Free Patchwork Family by Judy Christenberry

returned to his old bedroom. But now, after time spent at Molly’s, his choice seemed so…so sterile. The housekeeper his father hired, Eva, kept everything clean. But there was none of the warmth, the pride, the caring, that was obvious in Molly’s house.
    None of the smiles.
    He thought of Sara’s infectious laughter, her beaming smile. Those big blue eyes that could look so guilty for the smallest infraction.
    He’d never realized how much a child could play on one’s emotions. How easily she could worm her way into a man’s heart. How protective he felt.
    What kind of idiot had Christopher been? Maybe it would take time to warm up to having a child. But Molly? He had ignored Molly?
    Sara’s brightness and warmth came directly from Molly. A man would never be cold in a household with those two. And at night, his mind immediately continued, picturing one of the king-size beds, he’d be in heaven.
    He immediately dismissed that thought. She was a mother, damn it. He shouldn’t be thinking of her as a—as a woman. A sexy woman.
    But he couldn’t seem to help himself.
    That night, his dreams were warm, happy ones, centered around two blondes. When he awoke the next morning, he was reluctant to leave his bed, knowing it would dispel the lingering remnants of his dreams.
    Yesterday afternoon he’d placed the muffins in the refrigerator. This morning he hurried to the kitchenand heated them in the microwave, eager to again taste Molly’s handiwork.
    “Something smells good,” Elias growled as he came into the kitchen just as the muffins came out of the microwave.
    Quinn jerked in a guilty start. “Uh, yeah. Muffins.”
    “Ah. You went to the bakery.”
    He didn’t lie. But he didn’t correct his father’s guess, either. What difference did it make?
    His father selected one of the muffins. Quinn noted that he’d chosen one of the strawberry ones. He grinned. His father had a sweet tooth, too, like Sara.
    After pouring two cups of coffee, he carried them to the table and slid one to his father, who’d just taken his first bite.
    “Hey, this is good,” Elias intoned. “What kind—”
    “Strawberry.”
    “Never tasted anything like it before. Are they all strawberry?”
    “No.” He named the other kinds, watching his father survey the plate. He could tell he wouldn’t have any muffins left over.
    He was sure of that when the back door opened and Brady came in. He almost groaned.
    “I brought some doughnuts,” Brady announced before he saw the muffins. “What’s this? Has Quinn become Betty Crocker overnight?”
    Quinn didn’t respond and Elias was too interested in what he was eating. “Taste this,” he ordered his second son, pinching off a piece of his muffin.
    While Brady and his father discussed the strawberry muffin, Quinn took a knife and cut the remaining muffins in half. He wanted some of each of them and he was going to have to share.
    Fortunately, there weren’t any questions. The men were concentrating on the taste, with muttered appreciation when they tasted a new one.
    Until there was nothing but crumbs on the plate.
    “I think we may have to buy stock in the bakery,” Elias commented as he sipped his coffee.
    Brady protested, “But that’s where I bought those doughnuts. I didn’t see anything like these.” He waved at the empty plate. “I don’t think they came from the bakery.”
    “But Quinn said—”
    “No, I didn’t. You guessed the bakery and I didn’t correct you.”
    “So are you telling me you made them? Do I have a son who intends to give up law to be a baker now?”
    Quinn shook his head. “A friend made them.” He’d hoped to avoid any more questions, but his father perked up like a retired fire horse put between the traces for one last run.
    “I didn’t know you had any friends who could cook. I thought they all dined in restaurants.”
    Brady snapped his fingers. “It’s the blonde. She wanted to say thank-you for taking her little girl to the