Page 57 of Legacy

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world, Honey Bea.” I hug her tightly before setting her down.

She’s bouncing. Wearing as many bright colors as she can with her plain school uniform. Neon bracelets match the bright-pink ribbon in her hair and her bubble-gum cowboy boots.

“Do you like my hair? Reagan made it a fish fin.” She spins around, showing off her braid.

“Fishtail.” Reagan’s voice comes from the kitchen, and I finally dare to glance in her direction.

She’s still in pajamas, which consist of a skintight white tank top and the shortest sleep shorts I’ve ever seen. A patch of flour dusts her cheek, and her blonde hair is falling around her face as her messy bun fails to contain it.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous.

I stand, tucking my hands into my pockets so I don’t walk over and brush that patch of flour from her soft skin. Or wrap her in my arms. Or kiss every inch of her exposed skin.

“Fishtail,” Bea repeats, spinning in circles as she dances to a new song. “Do you like it? Reagan says she knows all kinds of different braids. She’s gonna do one every day.”

My attention moves back to my daughter, who is smiling so wide it nearly splits her face. She’s beaming up at me, and her love for Reagan makes something in my chest ache.

“It’s very pretty.” I pat the top of her head. “I’m gonna shower really quick, then we’ll take off.”

She frowns. “But you promised to help me with the jewels.”

Shit.

I did promise to help her, and then I ran out of time every day for the past week.

“Right.” I drag my hand through my hair. “Go grab ’em, and we’ll do it now.”

She stampedes up the stairs, sounding like a mini tornado tearing through the house.

“Jewels?” Margaret asks.

I step into the kitchen and drop onto the stool at the island. “Luna got her some gems to decorate her backpack.”

“I like Luna.” Margaret smiles, taking a sip of her coffee.

“She’s been dropping by a lot?”

“To hang out with this one.” Margaret tips her head in Reagan’s direction.

I’m glad to hear that Reagan has company when I’m barely around. Not that I say that.

Reagan reaches for a bowl on a top shelf, and her shorts ride up her ass. Those curves are downright sinful.

A throat clearing at my left tells me Margaret caught me staring at her great-niece, and I feel like a total dick.

“I’m gonna sit outside for a bit.” Margaret pats my arm. “Have Bea say goodbye before school.”

She disappears, leaving just me and Reagan in the kitchen.

“You had a long night…” Reagan’s back is to me as she flips the bacon. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.”

She hums when I don’t elaborate. But there’s not much else to say. I know how people judge what we do at the club. What am I supposed to tell her? That the second we got done fucking I had to head to a strip club to handle a group of mostly naked, pissed-off strippers?

I doubt she’d take that well.

She might fit into this part of my world, but I don’t know if she can handle the rest of it.

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