Courage

by Kristen Proby

  “Just one more story?” Kevin asks from the twin bed across the room.

  “I read four stories, and that’s one more than usual. Because you were extra-good for Aspen today. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “It was fun,” Kelsey says, her big blue eyes droopy with sleep. “She let us have a cookie.”

  “That was nice of her.” I can’t help but lean over and kiss her little cheek.

  “Is Auntie Tash’s hand really okay?” Kevin asks. Even though this dude has given us a lot of trouble over the past couple of months, he’s been so worried today. He loves Tash. They both do.

  “Yes. The doctor stitched her right up. She’s going to be sore for a couple of days, but it’ll heal.”

  There’s no need to tell them how she fainted when they brought out the needle for the stitches.

  That’ll be our little secret.

  “Okay.” Kevin snuggles down under the covers. “Good night.”

  I cross to him and kiss his head. “Good night, buddy.”

  After I turn out the light, I close the door and walk down the hall. I find Tash in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher with one hand.

  “Let me.” I scoot her aside and start pulling out glasses and mugs. “You should rest.”

  “It’s just my hand,” she reminds me but doesn’t argue about stepping aside as she leans against the kitchen island. “Did they fight you at all?”

  “Not much. I read an extra story. Where does this go?” I hold up a colander.

  She points to a cabinet, and I stow it away. “How does it feel?”

  “Aches like a bitch,” she says. “Now that the numbing stuff has worn off.”

  “He gave you pain meds. Take one.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I’ll take ibuprofen or something. I have the kids. I can’t take the hard stuff. What if they needed me and I’m out cold? Not gonna happen.”

  I empty the silverware tray. “Jeez, you go through the spoons.”

  “No kidding. I’m gonna buy more.”

  I turn and look at her. She’s in black leggings that mold to the curves of her thighs and ass and a baggy sweatshirt.

  Tash is tall, not much shorter than my six feet. With that slender, willowy body and curves in all the right places, she’s sexy as hell.

  And as I watch, the neck of her sweatshirt falls over her shoulder.

  No bra strap.

  Jesus.

  I could just push my hand under the hemline and feel her bare skin.

  She raises her face, and her dark eyes find mine.

  “You okay?” she asks, tilting her head.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat and get back to the task at hand. Once the dishes are all put away, I load the dishwasher with the dirty ones in the sink, start it, and then wipe down the counters.

  “Thanks.” She yawns widely. “Wanna sit and chat for a while, or are you ready to head home? I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “I can stay for a few.”

  I toss the towel onto the counter and follow her into the living room. She sits in the corner of the couch, and I take the opposite side.

  “Thanks for staying all day,” she says. “You didn’t have to.”

  “No biggie. I called the chief and asked him to take me off the board for the day.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Wait. You took the day off? Shit, Sam, I’m sorry. I need to write down your schedule so I don’t bother you on your working days.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. I’m happy to help, you know that.”

  She shakes her head and then sighs. “You know, some days I think I have this all under control. On the days when the kids are happy, and I’m caught up on laundry and get no calls from the school. They’re few but coming more often than they did in the beginning—which I think is a good sign.”

  “Definitely a good sign.”

  “And then days like today just sneak up on me and slap me across the face as if God is saying, ‘Ha! You thought you could do this? Think again, sweetheart.’”

  “What are you talking about? You did great today. You got hurt, you called me, we executed a plan. It all came together.”

  “But you had to take off of work.”

  “And if that had been an issue, I would have said something. Tash, I’m not here because I feel sorry for you or something. The kids are my responsibility, too, you know.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. She narrows her gorgeous dark eyes, and that sass she’s always been known for comes to the surface.

  I much prefer the sass to the sadness.

  “I don’t need you to save me, Sam Waters.”

  “No, ma’am.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Absolutely, not. But I can be here because I want to be, can’t I? If not, just tell me to get lost. It’ll wound my ego, but I’ll survive.”

  “You can be here anytime you want,” she says with a laugh. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated. I know we’re co-parenting the twins. And that’s awesome because I couldn’t do it by myself.”

  “You could. But you don’t have to.”

  She licks her lips. “Do you remember that one time when I was twenty and supposed to go out with Monica, but when I got to the house, she had already left for a date with Rich? There was a lot of miscommunication, and you were there for something. I forget what.”

  “I was fixing my parents’ sink,” I reply, remembering that night vividly. “And you were so disappointed that Monica had left, so we hung out.”

  “And you kissed me.”

  Hell, yes, I’d kissed her. She was so sweet and pretty.

  “And you put on the brakes. Said Monica would kill you. And I came to my senses because you’re almost ten years younger than me.”

  She nods, remembering that night.

  “I had such a horrible, painful crush on you,” she admits softly.

  I knew. Of course, I knew. From the time she was in middle school, Tash watched me with lovesick eyes.

  “But then we grew up,” I add. “And you started dating Jeff Slimeball.”

