Lone Star Dad. Linda Goodnight
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they had—until she learned he was damaged, disabled, a has-been.
“Come on, oxy, do your job.”
He flopped on the couch and aimed the remote, scrolling through the satellite until he found elevator music. Tipping his head back, he let his body relax. The pain began to ease and the stress of the day floated away on a river of relief. He knew the relief wouldn’t last, but for now it was enough.
As he drifted a bit, waiting for his stew to cook and listening to easy music, enjoying a few minutes of peace, the sound of a car penetrated his comfortable place.
With a low growl, he opened his eyes.
Someone from his family or Gena.
He remained where he was. If his intruder was family, he’d have to force himself off the couch and make up excuses. Gena could get the kid and go.
An urgent knock rattled the wooden door. “Quinn! I know you’re in there. Please open the door. I need to talk to you.”
Gena. So much for solitude.
With an irritated huff, he stomped to the door and yanked it open. “What do you want?”
“Derrick.”
He jerked a thumb toward the shed. “The usual.”
She sagged a little, and he noticed then what he hadn’t before.
“You’re shaking.”
“Can I come in for a minute?”
Alarmed and wishing he wasn’t, he stepped aside to allow her entrance. She wore the same blue coat with rubbery Crocs, but the jaunty knit hat was missing and her blond hair was mussed.
“I was so scared.”
“That I’d strangled the little twerp?”
She managed a shaky laugh. “When you aren’t scowling, you’re pretty funny.”
He used to be Mr. Charm-and-Wit. Now he was Mr. Scowl-and-Growl.
“I’m a laugh a minute. Sit down before you collapse.”
“Thank you.” She slid the coat off her shoulders and folded it over the arm of his saggy couch. “Something smells amazing.”
He ignored the compliment. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought Derrick had run away, back to Houston.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, either, but why today?”
“I found some very disturbing information on his Facebook profile.” She pushed her hair back from her forehead as if needing a minute to catch her breath. “Derrick can freak me out worse than a ruptured artery.”
He didn’t want to know this. “So what did you find?”
“Most of his friends on there are a lot older, and they’re doing things he shouldn’t even know about.”
He settled on the equally-saggy armchair at her elbow. “Such as?”
“Gang stuff. Guns. Drugs. I’ve worked in the ER enough to understand gang stuff.”
TMI, his brain screamed. Too much information. He didn’t want to think that the tenderhearted, hurting kid in his shed could be heading for the gutter.
“But he didn’t run away. He’s out there feeding kittens. Problem solved.” Now go away.
“I wish. As long as he’s communicating with those kids, he’s in danger.”
An inward sigh. She was like a tenacious linebacker. She wouldn’t quit coming at him. “So what are you going to do?”
“Ground him.”
Quinn’s eyes rolled up in his head. “How’s that been working for you?”
“Not at all.” Her lips twisted in defeat. He didn’t focus there. In fact, he wasn’t focusing that well at all.
“When the defense reads the play before the ball is even snapped, the quarterback better call an audible. The kid is getting away with murder, and you’re sacked before you leave the pocket.”
“Football analogies?” She jacked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“It’s what I know. Look.” He dangled his clasped hands between his knees and leaned toward her. “What you’re doing doesn’t work. Change strategies.”
“I don’t know any other strategies.”
He didn’t, either. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to get involved. “Let the kid come over here. Give him some responsibility. I’ll see if I can talk to him.”
She thought about it way too long. Her sorry opinion of him rankled.
Quinn huffed out an irritated sigh. “I promise not to hurt him.”
She gave him the strangest look, like when a deer spots a human. “You have a point. He’s besotted with those kittens, the first sign of caring about anything he’s shown since we moved here.”
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