The Good Girl's Second Chance. Christine Rimmer

felt equal parts guilt and relief. Guilt that he wasn’t as good a father as Annabelle deserved. Relief that he wouldn’t have to tackle the tough questions tonight, after all. “You know there are really no monsters in your room, right?”

      She nodded slowly. “But I like it when you scare them away.”

      He got up. “Sleep now, princess.”

      She beamed at him. “Princess is good. Not banana.”

      “Close your eyes...”

      “I want a princess room. All the princesses. Snow White and Cinderella and Mulan and Elsa and Belle and Merida and—”

      “Time for sleep. Close your eyes...” He heard Chloe’s rich alto again, as though she whispered in his ear. She wants to know that you love her. “I love you, princess.”

      “Love you, Daddy.” With a little sigh, Annabelle closed her eyes. He turned off the light and shut the door silently behind him on the way out.

      Back downstairs, all was quiet. Manny had gone to Boulder for the night to visit his current lady friend. Quinn took up his vigil at the wall of windows in the living room. Up at Chloe’s the light remained on. He could see it glowing through the pale curtains that covered the slider in her bedroom. He pictured her, wearing that big pink shirt, propped up against the pillows in her bed, with her laptop or maybe a good book, which she would read effortlessly, turning the pages fast to find out what would happen next.

      And then, well, after last night, he couldn’t help picturing her other ways—like, say, naked beneath him, moaning his name in that low, sexy voice that drove him crazy. He told himself it was a good thing that Manny wasn’t there to watch over Annabelle if he stepped out.

      Because climbing that hill again?

      Way too much on his mind.

      * * *

      “Crush, I gotta say it,” Manny grumbled. “I’m disappointed in you.”

      It was Friday night, five nights since the one Quinn had spent with Chloe. Annabelle had been tucked safely in bed, the monsters chased away. Quinn and Manny sat out on the deck having a beer under the clear, starry sky. Quinn took a long, cool swallow and said nothing.

      Manny wiggled his white eyebrows. They grew every which way and he never bothered to trim them. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why?”

      Quinn gave a low chuckle. “We both know you’ll tell me anyway.”

      Manny snorted. “Yes, I will. I’ve spent over a decade makin’ sure you learn what you need to know. No reason to change now.”

      Quinn only looked at him, waiting.

      Manny announced, “Romance is like everything else worth doin’ in life. You gotta follow up, put some energy into it, or it goes nowhere.”

      “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

      “I’ll give you a hint. Chloe Winchester. Only a fool would pass up his chance with a woman like that.”

      “That’s given that he had a chance in the first place.”

      “See there? That’s defeat talkin’. Quinn the Crusher, he spits in the face of defeat.”

      “Quinn the Crusher retired, remember?”

      “From the Octagon, sure. But not from life. Last time I checked, you still got a pulse.”

      “Leave it alone, Manny.”

      Manny did no such thing. “A woman like that, she lets you in her house in the middle of the night, you got a chance. You got more than a chance.”

      “You need to stop sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Somebody’s likely to break it.”

      “Won’t be the first time.” A raspy cackle. “Or the second or the third.” Manny swiped a gnarled, big-knuckled hand back over his buzz cut and then took a pull off the longneck in his other fist. “I will repeat. Momentum is everything.”

      Quinn got up from his deck chair and headed for the French doors. “Night, Manny.”

      “Where you going?”

      “I’m halfway through A Tale of Two Cities.” He had it in audio book, and tried to get in a few chapters a night. Little by little, he was working his way through the great books of Western literature.

      Manny wasn’t impressed with Quinn’s highbrow reading. “It’s just dandy, you improving your mind and all, but a man needs more than a book to keep him warm at night.”

      There was no winning an argument with Manny. Quinn knew that from years of experience. “Lock up when you come in.” He stepped inside and shut the doors before the old fighter could get going again.

      * * *

      The following Monday, Chloe was selling new carpet to Agnes Oldfield, a pillar of the Justice Creek community and a longtime friend of her mother’s, when who should walk in the door but Manny Aldovino? Quinn’s little girl was with him, looking like a pint-size princess in an ankle-length dress with a hot pink top, a wide white sash at the waist and a gathered cotton skirt decorated with rickrack in a rainbow of bright colors.

      Chloe ignored the fluttering sensation beneath her breastbone that came with being reminded of Quinn, and greeted the newcomers with a cheery “Hi, Manny. Annabelle. Have a look around. I’ll be right with you. Crayons and paper in the hutch by the window treatment display, in case Annabelle would like to color. And there’s coffee, too.” She gestured at the table not far from the door.

      “Sounds good,” said Manny. He winked at Agnes. “How you doin’ there, Agnes?”

      “Mr. Aldovino.” Agnes gave Manny an icy, dismissive nod. She’d always been a terrible snob and she looked down on anyone she didn’t consider of her social standing. Also, Quinn’s father’s first wife, Sondra, had been Agnes’s beloved niece. Agnes thoroughly disapproved of Quinn’s mother, Willow, and of all of Willow’s children. Now Agnes pointedly turned her back on Manny and said to Chloe, “Please continue, dear.”

      Agnes’s attitude could use adjusting. But Chloe reminded herself that she needed the business and she couldn’t afford to offend a customer. She sent Manny an apologetic smile and waited on the old woman, who wanted new carpet for three rooms. She’d already settled on a quality plush in a pretty dove gray. Chloe accepted her deposit and gave her the number to call to arrange a time to have the spaces measured.

      In her eighties, Agnes always dressed as though she’d been invited to tea with the Queen of England. She adjusted the giant, jeweled lizard brooch on her pink silk Chanel suit and said, “Thank you, my dear.”

      “Have a great day, Agnes.”

      The old lady sailed out the door.

      “Wound a little tight, that one,” Manny remarked drily once Agnes was gone.

      With a sigh and a shrug, Chloe joined the old man and the little girl at one of the worktables. “Now. What can I do for you?”

      Annabelle glanced up from coloring an enormous, smiling yellow sun. Chloe saw Quinn in the shape of his daughter’s eyes and the directness of her gaze. Really, the little girl was downright enchanting, with that heart-shaped face and those chipmunk cheeks. Chloe felt a bittersweet tug at her heartstrings. Annabelle reminded her of the children she should have had.

      But after that first time Ted punched her, having kids had never felt right. And Ted hadn’t really cared about children anyway. He wanted his wife focused on him.

      “I want a princess room,” the little girl announced. Chloe gladly put away her grim thoughts of Ted to focus on the sprite in the darling dress. “Manny says you can make me one.”

      “Yes, I can.”

      “I want all the princesses.