Jackson Hole Valentine

by Cindy Kirk

  He slid to the side of the bed and held on to the headboard while pulling himself upright. Catching sight of his reflection in the full-length mirror, he frowned.

  While the running pants were comfortable, he felt like he should be going for a jog, rather than entertaining guests.

  Not guests, he reminded himself, Meg and Charlie. While Meg might be considered a guest, Charlie was definitely family.

  “My son,” Cole whispered the words aloud for the first time, the taste sweet against his tongue.

  For the past five years, ever since he’d heard Joy had given birth less than nine months after their fling in Austin, he’d wondered if Charlie was his son.

  By the time he’d heard the news, Joy was married to Ty. Still, Cole had contacted her. She’d insisted the baby was her husband’s child, but her words—and the timing—didn’t ring true. When he’d suggested they do a DNA test “just to be sure,” Joy had started to cry.

  At that point Cole had let the matter drop. After all, he didn’t know for sure. And, in the eyes of the law, Charlie was considered Ty’s son. Not only that, Ty was a good father and he and Joy were happy together. In the ensuing years, Cole had become a friend to Ty as well as to Joy and a favorite “uncle” to Charlie.

  But now everything had changed.

  Grabbing his crutches, Cole made his way slowly to the living room to await Charlie and Meg’s arrival. He stifled a groan as he eased into the overstuffed leather chair. The time for making excuses was over. Once Charlie was settled in, he’d start hitting the therapy hard. And he wouldn’t need Meg’s help. No sirree.

  He couldn’t believe he and Meg would be living under the same roof. It was like some twisted fairy tale. To think there had been a time when he’d have given anything to have her be the last person he saw at night and the first one when he woke up. That, of course, was before he discovered she couldn’t be trusted.

  The ringing of the doorbell saved Cole from revisiting that awful time when he’d learned she’d betrayed him. The melodious chimes had launched into a second refrain by the time he made it to his feet.

  He hobbled around the furniture, carefully avoiding the treacherous rugs. Excitement built inside Cole. Having the opportunity to be a father to Charlie was a dream come true.

  Still, it had come at a high price.

  Too high, Cole thought grimly. Joy and Ty had been like family—closer, really, than his own brother—and he felt their loss to the very core of his being.

  He’d made it all the way to the edge of the foyer when the door opened and Meg and Charlie spilled inside, laughing and talking.

  “I hope you don’t mind us not waiting.” Meg stomped on the rag rug, sending the snow on her boots flying across the marble floor. Tiny flakes of white ice crystals clung to her hair.

  “I was c-c-cold,” Charlie said loudly, whipping off his Denver Broncos ski cap, his hair standing straight up. “I could see my breath and everything. If I’d waited much longer I’d ’ave froze to death.”

  The little boy’s expression was so earnest, Cole swallowed the laughter welling in his throat.

  “Couldn’t have that.” Cole gestured to the coat closet off to Meg’s left. “If you’d like to hang up your—”

  “I’d better keep mine on.” She slanted a glance at Charlie. “We’ve got some bags. I should bring them in before my car is covered with snow.”

  “There’s a garage door opener on the side table,” Cole said. “It’s yours while you’re here.”

  A garage door opener. A simple tool, nothing more. Then why did it suddenly feel so…intimate?

  If it felt intimate to Meg, she gave no indication. She simply grabbed the control, dropped it into her pocket then turned to Charlie, who was unbuttoning his jacket.

  “Leave it on, sweetie,” she said to the boy. “I’m going to need help carrying the bags into the house.”

  “I don’t want to carry any dumb old bags,” the boy whined. “I wanna see my room.”

  “You can see your room,” Cole answered before Meg could respond, “after you help Aunt Meg.”

  Charlie’s face took on a mulish look. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it when Cole shot him a firm glance.

  “Okay,” the boy said with a huge sigh.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” Meg added. “I appreciate the help.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Cole asked Meg.

