Page 30 of Daddy, Take Me Away
Four, he sleepily counted. That was the number of orgasms he’d wrung from her, as far as he’d been able to tell..
Good baseline for their first intimate encounter.
He’d do better next time. Checking to make sure she was sound asleep, he kissed her on the temple and then got up and returned to his own bed in the house next door.
Chapter Sixteen
Forget a few days. Chloe had been in Hamish’s B&B for just over a week when the airline texted one morning to notify her that her luggage had finally arrived. They even sent a picture. It was her suitcase, but in a state she had never seen before. It was crushed, torn at the hinges into two completely separate halves. All of her things were gone–her artwork, her clothes, the two books she’d brought thinking if she had time, she might get them knocked off her to-be-read list.
She burst into tears, getting up from the table where she’d been enjoying her coffee, and walking straight into the kitchen nook where Hamish was standing at the stove, fixing her breakfast. He must have heard her footsteps because she was almost to him when he turned.
He took one look at her face and shut the stove off, dropping the wooden spatula he’d been scrambling eggs with on the counter.
His arms were around her in an instant, pulling her into a comforting embrace even as he demanded, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“It’s all gone!” she wailed, showing him her phone.
Taking her phone, he read it silently.
Inconsolable, she buried her face into his chest. “It was everything I had. I brought all of it, thinking I would get so much painting done. And it’s all gone!”
She could have kicked herself. She never should have packed all of it. She didn’t have the money to replace what was missing, and she was so angry at herself, the airline, the situation, that she just wanted to scream. To ball up her fists, stomp her feet, and throw an absolute fit right here and now.
Except Daddy held her too tightly for that.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered fiercely, hugging her close. “I’ve got you, and you’re going to be all right.”
“How?” she sobbed, almost shouting she was so frustrated. “My everything was in there, Daddy! My everything!”
He hugged her tighter and didn’t answer. Not until her sniffles started to slow and her furious huffs of air dwindled, turning sad instead. Slowly letting her go, he cupped her shoulders and held her just far enough away from him to see her face, and let her see his.
Hamish wiped at the remnants of her tears. “Feel better?”
She shook her head.
“Go get dressed.” He gave her a gentle push toward her bedroom, landing a half gentle swat to her bottom to get her going.
Startled, she jumped a little, then reached back to rub. After only a few steps, she hesitantly turned back to him. “Where are we going?”
“Guess you’ll find out after breakfast. Go.”
She blinked, but when he plucked a wooden spoon from the crock by the stove, she ran for her bedroom. Catching the door, she shut it and quickly backed away. No way would that door hold if he wanted to open it, especially since she wasn’t brave enough to lock him out. Not even when she wasn’t really in trouble. It just didn’t feel right, trying to shut Daddy out.
She paused, listening, and when she didn’t hear his heavy footsteps coming after her, she knew he was once more back to cooking. She also realized he might have set some mental clock, timing how long it took her to come back, so she probably ought to hurry.
Knees wobbling, her mind locked on the sensation that seeing that wooden spoon had put in her tummy, she went through the clothes she’d picked up at the thrift shop. There was no point in waiting anymore for clothing reinforcements to arrive; she was going to have to do her laundry. Here. At Daddy’s. The B&B had no washer or dryer, but the main house had a washer, with a laundry line strung above the rail of his back porch. Hamish had already given her permission to use them, but the thought of hanging her bra and panties at his house sent waves of heat rushing to her face.
She picked through her outfit options. All had been worn at least once, her dress she’d worn twice. Not that anyone she ran into, except Hamish, of course, would know she was in dirty clothes. Still, she would know and that was more than embarrassing. It was humiliating.
She almost dissolved back into unhappy tears again, but the thought of Daddy waiting for her, with that wooden spoon in his hand, maybe or maybe not timing how long it took her to obey… well, at least it got her moving again. Selecting a pair of jeans with spangles on the back pockets and a green t-shirt with a grinning frog on the chest, she finally dressed. The trip out to the dining table was subdued; she could practically feel imaginary grime in the fabric rubbing on her with every step she took.
“There you are,” Hamish said, barely glancing up from the stove. “Good timing too. Breakfast’s ready.”
She looked, but he wasn’t wielding the wooden spoon at all. He still had the spatula, but it wasn’t half as terrifying when stuck in food than it had been in his hand.
Dishing up two plates of eggs, toast, and thick slices of very dark sausage, he brought them to the table before ducking back into the kitchen, returning seconds later with a pitcher of cold milk and two bowls of oatmeal.
“Salt, or maple and brown sugar?” he asked, setting her bowl in front of her.
