Playing with Trouble

by Amy Andrews

  He fell back against the mattress. Mr. Hauser? She’d obviously done some fact-checking. Stupidly, he smiled at the idea. Very, very stupidly. No point getting all goofy over a mommy when presumably there was a daddy around somewhere.

  Jesus. Where was the daddy? Had he crawled into bed with a married chick last night? He tried to remember if she’d been wearing a ring, but hell, he’d been barely functioning last night when she’d menaced him with a pair of pliers. She certainly hadn’t screamed for a dude, and none had come rushing to her aid. She’d been alone, apart from Finn.

  Didn’t mean there wasn’t a husband, a partner, around somewhere, though.

  Cole didn’t sleep with unavailable women, although god knew he’d had ample opportunity. It was surprising the number of women with wedding rings who were up for some no-strings fun when you were a sports superstar.

  But he didn’t cross that line. Ever. Apart from last night, apparently…

  But it had been a mistake. Inadvertent. Surely that would placate her partner? Cole tried to think if he’d be mollified by such an excuse if some guy had crawled into bed with his girlfriend/wife.

  He doubted it.

  Which meant next he might be woken by a knuckle sandwich instead of a scaly reptile.

  And at another time, that might have caused concern, but Cole was just too damned tired to worry about angry husbands as a wave of fatigue swept over him again, fluttering his eyes closed. He dragged the nearby pillow over his head and sank into the abyss one more time.

  It was still daylight when Cole awoke, but the bright sunshine had mellowed, and a quick check of his watch told him it was just after six in the evening. He was hungry, thirsty, and busting for the bathroom. His mouth tasted like a sweaty sock, he needed a shower, and he sure as hell could murder a beer, but he actually felt human again. He was barely even conscious of his hip, and he reveled in the relief of it all for long moments.

  Unbidden, an image of a woman in leopard-print underwear and a black tank top wielding a pair of pliers like they were a loaded handgun came to mind, and he grinned. He had no idea who she was or if she was married to some six-foot-nine tattooed biker, but it was the first time he’d ever been threatened with violence after climbing in bed with a woman. They usually took off their clothes and welcomed him with open arms. Despite the cloud of doom he’d been carrying with him these past few months, he was intrigued to know more.

  Ten minutes later, he was dressed and gingerly making his way down the stairs with the cane, taking in his surroundings. He knew Wade Carter, former Broncos quarterback, was rich. Hell, as one of Australia’s top rugby players, Cole was no slouch in the money department, either. But Wade was wealthy in a way an Australian pro rugby player could only ever dream about, and this house was…something else. From the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling above the rather grand entrance room to the sweeping staircase to the craftsmanship of the fixtures, he was utterly impressed.

  And he’d been to Buckingham Palace.

  Following his nose and his grumbling stomach, Cole found his way down one of the hallways that ran off the central reception area to where he could hear voices. The kitchen, as it turned out. The room was dominated by a huge central work area in the middle and large windows overlooking the backyard on the wall opposite. Light flooded in despite the hour, accentuating the open, airy space. It gleamed off the metallic cupboard knobs, sparkled in the glassware mounted in transparent wall cabinets, and shone off the pans hanging from the huge pot rack suspended above the cooktop.

  The woman and her son were sitting at the far end of the central bench at right angles to each other, eating some kind of pasta. She was in the same shorts and T-shirt as earlier.

  “Evening,” he said as he lounged in the doorway, pressing his shoulder into the frame.

  She startled a little as she swiftly glanced over her shoulder at him, her ponytail bobbing. “Oh…hi.” She tensed visibly. “You’re awake.”

  Her lack of enthusiasm at his presence was almost comical. “I am,” Cole confirmed, pushing off the doorway and closing the distance between them. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” Leaning his cane against his leg as he drew even, he stuck out his right hand. “I’m Cole Hauser.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking his hand in a brief shake. “I know.”

  Okay. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “And you would be?”

  “Jane. Spencer.”