  “Thanks for offering, but we’ll be able to manage.” For a second her smile was open and friendly. “Look at Charlie’s muscles.”

  Beside her, the boy puffed with pride. “I’m real strong. I picked up this big punkin from our garden that even Daddy couldn’t lift.”

  The sharp pain of loss sliced through Cole’s heart. As much as he’d wanted to take a bigger role in Charlie’s life, he’d never wanted it to come at Ty’s expense.

  “Daddy and me put a mean face on it,” the boy continued. “Mommy got scared when we showed it to her.”

  “Your mommy told me that story,” Meg responded with a smile, smoothing the child’s hair.

  Cole wondered if Meg realized how therapeutic her talking about Joy and Ty was for Charlie. When Cole’s father passed away, his mom had made it clear he and his brother weren’t to talk about their dad or even mention his name. Cole had never been sure if that was because her husband’s death was so hard on her or if she just didn’t want to upset her new boyfriend.

  “Charlie, honey, you stay in here until you hear me honk. That will be your signal to come and help me. Understand?”

  The boy nodded.

  With an ease that Cole couldn’t help envying, Meg slipped out the front door, pulling it closed behind her.

  Charlie met Cole’s gaze. “Aunt Margaret and me got my toys and clothes. My mommy and daddy’s stuff was all gone.”

  The pain and confusion in the child’s voice tugged at Cole’s heartstrings. Not responding wasn’t an option. Not with those big blue eyes focused on him, searching for answers.

  “My daddy died when I wasn’t much older than you.” Cole cleared his throat. “Before long, everything of his was gone from our home. It felt as if he’d never been there.”

  “Did it make you feel sad?” Charlie asked in a small voice.

  “It did,” Cole agreed. “But then I realized his clothes and fishing and hunting gear were just things. My dad was still with me. He’d always be with me. Understand?”

  Charlie’s face scrunched up in a frown. “I guess.”

  Cole decided to further simplify. “My dad was sick for almost a year before he died. We all knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d go to heaven.”

  “Did you tell him not to go?” Charlie’s bottom lip trembled. “Did you tell him that you’d miss him? That you were scared to be alone?”

  Cole pressed his lips together, remembering just how alone and scared he’d felt. His dad had been the only person he’d been able to count on. “Before he passed on, he told me that wherever I went, he’d be in my back pocket. Understand?”

  Charlie’s brows pulled together for a long moment, then he nodded.

  Cole expelled a breath.

  The boy patted the back pocket of his jeans and a look of confusion blanketed his face. “I don’t feel Daddy here.”

  “He’s not actually—” Cole stopped when Charlie squealed with laughter.

  “I fooled you.” A big grin split the boy’s face.

  The faint honking of a car horn broke through the laughter.

  “I gotta go.” Charlie spun around and took off in the direction of the front door.

  “Not that way. The door to the garage is through there.” Cole gestured with his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “I’m coming,” Charlie said in a loud voice, though there was no way she could hear him. “I’m coming, Aunt Margaret.”

  Cole waited until the child disappeared into the kitchen before he returned to the chair he’d vacated minutes before.

  Aunt Marg
aret.

  Uncle Cole.

  To an outsider, it probably sounded as if they were a family. As if they belonged together.

  But they were living together for only one reason. As soon as he was on his feet, she’d be shown the door.

  And once he got full custody, she’d be out of his life.

  This time for good.

  Chapter Five

  The evening sped by quickly. Remembering that Joy had told her spaghetti was Charlie’s favorite dish, Meg had swung by the grocery store before picking up the boy.

  Cole had seemed as pleased as Charlie when she’d announced what they were having for dinner. Seeing his empty cupboards and refrigerator, she understood.

  In an attempt to provide a balanced meal, Meg made steamed broccoli for the vegetable and strawberries with whipped cream for dessert. By the time she and Charlie cleared the table, a tiny bit of the tension between her and Cole had eased.

