by Naima Simone
Contrary to what her parents thought.
Sighing, she lifted her hands, palms up. “I know what my showing up here unannounced seems like to you. That I’m being impulsive and thoughtless. And I’m responsible for that opinion. I should’ve spoken to you about the divorce, about the baby. But I didn’t because...” Because you might’ve talked me out of it. Because I couldn’t bear letting you down. Again. “I just didn’t,” she finished quietly. “I’ve prepared for this move. As a grant writer, I can work from anywhere. And I make enough to support myself and the baby. Daniel and I agreed that while I’m pregnant, he will keep me under his insurance to cover my medical expenses. And then after he or she is born, Daniel will add the baby. I already contacted Moe Dennison on the drive here, and she agreed to lease me one of their rental cottages for the next couple of months while I decide on a permanent place here in town.”
“Basically live in a B&B? No,” Luke balked, frowning. “What would people think? That we kicked our own daughter out of our house? No,” he repeated, with a decisive slap of his palm to the table. “I won’t have that kind of talk.”
A small, humorless smile curved Sydney’s lips. “Right. Can’t have the Rose Bend townspeople gossiping about us. Glad to know that’s the first reason that pops into your head for inviting me to stay here.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” her father objected.
“Sydney,” her mother murmured at the same time, but she held up a hand to still their protests.
“I’m tired,” Sydney said, a soul-deep weariness winding through her veins and infiltrating every muscle. The baby, she silently convinced herself. Fatigue came with the territory. It had nothing to do with her parents’ not-so-warm welcome. Pushing back from the table and her barely touched dinner, she stood. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to crash in my old bedroom for the night. I’ll head out to Kinsale Inn in the morning.”
“Sydney, really,” her mother pleaded.
And in that moment, Sydney desired nothing more than to circle the dining room table and lay her head on her mother’s shoulder as she’d done as a little girl. Have her mother wrap her arms around her and whisper everything would be okay, that God never gave them more than they could handle.
The need for that embrace, for those words, throbbed inside her chest like a barely healed wound. One that had just scarred over and could be ripped open with just a careless movement.
But Sydney didn’t round the table. Didn’t seek the hug, the comfort that most likely wouldn’t be offered.
Instead, she murmured good-night and left the room, climbing the stairs she hadn’t treaded in years. What was the saying? You can’t go home again? Thomas Wolfe had meant a person could try to return to a place from their past, but it wouldn’t be the same as they remembered it.
Oh, Thomas.
If only that were true.
CHAPTER FOUR
“DAMMIT,” COLE SWORE as freshly made coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug and scalded his fingers. Gingerly lowering the cup to the kitchen counter, he lifted his hand to his mouth and sipped at the drops of the dark brew.
Because it was a crime to waste good coffee. Any amount.
The pounding at his front door that had caused the accident in the first place echoed through the living room and into the kitchen, as the two rooms were separated only by a long breakfast bar. He didn’t have long to wonder who waited on the other side of the door. Not when his thirteen-year-old twin brother and sister yelled his name through the wood.
“Cole! Hey, Cole! Open the door!” Sonny boomed.
“We know you’re in there!” Cher added, following it up with more obnoxious knocking.
Yes. Sonny and Cher.
Moe and Dad had named Wolf, Leontyne and Sinead at birth, and Cole’s biological parents had given him his musical name. Florence, his second to youngest sister and now eighteen, had come into the family when she’d been four. The twins had arrived six years later, when they were five. Upon their official adoption, Moe and Dad had allowed them the choice of keeping their birth names or selecting new ones. Each child had decided on a musician-inspired name like their older siblings. At least Florence, obsessed with the Supremes at the time, had chosen the gifted but tragic figure of Florence Ballard as her namesake. But the twins...
Cole shook his head as he strode across the room. That should’ve been a time when his parents put their collective feet down. He smiled as he unlocked the cottage door and pulled it open.
The fraternal twins grinned up at him. Though they shared the same, tall-for-their-age height and dark eyes, all similarities ended there. Sonny’s light brown skin shone with a summer tan even though it was just the middle of June, in contrast to Cher’s gleaming, beautiful, mahogany skin. Sonny wore his dark brown hair cut close like Cole’s, while his sister’s thick, almost sandy-colored corkscrew curls haloed around her head. Both were beautiful kids, but Sonny’s features were already losing their boyish curves and maturing into stronger, bolder masculine lines.
Both of them still remained boisterous, a bit wild and totally fun and loving.
Yeah, he adored his baby brother and sister.
Even though they really tried him on Saturday mornings when he’d planned on nothing more strenuous than a good book and reruns of Gunsmoke. With the motorcycle rally nearing, this would probably be his last free weekend, but staring down at the twins, he abandoned plans for a lazy day. Especially since he’d lay odds they were on a mission from Moe. Maybe because she’d run a B&B for the last thirty-plus years or she’d raised seven children, but his mother didn’t believe in idle hands—or his ass planted on his couch when she could find things for him to do.
“What’s up, monsters?”