  He inclined his head as her hand slipped away. “Pleased to meet you, Jane Spencer.”

  It suited her. Very no-nonsense, which was perfect for her demeanor, if not her looks. Her features were delicate—small snub nose, cute shell-like ears, dainty cheek and collarbones, a heart-shaped face, slim fingers. She was petite, although he’d noticed a decent bicep as she’d shaken his hand. But her manner was far from delicate. She was wary and standoffish.

  Maybe also still a little annoyed.

  “This is Finn.”

  Cole had already gleaned that from last night, but Finn waved and smiled and said, “I’m four.” He held up three fingers.

  Suppressing a smile, Cole stuck out his hand like he’d done to Jane only a minute prior. “Nice to meet you, Finn.”

  The boy seemed impressed to be shaking hands and did it with gusto. When his hand was finally released, Cole addressed Jane again. “I’d like to apologize for the…mix-up last night. It was dark, I was exhausted, and my leg hurt like a bi—”

  Cole broke off at the small but very definite shake of her head and the accompanying frown forming between two olive green eyes. Even her eyelashes were delicate!

  He slid a glance at Finn, who was hanging on his every word. “It was killing me,” he amended quickly, returning his attention to Jane. “I’m sorry for frightening you. I thought the house was empty, and I swear to god I didn’t see you in the bed. The room was really dark.”

  The tension that had been keeping her torso erect eased a little at his apology. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I put blackout blinds on the window.” She tipped her chin at her son. “Someone is up with the first ray of sunshine.”

  Cole shrugged away the apology; he didn’t need one. “I hope your…husband?” He slid his gaze to Finn. “Is as understanding.”

  Her shoulders tensed again. “No husband. Just me and Finn.”

  Cole felt instant relief at the information, being quite attached to the current arrangement of his facial features and all. But he also felt something else—a spark of attraction. Which was dumb. He was only in the U.S. for a matter of weeks, if that. The last thing he needed to throw into the clusterfuck of his life right now was a woman.

  With a kid.

  “Speaking of,” she said, interrupting Cole’s thoughts as she turned to Finn. “What do you have to say to Mr. Hauser?”

  Cole opened his mouth to object to the mister and to rebuff the forthcoming apology, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate his intervention.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hauser,” Finn parroted in a voice suddenly as solemn as a hymn. “For going into your room.”

  “I accept your apology, Finn.”

  The boy regarded him frankly for a moment or two. “Why do you walk funny?”

  “Finn!”

  Cole was temporarily startled before throwing back his head and laughing at both the artlessness of the question and at Jane’s horrified gasp. He’d been so damn inside himself since the injury, avoiding talking about it at all in case it fed the speculation about his career, it felt good to be answering such an innocent, not-remotely-loaded question.

  “You don’t ask people personal questions like that,” Jane chided.

  “It’s fine,” Cole assured her before turning to Finn. “I was in a car accident. Smashed up my hip and my leg.”

  “You talk funny, too.”

  Jane, whose cheeks had gone a little
pink, opened her mouth, obviously ready to chastise her son again, but Cole smiled and said, “So do you.”

  “Mommy said you were from Australia.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do they have chameleons there?”

  Cole shook his head. “Only in pet shops, not in the bush. But we have kangaroos and koalas and echidnas.”

  “What’s a kidna?”

  “It’s like a hedgehog. On steroids.”

  Finn dropped his head to the side, regarding Cole seriously. “What’s steroids?”

  “Oh-kay.” Jane jumped off her seat. “I think we’re done here.”

  Cole suppressed a smile as she whisked away both their bowls and hustled Finn over to the sink, picking him up and sitting him on the bench top. “I’m sorry. There’s no leftovers.” The lines of her body tightened up again. “If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge, and the store opens at eight tomorrow morning.” She wrung out a cloth and wiped Finn’s face. “I’m not sure how long you’re staying, but I’ve actually been employed to do a job here, and I have a kid to look after. I don’t have time to wait on you as well.”

