The toddler’s finger was jammed up his nose.
“Not much for sentimentality, are you? So if this is your room, then mine must be—…” Cole took a deep breath before opening the door on the left.
Sammie had obviously exhausted her decorating skills on putting together Devon's room. Exhausted all her extra furniture, too. It was clean, but so empty that Cole's voice echoed strangely off the bare walls as he spoke. “Huh,” Cole sighed as he scanned the spartan room in a vain search for a bed. “Good thing I held on to my bedroll, right?” He forced himself to tamp down the surge of frustration. Eyes on the prize. He could buy a bed with his first real paycheck. Once Devon's room had curtains, of course.
He closed his door again, then set down the box of books in the center of Devon's room and opened the flap. “Here are your books, bud. Have at it. Dada will be right back.”
Devon started pawing through his books. Cole backed away quickly, and shut the door for good measure.
He hurried back out to the truck. Could he trust Devon to stay put? Could he trust Sammie to interrupt her call if Devon called for him?
He grabbed his duffel and Devon's bags, then stacked the boxes one atop the other. He'd carried heavier loads on his back during bootcamp, but this load was far more awkward. He sprinted back to the house, cursing the entire way.
He wasn't fast enough.
“Cole!” Sammie's voice was sharp enough to stop him in his tracks, even though he couldn't see her around the boxes. “Where the hell were you?”
“Painting my toenails,” he growled, setting down the heavy load. “What the hell's the—” He caught sight of his toddler’s pleased smirk at the same time he saw Sammie's furious glower. “Oh. Uh…he got out?”
“Yes he got out!” Sammie blurted. “He wandered right into my video call and announced he had a poopie!”
“Oh, you have a poopie, bud?” Devon nodded ferociously. “Let's get you changed.”
“That's not the point, Cole!” Sammie threw her hands in the air, her eyes blazing. Cole found himself shifting his weight on his heels. The old, bad, hell-raising part of him recognized the potential for a good, old fashioned throwdown here. He glared right back at Sammie and lifted his chin. Come on, do it. Tell me I'm a piece of shit. Let's have it out right now.
Just as quickly as it had flared up, the fire in her eyes dimmed and then went ice cold. She turned on her heel and headed back to her office.
Cole uncurled his fingers, feeling the anger still tingling at the tips. What the hell? He swore under his breath. Get your shit together.
No matter how much his fists itched, there was no way he could start a fight with Sammie. One, because she was a woman and he was raised better than that. Two, because she was his boss and he needed this job more than he cared to admit. And three, because he was better than that now, or trying to be anyway. Letting someone get under his skin like that? That was exactly what he was trying to get past.
But oh, there was something about Sammie. Something about the set of her lips and the jut of her chin that made him itch to grab her and shake her…and then run his hands all over her body while he was at it.
And he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that touching her would be even worse than fighting with her. Because fights eventually ended. But once he touched Sammie, felt that body underneath those fusty clothes?
He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.
Cole let out a long breath and then scooped up Devon. After a quick diaper change and letting Devon “help” carry the rest of their belongings to their rooms, he found himself reading book after book in Devon's new room. It seemed best that they stay out of the way.
They stayed in their rooms the rest of the afternoon, only venturing out for lunch and a spirited, if quiet, game of chase up and down the hall. Cole was two-thirds of the way through the fifth reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar when a frustrated yelp caught his attention.
Sammie appeared in the doorway. She'd changed into jeans, and her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders. That's more like it.
Until he saw the expression on her face. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, then held something out to him between her thumb and forefinger. Devon's sippy cup. Oops.
“Missing something?” The expression on her face was the same one their high school vice-principal wore right before handing him detention.
Cole gritted his teeth. “Sorry.” Throwing his sippy cup was Devon's favorite things to do, and no matter how many times Cole blustered, pleaded, and yelled, he couldn't get him to stop. They were forever losing the blasted things.
