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?”
QUINN 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.”
MOLLY, 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 abou
t 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.
“No,” she said crisply. “I don’t have a crush on you. The point I’m trying to make is that you lead a busy life.”
“And you don’t? You had Sara’s birthday today and you’re hosting an open house on Sunday. You’ve moved nonstop all day.”
“That’s different.”
“I don’t see how. I work as a lawyer. You work as a businesswoman and a mom. You’re probably the busier.”
“I don’t travel the world. My friends are limited to those I’ve met here.”
He took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the table. “Why are we arguing this? What difference does it make?”
“I’m trying to say I know you won’t have time to visit much in the future. I’ll explain to Sara.” She stood and took her mug to the sink, pouring out the half cup of coffee that remained. She wanted this discussion to end.
Apparently Quinn was in agreement, because he followed her example. But instead of turning toward the door, as she hoped he would, he took her shoulders in his hands. “I imagine I’ll see Sara Sunday. Won’t she be here?”
“Yes, she’ll be here.”
“Then there’s no need to explain anything to her.” Then he shocked her by leaning closer and brushing his lips against hers. In spite of herself, her eyes closed.
But Quinn didn’t leave after their brief kiss. Just as he had when he’d tasted her muffins, he took a second taste, his lips settling more firmly into place, his body pressing closer.
Molly almost cried at the sweetness of his touch. He kissed her as if she meant something to him. She knew better, she really did. But she hadn’t been kissed like that in so long, she couldn’t push him away. She wanted—but she couldn’t have what she wanted. So she should push him away. And she would. In a minute.
Then, before she could do so, he ended the kiss without a word, took his overcoat and slipped out the back door, a goodbye thrown over his shoulder.
Molly stood like a statue, trying to recover her calm. How could one brief kiss have such an effect on her? Her knees were shaking and she hugged her middle, hoping to restore her equilibrium.
“It’s just the shock of it,” she told herself. After all, she hadn’t kissed anyone other than Sara since long before Christopher died. And Christopher’s kisses had never made her feel…treasured.
She dismissed that ridiculous thought. Quinn Spencer was an expert kisser, that was all. He probably made every woman feel that way. And then forgot them.
But that kiss clarified what she’d been doing during her conversation with Quinn over coffee. She’d known she needed distance from the man. Protection for her emotions. By reminding him of his jet-set world, she’d hoped to force him to go away.
Because she couldn’t afford to risk her heart again.
THE COLD WINTER WIND WAS a stark contrast to the warmth of Molly’s kitchen. Quinn tried to blame the shivers that he felt on the change of temperature. But even before he’d gotten in his car and started the motor, he felt the change in his breathing.
It had to be the kiss.
He’d intended a friendly kiss. A reaching out to say thank you for the day. But once he’d tasted her, he couldn’t back away.
He’d only been thanking her for the dinner, the invitation to the birthday party. Or congratulating her on having raised such a perfect child. That was it. Sara was a remarkable little girl. He wanted Molly to know he liked spending time with Sara.
As he began backing out of the driveway, ruthless honesty had him shaking his head. Okay, he was attracted to Molly. Too much attracted. After all, there was no future in a relationship with someone like Molly. He wasn’t going to be tied down to a home life, raising a child, running errands.
He had places to go, people to see. Important people.
So why was he staying in Tyler for the weekend?
Because Molly was his client, and he felt responsible for the success of the open house, since it had been his idea.
That excuse worked. Excuse? Why did he need an excuse? He’d stayed in Tyler more times than not since he’d moved back. There had been a few trips, but—
He needed an excuse because of his family. Because of his friends. Because of his reputation. If he was going to continue to protect himself from match-making, husband-hunting women, he nee
ded to be thought of as a jet-setter, a man with no ties, no interest in ties.
Panic began to build in him.
But he could fix it. He knew just what to do.
All it would take was a phone call.
Chapter Ten
Molly spent Sunday morning doing last-minute preparations in her kitchen. Today she and Sara would skip the church services they usually attended.
“Is Mr. Spencer coming today, Mommy?” Sara asked from across the room. She was playing with the dollhouse he’d given her for her birthday.
“He said he was. However, sometimes something happens that makes it impossible for people to do what they intend to do.” It was a convoluted warning that she hoped her daughter would understand.
“I hope he comes. I want to show him my family.”
Distracted, Molly said, “But he’s seen the family, sweetie. Remember? He played with you Friday evening.”
“But I fixed it, Mommy. Yesterday, while you were busy, I fixed it.”
Molly raised her head and stared at Sara. “What do you mean, you fixed it?”
Sara came running across the room, two of the small plastic dolls in her hands. When she got close, Molly briefly closed her eyes. She didn’t need the explanation Sara gave her.
Holding up the father and boy, Sara said, “See? I used my paints to make them look like Mr. Spencer.”
The dark hair of the man and boy had been painted, not too neatly, a yellowish brown.
Molly swallowed, trying to think what to say. “Um, I see. Well, I guess they match the mommy and daughter, don’t they?”
“Yes, but they look like Mr. Spencer. That’s the important thing. So he can be the daddy.”
Molly laid down the crescent roll she’d been wrapping around a small sausage and knelt to be eye level with her daughter. “Sara, Mr. Spencer isn’t a daddy.”
“I know, but he can be one if he wants. Then we’d be a patchwork family, like you said.” She beamed at her mother, as if she’d made a great discovery.
Molly wanted to cry, but she pasted a smile on her face. “No, sweetie, Mr. Spencer is a friend. He’s not going to be part of a family. At least not our family. He’s only a friend.”
Patchwork Family Page 10