Surrender To Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  Benton was trying to recruit her, all right, and not just for the nursing staff. Colt shouldn’t give a damn, but he did.

  While Luke and Granddaddy made kissy noises at the windowpane, Colt tried to ignore the acid burning a hole in his gut. Leah had done him wrong, and yet he was the one taking karma’s size twelve boot up the ass. What had he done to deserve this?

  Chapter 19

  Leah sat in the empty parking lot of Ella-Mae’s Waffle Shack, otherwise known as The Awful Waffle, and drummed her nails on the steering wheel. With its limited menu of doughy hotcakes, watery syrup, bitter coffee, and rubbery eggs, the Shack’s nickname was well-deserved. Nobody ate here—it was a miracle the place stayed in business. But if you wanted a quiet breakfast free from prying eyes, The Awful Waffle marked the spot.

  That’s why she was here: to introduce Colt to the Ackerman family in a neutral place where neither side would feel threatened.

  Now to survive the waiting…

  Nervous tingles danced across her chest. Colt wasn’t her biggest fan these days, and he could be a real wild card when angry. For the last nine years, she’d walked a meticulous line with Noah’s parents, careful not to rock the boat and lose the privileges they granted her. She’d damaged that relationship by lying, and she prayed Colt wouldn’t fly off the handle and make it worse.

  Speak of the devil, the good sheriff pulled up in his cruiser and rolled to a stop. He could’ve parked beside her, but instead he put four wide spaces between them in a silent message that he still wanted nothing to do with her. He turned off the ignition and stared out his front windshield, refusing to acknowledge her with even a glance.

  His rejection stung. Each cold-shouldered snub pricked her heart like thistle, and he’d given her no reprieve in the week since she’d told him the truth. Her hopes of forgiveness were fading fast. It was probably time to admit that Colt’s anger was stronger than his love.

  But even if it was too late for them, she could try to salvage her friendship with the Ackermans, and to do that, she’d have to talk to Colt and make him see reason. Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped out of her car and charged toward his cruiser.

  The brisk morning air condensed into fog when she exhaled, and she pulled her sweater lapels tight over her breasts to hold in the warmth. When she reached Colt’s passenger door, she bent at the waist and knocked politely on his window.

  He gave her nothing. With one arm slung over the steering wheel, the immature jerk sipped his coffee and continued ignoring her.

  This was ridiculous. Leah tried opening the door but found it locked. Temper flaring, she pounded on his window. “I can do this all day!”

  He still didn’t look at her, but he rolled his eyes and hit the automatic unlock button. She took a second to calm down and climbed in before he had a chance to change his mind.

  The inside of Colt’s cruiser was warm and thick with the scent of his aftershave, a smell that conjured bittersweet memories of their single night together. It was hard to believe that just days ago, they’d fused their skin and twined their limbs in a compulsion to get as close as possible, to join their bodies and souls. Now Colt couldn’t get far enough away.

  A pang of loss shot through Leah, so acute she struggled to catch her breath. It seemed there was no limit to how much she could suffer. Every interaction with this man, no matter how trifling, cut to the core. It was then that she knew what she had to do. She would give him what he wanted—she’d leave town. The sooner the better. Maybe she could return to Sultry Springs someday, but for now the pain was too fresh. She needed time to heal her bruised spirit, and she couldn’t do that with Colt in her life.

  “Well?” The low timbre of his voice sent another ripple of agony through her. “What’s so important that you had to beat down my door?”

  Even though it hurt, she forced herself to face him, blindingly handsome in his starched uniform. “I thought it’d be a good idea to talk before the Ackermans get here. We should make sure we’re on the same page.”

  He took a long, slow sip of coffee, forcing her to wait on needles for a response. Several seconds ticked by, and then he took another sip. Finally, he said, “We’re not on the same page. You made sure of that ten years ago.”

  Leah leaned back against the leather seat and huffed a sigh. Clearly, Colt wasn’t going to make this easy. “Look, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. But I need you to pretend for one minute that you don’t hate me. Can you do that?”

