by Lori Foster
Quinton had rented a limo for them because, as he’d explained, they wouldn’t all fit in his Bentley. A few days ago, they’d very much enjoyed taking turns tooling around town with him in his newest car. They were every bit as car crazy as he was, but without his privileges.
They’d loved riding in the limo.
He loved doing things for them and with them.
These boys, part of society’s outcasts, some of the forgotten, were his passion. He took more pleasure in handing out gifts to them than he did in sealing a multimillion-dollar long-term deal. They were each and every one of them unique, fun, and so imperfect that they kept him on his toes.
Uncle Warren didn’t understand it, but Quinton loved them.
The youngest, Rupert, clung to Quinton’s pants leg and walked in tiny, shuffling, uncertain steps. The din from their excited and anxious chatter turned the heads of the rest of the patrons in the restaurant. Not that Quinton minded. He’d called ahead for reservations and had procured the back half of the dining room.
“Let’s go.” He swung Rupert up into his arms and the hostess, like the Pied Piper, led the way. Adrianna brought up the rear, making certain no stragglers got left behind.
Two long tables were pushed together to accommodate them all, and as they clamored for seats, dinnerware rattled and a tablecloth was almost removed.
The smiling hostess set a stack of menus on the table and said, “Your waitress will be right with you to tell you the specials of the day. Enjoy your meal.”
Quinton thanked her and heard an echo from the boys as, one by one, they mumbled or squealed or yelled their thanks as well. He shook his head, as always amused by them and their varying personalities.
“Now,” he said, standing at the head of the combined tables, “everyone sit still and listen. Adrianna, get Neil’s attention for me, please. Thank you. Now we’re going to quietly read the menus—Rupert, I’ll read it to you—and we’ll each decide what we’d like for dinner.”
“What can we haf?” one boy asked around two missing front teeth.
“Anything you want. This is your day out. You have my blessing to go hog wild—” A roaring cheer arose, prompting him to laughingly add, “But please, do so quietly so they don’t toss us to the curb.”
The noise dropped an octave, but it was still pretty up there in the decibel level. They were all so wound up, they couldn’t sit still, and as Quinton looked from one animated face to another, he wished he had the time to take them out each night. Somehow he’d find a way to incorporate it into their routines. Each month they had theater day, and museum day, and sports day. Why not dinner day?
He was grinning at Oliver, a boy with a clunky hearing aid in his left ear, when he heard, “Quinton Murphy, what are you doing?”
Shock rippled down his spine. He knew that sassy female voice. But what in the world would Ashley be doing in such a restaurant? She claimed to live a frugal life, and the whole point of the restaurant was extravagance.
Slowly, a staged smile firmly in place, he pivoted to face her—and got another jolt of shock.
She wore a uniform.
Or rather, she wore the homogeneous black slacks and white dress shirt required by the restaurant. A waitress? But she already had a job. And school. He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
“Huh-uh.” Arms crossed, one hip cocked out, Ashley tapped her foot. “I asked first.”
Quinton felt the blood run out of his face, then rush back into it again. Caught red-handed. Not a single excuse came to mind.
One of the boys yelled, “Hey, Dad, make Marcus quit tugging on the tablecloth.”
He froze, and Ashley’s eyebrow went up a good two inches. “Dad?”
Desperate, Quinton turned to Adrianna, and she was already at his side, her hand held out to Ashley.
“Hello. I’m Adrianna Perkins, Quinton’s personal assistant. I work for him in the office and assist him in his… extra-curricular activities.”
“Extra-curricular, huh?” Ashley leaned to the side to look around them, and he saw her gaze go up and down the length of the two tables, pausing on each boy.
He waited for her questions.
He waited for her derision.
What he got was a smile so bright, it nearly blinded him. Her brown eyes lit up with it. Dimples appeared in her cheeks. She looked… delighted.
Raising a hand, she said, “Hey, guys.”