  He blinked. Whoa. Jane Spencer had more prickles than an echidna. On steroids. Holding up his hand in mock surrender, Cole nodded. “Of course not. No worries.” But he was hungry enough to eat his cane at the moment. “Think I’ll take a walk into the town and check out what it has to offer.” After his lack of activity these past few days, he really needed to stretch his legs.

  “The Lumberjack is the local bar,” she said, not looking up from her ministrations with Finn. “They have a limited menu. Out the gate, take a right. Left at the end of the road puts you on the main street. Can’t miss it.”

  Cole was surprised at her providing the directions; he hadn’t expected her to be helpful. Maybe she was feeling guilty over her lack of welcome. Not that he expected her to roll out the red carpet, but she sure was blowing hot and cold at the moment.

  “It’s about a ten-minute walk,” she continued. She slid him a sideways glance, her gaze holding briefly on his cane. “Maybe longer.”

  The fact that he was slower now buzzed like a fly inside Cole’s brain—one of those sticky little persistent fuckers—and irritation snapped the muscles joining his neck to his shoulders taut. He tightened his grip on the cane. Jane barely knew him, and already she was judging his physical capabilities.

  So now there were two prickly adults in the room giving off sparks.

  “Can I come?” Finn asked at just the right moment, popping the tension like a balloon.

  “No.” Jane shut him down quickly, returning her attention to her son. “Bath and bed for you.”

  “Aww, please, Mommy. I’m not tired.”

  “But Mary Poppins is waiting.”

  That seemed to mollify Finn. “Did you know,” Cole said, “the woman who wrote Mary Poppins was born in Australia?”

  Jane appeared unimpressed with Cole’s literary knowledge, but Finn’s interest was obviously piqued. “Where kangaroos and koalas and kidnas live?”

  “Yep.”

  “And steroids?”

  “Alrighty then.” Jane jabbed a quick glare in Cole’s direction as she lifted Finn down from the bench. “Let’s not keep Mr. Hauser any longer.”

  Cole disliked being called Mr. Hauser. It reminded him of his father, and his old man didn’t deserve that much thought. Everyone from coaches to teammates to friends and the media just called him House, a nickname he’d been given in his rookie year by a sports journalist who’d described him as being built like a brick shithouse. Now, of course, with the cane mimicking a famous TV doctor of the same name, life was bizarrely imitating art. Even if the infuriating object wasn’t going to be a permanent fixture.

  But Jane did not look in the mood to be contradicted right now. “Yes, okay. Well…I guess I’ll be leaving.”

  She nodded stiffly. A beat or two passed where nobody moved, but it was clear Jane was waiting for him to go. Cole’s stomach growled as he inclined his head, then turned away, heading for the door.

  “See ya, Mr. Hauser.”

  Cole faltered at the chirpy little goodbye, then smiled. “Hoo-roo, Finn,” he said as he limped out of the room.

  Chapter Two

  Cole was surprised at how many people were at The Lumberjack when he entered. It might have been a Friday night, but the streets had been like a ghost town as he’d tapped along the sidewalk.

  He’d expected to be the only customer, but obviously this was where the town was hanging out. There were several full booths, people sitting at the bar, and others milling around the jukebox, which was crooning out something country soft and low.

  The entire establishment didn’t exactly stop like an old Wild West movie as Cole made his way to the bar with his stick, but he was aware of eyes on him as he sat his arse on a stool.

  A big guy with a friendly smile and open face approached. “Hey. What can I get you?”

  “A beer, please. Whatever’s local.”

  The bartender clocked his accent immediately, and Cole’s neck prickled as more eyes swung in his direction. “Coming right up.”

  “Thanks.” Cole was practically salivating in anticipation of something cold and amber.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”

  Cole turned his head to the left as the guy beside him spoke. He was a tall guy with a dark buzz cut. “No.” Cole gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a long way from home.”

  “New Zealand?”

  “Australia.”

  The guy nodded as he held out his hand. “I’m Arlo Pike, chief of police.”