“What took you so long to answer the door?” Cher demanded, throwing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She continued smiling up at him, but her hug was tight. His heart clutched as he squeezed her back. Tonia had been the twins’ first real experience with death as they’d both been so young when their parents died. But since then, Cher had been just a bit clingier, and he suspected fear of losing someone else she loved lay behind her behavior.
Sonny snickered. “It’s because he’s smart. He knows why we’re here.” He shook his head. “Dude, just give in and come quietly. And no one has to get hurt.”
“Moe or Leo?” Cole questioned, walking back inside, his arm wrapped around his little sister’s shoulders.
“Both,” the twins answered in stereo.
“Shit,” Cole muttered.
Sonny snickered, and it sounded disturbingly close to an evil cackle. “Exactly.”
Several minutes later, he loaded his brother and sister’s bikes up in the back of his pickup truck and they headed back toward Kinsale Inn. Out of habit, Cole slowed as he rounded the last turn in the road. Like it always did, his breath caught at the beauty of the place.
His parents had bought it a year before he and Wolf were born. To the townspeople and tourists that flocked to Rose Bend, the three-story building with its slanted roof, many windows, wraparound porch, red door and green shutters was a charming, beautiful landmark and five-star place to stay. For him, it’d always been a haven. The place where he’d been cared for, chastised, learned an invaluable work ethic and grown into the man he was today. It was a place of overflowing love where even those not born to Moe and his father had found security, stability and family.
It was and always would be home.
He’d barely braked at the end of the circular drive when the twins clambered from the back of his truck where they’d opted to ride with their bikes. Before he could yell “be careful,” the front door of the inn opened, and Moe appeared in the doorway. All five feet of her. Born a decade too late to really enjoy the sixties, the woman still had never met a pair of bell-bottoms she didn’t love or fringe anything she di
dn’t wear. Like today, she’d adorned her small frame in a white-and-blue peasant blouse and a worn pair of denim jeans that seemed to swing around her ankles even though she stood still.
Hands planted on her slim hips and green eyes narrowed, she shouted, “If you fall from there and bust your head, don’t expect me to clean it up.”
Cole choked back a laugh. That made exactly zero sense. But damn if he would be the one to point that out to her. He loved Moe and had over a foot on her, but all she had to do was toss one of “those” looks in his direction, and he knew to shut up. He had no desire to take his life in his hands. Cue another one of her favorite nonsensical Moe Proverbs: I brought you into this world, I’ll take you out.
Technically, she hadn’t birthed him. And she’d never raised a hand to any of her kids. But she also hadn’t raised a fool, and he wasn’t trying her on the “take you out” part.
“Cole told us we could ride back there,” Sonny tattled in his best “I’m totally innocent here” voice.
“Snitches get stitches, kid.” Cole scowled at him as he lifted his sister’s bike out of the truck’s bed first.
Not at all intimidated, his brother grinned up at him before turning an impressively contrite hangdog expression to Moe. Who wasn’t buying it in the least. The woman had a built-in bullshit radar that never went on the fritz.
“Save it,” she said, but the smile twitching the corners of her mouth and the gleam in her gaze belied the brusque order. “Put those bikes away, you two. I’m cleaning up from breakfast while our guests are still on their trip into town. Cher, take over the front desk for Leo until she gets back. And Sonny, you’re going to head out to the cottage to help with unpacking for Sydney.”
Cole froze, his brother’s bike hovering several inches off the ground. His body locked even as his mind raced around that one word.
Sydney.
Moe couldn’t mean... No, that didn’t make sense... Surely, she meant someone else...
And dammit, could he finish even one thought?
Sonny grabbed his bike from Cole’s still numb hands and took off around the house with a mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” his sister on his heels.
“Thanks for coming over, sweetie,” Moe greeted Cole, shooing him forward with a finger wiggle. “Come give me a hug so I can put you to work.”
His paralysis melted, and he climbed the wide steps to the porch on pure muscle memory because his mind still whirled. He schooled his features but couldn’t do a thing about the unease pumping through his veins.
Moe pulled him into a tight embrace that lasted just a couple of seconds too long, her familiar baby powder and lavender scent enveloping him. “What’s wrong with you?” She pulled back, squinting up at him, her long, elegant fingers wrapped around his biceps. “Is everything okay?”
God, that note of worry in her voice killed him. He’d put it there.
“I’m fine, Moe,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Yes, I’m sure,” he added before she could ask.
She smiled. “Smart-ass. I’ve raised a bunch of smart-asses.”
“I wonder where we got that from?”
“Your father. It’s always his fault.”
Cole laughed, picturing Ian Seamus Dennison’s response to this familiar casting of blame. “Yes, dear,” he would’ve drawled with a roll of his eyes he would’ve ensured his wife didn’t catch.
“Well, thank you for giving up your Saturday morning for me,” she said, releasing him after another squeeze.
“Anything for you, you know that. But what’s this about unpacking?” Cole asked, although he already suspected he knew the answer.
“That’s right. C’mon.”
