“Professor Jensen. You're back.”
Sammie looked up from her computer. The adjunct office was so stuffed with her files that Ginny could barely move. Her favorite student at the community college grinned shyly. “I heard you're not teaching here in the fall.”
Sammie shook her head. “I'm back, but not for long.” She looked around. She didn't have much in her studio apartment, but the office she shared with the rest of the department was a different story entirely. “You're correct.”
“Good luck. We'll miss you.” Ginny smiled and hurried away.
Sammie stretched and smiled. It was nice to know that Ginny had missed her and wished her well.
It seemed like she was the only one.
“I'm just wondering why they'd even offer that in the first place.” Alan, an older adjunct with a shiny bald head and a crooked necktie walked into the shared office, picking up his grousing right where he'd left off ten minutes ago. “No judgment here, you know,” he said with a judgmental sniff. “I know family is important and all that, but to take personal time right after being offered a position? Well that just speaks to me of a lack of professionalism—”
“Well they obviously thought I was worth waiting for, Alan,” Sammie sighed. “Enough.”
The adjunct sniffed again. “No need to get all offended. I'm just making an observation.”
“Yeah, and you've been making it since I walked in the door. You and everyone else.”
“We're just...surprised. That's all.” Julie Kelleher was the same age as Sammie, and there was no getting around the fact that she obviously viewed herself as being in direct competition with her for every single professional accolade. “But it's fine.” She leaned over Sammie's stack of papers. “I believe that's my three-hole punch right there. I was looking for that.” Before Sammie could protest, she snatched it away.
Anger rose hot in her blood. If she were back home in Texas, she'd start yelling and carrying on, but here in the rarified world of New York academia, that wouldn't fly. “Excuse me,” she said curtly and swept from the room.
She held her head high as she walked down the hallway towards the ladies' room. But once she pushed her way inside, she let it slump to her chest.
Had it always been like this? The sniping, the undermining, the subtle swipes and jabs and cattiness? Was this how it had always been, and she'd just forgotten after spending time in Texas?
Spending time with Cole?
She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. She hoped he was doing okay. She hoped he'd thought twice about moving off the ranch. He didn't have to do it right away. Peter still had to get the paperwork all finalized and notarized before taking it over. Cole didn't have to uproot himself on her account.
But he probably had, anyway. He was a man of his word.
Unlike Alan and Julie and the rest of the professors who said one thing and did another, and then told you that you were crazy for believing them in the first place.
When she'd walked into the shared office, no one had greeted her. No one had asked her how her time in Texas was. Someone had whispered “yeehaw” under their breath, and Julie had giggled outright.
And then there was Grady.
She straightened her hair in the mirror, tucking it into her twist again and again before groaning in frustration and yanking it down. She gathered it into a pony tail.
It felt better that way. She felt more like...herself.
She emerged from the bathroom and sighed.
Grady looked up from the copy machine. She got the feeling her ex had positioned himself there on purpose.
“There she is.”
“Here I am, Grady.”
Her ex flashed his mild grin, so different from Cole's wide, crooked one. “All ready for Yale? You know, if you need me to, I can put you in contact with my friend Blake Cunningham. He chairs the—”
“I know Blake, Grady. I introduced you to him.”
Grady cocked his head. “You sure about that? That doesn't sound right. Blake and I are colleagues.”
“Blake and I are colleagues, Grady.”
“Seems strange, you working with Blake. You know I support you, Samantha...”
“Do you, Grady?”
He ignored her as if she hadn't spoken. “But you're stepping into an environment that's got a lot higher stakes. And I honestly wonder if you've thought it through. I don't want you getting in over your head.”
Sammie blinked and then blinked again. His roundabout words and cutting tone were exactly like Peter's. She bristled. “I don't think you really know what I'm capable of, Grady. And that was always our problem.”
Grady chuckled. “No need to get all emotional.”
“I'm not getting emotional.”
He held up his hands. “Jeez, Samantha, lighten up.”
She looked at him, confused, until she realized Alan and Julie were approaching the copy machine. He was playing it up. For their benefit. “If you can't keep it cool among friends, how are you going to survive at Yale?”
Julie giggled.
Sammie looked at all three of them, lined up against her, and wished for all the world that Cole was here, right now. He'd back her up. Even if he didn't have anything to say, he'd still be by her side, supporting her.
She turned and walked away. Grabbing as many files as she could carry—and her three-hole punch—she swept from the office and hurried outside.
A cramped subway ride later, she let the files fall from her hands as she slumped against her cheap wood door. Her neighbor above was cooking, and the smells wafted down, reminding Sammie that she'd barely eaten today. Her cramped, hot apartment was the direct opposite from the sunny, well-lit kitchen back at Bitter Ridge. Sammie closed her eyes again and allowed herself to remember sitting with Cole and Devon at the table, laughing and eating together. Enjoying each other's company.
Like a family.
Not the family she came from.
The family she'd made.
