“I warned you what would happen if you kept that hate crap up, Clancy. Get the hell out of here.”
Quinn took a chance and looked back. Sure enough, a man in a cop’s uniform was coming down the aisle behind them. He reached down, keeping his eyes on the two jackasses as he pulled Tristan up to his feet. What really pissed Quinn off to no end was the fact that he had finally had Tristan opening up and being himself, and then these two had to ruin it.
A muscle clenched in Quinn’s jaw when he saw Tristan backed against the shelf, his sketch pad clutched to his chest. His head turned back to the two men. “I want you to apologize to him, now.” Quinn’s voice was cold and unforgiving.
“I don’t say sorry to pansies.”
“That’s it, Clancy. If you don’t apologize to this young man, I’m taking you in.” The sheriff stepped up next to Quinn, squaring his shoulders.
“For what?” he asked in mocking disbelief.
“For being an asshole. Now do it.”
“I’m sorry.” The man paled, looking past Quinn and the sheriff with fear. Clancy and his buddy shot out of the aisle, leaving Quinn to wonder what the hell had scared them.
“What’s going on?”
Quinn spun around, his arms blocking Tristan. Two large men swaggered up to the sheriff. He knew one of them to be Torem, one of the occupants of the new home the construction company Quinn worked for was building. The other looked familiar, but he didn’t know the guy’s name.
“What’s going on, Quinn?”
He took a step to the side, feeling the need to block Tristan from their view. Quinn wasn’t quite sure why. “Nothing. I had a little trouble, but that’s been taken care of.”
Torem tilted his head to the side, peering past Quinn. “You know you can call me if you ever need any help.” Torem’s brow rose, but he didn’t say a word. He straightened and smiled at Quinn.
“Thanks, but I got this.” Quinn gave a short nod to the sheriff. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“Am I in trouble, sir?” Tristan asked as he hurried next to the cart Quinn was pushing.
“No, jellybean, there are just assholes in the world, and you met two of them.” Quinn pushed the cart to the checkout and began to unload his items. At the last second he remembered Tristan’s treats. He looked over the candy shelf next to the counter and spotted what he was looking for.
The cashier stared at Quinn when the whole vendor’s box containing the Skittles bags rode down the conveyor belt and stopped in front of her. “Someone’s got a sweet tooth.”
“That would be me.” Tristan raised his hand.
The cashier and Tristan chuckled. “I like your hat.” She smiled.
“Thank you. Quinn bought it for me.” Tristan ran his index finger and thumb around the brim, showing off his red fedora, with the long and large feather protruding from the side.
“It sets off your eyes,” she complimented him.
Tristan turned, pleased as punch with a big smile on his face. “She likes my hat, sir,” he said softly, so low that only Quinn could hear him.
“You have very good taste, jellybean.” Quinn winked at him with a smile.
Chapter Two
Tristan stored the last of his clothes in the few drawers Quinn had allotted him. He looked across the room where Quinn was trying to make him an art table. The sound of the cordless drill was a little unnerving. “Sir?”
Quinn glanced up at him, the drill coming to a stop. “What’s up, jellybean?”
He liked that nickname. No one had ever given him one before. “Why were those men making fun of me?” Tristan flopped down on the bed and removed his hat. He had loved it the moment he laid eyes on it. The feather reminded him of the ones they used as pens a long time ago.
Quinn stood and exhaled a deep breath. “Because they have nothing better to do.” He set the cordless drill down and eyed Tristan. “Don’t ever let someone get under your skin. No one’s opinion should bother you. It’s what you think about yourself that counts. Remember that.”
The realization dawned on Tristan that the men were making fun of him. But why? Quinn grabbed one of the legs he was assembling, and Tristan stared at the muscles rippling under Quinn’s white T-shirt. He was devilishly handsome. “Was it because of my feather, sir?” What else could it have been?
Quinn crossed the room and knelt down by the bed in front of Tristan. “Now listen, Tristan. It doesn’t matter why. All you need to do is concentrate on being yourself. Everything else will fall into place. Ignore men who want to belittle you. Their hatred is their problem, not yours. The only person who can bring you down is you.” He lightly pressed his index finger into Tristan’s sternum and then stood, his hand falling away.