No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

I had to wonder why he hadn’t moved back there to be nearer to his parents after his wife died. It would have made sense to have family close by, and they probably would have helped him with the girls. I knew from reading the file that Andrea had no other family, but perhaps being on the board of Darrow Holdings required him to be close. Perhaps they wouldn’t have let him get by with flying out once a month.

“Daddy says that he loves Gramma and Grampa so much because we live so far away from them.”

I chuckled, having my answer.

“We’re the only ones that don’t live in Tennessee. All our cousins and aunts and uncles live there too.”

“Well, that’s good; at least your grandparents aren’t lonely.”

Both girls smiled up at me.

“I bet your grandparents miss you guys, though. I’ll miss you when I go away.”

April caught her breath and spun around, away from me. Olivia’s eyes filled fast, and she started to cry.

“Shit,” I muttered, grabbing Olivia’s hand and walking around in front of April, taking hold of her arm so she couldn’t turn away a second time. I gently shoved the two girls together and held them there as I went down on one knee. “I’m not leaving today, for crissakes. I’m not going anywhere until your dad marries Lydia.”

Olivia was sniffling. “You swear?”

I held out my pinky for her.

April wiped her tears away fast, sucking in a breath. “What if we’re bad?”

“I’m bad; you guys got nothing on me.”

Olivia wrapped her little pinky around mine. “What if I barf on you? I heard you tell the person on the phone last night that if they started barfing, you would too, so maybe you don’t like it when people do that.”

“I have a thing—if I see you barf, I will too.”

April stared at me in disbelief. “There’s a kid in my class like that. He barfed when I brought Winston to school ’cause Winston threw up yellow chunks and then he ate it.”

I put my head back and focused on breathing, taking in air though my nose.

“Are you gonna barf?” April almost cackled, sounding way too excited over the prospect.

“No, demon spawn, I won’t. I just need some more water.”

Olivia started giggling, and then April did too.

It only took seconds, and I tilted my head back and glared at them.

“I’m so glad you’re not leaving,” Olivia whispered, wriggling out of my grip to wrap her arms around my neck and squeeze.

“I’m all sweaty,” I told her. “You’re gonna be gross now too.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice tiny. “I don’t mind.”

April leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I do. Don’t hug me, okay. We can hug later.”

“When I’m clean,” I teased her. “Yeah. Super clean.”

I pretended to grab her, and she shrieked and bolted across the kitchen. Scooping up Olivia, I ran after her, and in moments we had Winston chasing us, and it was a lot of noise, which brought Emery from his room, sleep-tousled and bleary, only one eye open.

“Really?” he snapped at me.

The man was definitely not a morning person.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was adorable and needed a hug badly.

“You,” he said, pointing at me, “start making breakfast, and you,” he grumbled, pointing at April, “come give me a kiss.”

“What about me?” Olivia asked, comfortable in my arms, her hand on my shoulder.

“You and Brann are both sweaty,” he said, shivering like that was disgusting. “I don’t want that on me.”

“Oh no?” I dared him, playfully arching an eyebrow.

He put up a finger. “Now wait.”

April squealed and bolted. “Daddy, run!”

His smile caught me off guard before he ran.

“Oh, they’re both toast,” I announced loudly.

“Toast?” Olivia asked me as we heard April’s door slam shut.

“Yeah, it means they’re—” I couldn’t say dead. You didn’t say dead to a little girl whose mother had died, even in jest. “It means they’re in big trouble.”

“Are you gonna open up a can of whoop ass on ’em?”

I did a slow pan to her. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s what Grampa says. He told me on the phone last week that he’s gonna open up a can of whoop ass on the squirrels ’cause they eat the birdseed that’s supposed to be for the finches and the cardinals and the chickadees.”

“Ah,” I said, walking toward April’s room.

“I told Gramma that she shouldn’t let Grampa hurt the squirrels, and she said, well, sugar—’cause that’s what she calls me—cats have kittens.”

I stopped moving to look at her. “And what does that mean?”

“Daddy said it means one thing follows the other.”

“Which has what to do with your grandfather’s war on the squirrels?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but whenever we go see them, I have to ask him what a lot of things mean. Gramma always says we should visit more.”

I grunted. “Hey, you don’t have any Nerf guns, do you?”