  He made eye contact now—in the form of an icy blue-green glare.

  “We need to talk before we go in there,” she continued. “Or we’re going to make the situation worse than it already is.”

  “Fine.” He faced front and raised his mug to his lips. “Then talk.”

  Leah glanced out the back window for Jim and Diane’s rental car. They should be here any minute. “The Ackermans have always let me see Noah, but we don’t have a legal agreement. There’s nothing in writing. They could cut me off anytime, and I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court. They don’t have to let you see Noah either, so keep that in mind before you start making demands.”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?” He spoke into his coffee, sounding offended. “Go in there and order an omelet, then draw my Glock and kidnap him?”

  “Don’t rock the boat. That’s all I’m trying to say. You’ve got a temper, CJ, and—”

  “Hey,” he objected. “I don’t have a temper!”

  “Oh, please.” She cocked her head to the side. “Need I remind you of The Great Condom Incident, where you pulverized Tommy’s liver right there at the Sack-n-Pay checkout line?”

  “It was his kidney, not his liver. And besides, that doesn’t count.” Colt waved her off. “Tommy needed someone to take him down a peg. Anyone but you would understand, Saint Leah the Passive.”

  She made a frustrated noise from the back of her throat. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  “Now who has the temper?”

  Leah’s head came dangerously close to exploding, but fortunately, a silver Ford Taurus pulled up beside the cruiser and forced an end to their argument.

  “Noah’s a sweet boy,” she said with an artificial smile and a wave out the window. “So you be sweet too.”

  Colt nestled his coffee mug inside the dashboard holder. Before opening his door, he left her with a sarcastic jab. “Got it. Thanks for having so much faith in me, as usual.”

  His words stunned her and she sat for a silent beat with her fingers frozen around the door handle. Colt had thrown the barb at her in spite, but a tug of guilt from the pit of her stomach told her there was a kernel of truth behind it. She hadn’t had faith in his ability to parent their baby all those years ago, so she’d arranged the adoption behind his back. Had she made the same mistake by expecting him to cause trouble today? Colt got under her skin like a deer tick, but he was probably right. She still lacked faith in him. By the time she geared up to apologize, he’d already stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  She joined Colt near the Waffle Shack entrance and linked arms with him to present a united front. He stiffened the set of his elbow but didn’t pull away. Leaning in, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I do have faith in you.”

  He didn’t answer, just pulled off his Stetson and alternated nervous glances between his boots and the son he’d never met. She decided to help him along. It was the least she could do.

  She waved Noah over with an enthusiastic grin. “Hey, Bud! Come here—I missed you!”

  A toothy smile split her boy’s face, and she felt it like sunshine warming her from scalp to toes. He looked so handsome in his tan corduroys and the dinosaur sweater she’d given him last Christmas. As he ran toward her, she lowered and reached out her arms to him.

  He gave her a tight squeeze, surrounding her in his sign
ature little boy scent of outdoor air and grape shampoo. She hugged him back and closed her eyes to soak him up until he got fidgety. Noah hugs never lasted long enough.

  When she stood, she nodded at Colt. “I want you to meet my good friend, Colton Bea.” Then she widened her eyes and said in a super-serious voice, “He’s the sheriff of the whole county.”

  “Whoa.” Noah turned an equally wide-eyed gaze at Colt. After taking in every gadget, badge, and patch along Colt’s uniform, he surprised her by matter-of-factly stating, “You’re my birth dad.”

  She and Colt shared a quick glance. “That’s right,” Leah said. “Did your mom and dad talk to you about that?”

  “Uh-huh, they told me yesterday.” Noah motioned to Jim and Diane, who held back a few feet to give them some space. “Mom said a man named Colton Bea put me in your tummy a long time ago, but he couldn’t take care of me ’cause he was still in school, just like you were.”

  Leah felt her cheeks flushing. She didn’t know how much Diane had explained about the birds and the bees, so she didn’t elaborate. “That’s right. Colt is your birth father like I’m your birth mother. And he loves you just as much as I do, even though you two have never met. Isn’t that cool?”