  “Jeff Simpson,” she says with a laugh. “He wasn’t a slimeball. A little weird, maybe. He moved to Seattle. Last I heard, he and his husband are quite happy together.”

  “Good for him.” I lean closer to her. “You have a little something right here.”

  I brush the tip of my finger over the corner of her mouth. Of course, I lied. There’s nothing there.

  But I want to touch her so badly I ache with it.

  “What was it?” she asks quietly.

  “Nothing.” Her eyes narrow, but I only chuckle. “Your skin is so soft.”

  “That’s what you said when I was twenty.”

  I swallow and watch her lips move. “I want to be clear here, Tash. I’m attracted to you, though not because of the situation we’re currently in. I want to set that straight right now.”

  “So noted. And appreciated.”

  She watches as I lean in closer. I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her.

  With the very tips of my fingers, I brush her dark locks off her cheek and over the soft crook of her ear.

  She swallows and licks her lips.

  Just as I’m about to lay my lips on hers, we hear, “Can I have some water?”

  I sigh and glance to the right. Kelsey, looking tousled from sleep, holds her brown bear close to her chest.

  “I’m thirsty,” she says.

  “Sure, sweetie,” Tash says and stands from the couch. “And then right back to bed, okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” Kelsey murmurs as she follows Tash to the kitchen.

  I blow out a breath and rub my hands over my face.

  What am I doing? Getting tangled up with Tash only adds more complications to the whole situation.

  I need to keep my hands—and my lips—to myself.

  I’m about to say just that when I hear the woman walking back down the hall toward me
.

  “You know, I was just thinking—”

  Before I can finish the thought, she straddles my lap.

  I have no choice but to cup that gorgeous ass of hers in my hands—finally!—and stare up at her, waiting.

  “Don’t think,” she advises.

  Chapter 3

  ~Natasha~

  Sam’s hands grip my ass, those strong fingertips pressing firmly into the flesh beneath the denim of my jeans, and everything in me goes soft and just plain…wanton.

  I’m crazy. I just straddled Sam as if I do it every day.

  I’d like to do it every day.

  I’ve wanted him for as long as I can remember, damn it, and he literally just admitted that he wants me, too.

  So why shouldn’t I get a little forward and enjoy him? Push some of the doubt, sadness, and goddamn fear out of my mind—if only for a little while.

  “You’re so fucking sweet,” he whispers, and that’s all it takes for my lips to descend on his. His hands grip me tighter as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and sink into him. And that’s exactly what it feels like: a slow, delicious sinking into something so soft, warm, tender, and familiar that it tugs at my heart and turns me on all at the same time.

  I move to push my hand through his messy blond hair, but my hand suddenly sings out in pain, making me gasp.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, gasping for breath himself.

  “Ouch.” I frown as reality starts to settle in. “Damn hand.”

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” He doesn’t nudge me off his lap, he simply lifts me, shifting until I’m cradled on his lap, my head resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” I grin and shift my gaze from my throbbing hand to Sam’s bright blue gaze. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for my whole life. And just like you said a little bit ago, it has nothing at all to do with the situation we presently find ourselves in. I just thought you weren’t interested.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” he admits with a sigh.

  I raise a brow. “But?”

  “It’s not that I’ve never been interested in you,” he begins and pauses to kiss my forehead. “But you were my baby sister’s best friend. Significantly younger than me. It would have been damn creepy if I’d been into you.”

  “I’m not a baby now.”

  “No. You’re a grown woman. And trust me, I’ve noticed. But I’m not going to scoop you up and haul you off to bed when you’re injured.”

  “It’s only my hand,” I remind him. “It’s not my vagina.”

  He snorts. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that, but you’re still uncomfortable. And the kids are here.”

  “Yeah, I can’t argue that point.” I let myself lean on him, just for a minute. Sam’s always been tall and lean. He’s only started to pack on the muscles over the past couple of years. He trained hard for his place in the fire department.

  The hot body is a bonus.

  “Can I interest you in a date?” he asks, surprising me.

  “What kind of date?”

  “A real one.” He chuckles. “Noah offered to watch the kids. They’ll have fun at the sanctuary, and I can take you out for a meal that you don’t have to cook. With no one around that you have to cut up food for.”

  “I mean, if you need help, I’ve become quite the food chopper recently.”

  His lips twitch. “What do you say?”

  “Sure.” I nod and lean on him again. “I’d like that. Thanks for asking me.”

  “Thanks for saying yes.”

  “Auntie Tash?”

  I sigh and glance over to where Kelsey is standing by the hallway.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I had a bad dream.” Her big blue eyes, so much like Sam’s, well with big crocodile tears, and I open my arms for her to come sit with us.

  “Come on, sweetie. Come sit with us. It’s okay.”

  “Did you have a bad dream, too?” she asks me once she’s settled on both of our laps.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because Uncle Sam is holding you like you had a bad dream.”

  “Oh.” I smile and brush her soft blond hair off her cheek. “No. We were just talking, and I needed a cuddle. What was your bad dream about?”