  Cole’s eyes might still be shuttered but he’d smiled a couple of times. Not that she cared for herself what the man thought or felt. But at least she knew he wanted things to be comfortable between them…for the child’s sake.

  She sent Charlie to the living room to keep Cole company while she wiped down the granite countertops. Meg ran her fingers across the surface, her gaze surveying the room.

  The commercial-grade appliances were every cook’s dream. Growing up in a big family, helping in the kitchen was just something you were expected to do. Later, after her parents had passed away, and she and Travis had chosen to take on the daunting task of coparenting their siblings, she’d been grateful for all those lessons. But her uncle’s kitchen had been nothing like this one.

  “Aunt Meg,” Charlie called out from the other room. “Where are you?”

  “Aunt Meg?” She strolled into the room, not sure how she felt about seeing the boy sitting so comfortably beside Cole on the sofa. Especially with his head cocked in a gesture that reminded her of the man sitting beside him. “What happened to Aunt Margaret?”

  “Meg is more pretty,” the boy said with a decisive nod. “It’s what Uncle Cole calls you.”

  Meg shifted her gaze.

  Cole’s lips lifted upward in a smile that looked suspiciously like a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

  She’d been about to suggest they play one of the board games she’d brought with her from Charlie’s house or perhaps a rousing hand of Go Fish. But the smirk changed the direction of her thoughts.

  “Charlie,” she said. “Would you like to help me make your uncle Cole strong and fast, like a superhero?”

  “Yes,” Charlie shouted, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air.

  “Indoor voice.” Meg touched a finger to her lips, smiling to soften the words.

  “Will he be able to fly?” Charlie flung out his arms as if he were prepared to soar through the air.

  “No, he won’t be able to fly but eventually he will be able to take you skiing and then fishing this summer.” Meg kicked the crutches Cole had propped up next to him on the sofa. “He’ll be able to walk and run without these.”

  Cole’s expression darkened.

  “How are we gonna make him strong?” Charlie asked.

  “Through some fun games,” Meg said. “It’s very important that these games are done just right. That’s why I’ll be the sheriff and you’ll be the deputy. We’re here to make sure he does just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Do I get a gun?” the boy asked.

  Meg shook her head. “A gun won’t be necessary.”

  “My daddy had a gun. I wasn’t allowed to touch it. He kept it locked up in a big cabinet.”

  “Well,” Meg said, “there are no guns here—”

  She glanced at Cole for confirmation.

  “No guns,” he said.

  “And we don’t need them,” Meg said. “Because Uncle Cole wants to get better and because of that he’s going to do what we say.”

  “I don’t think—” Cole began.

  “If he cheats, I’ll arrest him,” Charlie announced, his expression stern. “Cuz I want him to take me fishing. I don’t know about skiing. I never been.”

  “You’ll like it,” Cole said. “I’ll take you when my knee is healed.”

  “I want Aunt Meg to come, too.” Charlie reached out and took her hand, the gesture warming her heart.

  “Then I’d better start getting in shape,” Cole drawled.

  “I can help with that,” Meg said.

  “I see that look in your eyes,” Cole said. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Meg?”

  “Your CPM machine,” she said, not at all affected by his easy smile. “Where is it?”

  “In my bedroom.” Cole gestured toward the hall with his head.

  In Meg’s experience, a continuous-passive-motion machine was often prescribed for use during the first two weeks after an ACL reconstruction.

  “Have you used it today?” she asked.

  “I was busy.” His tone held a defensive edge. “Getting things ready for you and Charlie.”

  Meg wasn’t sure that Cole was physically capable of doing much to ready the house for their arrival, but she let the topic drop.

  “What degree of extension does the doctor want you to achieve before you discontinue the use of the CPM?” Meg kept her tone professional and her comment to the point.

  “Ninety-five,” he said.

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “I’m almost at ninety-five,” he called to her retreating back.

  Meg kept walking. The awkwardness of his gait told her he still had a way to go. Only when she reached his bedroom door did indecision strike. She really should have secured his permission before entering his personal space.

