Suddenly aware of how close we’ve been standing, I clear my throat and step back. “I shouldget back to work. Drainage pipes won’t clear themselves.”
“Of course.” Leif’s expression shifts back to polite professionalism. “Don’t let us keep you from your rounds.”
I collect my clipboard from the stump where I left it, tucking it under my arm.
As I turn to leave, Leif speaks again, “Thanks for letting her get you muddy, and for playing along. She needed that.”
I glance back at the muddy clearing where Quinn now kneels beside a new puddle, Sprinkles sitting at her side as she explains some elaborate game to him. The sight tugs at the yearning for a pack of my own, a tender spot I usually keep guarded.
“We both did,” I admit.
As I walk away, Quinn’s laughter fades into the forest hush. For the first time in days, I catch myself smiling, and just as quickly, the guilt follows.
Because I know who I wish had been here to see it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Leif
By the time I finish drying Sprinkles, the floor has transformed into a miniature disaster zone, with the scent of wet dog hanging thick in the small cabin. Clumps of black fur cling to the towel, and the big dog releases a moist, weighty sigh that stirs my hair as I crouch beside him.
“Good boy,” I murmur, rubbing behind his ears. “Next time, try to avoid puddles bigger than you are.”
His tail thumps the rug in answer.
In the sitting area, Quinn has already wriggled out of her raincoat and changed into clean clothes. Her curls stick out in damp spirals, cheeks still pink from the cold. The box of toys sits open on the rug,wooden animals and figurines scattered in a bright little battlefield.
“Are you playing knights again?” I ask, folding the towel over my knee.
“Not knights.” She lifts a carved dragon from the pile, holding it aloft in both hands. “They’re rescuing the princess! See? He’s the bravest.”
The dragon, carved from smooth-grained cedar with a lacquered finish, was a birthday gift from her Uncle Blake, and her current favorite for afternoon, free-time adventures.
“Careful on the couch, Quinn.”
“I know.” Despite the warning, she plants one sock-covered foot on the cushion, balancing the dragon on the armrest. “But he needs to fly! The swamp monster’s getting close.”
Sprinkles lets out a chuff, and I open my mouth to warn her again, but before the words can leave my tongue, her foot slips between the cushions.
She pitches forward with a squeak, landing face-first in a throw pillow. The dragon tumbles from her hand, clatters across the coffee table, spins off the edge, and disappears beneath the desk.
I freeze for a heartbeat, listening for the sound of tears.
Quinn lifts her head, blinking in surprise. “I’mokay.” She scrambles to her knees, head whipping around. “Where’s my dragon?”
I retrieve it, and my stomach sinks. The right wing hangs by a splinter, the break running jagged through the wood.
“Oh, no.” Her small shoulders curl inward, breath breaking. “Mr. Hollis, his wing! How can he fly to protect the princess?”
I kneel beside her, assessing the damage with what I hope passes for calm. “He had a rough landing, that’s all. Even the best fliers crash sometimes.”
Tears gather along her lashes, trembling but not yet falling. “Can you fix him?”
I want to say yes, but the truth is, I have no idea how. The only tools I’m confident with belong in a classroom, not a workshop. Still, I can’t bear the thought of her crying over something so loved.
“I’m sure your Uncle Blake can?—”
“No!” Now, her lower lip trembles. “He’ll be upset that I broke it!”