  She nuzzles closer to me and tucks her head under my chin, but she doesn’t answer me. I let her sit for a long moment and then kiss her sweet little head.

  “Don’t want to talk about it?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Is it the same one you’ve been having?”

  She nods.

  “I’m sorry, honey. We can snuggle until you’re ready to go back to bed.”

  “Can I sleep wif you?”

  She turns those big eyes up to me. I know I’m being had. She’s laying it on thick.

  But how can anyone ever say no to that face?

  “You sleep better in your bed,” I remind her. “But I guess you can sleep in mine.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll tuck you in, and then I’m going to talk to Uncle Sam some more.”

  She hops off my bed and happily jogs down the hall to my bedroom.

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I slide off Sam’s lap. “You don’t have to stay. It’s getting late.”

  “I can stay until after she’s in bed,” he offers. “I’ll tuck her in.”

  He stands and kisses me on the forehead, then walks past me and down the hall.

  I hear the murmur of his voice, although I can’t hear what he says as he tucks his niece into my bed.

  I curl up in the corner of the couch again and wince as I hug my injured hand to my chest.

  It aches like a son of a bitch. I hope it heals quickly because there’s no way I can do everything that needs to be done with it injured like this. I have laundry to do, dishes to wash, bathrooms to clean, and a million other chores that require both hands.

  “Why are you scowling?” Sam asks when he returns.

  “Oh, I’m just brooding. I guess it’s good that I’m not working right now. There’s no way I could do nails with my hand like this.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Of course. It’ll heal. I’ll make do. The kids will just have to help me a little more than usual, but I’ll make it a game for them. It’ll be fine.”

  “Should I stay here for a few days until the worst of it is over?” he asks as he sits next to me. “It’s not a problem.”

  “I had to stash all of my nail stuff in the third bedroom,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s packed full because I literally just threw it all in there since the twins wanted to share a room, and—”

  “Take a breath,” he suggests with a laugh. “I’m fine on the couch. Trust me, I’ve slept on far worse.”

  “Aren’t you working this week?”

  “On call,” he says with a shrug. “If I get called, I’ll go. I don’t have to sit at the station twenty-four-seven. It’ll just be for a few days, while you heal up a bit.”

  “If you’re offering, I’m accepting. But please don’t feel like you have to.”

  “I rarely do anything I don’t want to do,” he says. “I’ll go home tonight, grab a few things, and come back tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, good. Because tomorrow is the first day of… well, shit.”

  “First day of kindergarten.”

  “How did I forget? Crap, Sam. I have to get some things done tonight. Monica bought these little chalkboards to write in cute things for first-day pictures. I need to make sure their new outfits are washed and ready, and I have to make their lunches.”

  “Okay, change of plans. I’ll head home and grab some stuff and then come back here to help you.”

  “You really don’t have to do that.”

  “Sure, I do. It’s their first day of school.” He winks and grabs his keys. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  By the time Sam makes it back to my house, all I’ve managed to do is set out the kids’
clothes for the morning. Thank God, I washed them last week.

  “How’s it going?” he asks when he walks in.

  “I’m moving slow,” I admit. “This stupid hand aches like crazy.”

  “Take some of the damn medicine.”

  His voice is firm and leaves no room for argument.

  “I’m here. If anything happens and you’re out cold, it’s handled. Take it, Tash.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I don’t even bother arguing because I know he’s right, and I’m in a decent amount of pain.

  “Just point and tell me what to do. I’m pretty handy.”

  He waits as I swallow the pill with a glass of water and then open the fridge.

  “Okay, I was just going to make them sandwiches and slice up some apples. I have these little individual peanut butter cups for them to dip their apples in.” Sam and I get to work building their lunches. I do a lot of pointing and doling out instructions, and he moves quickly, keeping up with me easily.

  Once the bags are packed, Sam opens a little bag of Cheetos and digs in.

  “Those are for the kids,” I remind him.

  “Quality control,” he says with a wink and munches happily. “Okay, now what?”

  “I have these chalkboards,” I say and walk to the closet where I stowed them. “We have to fill in these blanks.”

  “How do we know how tall they are?” he asks and blinks at me.

  “I started measuring them,” I answer and show him the place on the pantry doorjamb where I’ve made marks with a pencil, noting the name and date next to it. “We’ll use the most recent one. They’ve grown more than an inch in the past couple of months.”

  “They grow like weeds,” he says.

  “We’ll have to fill out some of this in the morning because I forgot to ask them the questions. Like, what they want to be when they grow up.”

  “You’ll have to write it. I have horrible chicken scratch.”

  “My right hand is injured.”

  “So?”

  “I’m right-handed.”

  His eyes go wide, and then he cringes. “Okay, we’ll make it work.”

  I yawn and glance at the clock. “I think we have it handled. I’m going to bed. Let me grab you some linens for the couch. Actually, you can go home and just come back in the morning if you want.”