Untouched (22 page)

“And you’re a pansy-ass this morning, Parker. Afraid of my panties.”

“Your panties are threatening my bits.”

“Nothing bitty down there,” she said, tugging her jeans on. “Not even a little.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not flattery. The truth.”

She put her bra on and earned a cranky grunt from Quinn, then pulled her t-shirt over her head and earned a glare. “You were the one who said you couldn’t be caught with your pants down when social services showed up, Quinn.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Regretting it.”

“Hell. Yes.”

“Eat your heart out, baby.”

“Or I could just eat out—”

“Quinn!”

“Breakfast. We could eat breakfast out.”

“What about the social workers?”

“We’ve got a couple hours.”

She crossed her arms. “And you’re choosing an outing over sex?”

“A date, Lark. Because you’re right. I’ve taken you on a table, but not a date. And that needs to change.”

Chapter Thirteen

Quinn felt like the fox escorting a hen to prom. And that’s pretty much how everyone in the diner looked at him when he walked in with Lark’s fingers laced through his.

It was hard to say what had possessed him to ask her for a date. Except that he didn’t want to be the guy who just slept with her and kept her hidden. He wanted casual—hell, he needed it—but he didn’t want it to seem so much like he was just using her for sex.

Because that’s what his original plan had been. To seduce her to get revenge, to drive a wedge between her and Cade. And then he’d changed his mind, but it had all turned out just as bad. So he wanted it to seem less like that, to feel less like that.

Pancakes to salve his conscience. Though he suspected it would take more than that.

“Table for two,” Lark said. She smiled shyly at the hostess, all proud to be with him, like he was worthy of her pride.

He wasn’t.

And the citizens of Silver Creek seemed to know it. Sure, they didn’t know he had issues with her brother. But they saw young, beautiful, innocent, Lark Mitchell with the kind of guy every good girl’s mama had warned them about. A rough, older cowboy who had no business being with such a nice girl.

The thing was, Lark hadn’t had a mama long enough to take the warning, and everyone in here knew that too. Which was probably why they were watching so close. Ready to step in if need be.

Small towns were certainly more curse than blessing half the time.

The hostess raised an eyebrow. “Right this way.”

All eyes, from the counter to the little tables by the window, followed them back through the restaurant. Thankfully, they got a seat in the back, away from the überlocals who were earning nods and waves from Lark as they passed.

The hostess handed them their menus and sat them in a booth with red vinyl seats.

“Your server will be with you in a moment,” she said, giving him the steely eye as she walked back toward the front of the house.

“Is it just me, or is everyone eyeballing me?” he asked.

“Curiosity. Much like to Cole and Cade, I’m a child to all these people.”

“I’m not from a small town, but I’m from an insular social group, so I get how all that works on one level. Still, some of these men look like they might try to hurt me.”

“They won’t. They might call Cole and tell him his baby sister was out with some no-good, dusty cowboy, but they won’t personally do anything. Unless Cole asks them to.”

“Cole is a pillar of the community, huh?”

“More or less.”

“Hey, Lark.” The waitress that had approached the table was looking at Lark with disapproving blue eyes.

“Amber. I didn’t think you did breakfast.”

“I don’t usually. I’m picking up extra shifts.”

“Oh . . . So . . . Have you . . .”

“Talked to Cade recently?” She looked pointedly at Quinn, and he nearly shrank beneath that laser-sharp gaze. Amber was a tough girl, that much was obvious. “Yeah. A couple days ago.”

“I’d like the two-egg breakfast with sausage instead of judgment on the side,” Lark said, handing Amber her menu.

“I’ll have the same,” Quinn said. “But can you substitute the non-judgmental sausage for bacon?”

“Coffee with that?”

“Are you going to spit in it?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“Coffee,” Lark said, her expression defiant now. “We want coffee.”

Amber turned and headed back toward the kitchen, and Quinn considered praying over his food for the first time in years.

“What’s her deal?” he asked. “Besides everyone’s general over-protective deal.”

“Amber is Cade’s best friend. She’s bound to be unhappy with me.”

“I see. Yeah, I think ‘unhappy’ is an understatement.”

“Fine for her. She can judge me. I judge her and Cade, who are so dependent on each other—platonically, mind you—that they can’t have functional adult relationships with anyone else. Yeah,
I
can recognize that. Which means it’s a bit screwed up.”