A tear slipped out of her eye and tracked down her cheek. She wanted to weep and have Cole stroke her hair back and call her darlin' and make his wild promises that it would all be okay. She wanted to see Devon's grubby face after playing in the yard and help Cole scrub him clean in the bath. She wanted to kiss his soft head and then kiss Cole's stubbled cheek.
She pulled out her phone. Reaching out to him would be a blow to her pride, because then he'd know she was having second thoughts. But her pride had already been beaten down enough today. What was once more?
Sammie: Hey
It was all she could think to say. A little nudge. Would he ignore it?
He didn't.
Cole: How's the big city?
She smiled and held the phone to her chest and breathed a moment before replying.
Sammie: Big. Loud.
Cole: Like me
She laughed.
Sammie: And me too, I think
Sammie: How are you?
Cole: Fine
Sammie: Yeah?
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
Cole: Gotta pick up Dev in a sec
Sammie: How is he?
Cole: Big. Loud.
She laughed again.
Sammie: Send me a picture of him?
There was a long pause, and Sammie wondered if he'd received it. Or was he ignoring it?
Then her phone buzzed.
A big picture of Devon filled her screen. He looked like he was in mid-sentence and reaching for the phone. His lips were orange with Goldfish dust.
Another tear followed the first one. And then three more joined it.
Sammie: I'm going to send him a Mets t-shirt
Cole: Don't you dare
She laughed.
Sammie: And you have to send me a picture of him wearing it
Cole: It'll be the only time he does. Dad won't stand for it
Sammie: Your Dad doesn't stand for much, let's be fair
Another long pause.
Co
le: You're not wrong. He definitely has his standards
Cole: And they're all impossible
Cole: You have standards too, I know
Cole: But you always made me feel like I might someday meet them
Sammie's breath caught in her chest.
Sammie: I miss you
She hit send and then swore. Why had she sent that?
But then
Cole: Miss you too, darlin'. A lot
If she went back to him, things wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't have the ranch. He'd always know she couldn't hack it and had run away. But would that matter if she could be with him?
He made her believe that love was real.
And she would always be grateful for it.
Twenty-Six
“Go ahead, try again.” Cole nodded encouragingly. The tip of Devon's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth adorably as he stared at the page.
“Dat's a—”
“Lord almighty, what are you doing with that child?”
Devon looked up at the sound of his grandmother's voice, and Cole couldn't miss the way he let the book fall from his hands.
“He was telling me his shapes.”
“That? What is it?” His mother pointed to a picture in the book.
“Says right there, Mama.” Cole gritted his teeth. “A rhombus.”
“Rhombus!” Cole's mom laughed and called over her shoulder. “He thinks a two-year-old's gonna know a rhombus!”
“He does know a rhombus, and he was going to tell me until you told him he couldn't.”
“Cole, I don't know where you get these airs from. Thinking you're better than you are. Now, come to dinner.”
Cole gritted his teeth. He was living under their roof again, and so he wasn't about to tell them where they could shove his “airs.”
But he sure thought it.
He'd regretted moving back almost the moment he set foot in their house. Not for himself, or his pride, but because of what he saw in Devon.
Little by little, the toddler's spark was going out. He was starting to refuse story time at bedtime, preferring to stare out the window. He'd stopped learning his numbers and taken to shouting “I don't know!” at Cole whenever he tried to engage him in a counting game. He'd stopped crawling into Cole's lap with a book at the end of the day. In fact, he'd started treating his books like dirty little secrets, keeping them out of sight of his grandparents.
Because when he did bring his books out…oh, that was another reason Cole regretted moving back.
“Devon Michael, how many times do I have to tell you to get your crap off my floor?” His father's kick sent the board book spiraling crazily across the linoleum.
“Dad, lay off. He's two.”
“He's got too much crap.”
“He doesn't think it's crap. It's important to him.”
“He's a toddler—he thinks a dirty rock is important. And mind your tongue. It's you encouraging him that's making him into such a slob in the first place.”
Cole glanced at Devon. He was watching—he always watched his grandparents with the same wary expression—and he wasn't crying. But his little lip was starting to protrude.
“Hey, little man. I like your books. You know that. I like your rocks, too.”
“Oh, so now you're telling him I'm the bad guy, huh? Typical. That's what you always do. Blaming us for how you turned out.”
It took everything Cole had to lift his son from the chair without responding. “Come on. We can eat in our room.”
His father kept haranguing him from the kitchen. Cole could hear him even with the door shut, but he tried to tune him out. “Want dinner?”
“Bed.”
“It's too early for bed, bud.”
“I sleepy.” He jammed his pudgy fist in his eye.
Cole's heart stalled in his chest.
He hadn't seen Devon like this since Trish died. He'd worked hard to draw his son out and had loved his joyful laugh and manic energy at the ranch.
But since they'd moved in with his parents, that joy was gone.
“Hey, little guy, let's just read, okay? I'll even do the voices.”
“Bammie.”
“Bammie's not here to do voices. She's better at them than I am, but I'll try.”
He cleared his throat and brushed his hand over his son's head before starting to read.