  Noah thought about it a moment before deciding, “Yeah. He’s got a cowboy hat and a pistol and everything.” Colt chuckled at that, and Noah asked him, “Do you get to arrest a lot of bad guys?”

  “I sure do. We’ve got a whole jail full of ’em. And I brought something for you.” Colt reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver star. He bent at the knees until he was eye-level with Noah and leaned in as if to share a secret. “Now, don’t tell anyone, but these are the badges we give real deputies. We don’t hand these out to just anybody.”

  Noah’s black brows shot up his forehead.

  “I was thinkin’ you could be my deputy in training,” Colt told him. “I can’t give you a cruiser since you’re not driving age, but we could probably wrangle up a hat in your size. What do you think?”

  Noah whirled around and asked Diane, “Can I, Mom?” She nodded and Noah didn’t wait another moment to accept his gift. Colt pinned it to his sweater, careful not to pierce the dinosaur’s head, while Noah beamed like a sixty-watt bulb. “Thanks,” he said, admiring his star.

  “You’re welcome.” Colt extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.” When Noah gave it a vigorous shake, Colt nodded appreciatively and said, “Nice grip.”

  Leah figured it was time to introduce the Ackermans. She waved at them and touched Colt’s shoulder. “Jim and Diane, this is Sheriff Colton Bea.”

  The three of them leaned in to exchange greetings and handshakes, their postures stiff and their smiles tight. Diane, whose wardrobe typically consisted of yoga pants and long-sleeved T-shirts, had dressed in a pantsuit paired with pearls. She fidgeted with her designer purse strap and clung to Jim, who looked more like a math professor than a graphic designer in his tweed sport jacket. It seemed everyone had something to prove today, including Colt, who could’ve worn street clothes but obviously felt more powerful in his uniform.

  What they all needed was to relax and bond over a greasy second-rate breakfast. Leah wrapped an arm around Noah and led him toward the front door. She called over her shoulder, “Everyone ready? The food’s great here. I hope you’re hungry!”

  ***

  “That’s not a T-rex.” Noah tapped his finger against the green dinosaur embroidered on his sweater. “It’s an allosaurus.”

  The boy said it with so much authority that Colt believed him, but he still asked, “How do you know?”

  “T-rex was bigger.” Noah shrugged as if the answer should be obvious, then sipped his herbal tea like a little scholar. “He weighed three times as much.”

  Colt mirrored his son and took a swig of the pond sludge that passed for coffee in this joint. Why Leah had insisted on meeting here was beyond him. “You know an awful lot about dinosaurs.”

  Noah darted a glance at Diane. “My mom takes me to Dino Camp at the museum every Saturday.”

  Private school, museum memberships, science camps—Colt couldn’t deny the Ackermans had given his boy the kinds of things he couldn’t have provided at seventeen. Judging by the couple’s fancy clothes and trendy haircuts, they had plenty of cash to drop on Noah, but that didn’t make Colt feel all warm and fuzzy about the adoption. Money and education weren’t everything. He could’ve taught his son how to throw a perfect spiral and how to catch a catfish using nothing more than a night crawler and a few yards of fishing line. And if you asked him, that kind of knowledge was more practical than how to tell dinosaurs apart.

  “You play any sports?” Colt asked.

  Leah answered from the other end of the long table, “He sure does. Noah’s soccer team is going to regionals again this year, aren’t you, Bud?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Soccer? A deep-in-the-heart-of-Texas Bea man playing soccer? “That’s great,” Colt ground out while clapping his boy on the back. “But a big, strapping guy like you? I took you for a football player.”

  “Nah,” Noah said. “I don’t like football.”

  Colt almost choked on his coffee. This kid needed an intervention. “Well, you can’t judge the sport by the Vikings. Next time you’re in town, I’ll take you to a Texans game so you can see what real football’s all about.”

  “Hey,” Leah objected. “The Vikings have a good team this year.”

  Colt rolled his eyes and whispered to Noah, “Girls.”