The boys yelled back a cacophony of greetings, guaranteed to break mortal eardrums.
Wincing, Quinton explained, “They’re enthused about the restaurant.”
“I can see that.” Leaving him to dangle in his own deceptions, she pushed around him and went to the table. “All right, fellas. Who’s hungry?”
She laughed at their roar.
“Okay then, listen up. The specials of the day are boring, boring, boring.” She leaned in as if sharing a confidence. “Lobster with tentacles and fish with eyeballs. Yech. But you know what I recommend? Beef. We’ve got some of the biggest, juiciest hamburgers you’ll ever sink your teeth into. And if you’re not a burger kind of guy, we also have steaks, and chicken fingers, and the best fries in the whole world. Oh, and milk shakes! My personal favorite is strawberry, but we have chocolate and vanilla, too.”
They cheered her.
And she took a bow, accepting their tribute.
Mouth open, brain blank, Quinton stood back in disbelief. Once, a few years back, he’d introduced a woman to this brood, and she’d run away as if her fanny had caught fire. But not Ashley. The brood had changed in the past years, with a few young men maturing and moving on to promising jobs, while others were given into his care. The numbers had grown, yet Ashley leaped into the fray feet first, and seemed right at home amidst the mob.
Struggling with his confusion, Quinton looked at Adrianna. She smiled and shrugged.
“I’m going to start at this end of the table,” Ashley announced, “and work my way around. Think about what you want and then tell me when I get to you.” She caught a tumbled glass without comment. Ruffled a boy’s hair. Put her hand on another’s shoulder, earning a toothy grin in response. “After you finish up your meal, I’ll come back with a dessert tray, and let me tell you boys, your eyes are going to hit the floor, our desserts are so good.”
Another cheer, and above it, he could hear Ashley laughing. She even bent to hug Rupert.
Quinton shook. He wasn’t numb any longer. Now he felt… things. Stronger than any lust. More profound than any declarations.
It was so powerful, it almost made him ill. In that moment he knew she had his heart in both fists, and she wasn’t going to let go.
Putting a hand to his head, he murmured, “I think I’m falling in love.”
Adrianna didn’t hear him. She went to help Ashley, leaving Quinton standing there, spellbound, stupefied, and lost in his own drowning emotions. A man could only take so many shocks from one slip of a woman, and he groped for a chair, fell into it, and watched Ashley work her magic on all the boys he sponsored, the boys he’d taken into his care, the boys he loved.
———
Ashley bit her lip as she leaned around the corner and watched Quinton with the hoard of unruly children. God love the man, he was a hero. More than a hero. How could one man possess such good looks, such profound sex appeal, and have such a beautiful heart?
It wasn’t fair.
Halfway through the meal, he’d tried to talk to her, but a lump the size of a coconut had lodged in her throat and she couldn’t choke it down no matter how she tried. The boys made her laugh with their robust enthusiasm, while at the same time, the reality of a changed future made her want to sit down and sob.
Thanks to Quinton, she’d never be the same. She’d taken one look at the boys, all of them watching Quinton with adoring, trusting eyes, and her priorities had all shifted, when she’d spent a lifetime making those priorities.
So whenever he’d tried to approach her, she’d only smile
d at him and hurried away with the excuse of filling more glasses.
They called him Dad and Daddy Q and Pops and a whole variety of other fatherly names that ranged from respectful to teasing to wishful. Obviously, they were affectionate terms only. Some of the boys were Caucasian, a few African American, while others were mixed nationalities that she couldn’t peg exactly. Not a one of them looked like Quinton.
The little runt currently trying to force smashed fries past Quinton’s smiling mouth had red hair and a million freckles. Rupert, she’d heard him called. More than the others, he clung to Quinton, and Quinton didn’t seem to mind in the least. The boy appeared to be around four or five and was the youngest in the group.
Quinton dodged the food, leaned down, and pretended to chew on Rupert’s neck instead.