“I have some ground rules,” Sammie said icily, clapping her hands together in a way that set Cole's teeth on edge. “I put up my schedule, so you know exactly when I'm not to be disturbed.” She nodded, and Cole got the feeling she wasn't even looking at him anymore, but seeing right past him to the work ahead. “And I thought it would be good for us to both have a job chart. That way there is no confusion over who is taking care of what. Let's take a look, shall we?”
Cole swallowed down his snarky reply and followed her towards the main hall, his eyes focused anywhere but on her high, ripe ass.
Sammie strutted over to the far wall. “Here are the times I'm not to be disturbed,” she declared, indicating a chart on the wall.
“That's a lot of times,” Cole said before he could stop himself.
Sammie blinked. “I have a lot of work.” She fixed him with her icy stare again, but this time Cole didn't look down. He remembered that stare. It was the same one she'd fixed him with the day she'd told him they couldn't see each other any more. Had she forgotten? Did she still remember how it felt to kiss under the stars?
The color rising in her cheeks made him think she probably did. “I have a bed for you,” she announced.
Cole blinked at the sudden change of subject. “You do?”
Her big blue eyes widened indignantly. “Of course I do, Cole. But I couldn't move it myself,” she said, dragging her eyes away from his face. “I need your help.”
Cole noted how she didn't ask. She's your boss. Stop remembering the sounds she'd make when you slid you fingers down…
He snapped his mind away from that dangerous image and followed her down yet another hallway, again not looking at her ass. She opened the door at the end but kept her head down. As if she was afraid of looking at what was inside.
Cole peered over the top of her bowed head and saw another recently cleaned room. With its bare floor and emptied closets, it could have belonged to anyone, but for the one piece of personality still left. A battered acoustic guitar still propped up in its stand told him everything he needed to know.
“Was this J.J.'s room?” Cole asked gently.
He couldn't see her eyes, but he could see the way her shoulders drooped. “I couldn't throw it out,” she said. “He was always carrying that thing. If he wasn't holding the reins, he was holding that guitar. It was such a part of him, I had to keep it. But now I feel guilty it's just been sitting in here this whole time, untouched. I should have had it buried with him.”
Her grief felt too private to intrude upon. Cole licked his lips, feeling himself dragged unwillingly back to Trish's funeral.
It had been so surreal sitting there in the funeral home and listening to friends and family speak so fondly of the woman he'd married and yet barely knew. They'd only been on a few dates, nothing serious. But he'd married her when she told him she was pregnant, because it was the right thing to do.
Married her and then immediately shipped out. What would Trish have wanted buried with her? He didn't have the faintest clue. Sometimes, when he looked into his son's eyes, he caught himself on the verge of asking if he knew.
Sammie lifted her head. Her voice had only the slightest quaver when she finally spoke. “This is the bed I wanted to put in your room.”
“You sure?” Sleeping on J.J.'s old bed felt…disrespectful.
She looked at him. “Everything else I h
ave is either too short, or too uncomfortable to sleep on, uh,—long term. J.J. is—was—tall. Like you.” She gave the tiniest of shrugs, then dragged her lip under her teeth.
Cole nodded, again struck by the thought she'd put into furnishing first Devon's room, now his. Her welcome hadn't exactly been warm, but Cole couldn't help but hope her kind actions spoke louder than her disapproving words. “Thanks,” he grunted.
The steel in her spine unnerved him. He recognized it from those infernal counseling sessions at the VA once he got home. She needs this. It'll help her move on. Cole nodded and moved to slide the bare mattress off the box spring.
“Grab this first. Ready? Count of three.” They lifted the mattress into the air. Once they'd flipped it sideways, Cole carefully maneuvered it backwards into the hallway.
“Dada!” Devon squealed as he hurtled down the hallway.
“Devon, wait!” Cole shouted.
At the same time Sammie yelped, “He's going to get hurt!”