  Of course, since he wasn’t yelling for her to return or telling her to stay out, apparently he was okay with her retrieving the equipment. Right?

  Pushing open the bedroom door, her breath caught in her throat. Bedroom? More like a suite. A sizable sitting area done in burgundy and grays held a love seat, an easy chair and an end table. A flat-screen television was mounted on one wall. The step up to the king-size bed was aesthetically pleasing but probably a hassle to Cole in his current condition. She took note of the CPM machine next to the bed but passed by it, not ready to stop exploring.

  Off to the right was a bathroom with a glassed-in shower and a separate alcove with a tub the size of a Jacuzzi.

  Cole’s razor and shaving cream were on the bathroom counter between double sinks. A burgundy towel hung drying on a silver towel bar.

  A manly mixture of cologne and soap and shaving cream lingered in the air. Meg could see Cole standing in front of the mirror clad in nothing but a towel, beads of moisture clinging to his muscular chest.

  For a second she was back in his old Chevy, tentatively sliding her hands up under his shirt, exploring those muscles with the pads of her fingers.

  An unexpected ache of longing washed over her, shocking her with its intensity. The intimacy they’d shared in the vehicle’s backseat had been her first, and if his awkwardness had been an indication, his, as well. It made no sense that the long-ago encounter that night had become the gold standard.

  Though Meg hadn’t had many lovers since, she’d had a couple. Both were experienced men. Neither one had sent fire rushing through her veins with a single touch. Or brought her to completion that left her breathless and longing for more.

  Meg took a deep breath, banished the memory to the past where it belonged and turned back to the bedroom area, to the equipment propped up beside the headboard. She gathered it in her arms, finding the item more unwieldy than heavy.

  When she reached the living room Charlie was teaching Cole a song about monkeys jumping on a bed. Charlie stopped singing when he saw her and raced across the room.

  “Aunt Meg, I lighted the fire all by myself.” With a big grin splitting his face, the boy pointed to the hearth where a fire now burned.

  She glanced at Cole and rai
sed a brow. Surely he knew that Charlie was much too young to be playing with matches.

  Cole smiled as if he could read her mind. “Tell Aunt Meg what you used to start the fire.”

  The boy picked up a tan-colored remote control from the side table. “This.”

  Of course. A gas log. Energy efficient. Clean. Most of all, so safe a child could “fire” it up.

  “It’s nice and—” her word faltered as she caught Cole staring “—warm in here now.”

  Warm wasn’t really the word that sprang to mind. Intimate. Cozy. Perhaps even a bit seductive.

  Between the crackling fire and the falling snow visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, there was a feeling of closeness that Meg hadn’t expected to experience here.

  Charlie pointed to the equipment in her arms. “What’s that?”

  The boy moved close, touched a finger to the metal. He jumped back as if it was red-hot then giggled.

  Meg smiled at the boyish antics. She turned to place the item on the floor by the sofa. “This is going to help make Uncle Cole strong again.”

  “It looks hard.” Charlie’s face scrunched into a frown as Meg placed the CPM machine on the floor.

  “It is hard,” Cole agreed. “Can I count on you to help me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie nodded vigorously up and down then slanted a glance at Meg before turning back to Cole. “You can count on both of us.”

  “Is that right, Meg?” Cole lifted a sardonic brow. “Can I count on you…this time?”

  The words stung as much as if he’d slapped her. Yet, for Charlie’s sake, she managed to keep a smile on her lips.

  The nerve of the man. He acted as if it was her who’d let him down all those years ago rather than the other way around.

  Snapping the last piece of the equipment into place, Meg scrambled to her feet and held out a hand to him. She met his gaze. “Of course you can trust me, Cole. Every bit as much as I can trust you.”

  Cole saw the anger in her eyes, heard it in the bite of her tone. Too subtle for Charlie to catch; nevertheless the exchange had brought a chill to the room that no fire could warm.