  Noah gave a conspiratorial giggle. “Yeah, girls.”

  The waitress returned with their orders and began dealing out plates like poker cards. Colt scowled at his lumpy grits, runny eggs, and a buttermilk biscuit hard enough to qualify as a lethal weapon. He glanced beside him at Noah’s bowl of diced fruit.

  “That’s all you’re gonna eat?” Colt asked him.

  Diane spoke up from the opposite side of the table. Until now, she and her husband had done a good job of keeping to themselves so Colt and Noah could get to know each other.

  “I brought a packet of gluten-free oatmeal,” she said. “He’s got a slight allergy to wheat. Nothing serious, but it gives him a tummy ache.” Then she pulled a pouch from her purse and used the boiling water from her teapot to mix up a bowl of oats.

  Gluten? Colt didn’t even know what that was. And how was it related to wheat?

  “Can I have something in it?” Noah asked, pointing to the maple syrup and an assortment of jelly packets.

  Diane dug inside her purse and produced a tiny plastic bottle. “Here, I packed some organic honey.” She handed it to Noah, and he drizzled it over his oatmeal without a single complaint, even though the stuff looked like gruel.

  Gluten-free oats, organic honey, diced fruit, and herbal tea? Was this the kind of breakfast Noah ate every day? Colt thought back to all the times he’d let Emma nosh on Pop Tarts and glazed doughnuts, giving her a jug of Sunny D to wash it all down. His sister had always yelled at him about sugar and preservatives, but the way he’d figured it, the cherry filling counted as a serving of fruit. Besides, his parents had let him eat junk once in a while, and he’d survived.

  Colt brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth and froze when he noticed Noah lay a napkin across his lap. He hurried to do the same before the boy assumed his “birth father” was a redneck cretin. Not only was Noah smart and well-nourished, but he had impeccable manners too. Colt felt a flash of shame, but he snuffed it out. Maybe he would’ve fed Noah too much sugar and let him rest his elbows on the table. Maybe he’d have allowed the boy to slack off in school now and then, but that never killed anyone. He would’ve been a good father in other ways if Leah had given him the chance.

  While Colt was busy brooding to himself, a family of four settled loudly in a nearby booth. He didn’t pay them much mind, b
ut Noah kept turning around to watch the two kids sitting opposite their parents. The boy and girl kept needling each other—just your standard sibling rivalry—until their dad hollered at them to shut up. They mouthed off in a way that would’ve earned most kids an ass whoopin’ in these parts, but then they pulled out a pair of handheld video games and sweet silence ensued.

  Noah asked his mom, “How come they get to play their DSs at the table and I can’t?”

  Diane leaned to the side and glanced at the kids in question, then simply stated, “Because I’m not their mother.”

  Noah turned to Leah, but she cut him off before he got a single word out. “You know better than to ask me.”

  Then Noah bit his lip and blinked up at Colt. Personally, Colt didn’t see the harm in kids playing video games in public. It kept them quiet and let the adults talk. But the glare Leah was firing from the other end of the table told him to shut Noah down fast, so he shook his head and tried to remember the trick his sister was always talking about—redirecting.

  He turned Noah’s attention away from video games by asking, “What kind of stuff do you like doing back home?”

  Noah lit up and started talking about Japanese animation. Colt was pretty sure the boy was speaking English, but he had his doubts. Names like Pikachu, Polywag, Weedle, and Magnemite flew at him at a thousand words per minute, forcing Colt to nod thoughtfully and pretend he had a clue what Noah was saying. But he listened patiently, entertained by his son’s passion for battle arenas, whatever those were.

  The next topic was more Colt’s speed. Jim mentioned that Noah had taken the remote control apart and put it back together at age five, and then Noah filled him in on his favorite hobby—building motorized racing boats with his dad. The two would spend all year tweaking the engine performance before traveling to an annual showdown to race the competition. They’d never won, but Colt could tell from the admiration in Jim’s eyes that victory wasn’t the point. It was all about father-son bonding, like the fishing and hunting trips Colt had taken with his own dad.