He didn’t want to think that the tenderhearted, hurting kid in his shed could be heading for the gutter.
“But he didn’t run away. He’s out there feeding kittens. Problem solved.” Now go away.
“I wish. As long as he’s communicating with those kids, he’s in danger.”
An inward sigh. She was like a tenacious linebacker. She wouldn’t quit coming at him. “So what are you going to do?”
“Ground him.”
Quinn’s eyes rolled up in his head. “How’s that been working for you?”
“Not at all.” Her lips twisted in defeat. He didn’t focus there. In fact, he wasn’t focusing that well at all.
“When the defense reads the play before the ball is even snapped, the quarterback better call an audible. The kid is getting away with murder, and you’re sacked before you leave the pocket.”
“Football analogies?” She jacked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“It’s what I know. Look.” He dangled his clasped hands between his knees and leaned toward her. “What you’re doing doesn’t work. Change strategies.”
“I don’t know any other strategies.”
He didn’t, either. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to get involved. “Let the kid come over here. Give him some responsibility. I’ll see if I can talk to him.”
She thought about it way too long. Her sorry opinion of him rankled.
Quinn huffed out an irritated sigh. “I promise not to hurt him.”
She gave him the strangest look, like when a deer spots a human. “You have a point. He’s besotted with those kittens, the first sign of caring about anything he’s shown since we moved here.”
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