“It makes sense, then. That she’s looking at me like she wants to cut me.”

“I’m sure Cade told an unflattering story. And I fought with him when I went to the house to get my stuff. He makes me so mad!”

“We can talk about other things. Talking about Cade makes my face hurt.”

“Okay, so let’s talk about other things then.”

“Your move. I’m not good at this dating thing.”

“Liar,” she said, her cheeks coloring. “I’m sure you’re really good at it.”

“Because I’m good in bed?”

She turned a deeper rose, and he had to fight to keep himself from leaning over and kissing her where her blush stained her face. “Yeah.”

“That’s just sex. That’s not dating. I’m not all that experienced with dating.”

“Then why are we on one now?” she asked.

“Because. It doesn’t feel right to keep you in bed all the time. Because you deserve to go out. To have something from me other than just what happens in bed. Even if that something is just sausage.”

“You gave me sausage last night,” Lark said, wiggling her brows.

“Granted. But I thought I’d give you literal sausage this morning as a good will gesture.”

It was a poor offering, considering what he’d done to her life, to her relationship with her family. But it was pretty much the best he had to offer.

“Oh . . . well . . . I think this is pretty much my first real date.”

“Lark Mitchell, you are a scarlet woman.”

“Well, you know, I warned you.”

He laughed, and he felt it. Really felt it. With Lark, feelings seemed to come easy. Feelings that went beyond anger and resentment. It was a hell of a thing. “You did.”

Amber brought their meals to the table, and Quinn was shocked that they were hot, given the waves of frost coming off of the waitress. He was tempted to be offended. But he couldn’t manage it.

It was too good of a reminder. Of everything his being with Lark was costing her.

You’re only here for a couple more weeks. Then it’s ending. And you’re leaving her with a hell of a mess. Because you’re a bastard who dropped an innocent girl into the middle of your feud.

He ignored the sinking feeling that accompanied the thought. He knew exactly what it was—a little bit of fun. It just felt different because of her age. Because she’d been a virgin. Because she was so damn weird and funny. And because she made him laugh a lot, when very little else did.

“And I warned you,” he said, the words slipping out. For him. For her.

She blinked rapidly, her fork frozen in front of her lips, and then she nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know you did.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She put a bite of egg in her mouth. “But also, you don’t usually have breakfast with women. And you’ve had it with me a bunch.”

“It’s just breakfast, baby,” he said, looking down at his plate and picking up a strip of bacon. And ignoring the slowly intensifying feeling that after Lark, he would never really enjoy eating breakfast again.

***

The boys were here. All fifteen of them. Some of them complete with parole officers, some with social workers. Some with concerned parents. It was a mixed bag. There were boys like Nathan, closed off, unreadable, with a rap sheet that put Quinn’s to shame.

And there boys like Mike, who hadn’t been arrested yet but whose parents feared he would go down that road.

And there was Jake. The angriest of the bunch. No parole officer, but a social worker, and, going by what he’d read before they arrive, no parents in the picture. Just an ever-rotating string of foster homes and group homes, everyone trying to find something to do with him, no one quite managing it.

Quinn surveyed the group and watched as his staff interacted with them. Or tried to. Some of them were very resistant to interaction. And Quinn related. This all looked like supreme dumbassery to kids in their position. He knew. He’d been one.

Angry at the world, desperate to fight against it.

Wow, Parker. You were one? Or you are one?

Since when was he insightful? He didn’t do insightful. He closed down his train of thought and stood back, his arms crossed.

And then Jake caught his eye, and Quinn could swear the boy paled. “You’re Quinn Parker,” he said.

“Yeah,” Quinn said, taking a step forward. “I am.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I own here,” Quinn said.

“Oh.”

“You know me from?”

“The rodeo. I . . . did some work, volunteer shit, when I was with this one family a couple years ago.”

“Volunteer shit, eh?”

Jake crossed his arms, his stance mirroring Quinn’s. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll probably work you a damn sight harder than they did.”

“You think?”

“Nah. I know. I’m gonna work you so hard you won’t have the energy to get into any trouble.”

“Energy is all I got,” Jake said.

“Well, that’s good. Because I’ve got a lot of work.”