  Ah. Well that explained it. They shook hands. “Cole Hauser.”

  The guy sitting on the other side of the cop eyed Cole up and down before also offering his hand. “Drew Carmichael. You in town for…business, or are you lost? Did your car break down?”

  Cole laughed. “No to all of them. I’m here for—” He didn’t really know what to tell them. It’d been a whim. A place to feel sorry for himself while some irons in the fire played out. A place far away from Australia and its media.

  “I’m on holiday.”

  Arlo’s eyebrows raised almost clean off his face. “Holiday?”

  Drew gave a half laugh. “I think you need a new travel agent.”

  “Okay you two, enough already. We don’t want to frighten our only tourist away.” The guy behind the bar set Cole’s beer in front of him, then stuck out his hand. “Tucker Daniels. I own Jack’s.”

  Cole shook his hand, then took a deep, grateful drag of his beer. So. Good. Placing his drink down, he said, “I take it you don’t get many tourists out this way?”

  “We’re more a just-passing-through or live-here-til-you-die kinda town,” Drew confirmed. “And the Rockies are four hours in the other direction.”

  “You staying out at the Motel 6?” Arlo asked.

  Cole got the impression the chief of police liked to know who and where everyone was in his town. “No. I’m staying at Wade Carter’s house.” He figured, given the size of Credence and Wade’s name emblazoned on the welcome sign at the town limits, everyone probably knew where their hometown hero lived.

  “Oh, hey, man. We’re neighbors.” Tucker smiled. “Della and I live at number nineteen. Let us know if the dog barks too much. She can be a bit yappy.”

  “Sure.” Cole doubted he’d be around long enough to be bothered.

  “Are you a friend of Jane’s? She didn’t mention anyone else was joining her. I think her ex turning up unexpectedly with Finn was enough of a surprise.”

  Hmm. Interesting… He took another swallow of his beer as an image of Jane in her underwear wielding a pair of neelde-nose pliers came to mind, and things stirred in the vicinity of his loins. Down, boy.

  “Nah. I’m a fr
iend of Wade’s.”

  Three very interested gazes sharpened in his direction. “How do you know Wade?” Drew asked.

  “I did some training with the Broncos a long time ago.”

  Arlo frowned, and Cole could tell he was trying to place his face. “You play for the NFL?”

  “I play rugby—” Cole stopped short. Played. He’d played rugby. Would talking about his career in the past tense ever feel right? “In the national competition in Australia. But I dabbled in gridiron a bit at the start of my career. I played running back in a few preseason games for the Broncos but didn’t make the final cut.”

  Tucker whistled, obviously impressed. “No shit?”

  “Rugby… That’s the one where you play with no helmets or pads, right?” Drew asked.

  Cole laughed. “Yup, but none of the codes of football back home play with helmets or pads.”

  “So, what…” Tucker cocked an eyebrow. “You Aussies have a death wish?”

  Cole smiled at the American pronunciation of Aussie. Soft on the s’s compared to the Australian way, which turned the s’s into z’s. “Think we’re all more afraid of helmet hair.”

  Everyone laughed, then Arlo tipped his chin at the cane Cole had rested against his knee. “That how you hurt your leg?”

  Cole glanced down at his thigh to find his hand was absently massaging the muscle. It was so second nature to him now he didn’t even realize he was doing it most of the time.

  “Nah. Got that wrestling crocodiles.”

  There was more laughter. Cole didn’t mind playing into pop-culture stereotypes. He’d had Crocodile Dundee and Steve Irwin quoted at him half a dozen times since he stepped foot on U.S. soil. And he’d rather divert attention than get into the sad demise of his career. The break in conversation gave him the opportunity to drain his glass and ask for another.

  “How long are you here for?”

  Arlo again except Cole didn’t know. He’d planned to chill for a couple of weeks—watch ESPN twenty-four seven while decisions were made back home. But Jane was obviously not keen on him being around, and yes, he had been invited to stay by Wade, but…Jane had arrived first, and she was clearly marking her territory.