His… wonderfulness struck her yet again, putting a stranglehold on her emotions and bringing tears to her eyes. She drew away, wrapping her arms around her middle and fighting for composure.
“Are you okay?”
Ashley jerked upright and opened her eyes to see Quinton’s assistant standing beside her. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous, voluptuous, kind, and probably in her midforties.
Denny would be hot on her heels if he ever saw her.
Ashley summoned up a shaky smile. “I’m great. Super. Enjoying the chaos. How about you?”
Expression gentle and understanding, she touched Ashley’s arm. “I was worrying about you, actually. It’s apparent you and Quinton have an association, and it’s just as apparent that you didn’t expect to see him with a group of children.”
“Yeah.” Ashley looked out at the dining floor again. Quinton, napkin in hand, efficiently cleaned ketchup off a boy’s face, ears, chin… pretty much everywhere. She sighed. “Threw me for a loop, all right.”
“I’ve worked as Quinton’s assistant for many years now. He doesn’t advertise his benevolence. In fact, he hides it whenever possible. Warren, his uncle, is opposed to the time Quinton donates to the boys, but since Quinton does whatever he wants—always has—Warren tried to use it as a deduction, a business expense, and promotion for the goodwill of the company.”
“I bet that went over real big.”
Adrianna’s kind blue eyes showed her amusement. “I thought Quinton would leave the company, he was so incensed. Since then, Warren has left him alone about it.”
“I met Uncle Warren.”
Slim brown eyebrows lifted. “Do tell.”
“Yeah, he didn’t seem real taken with me.”
Adrianna laughed. “He’s a stickler for propriety and a bit of a snob. But deep down, he’s a good man. And as I said, Quinton neither wants nor needs Warren’s approval.”
Right before her eyes, a small food fight broke out, and Quinton barely dodged a glass of cola that tipped over. He snatched up cloth napkins and began mopping at the spill.
“He could be mother of the year.”
Adrianna grinned. “And father of the year, and big brother, and so on. I don’t know if Quinton has explained yet, but he sponsors the boys. They don’t have homes or family that cares, so Quinton fills in. He bought this enormous house and hired people to clean, cook, and supervise when he wasn’t available. But he spends a lot of time with the boys. Every spare minute, in fact.”
A lightbulb went off. “He has a gaming room in his home, and a lot of bedrooms and bathrooms.”
“That’s for the boys. They often spend the weekend with him, using his pool, hanging out, just being with—”
“Someone who cares.”
Sighing, Adrianna looked back at Quinton. “That’s about it.”
Another glass toppled, and as Quinton rushed to stem the stream, a fork nearly gouged him in the nose.
“Ho, boy.” Ashley cringed as the fork barely missed him again. “I better go wrangle some manners.”
Adrianna accompanied her and together, they made short work of restoring order. To keep everyone occupied, Ashley announced it was time for dessert, but she couldn’t serve it if things didn’t settle down a little.
Silence reigned.
Grinning, she went off to retrieve the dessert cart, then had a difficult time making the boys understand that they couldn’t just help themselves. She had to wheel the cart with finesse to keep sticky fingers from snatching off the samples.
“This stuff isn’t as fresh as you want,” she assured them. “Right now one of the cooks is milking the cows for the cream while another is out in the fields picking the berries for the fruit pies.”
Only half the boys believed that, but they gave their orders and again, Ashley escaped Quinton’s scrutiny. Once she’d served dessert, the boys settled in for a sugar feast, leaving Quinton with enough time to corner her.
“You’re a waitress.”
Ashley halted on her way through the double doors leading to the kitchen. Well, she reasoned, he was bound to find out sooner or later. She pivoted around with mock surprise. “Wow, Quinton, nothing gets by you. It’s nice to know that young minds are safe in the shadow of your astute influence.”
He scowled at her. “Don’t turn this around. So I brought some boys here for dinner. So what? It’s not a big deal.”
“But me being a waitress is?” He couldn’t be serious.