Devon crashed against the mattress, rebounded into the doorframe, and scooted between Sammie's legs.
Months of toddler-wrangling taught Cole to focus not on where his son was, but where he would end up.
And with a hiss of horror, he realized Devon's path led straight into J.J.'s guitar.
Cole dropped the mattress and lunged for his son. “Devon, get back here!”
“No!” To Cole's relief, Devon changed course away from the guitar. But his relief was cut short when he realized Devon had darted towards the bed, where only a box spring remained.
“Goddammit, Devon, don't you climb on that. You'll either break it or break your face!” The hallway was too narrow for him to get all the way around. He roared in frustration. “Devon! Get your scrawny little…” At the last second he caught sight of Sammie's shocked face. A wash of shame flooded over him, and he closed his mouth with a growl.
Devon froze. His face crumpled then reddened. He balled his fists and let out a wail.
“Fucking hell,” Cole muttered as the tips of his ears burned. “Can you, uh…?” He gestured at Sammie, who nodded mutely and gently guided Devon into Cole's waiting arms.
For the rest of the day, Cole got the feeling Sammie and Devon were both tiptoeing around him, and it hurt like hell. When he settled his son into his crib that night, Devon turned his back to him and refused his goodnight kiss.
Cole raked his hands through his hair again and again as he shuffled down the hallway, unsure where he was even heading until he reached the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs.
This parenting thing was still so new. He'd missed Devon's birth—a botched satellite uplink meant he couldn't even be there virtually—and almost all of the first-year milestones. He'd come home from his tour to a fully-formed, walking, talking human being who had no idea who this Daddy-person was.
And now this Daddy-person was all he had.
Every day brought something new. Cole had no idea what he was doing…that much was clear.
But maybe that wasn't so bad. Hell, his parents had no idea what they were doing and neither did their parents before them. Problem was, they all believed they did know. His parents had very definite ideas of how kids should be raised, and Cole was hell-bent on doing everything the exact opposite of their example.
If only he could figure out what that was.
“Hey.”
He sat up straight. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone in the house. “Hey,” he replied. His voice sounded raspy, and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammie.”
“You doin' okay?”
Cole couldn't bring himself to meet her big blue eyes. He stared fixedly at a point on the wall. It was easier to talk to an inanimate object about emotional stuff like this.
“I dunno,” he finally sighed. “I mean, I'm fine. Devon, though? He wouldn't kiss me goodnight.”
The floorboards creaked as Sammie stepped into the kitchen. He usually hated the idea of being pitied, but the sympathy in her eyes was exactly what he needed right now.
“And the worst part is that shouldn't bother me, right? He was the one who misbehaved, not me. He misbehaved; I yelled. It's as simple as that. So why do I feel like a giant piece of shit?”
Sammie sat across from him, and for the first time he noticed the stack of books and papers in her arms. “Cole, have you read any parenting books?”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Nah. Figured raising kids was something you just picked up as you went along.”
Sammie's eyes softened. “You'll read the fattest book on World War II I've ever seen, but you won't pick up a book on being a father?”
Cole felt himself start to smile in spite of how low he still felt. “You still won't let me live that down? I should have never trusted you with my dirty secret.”
“And you read it in what, two days? Nine hundred and twenty-six pages?”
“Nine hundred and thirty-six, thank you very much.” He leaned his elbow on the table and tapped the stack of books and papers. “Fine. You're the only one who knows about my closet nerdy ways. I don't suppose you've got any parenting books in here?”
Her eyes twinkled. “It just so happens…”
“That you saw how bad a job I was doing and figured I needed help?”
She blinked. “I'm a professor. I research problems. Don't be mad.” Her little pink tongue flicked over her lush bottom lip, and Cole was pretty sure he could never be mad at her if she kept doing that. “I figured you wouldn't be too pleased, so I brought a peace offering.” She pulled a big, leather-bound book out from the bottom of the stack. “This is from high school,” she said softly, flipping the cover open.
