

Instead of a simple thank-you, Sara threw her arms around Quinn’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you for reading my story to me. Miss Kaitlin is teaching me to read, but I like to listen most of all.” Then she kissed him on the cheek and got into bed.

Molly stared at Quinn, wondering how he would react.

He stood and tucked the covers around her daughter and returned the kiss she’d given him. “Soon you can read to me and I can listen.”

“Yeah,” Sara agreed with a grin.

“Good night, Sara. Happy birthday,” Quinn whispered.

“It’s been the bestest birthday ever,” Sara returned even as her eyes closed.

Molly stepped forward to give her daughter a good-night kiss as well, but she wasn’t sure Sara was even aware of her touch.

After she followed Quinn from the room, he asked, “She’s already learning to read? At four?”

“Not really read. Kaitlin is teaching them sounds of letters. They’re learning a few words, like dog, cat. They only work on it for a few minutes each day.”

“I’m impressed. I don’t think I learned to read until second grade.”

“The world is spinning faster and faster. Second grade is much too late.”

“Are you sure that’s not too much pressure?”

Molly led the way down the stairs. “I thought you didn’t know anything about kids?”

“I don’t, but I don’t want Sara to— I mean, she should enjoy being a kid.”

Molly groaned. “After today, you’re worried about Sara enjoying herself? Come on, Quinn.”

“True,” he said with a grin.

“I want to thank you,” Molly said as they reached the entry hall. “You helped make it a special day for Sara. I appreciate it.”

“Does that mean it’s time for me to leave?”

She stared at him, surprised. “I—I assumed…did you want a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love one before I go out in the cold.”

He assumed the pitiful look Sara had perfected when she wanted something.

“Have you been taking lessons from Sara?”

He grinned. “I need to. That kid could talk me into almost anything with those big blue eyes of hers.”

“I suspect she could take lessons from you. Rumor has it you get your way most of the time.” She reached the kitchen and began preparing the coffee-maker. She was regretting her offer to make coffee.

Coffee wasn’t the problem.

But spending more time with Quinn Spencer, without Sara’s chaperonage, was a dangerous thing. She couldn’t let herself come to depend on his support, his companionship.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he muttered.

His words reminded her of a comic strip she’d read that morning. “Do you ever read the comics?”

He frowned. “Yeah.”

“There was one this morning that dealt with gossip. The two women—”

He nodded. “I saw it. That’s K.J.’s.”

Molly looked puzzled. “K.J?”

“Local boy made good. He’s living in Chicago now, but K.J., aka Kurt Eber, grew up here in Tyler. He’s good, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She turned to take down two mugs. “Do you need cream or sugar?”

“No, I take it black.”

She found small chores to do while she waited for the coffee to perk. She didn’t want to join Quinn at the table. Better for her to keep her distance.

But when she’d poured the coffee, she had no choice. She sat down across from him, searching for an impersonal topic of conversation. “The wind is certainly blowing tonight.”

He eyed her over the rim of his mug. “When all else fails, discuss the weather?”

Her cheeks turned a bright red. “I heard it whistling. I thought maybe a storm was coming.”

“Maybe. We haven’t had a snowstorm yet. We frequently have a white Christmas.” The smile that accompanied his words sent shivers down her back.

“I’m sorry you missed work today,” she said, changing the subject. “I hope it won’t make more work for you.”

“I’ve put in a lot of time lately. I needed a break.”

“I’m sure this isn’t your normal break.”

He leaned forward, his smile still in place. “Variety is the spice of life.”

“Some people’s lives are spicier than others,” she muttered.

“There you go again, listening to the gossips.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t go to Paris for a week in September?”

“An old friend was having a birthday party,” he explained.

“And New York several times?”

“Friends,” he said. “I used to work there.”

“Miami?”

“A friend asked me to help man his sailboat for a race.”

“London?”

“What are you, a travel agent? Or maybe you’ve had a crush on me for a long time and I just didn’t know.” His grin was at its broadest. “If so, you only had to let me know, Molly. I find you charming.”

He couldn’t have said anything that angered her more. He found her charming. A momentary charm that would pass when more exciting venues invited. Just like Christopher.