Sammie had played with Devon. She'd read to him and answered his questions and always praised him for trying, even when he made a mistake.
She'd mothered his son in a whole different way than he'd been mothered.
The thought hit him like a ton of bricks to the chest.
He didn't just want her for himself. He wanted her for Devon, for his life. He wanted her there with him, the three of them forming a family that would right the wrongs of the past.
But how could he get her? She was gone, back in New York. And he was here, in his parents' house, in a town that he'd just finished convincing he'd never amount to anything. Peter was a hero now and had magnanimously agreed not to press charges against him for his “threats,” a move that made Cole seem even worse in the eyes of Hope Springs.
But Peter was no hero. Cole knew this. And he knew Richard knew it, too.
They just had to convince the rest of the town.
And that meant exposing all the bribes and forgeries. He'd have to take down the most beloved man in town, and he was pretty sure that could backfire in his face.
But he had to try.
For Devon. For Sammie.
For the family he wanted and now knew how to get.
He'd prove he was worthy of her. And he wouldn't rest until he had her back.
He kissed Devon's head. “Bud, I just have to call Uncle Richard real quick. Can you give me a sec?”
Devon slid off his lap and glanced heartbreakingly at the door before turning his back and hiding his book from it. Cole winced and dialed.
“Hey, Cole,” Richard answered.
“Hey there. You up for more detective work?”
“I was wondering when you were gonna ask.”
“Yeah?”
“Was also wondering when you were gonna ask if you could stay here. Nan misses Devon, and I could use an extra pair of hands to hang that new drywall in my garage.”
Cole's breath left his lungs in a gasp, but he recovered quickly. “Is that an official invite?”
“Can't be the greatest situation right now. No disrespect to your folks, but they have a tendency to...undermine.”
Cole looked at his son, hunched and quiet. Then he looked at the door. “Hey, Richard?”
“Yeah?”
“See you in a few.” He hung up the phone.
It was a plan. It was crazy and half-cocked and probably would blow up in his face. But that's what he was used to. He strode back to the kitchen, where his parents fell into guilty silence at his arrival. Cole didn’t hesitate.
“Two things. One: I'm Devon's father and I'm going to parent him how I see fit, and you will honor that. And two: we'll be out of your hair in an hour. If you want to visit your grandson, you can come see us at Nan's house, and you can keep your comments about his books and reading to yourself. He's a gifted, smart, sweet, sensitive child, and I'm going to make sure he stays that way.”
His parents both stared at him open mouthed for a beat, before his mother snorted. “How you gonna do that?”
“By getting him a gifted, smart, sweet, sensitive mama.”
Twenty-Seven
Sammie held her head high the whole flight. She held it high through the airport and the half hour wait to claim her baggage. She held it high at the rental-car counter and while driving the winding roads out to Hope Springs.
But the closer she got to Bitter Ridge Ranch and to the scene of her failure, the lower her head sank.
“I can't do this,” she whispered to herself.
It was the opposite of what she'd been chanting as she got onto the plane. I can do this. I can
do this. I can tell Cole that I am sorry. I can tell him I realized how much I need him and that it doesn't matter that we lost the ranch as long as we have each other. I can tell him I was a fool for thinking that love wasn't real and an even bigger one for doubting that he could change. Because I've changed, thanks to him, and I CAN DO THIS.
But that strong, firm voice in her head had faded to a whisper by the time she rolled through Hope Springs. She let her foot off the gas, drifting slower and slower until a cowboy in a dust-colored pickup truck laid on his horn and blew past her with a yell.
Sammie slammed on the brakes, heart pounding. Get yourself together. Maybe flying through the night and showing up at Cole's door first thing in the morning was beyond her right now. She needed a boost, someone who would tell her she was doing the right thing.
Without really thinking, she made a turn, and then another turn until she found herself making the terrible left turn into the parking lot of Little Lambs Day Care.
She stood at the door, took a deep breath, and then pressed the buzzer.
There was the sound of footsteps on the other side, and then the door swung open to reveal Cheryl's mystified expression. “Sammie.”
“Hi.”
“I thought you—”
“I know. I...changed my mind.”
“Bammie!” A squealing blond blur had already scaled the first barricade and was halfway up the second before an exasperated looking Tina scooped him up. “Bammie!” Devon bellowed at the top of his lungs, fighting to reach her.
Sammie's heart squeezed tight in her chest. A noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh burst from her lips. She ignored Cheryl's weak protests.
“Devon,” she breathed and sprinted across the office to scoop him to her chest.
“Bammie.” He turned his face into her neck and clutched her shirt in his little fists. As she held him, rocking and swaying and shushing, she closed her eyes and breathed for what felt like the first time since she'd left Hope Springs.
“Sammie.” Cheryl's voice was severe. “Are you back?”
“I am.”
“For good?”
Sammie opened her eyes and nodded.
Cheryl tilted her head worriedly. “That's nice to hear. Because even if you wanted to leave again, I don't think that little boy would let you. It'd break his heart, Samantha.”
The Rancher’s Second Chance Page 18
