Perfect Timing (50 page)

BOOK: Perfect Timing

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The stern tone of her mother’s voice had Stormy gulping and swallowing her yells. Quincy just didn’t get it. He was starting to think of himself as Good-time Da. He was in charge during baths. He pointed to the pictures in storybooks. He played on the floor, carefully tumbling his daughter around, always cautious not to hurt her. But when it came to discipline, he could talk himself blue, and Stormy continued to pitch a fit. He guessed it was something to do with the druid bond. When Ceara spoke, the little girl snapped to attention.

He glanced over his shoulder to see mother and daughter sharing a long look, and just like that, the storm subsided. Ceara cleaned the baby up at the kitchen sink and then sat at the table to hold Stormy on her lap. Quincy leaned against the counter to sip his J and C. What was he going to do if his daughter threw a tantrum when her mother was out shopping with the hens, enjoying a well-deserved break?

His dad had told him stories of the old days, when parents had dipped what they then called sugar tits into whiskey and let a baby suck on them. Instant sleepiness and calm.

Was he
really
considering
alcohol
as a parenting tool? Quincy gave himself a hard mental shake. Of course he wasn’t. He just needed to find a way to console his baby girl when she was unhappy. He glanced over his shoulder at his dad, who had aged with his granddaughter and was another year older, yet still more fit than most men twenty years younger. Time for a talk with him in the woodshed, Quincy decided. Quincy had to be missing something as a father, or doing something wrong. Frank had raised Sam alone, and yeah, there’d been a few times when Quincy had found her weeping inconsolably, usually as a teen, when Frank hadn’t understood makeup and girly issues, but mostly Quincy applauded his father’s fine parenting. Sam hadn’t been an unhappy girl as she grew up. Far from it, in fact.

Quincy sat beside Ceara at the table. After kissing his wife’s curly hair, he stroked his daughter’s dimpled cheek. With the cessation of the storm, the adults had begun talking and laughing again. Quincy knew all members of his family worried about how he and Ceara were going to deal with Stormy. Some parents had to handle hyperactivity, ADHD, or severe learning disabilities. But, hello, houses and barns losing their roofs were on a whole different level, redefining the term
child-rearing challenges
. Repetitions tended to make insurance companies suspicious, and telling an agent the roof blew off because your druid baby daughter had a tantrum wasn’t an option Quincy had ever seriously entertained.

Quincy bent close to nuzzle his wife’s ear. “We’ll get through this somehow,” he whispered. False bravado. He didn’t know how the hell they’d get through it. He had a bad feeling one section of roof had blown off the holding shed again, and as soon as Stormy blew out her candle on the
adult
cake, with the aid of a few puffs from her mother and aunts, he’d wander out to check while dessert was being served. “It won’t always be this way when she grows angry, will it?”

Ceara grinned and tipped her head back to nip him on the chin, her way of promising him a great night later, complete with a mind-blowing seduction outfit and the purr of Mr. Midas. “Self-control comes with experience. Bouts of bad weather may lie ahead, but between the gales, we shall eventually teach Stormy that giving way to her temper is na the way.”

Quincy muttered a curse under his breath and thanked God he had enough money to do frequent roof repairs. Then he chuckled. Looking deep into his Jack and Coke, which he probably wouldn’t finish, he remembered where he’d been a year ago. If his daughter threw a fit and flattened the whole house, he’d still count himself the luckiest man alive.

He had the woman of his dreams in his life, and his baby girl was so damned beautiful that looking at her made his throat go tight. He could get through a few storms, because, for the most part, their lives together would be sunny, happy, and filled with contentment.

Ceara whispered to Quincy that she loved him so much she couldna describe it with words. Quincy knew from experience that she was the queen of describing her feelings with words, so the emotions he elicited within her had to run mighty deep.

He leaned in to kiss her, not caring if everyone in his family saw, because, damn it, he knew she loved him with every fiber of her being, and he felt precisely the same way about her.

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