Sugar Mommy Quotes

Why is Mommy crying?” the young boy asks his dad, all sugared up and bewildered with concern. “Because you’re an asshole,” barks back the father with exasperated logic.

Gabe, sugar, can I come in?” He turned toward her, his tiny face incurably somber, his eyes misty and wounded. Aunt Starla. Did you bring Mommy?” he asked with a slight hitch in his voice.

When the last of the dishes were put up, the floor swept, the Open sign turned off and the door latched, Preacher trudged slowly up the stairs to his old room. When he got there he found Christopher was jumping on the bed while beside it Paige stood holding his pajama top, trying to get him to settle down after his bath. She threw a look over her shoulder with a wan smile that said she was coming to the end of her rope. After all, she’d been trapped in the plane and car with him much of the day. “Okay, cowboy,” Preacher said, coming forward. He took the top out of Paige’s hands and held it for the boy. Christopher slipped his arms in and turned around so that Preacher could snap it up the back. “That a boy,” he said. Paige put a hand on Preacher’s forearm and said, “Please tuck in the cowboy and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Christopher lunged at Preacher, jumping on him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, hugging him tight. “Wanna kiss Mommy good-night?” Preacher asked. Christopher leaned around Preacher a little, puckering, but didn’t let go. He got his kiss and Paige left them alone. “In you go,” Preacher said. “Read,” he said. “Aw, c’mon. It’s been a long day.” “Read,” he said. “One page.” “Okay, one page.” Preacher sat on the bed beside him and accepted the book. He read three pages. “Now you have to settle down.” He started whining and wiggling around. “Did someone give you sugar?” Preacher asked him. “Get into bed. Enough of this.” He tucked the covers around him and kissed his head. “See you happy in the morning.” “G’night,” Christopher said, snuggling down in the bed. When

Even at a distance, he recognized Emma sprawled headlong in the street, and he broke into a run. The road was empty, so was the boardwalk. He knelt beside her and helped her sit up. “Emma . . . honey, are you okay?” Tears streaked her dusty cheeks. “I-I lost my Aunt Kenny, and”—she hiccupped a sob—“m-my mommy’s gone.” Her face crumpled. “Oh, little one . . . come here.” He gathered her to him, and she came without hesitation. He stood and wiped her tears, and checked for injuries. No broken bones. Nothing but a skinned knee that a little soapy water—and maybe a sugar stick—would fix right up. “Shh . . . it’s okay.” He smoothed the hair on the back of her head, and her little arms came around his neck. A lump rose in his throat. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Her sobs came harder. “Clara fell down too, Mr. Wyatt.” She drew back and held up the doll. “She’s all dirty. And she stinks.” Wyatt tried his best not to smile. Clara was indeed filthy. And wet. Apparently she’d gone for a swim in the same mud puddle Emma had fallen in. Only it wasn’t just mud, judging from the smell. “Here . . .” He gently chucked her beneath the chin. “Let’s see if we can find your Aunt Kenny. You want to?” The little girl nodded with a hint of uncertainty. “But I got my dress all dirty. She’s gonna be mad.” Knowing there might be some truth to that, he also knew Miss Ashford would be worried sick. “Do you remember where you were with Aunt Kenny before you got lost?” Emma shook her head. “I was talkin’ to my friend, and I looked up . . .” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And Aunt Kenny was gone.” Wyatt knew better than to think it was McKenna Ashford who had wandered away. “We’ll find her, don’t you worry.” “Clara’s dress is dirty like mine, huh?” She held the doll right in front of his face. Wyatt paused, unable to see it clearly. Easily supporting Emma’s weight, he took Clara and did his best to wipe the dirt and mud from the doll’s dress and its once-yellow strands of hair. His efforts only made a bigger mess, but Emma’s smile said she was grateful. “She likes you.” Emma put a hand to his cheek, then frowned. “Your face is itchy.” Knowing what she meant, he laughed and rubbed his stubbled jaw. He’d bathed and shaved last night in preparation for church this morning, half hoping he might see McKenna and Emma there. But they hadn’t attended. “My face is itchy, huh?” She squeezed his cheek in response, and he made a chomping noise, pretending he was trying to bite her. She pulled her hand back, giggling. Instinctively, he hugged her close and she laid her head on his shoulder. Something deep inside gave way. This is what it would have been like if his precious little Bethany had lived. He rubbed Emma’s back, taking on fresh pain as he glimpsed a fragment of what he’d been denied by the deaths of his wife and infant daughter so many years ago. “Here, you can carry her.” Emma tried to stuff Clara into his outer vest pocket, but the doll wouldn’t fit. Wyatt tucked her inside his vest instead and positioned its scraggly yarn head to poke out over the edge, hoping it would draw a smile. Which it did.

No tengas miedo. Es Cuchi, una sekubu. Técnicamente, es mi mascota, pero según ella, yo soy su sugar mommy. Te lo contaré todo más tarde.