No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

I nodded for him to go on.

“And it hit me then, what day it was,” he said hollowly, letting go of me, staring out the window and appearing absolutely stricken.

Shit.

“So I suggested we go by Mr. Arnello’s,” he whispered, “and pick up some flowers for her mother.”

“Mom’s birthday?” I offered.

His gaze met mine. “Yes.”

“And she wanted to get there before the flower store and the cemetery closed.”

“Yes,” he rasped, and I heard the pain in the way his voice cracked.

“Did you make it?” I asked because that would move the conversation along and hopefully get him out of the guilt pit he’d fallen into.

“We did.”

“Good.” I reached out, took hold of his shoulder, and squeezed gently.

“I need to be a better father,” he told me.

I was thinking that just him, worrying about everything like he did, made him better than a lot of fathers I’d met in my life.

“I really appreciate you being here to help me,” he told me, his hand covering mine.

He was the kind of man who wasn’t afraid to touch, and they were a rare breed. So many men didn’t think to, and others were afraid to. But not Emery Dodd.

When his daughter finally reappeared and stepped around him to offer the hair ties to me, he let go so I could give her all my attention.

“That took forever,” he griped at her playfully. “Perhaps you need an organizer in your bathroom. What are your thoughts?”

“Like the one I’m supposed to be using?” She made a face. “Is that where you’re going with this?”

“That’s precisely where I’m going,” he said, bending to kiss her.

She slipped an arm around his neck, kissed him back, and then when he straightened, she took hold of my callused hand and tugged.

“Where am I going?”

“You have to sit down.”

“Okay,” I said quickly, taking a seat on the bench on one side of the kitchen table, the chairs on the other, just as worn.

It was funny, because normally I was a fixer, a crisis manager, I was a retired Navy SEAL, for crissakes, but now, here in Ursa, in this scenario, I was, in fact, the damn nanny.

“Hell,” I grumbled under my breath, and Emery, because he heard me, couldn’t stifle his chuckle as Olivia stepped in close to me, between my parted legs, and turned sideways to give me access to her hair.

“I’m Olivia Dodd, but you can call me Ollie. Everybody does.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Yeah,” she answered as I began separating her hair at the part down the middle before taking the wide-tooth comb she passed me.

“Do you like to be called Ollie?”

She turned her head to me as her sister, April, walked into the room. “No,” she told me. “I like to be called Livi, but only Mommy called me that.”

“Sure. But you miss it?”

Quick nodding.

“So we could try it out, and if it gets weird, you say ‘Brann, knock it off,’ and I’ll call ya Ollie like everybody else.”

She was quiet, her gaze faraway for a moment, considering my words, I could tell, and then the big brown doe eyes were back on my face. “Yeah, okay, let’s do that.”

“All right, then.”

Emery caught his breath, and when I checked him, his hand was shaking so hard he had to put the cup down for a moment.

“You okay?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “You’re very straightforward, and whereas I’ve been afraid to ask certain things, you’re not.”

“If you don’t ask, how do you ever know anything?”

“Very true.” He sighed. “And very wise.”

I didn’t know about that. I was possibly the most opposite of smart he’d ever meet, but I’d take the compliment.

She turned her head, and I got to work making perfect round balls of her hair, passing her back the comb, because of course I didn’t need it to basically make her hair into a giant snarl. It was going to be a pain to comb out later, but I could help with that too. The fact that she was letting me help her was the important thing.

“You’re gonna have to help her take those down after,” her sister informed me, walking into the room, almost snarling, pissed off for whatever reason.

“Of course,” I agreed affably, turning to her and smiling, purposely overdoing it with the cheerfulness. “I’m Brann. Who’re you?” I asked, even though I knew.

She squinted. “April. Duh.”

Emery cleared his throat. “Honey, we don’t—”

“Dude, I just got here,” I told her, switching to annoyed that fast, glaring back. “Could you be any ruder?”

Her eyes got big, and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

I laughed at her, on purpose, loudly, and waggled my eyebrows as her eyes narrowed. She was pissed.

Emery remained silent, which made sense. He was probably deciding whether to hit me or fire me. I was being douchey to his kid, after all.

“Don’t catch flies,” I warned her, pushing it because that was how I was made, and Olivia cracked up, putting both hands on the adorable round balls on top of her head and beaming up at me.