Page 86 of A Simple Life

Abby buried her face into my chest. I stroked up and down her back in comforting passes. He stared down with disgust at Preston, who glared back, furious, embarrassed, and ready to fight.

“I will sue.”

John rolled his eyes. “What will you tell the court? That your six-year-old you abandoned without a thought took you down and let the world know you’re not even good enough to be cow shit?” He bent, his voice low and filled with rage, and he gripped Preston’s shoulder. “Let’s get one thing very clear. They are my concern because they are mine. And I protect what’s mine. You come near either of them, you cause one bit of trouble, and I will make sure your nuts are never in working order again. You understand me?”

Preston grunted, the bully backing down when challenged. “Get away from me,” he said, shaking off John’s hold and rising to his feet. “I tripped, obviously.”

John shook his head. “Whatever lets you sleep at night.” He turned to me, taking Abby. “I think our girl has said all that needs to be said. Unless you have something more you want to run by Abby?” he asked Preston, an evil grin on his face.

Preston seemed to shrink away. “We’re done here.”

John nodded. “I thought so.”

Ignoring the few people now watching us, I pressed the elevator button, relieved when it opened, and we stepped in. John stopped the doors closing, indicating Moira, who had done nothing except stare and look aghast and somewhat disgusted. “And good luck with that one. I’d watch my bank accounts if I were you.”

Preston turned to Moira. “What does he mean by that? How do you know the cowboy?”

“Farmer!” we all yelled in unison as the doors shut.

Then I was laughing again.

And it felt good.

John carried Abby to the car, holding my hand tight. Once we got there, he stroked Abby’s back. “You okay, Pumpkin?”

She pulled her tearstained face from his neck. “I don’t like him.”

“I know. Me either.” He whispered something to her that made her smile. I was fairly certain he was agreeing with her about the asshole part.

She looked at me. “I used my words, Momma. They didn’t work.”

“I know, baby,” I assured her, still stunned.

“Am I in trouble? Because I said shit and I punched him? Do we have to go home so I can have a time-out?”

I looked at her and John. I recalled the look on Preston’s face as Abby junk-punched him. The lingering thought that his last memory of his daughter would be that a six-year-old brought him to his knees and informed him he was less than cow shit. He was pig shit. Full of cooties. It was certainly a memory I would never forget.

“Baby, you couldn’t have given Momma a better present.”

JOHN

At the hotel, I checked us in, and we headed up to the suite. Abby had fallen asleep on the short drive over, and I carried her with her head on my chest. No doubt, she was exhausted from the emotional scene that had occurred. The front desk staff had been charmed by her, whispering about the sweet little thing I was holding.

It was all I could do not to tell them she had just taken down a grown man who insulted us.

In the suite, I laid her on the bed, and Quinn hovered over her, pulling off her shoes and brushing her hair off her forehead. “What time do we have to be at the boat?”

“Not until four. It’s a short walk, so let her rest.” Unable to stop myself, I chuckled. “Champ deserves it.”

“John,” she hissed, and I pulled her from the room and to the sofa.

“Quinn,” I said, amusement still coursing through me. “Don’t go backward and get upset.” I hung my head, my shoulders shaking with mirth. “That was epic.”

“My daughter just assaulted her father.”

“Who was making some fast hand gestures indicating his ire. I think she felt threatened.”

“You saw that too?”