Pregnant By Mr Wrong. Rachael Johns

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Since the warehouse shut down on the weekends, Quinn got Saturdays and Sundays off, whereas Callum and his other siblings who worked at the distillery—Sophie and Blair—worked pretty much 24/7. But that was their choice; he wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty about his. Their dad had been a workaholic (among other things) and in no way did Quinn want to emulate him. Ever since he was sixteen and walked in on his dad fucking a woman who wasn’t his mom, Quinn had vowed to never be like his father. But, in sleeping with Bailey, who hadn’t been available at the time, he’d been just like him.

      And now they both needed to face the consequences.

      “Is Sophie around?” he asked, ignoring his older brother’s observation.

      “She’s grabbing coffees,” Callum said, jerking his thumb down the corridor in the direction of their small staff kitchen.

      Before Quinn could say anything more, their sister appeared carrying two steaming mugs. Although she looked surprised to see him, unlike Callum she didn’t verbalize this surprise.

      “Hey.” She handed Callum his coffee and then stretched up on tippy-toes and kissed Quinn on the cheek. “How are you today, brother mine?”

      He forced a smile. “I’m surviving. And you?”

      “Much the same. What brings you in here?” she asked, not sounding accusatory in the slightest.

      “I wanted to let you guys know I’m organizing a surprise party for Mom’s sixtieth.”

      “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea.” The smile on Sophie’s face showed her approval.

      Callum raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t think to run this by the rest of us first?”

      “I’m telling you now,” Quinn said, knowing his brother was only annoyed because he hadn’t been the one to think up the brilliant idea. “I’m also telling you that I’ve commissioned Bailey Sawyer to plan it for me.”

      Sophie blinked at this news and Callum’s eyes looked positively dark.

      Before either of them could say anything, Quinn spoke again. “You know she’s good and we agreed to throw some of our new event business her way. I thought this was as good a place as any to start. I’m meeting her for lunch later today, so let me know if you have any special requests for the party and I’ll pass them on.”

      At that moment the door opened and their first customers waltzed in, bringing a gush of cool winter air with them. Their eyes lit up at the sight of the log fire crackling in the middle of one wall, and Sophie went over to greet them.

      “Welcome to McKinnel’s Distillery,” she said in her eternally friendly tone. “Cool day out there. Warm yourselves by the fire and allow me to fetch you a taste of our finest bourbon to heat your insides.”

      “What game are you playing at, Quinn?” Callum asked, his voice low as Sophie wooed the gray-haired couple.

      Truth was, Quinn didn’t know what game he was playing at—he was making it up as he went along. Last night, when he’d stormed over to Bailey’s place, the last thing he’d expected was to ask her help to throw a party, but then she’d looked so tired and vulnerable, and something inside him had shifted. A party for his mom had been the first excuse that came into his head when she’d asked why he was there.

      He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to do something special for Mom.”

      Callum’s expression said he didn’t buy this excuse for one second. Well, Quinn didn’t care—as long as Bailey did. He needed to spend as much time as possible with her. He needed to win her trust and respect so that she would feel comfortable inviting him into her life—and their baby’s.

      “Are you interested in Bailey?”

      Quinn crossed his arms and tried to ignore the guilt he felt at Callum’s accusatory tone. “What if I was?”

      “I’d tell you to be careful,” Callum replied, his serious eyes meeting Quinn’s.

      He couldn’t tell if his big brother was warning him off for his well-being or for Bailey’s; probably the latter, but either way he could take a hike. Callum had had a chance with Bailey and he’d blown it—if he hadn’t made her feel so alone and unloved, she wouldn’t have come crying to Quinn in the first place. But he had and she did.

      Now Callum was with Chelsea, and Bailey was Quinn’s business—even if no one knew it yet.

      “You worry too much,” Quinn said, reaching out and patting Callum patronizingly on the chest. Inside he didn’t feel so light and carefree, but he played the part expected of him. “You should be putting all your energies into your gorgeous future wife.”

      The fight in Callum’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Chelsea, and Quinn took the chance to escape. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”

      Callum opened his mouth as if to state his objections, but Quinn walked away, knowing that Callum would never make a scene when they had customers. “Bye, Sophie.” He waved as he headed for the door, then stepped out into the chilly morning air and strode over to his bike.

      Next stop was his mom’s house, only a short distance from the actual distillery, also on their family’s estate. He’d lived there with his parents and all six of his siblings growing up, but now his dad was gone and only two of his brothers still lived at home. Lachlan had moved back in with his newborn son years ago when his wife had left them. Mom loved having her grandson under her roof, and Lachlan had been grateful for her help. Blair had moved home two years ago when he’d split with his wife, who’d also been his high school sweetheart. Although he kept making noises about moving into a place of his own, Quinn reckoned he liked Mom’s home cooking too much.

      He parked his bike out front, hooked his helmet on the handlebars, walked the small distance to the house and let himself inside. The smell of blueberry pancakes hit him immediately, and his stomach growled in enthusiastic anticipation.

      “Looks like I arrived just in time,” he said as he entered the big, country-style kitchen to find his mom laying the pancakes on the table. Lachlan and his son, Hamish, sat at the other end playing chess.

      “Morning, sweetheart,” Nora said as Quinn hugged her. “Has your stomach got some kind of homing beacon on it?”

      He laughed and then went over to ruffle Hamish’s hair. “Hey, dude, how’s it hanging?”

      “Hi, Uncle Quinn.” Hamish’s words slurred slightly as usual. “I’m beating Dad at chess. Want a game?”

      Quinn’s heart swelled with love and pride for his nephew, who, with cerebral palsy, hadn’t had an easy time in his short life but was always happy and positive. A lot of that was to do with his dad; none of the credit could go to his mother, who hadn’t been able to handle a special-needs child.

      “Why not?” he said. “But I warn you, I’m worse than your father.”

      “Hey!” Lachlan objected, a grin on his face. “Anyway, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

      As his mom had turned back to the stove, Quinn moved closer to his brother СКАЧАТЬ