partners of waving weeds, he cut the corner and a stop sign and headed down a row of shops where florists and coffee brewers made honest livings. They probably knew him as the most dishonest person in town, for the time being anyway. That was the problem with small towns—too much gossip and not enough of the truth. It was why he hadn't visited before; after all, he didn't need the effects of his wild fancies to reflect on Quinn. The mountain of questions piling up inside him blocked the path to clear thought, growing at an alarming rate until it was impossible to tell the difference between a stray dog's sneeze and a child's. All he knew was that he had to find Quinn. He had to. But what exactly he would say to his chestnut-haired daughter when he finally tracked her down was beyond his panicked agenda that consisted of finding her and squeezing her so tight she could never wriggle free and disappear again. Multitasking was a gift, and unfortunately for Toby, God hadn't gifted him with anything except fast fingers, a mediocre road life, and a lost daughter, who, truth be told, wanted to be found by anyone except him. The roar of an engine and several splashes of gray gutter sludge later, he was glowering into the open window of a minivan with the paint peeling off the sides that rolled up beside him just as he was about to cross the street. “Any sign of her?” Pete asked, attempting to throw concern into his gruff voice only to sound more stern than he usually did. A selfish relief washed over him; so Pete hadn't found her yet. Maybe he could still turn this whole thing with Quinn around if he managed to locate her before his brother, the man who was more of a father to her than he ever was. “I'll find her.” “It's getting late, Toby.” Pete's calm demeanor cracked ever so slightly, revealing a truth harsher than most. “Just let me handle this.” “So when she's in danger, you're suddenly her father again?” Toby gripped the van's open window and leaned in as rainwater dripped onto the passenger seat. “I've always been her father, despite what you and the rest of the goddamned world thinks.” He strained to keep his voice civil as the blatant skepticism in the receptionist's drawl echoed along the spine of his thoughts. After all, who better to find an uprooted girl than a weed? “You left her. Left her with me so you could blow off her calls. Maybe you should listen to the goddamned world for once because it's right.”
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