Page 42 of Operation Protector
“I was also thinking, before,” Ali said after a moment, “that I should make a big deal about asking her permission for Grace to come with me dog walking. Kowtowing, and all that.”
“She’ll love that,” Colby said dryly.
“Good idea,” Hayley agreed.
“Keep in mind she might try to follow you,” Quinn said, “until she’s sure that’s all it is. She seems the suspicious type.”
“And then some,” Colby said. “I think she has before, a couple of times.”
“Then you and the dogs should stop out back,” Hayley said. “They can play in our meadow out there. It’s Cutter’s favorite play spot, and he’ll keep the pup in line. And you can say that’s why you come here, because they can play off leash.”
“And for now,” Quinn added, “if asked you have no idea who we are, just that we let the dogs play here.”
Colby realized Grace was listening intently, her gaze shifting to each person who spoke, as if trying to process everything. “I know it’s complicated, sweetheart, but it’s all to help us.”
His little girl nodded. Then she looked at Ali. “You helped first.”
Ali smiled. “And I’m going to keep helping.”
Grace smiled back, warmly. Then she scooted over to give Ali a hug as well. “I knew you were nice. That I could trust you.”
“And that,” Ali said, “is the best start to the New Year I’ve ever had.”
Colby sat there watching the two, thinking she wasn’t the only one.
Chapter 18
Colby sat at the small picnic table, watching Grace attack her cinnamon roll in her own distinct way. She loved the concoction from a famous local bakery, with the slightly hollowed out center filled with even more of the luscious frosting. She carefully tore the soft roll into pieces as she went, dipping each one into the center to be sure each had its share of the good stuff, as she called it. And he knew when she was down to the last piece she would wipe it across the plate to catch any escaped drops, and then lick any residue off her fingers before finally admitting it was gone and wiping her hands with the napkin.
His girl did love these cinnamon rolls.
He took another sip of the strong, black coffee he’d ordered. Liam had dropped them off in the picturesque little town and gone about some Foxworth business, and would be back to pick them up for the unhappy trip back to “the mother,” as Grace always put it.
He sat fighting down the usual ache he felt on these days, that in far too short a time he would have to take her back to that house and that woman. Which gave him another battle to fight, that of his own stupidity, and wondering how on earth he’d ever fallen for her mother. Especially when—
“I wonder if Ali likes these too,” Grace said out of the blue.
Colby blinked. Because the thought she’d interrupted would have ended with “—when there were women like Ali Moran around.”
“I…don’t know. She hasn’t lived over here that long. Maybe she’s never had one.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “We need to get her one.”
“I…”
“Let’s buy one and take it to her.”
“Honey, I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it has to be a secret that… I know her.”
She frowned. Not in an unhappy way, but in that way that told him that agile mind was racing. “Oh. Because thenshe’ll—” she didn’t explain what she, just made it clear with the emphasis “—make me stop seeing her, if she thinks you and Ali are friends.”
Yes, his girl was smart. And she’d had to learn to survive under the current regime. “Exactly,” he said.
Grace frowned again, and this time it was the unhappy kind. And it ripped at him. He felt as if he were trapped in some cell made of unbreakable glass, where he could see the outside, could see his daughter and what she was having to live with, but couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