***

From her position in the computer lab, Lark watched the interplay between Quinn and one of the boys. She hadn’t met any of them yet, but she’d seen them. An angry, surly bunch, and the wiry little guy Quinn was with looked the stormiest.

He was also closely copying the way Quinn stood as Quinn spoke to the small group that was outside, digging a trench for an underground drip line system. He was making good on his promise to put the boys to work, that was for sure.

And they didn’t hate him for it. Oh, she’d heard them cussing at him, and at work when she’d passed by earlier, but right now they were doing it.

Quinn would be such a good father.

The thought, so wistful, so filled with longing, sent a streak of terror through her. Because she wasn’t supposed to think of Quinn’s potential as a baby daddy. Not ever. Not even a little bit.

But something in her, some hideous, traitorous part, insisted on picturing Quinn with his shirt off, his horse tattoo on full display, cradling a tiny baby in his big hands. Of Quinn finding a new chance at a father-son relationship with a child of his own.

No. No no no. Stop it, you predictable virgin!

She couldn’t be seeing visions of a white-picket-fenced future. She couldn’t be. She knew better. She knew things weren’t going to be that way with Quinn. She knew it. She really did. In a few weeks he was going to leave.

And just thinking about it made her feel like she was going to choke on the sob that was building in her throat.

How had she gone from hating him to needing him in the space of just a few weeks? How had she gotten to the point where she’d compromised—possibly forever—the most important relationships in her life, for him?

“Stupidity,” she said, up against the window, the word bouncing back to her. “That’s what it is. It’s bloody stupid stupidity.”

She blew out a breath and left a spray of fog on the glass, then turned back to the computer lab. She was all set for her first monitored session. Some of the boys really didn’t know how to use computers, so they were going to need a lot of help getting started.

But she was ready, and excited to be a part of offering them something beyond the life they knew.

And really looking forward to thinking about something that wasn’t Quinn leaving, Quinn’s babies or having Quinn’s babies.

Half the boys, the ones not currently engaged in manual labor, filed in, followed by a couple of the male staff members. Lark made quick intros and got everyone set at a computer, then passed out papers with their personal log-in information.

She wandered around and helped with menial questions, then went to stand at the back, sitting on the counter and keeping an eye on the web surfing and all of its content.

She turned and started when she saw Sam standing in the doorway. It jarred to see him outside of Elk Haven. To see him here.

She walked over to him, and he looked at her, wide-eyed as she approached. “Hi,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Can I help you with something?”

From her conversations with Jill, she knew that they had kids, but she hadn’t heard anything about one of their children being in trouble.

“Oh no . . . I . . . I, uh . . . was looking for Quinn Parker.”

“He’s outside. Making them work. I can show you?”

“Uh . . . sure.”

She mouthed
Back in five
to Dave, then led Sam through the lobby area of the building and out the side door, then across the lawn to where Quinn was standing with the boys.

Quinn lifted his head and froze. “Hey, Sam,” he said.

“You know Sam?” she asked. “He was staying at Elk Haven.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What do you mean you know?”

The boys had stopped working and were watching the three of them. “Boys,” Quinn said, “this is Sam. He’s going to make sure you don’t slack.”

“I am?”

“Just for the next ten minutes or so. You should be able to handle it.”

Sam shrugged. “Sure, I can. But can they?”

“Don’t break them, Sam.” Quinn turned to her then. “Come here just for a second.”

She followed him toward the house, her heart pounding, her hands shaking, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand just why she was so nervous. Except something was weird, and she was sure it was something she wasn’t going to like.

She stopped when they rounded a corner on the bark-laden path and the boys disappeared from view. “What’s up?”

“Sam works for me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So . . . that’s why I know him, and it’s why he’s here.”

“For how long?” she asked, trying to process the meaning of the revelation.

“Years. I’ve known Sam since I was a punk kid.”

She felt numb. Starting at her fingertips, moving to her lips. “And it wasn’t a coincidence that he was with his wife at Elk Haven, was it?”

“No.”

“Dammit, Quinn,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. “Couldn’t you have lied? A little?”

“No. Not to you. I was already hiding it.”

“What was he doing there? And please, don’t say he was poisoning the water supply or something heinous, because I will . . . I . . .”

“He was spying on Cade.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To see if his injury was real,” Quinn said, his face drawn, the lines more pronounced around his mouth.