“You already have a full-time job. And school.”
“And goals,” she reminded him, “which I have on a time frame.”
“And that means you have to work yourself to death?”
Theatrical in the extreme, Ashley examined each of her arms, and then her legs. She touched her throat, her head. “Gee, I don’t think I’m near death. I seem pretty hale and hearty, in fact.” Dropping the humor, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Let it go, Murphy. A little hard work never killed anyone.”
“How many hours a week do you put in?”
She shot back, “How many do you?” Three steps brought her chest to chest with him. They were out of sight of most patrons, not all, but at least the boys couldn’t see them. “How many hours do you spend with those kids?”
“That’s not work, damn it.”
“Oh, ho. Now you’re offended?” She curled her lip, deliberately antagonistic. But geez, he played dad to a bunch of children and had never told her. “Is this why you were up so early the other day, dressed in casual duds? You were going to see the boys?”
He stubbornly sealed his lips together. Ashley wasn’t deterred.
“This is why you freaked out about me seeing your house, isn’t it? You thought I’d find out how good you are?”
“I’m not good.”
He sounded so insulted, she barked a laugh. “I’d hardly call what you do evil.”
“It’s… nothing.” He leaned in, antagonistic, defensive. “It’s for my pleasure. Because I enjoy it. It has nothing to do with goodness.”
Another absurd argument. Nothing new for them. But one point she couldn’t ignore: he hadn’t trusted her. “Buzz off, Murphy. You’re not my daddy, so I don’t need you monitoring my schedule.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets—probably to keep from grabbing her. Teeth locked, he snarled, “What I do with the boys isn’t a hardship.”
“Working toward my goals isn’t a hardship, either.” She shrugged. “To each his own.”
His eyes suddenly widened. “This is the restaurant that allowed Elton to get your number, isn’t it? Back at the wedding, when Tim mentioned how he’d gotten your number. Everyone knew what was going on except me.”
“There’s nothing going on, so don’t make it sound like some big conspiracy to deceive you.”
“But you did deceive me, damn it.” And with that insistence, he growled, “How the hell can I protect you if I don’t even know where you’re working?”
Ashley waved away his concerns. “I already talked to the management about all that and the numbers have been moved.”
“It’s a little too late, isn’t it?”
Quinton was red-faced and rigid. She shook he
r head at him. “Just why are you so mad?”
He drew himself up, opened his mouth, and then closed it with a suspicious look at her. “Why are you?”
Ashley threw up her hands. “I’m annoyed because you didn’t trust me. Just like you thought I was casing your place this morning—”
“I did not think—”
“—You figured I wouldn’t like the idea of you sponsoring needy children. What am I? A fiend? A fiendish thief? I like kids, too, ya know.” And with that great parting shot, she turned to stalk away.
Except Quinton caught her elbow and momentum carried her full circle and around into his arms, flat up against his chest. He looked at her mouth. “Damn, you are so hot when you’re pissed.”
Her eyes flared and she stiffened her arms against him. A quick look around assured her that no one had heard him. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
“No.” His hold softened, became caressing, tender. “But honey, I could offer you a better job, making better pay, with benefits.”
Ice shot through her veins. Charity . The man wanted to give her charity. Almost strangling on her hurt, she whispered, “Don’t. Even. Think it.”
“Whoa.” He lifted his hands away from her. “Calm down, Ash. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Under her breath, so only he could hear, she whispered, “But I don’t need a handout, Murphy. I’m not a young helpless kid.” Not anymore.
His gaze softened. His hand, so big and warm, cupped her cheek. He stroked her skin with his thumb and half smiled. “Trust me, I know the difference.”
“Yeah. Well.” He’d taken all her steam with that gentle caress and coaxing voice. “I like this job just fine. They work around my schedule and I make great tips. And speaking of tips, don’t you dare think to leave me something outrageous—”
“I’m always a generous tipper, honey. Don’t make me become a cheapskate now.”