She turned and headed toward the front door, leaving him to follow. Which he did. The coolness of the open, high-ceilinged lobby immediately welcomed him. The beautiful crystal chandelier that Leo had found at an antiques store a couple of towns over shone brightly overhead, reflecting off the dark, gleaming hardwood floors and staircase. Sunshine poured in through the huge picture windows of the living room that opened off the entryway.
But he didn’t pay much notice to the light or the warm charm of the place. No. Every sense, every damn cell of his body focused on the curvy, pregnant woman seated next to his sister Leontyne on the overstuffed couch in the middle of the room.
“Cole, you remember Sydney Collins, don’t you?”
His self-protective instincts screamed a blaring, banshee-like warning at him to keep his distance. To conjure up any excuse to throw his mother’s way—work, mayoral responsibilities, a zombie-fucking-apocalypse—to get out of here.
But then Sydney started to push to her feet and his own carried him swiftly across the lobby and into the living room; his hands, of their own volition, cupped her elbows, and helped her stand from the deep cushions, steadying her.
“Uh, thanks,” she said on a chuckle. That low contralto seemed too deep, too husky for such a petite woman. It caressed the skin bared by his short-sleeved T-shirt. “I’m not so far along yet that I can’t rise from chairs, but I appreciate the sentiment,” she teased.
The reference to her pregnancy scalded him, and before he could rethink what it would imply to her or his mother and sister, he snatched his hands away from her, dropping his arms back to his sides. And taking a step back.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Something flickered in her eyes, there and gone before he could decipher it. No doubt the same confusion that had dwelled there last night just before his abrupt departure. Or disgust. Hell, he was disgusted with himself.
“No worries,” she said, giving him a slight smile before turning to his mother. “Moe, I can’t thank you enough for accommodating me at the last minute. With summer and the rally so close, I know you have to be pretty booked. I doubt things have changed that much.”
Moe waved her gratitude away. “Nonsense. It was nothing but a word. Besides, the cottage was sitting empty, and you’re practically family.”
“No ‘practically’ about it.” Leo cradled Sydney’s baby bump. “I’m going to be an aunt to little Arwen or Aragorn here and plan on spoiling her or him rotten.”
Moe rolled her eyes. “Good Lord. She’s not naming her baby after some Lord of the Realms characters.”
“Lord of the Rings, Mom. Seriously? Whose child am I?”
Cole ignored their byplay, focusing on nothing but “accommodating me at the last minute.” Apprehension skated down his spine. “You’re staying here?” Yeah, he was a coward. But it didn’t change the fact that avoiding her would be a hell of a lot harder if she was booked into his family’s inn for the foreseeable future.
“She’s renting one of our cottages. The one down the road from yours, actually,” Moe informed him.
Well, damn.
“Which is why we need your help,” Leo added, unaware of his panic. His sister slung an arm around Sydney’s shoulders and hugged her. “We need your big muscles instead of your big brain today. Call it your civic duty, Mr. Mayor.” She scrutinized his arms. “Well, biggish muscles.” Her brow crinkled in a mock frown. “Well... Ah, never mind. You’ll do.”
Any other time, he would’ve snapped an equally derisive comeback as that was how siblings exhibited their undying affection for one another, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stand there and mentally scramble for a reason why his mother shouldn’t rent Sydney one of the properties that would place her in much-too-close-for-his-sanity proximity.
But he suspected She makes me fucking feel wouldn’t fly with Moe. On second thought, it just might. And seeing that hopeful light enter his mother’s eyes only to watch it extinguish would break him.
The only other choice would be moving back to the house he’d shared with Tonia. Back to the house and the empty, decorated nursery.
So, yeah, he was shit out of luck.
&nb
sp; And stuck.
“It’s okay, really,” Sydney said, glancing at him before shifting her gaze to his sister and then to his mother. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. I didn’t bring that much with me. Just what I could manage to stuff in my car. Between Wolf, Sonny and Leo, we should have everything covered.”
“Nonsense. What’s the purpose of having brothers if I can’t put them to use? And I refuse to let my recently returned best friend—who has a lot of explaining to do about why she didn’t let me know sooner that she was coming home—tire herself out.” Leo batted away Sydney’s objections with a flick of her hand. “But I mean it. As soon as you get settled. Girls’ night. Wine for me, Moe’s special non-alcoholic cocktails for you, caramel popcorn and movies. Just like old times.”
Leo’s plans slid right over Cole’s head, because he’d latched onto Sydney’s words and they were all he could hear.
She didn’t want his help—didn’t want him there.
Not that he could blame her. Shame and anger clutched his gut. Twisted it. What kind of man had he become? One who makes an innocent woman feel unwelcome and uncomfortable because of your own hang-ups and issues. The answer echoed in his head like a struck gong.
It wasn’t her fault that she’d dragged his body out of hibernation kicking and screaming.
Wasn’t her fault that guilt streamed through his veins like a caustic acid.
“No, I’m glad to help,” he murmured. Then turning away before she could—rightfully—tell him to go home, he kicked his chin up at Moe. “Where’s Wolf?”