“A photo album?” Cole felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “Holy cow! Look at us!” He leaned over the album, half entranced by the pictures of the two of them laughing with their friends and half smitten with the scent of her hair. She smelled spicy and expensive, but there was still an underlying…Sammie-ness that tugged at his heart in the same way the pictures did.
The corner of her mouth curled upward. “We were so young.”
“We always had fun, you and me.” He searched her face as he spoke.
Her expression went guarded. “Sometimes.”
“What?” He couldn't help teasing her. “You sure look like you're having fun here.” He gestured to the picture of her laughing, mouth wide in a smile that shone like the sun as she looked right at the teenaged version of himself.
Something tightened in his throat to see the expression on her face back then versus the one she wore now. He rushed to change the subject. “So you're living in New York City? How do you stay sane in a place like that? With all the lights and noise?” And crowds, he didn't add, gritting his teeth. Just the thought of being trapped with all those strangers…
“I don't really notice.”
“You like it?”
Some of the mischief returned to her eyes. “Does that surprise you?”
“Honestly? Yeah.”
She laughed. “You always liked the wide-open spaces.”
“More like I needed them.” Now more than ever. Suddenly unable to look her in the eye, he bent to the album. “Huh, look at that.” He pointed to another picture of the two of them. “That must have been back when you still liked me,” he joked, trying to diffuse some of the sadness that was gathering in his gut.
“I always liked you, Cole.”
He looked up sharply. But she had her head bent and wouldn't meet his eyes. She leafed through the stack and pulled out a stapled packet of printouts. “Here.”
Parenting 101 read the title of the top page. Cole swallowed hard. “Is this my assignment, professor?”
“You're a good dad, Cole. Even I can see that. Your instincts are right. Consider this fine-tuning.” All at once, she stood up and gathered her papers again. Two spots of color flamed at the tops of her cheeks. “Good night, Cole.”
Cole watched her retreat with his mouth hanging open. “Good…night?” he called after h
er.
She was kind and she was aloof. She was smart and she was oblivious. She was the most confusing and maddening person he'd ever encountered…still.
She was…Sammie.
He let out a long exhale and began to read.
Four
Clad in only a sleep shirt and her ratty old bathrobe, Sammie lurched into the kitchen—still wiping the sleep from her eyes—with her mind focused on only one thing.
“Coffee,” she moaned, inhaling the heavenly scent of a fresh-brewed pot. Her sleep-addled brain was too fuzzy to realize that if she was smelling coffee, it meant someone else had made it…
Until it was too late.
“Oh!” One hand flew to her mouth while the other flew to clutch her robe closed. “You're up!”
Cole set down the papers in his hand and shifted in his seat. “Mornin',” he drawled, giving her a look that had her clutching her robe even tighter.
Sammie's heart quickened. She was wide awake now—no coffee required. Not with Cole sitting shirtless at her kitchen table, looking more gorgeous than any human had a right to look this early in the morning. His dark hair was slicked back, still wet from his shower, and her nose was suddenly filled with the clean scent of his soap. Next to him, his cherubic toddler was munching his way carefully through a bowl of Cheerios. The sun slanted in through the kitchen windows, lighting the whole peaceful scene in an ethereally golden glow.
It was all too much for Sammie to handle. “Hi, Devon,” she croaked, hoping she sounded unaffected by Cole's ridiculous…shirtlessness. “You're quiet this morning.”
“We called a truce,” Cole explained, hopping up and cutting her off before she could reach the coffee maker. He pulled down a mug from the cupboard. He already knows where everything is, Sammie noted grimly, adding another item to the growing list of Cole's ridiculousness.
“You still drink it black, right?' he recalled, handing it to her once it was full.
Oddly touched that he remembered, she nodded and took a sip. “What do you mean a truce?” she asked him, once she'd swallowed that first life-giving sip.
The Rancher’s Second Chance Page 3
