The Road to Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  But even as he felt threatened, he also felt liberated, because he didn’t have to pretend with Sydney. She hadn’t been here to witness his breakdown, so he didn’t need to make her believe he was fine.

  Fine. God, he hated that word. For once, he could be honest in a way he couldn’t with his parents, brothers and sisters.

  There was a certain freedom in that.

  “You’re half right. I love this town. The family it gave me. The security and sense of safety it offers me.” He paused in the middle of the aisle bisecting the booths, staring into the distance so he didn’t have to look at her when he added, “The wife and child it gave me. And my way of thanking Rose Bend for those gifts is to make sure it’s a refuge. A place where its residents know their welfare always comes first. Honestly, though?” He turned around, facing her. Looking at her when he gave her this truth. “Another reason I ran for mayor—the reason I couldn’t include in my campaign—is I needed to lose myself in work, or else I would’ve been lost. To the bottle. To the grief. To the depression. But that sounds much less altruistic or heroic than the first reason.”

  “No,” she said. Emotion flickered in her eyes, that same something spasming quickly across her face before she moved to stand in front of him. Until her fingers tangled with his. Until her small, warm palm cupped his cheek. Shock, jagged, bright and almost painful, whipped through him, freezing him in place. “It makes you even more heroic in my eyes. It would’ve been easier to crawl into bed and not get up. And if you had chosen to do that, Cole, I couldn’t judge or blame you. But you didn’t. You pushed through and even in your pain, decided to enrich a town and empower the people you care for. What’s that saying about courage not being the absence of fear but acting in spite of it? Well, your kind of heroism isn’t about the lack of grief but persevering and making lives better in spite of it.”

  He briefly closed his eyes and barely managed not to turn into her hand and brush his lips across the palm. Just stopped himself from groping for her other hand and placing it on his face, his throat, his chest, hell anywhere. Hunger for more of her touch roared so loud inside him, he damn near shuddered with it. Not just for the physical. But for the sense of not being so fucking alone. Her touch, her scent, her voice—they beat back the loneliness. For a few precious moments he didn’t fear going under.

  This wasn’t good.

  Not for him.

  Not for her.

  He stepped back, away from her heat, her kindness.

  From the temptation of her.

  Because if the press of her palm to his face called to him so strongly he had to physically resist it, what would the silken, tight embrace of her sex around his cock do to him?

  Undo him.

  Air shuddered from between his lips, and he tunneled his fingers over his head.

  “You keep doing that,” she murmured. “Running your fingers through hair that isn’t there anymore. You must miss it.”

  Her softly uttered observation crashed over him like a frigid wave of salt water—freezing, punishing.

  Leaving him shivering and numb.

  “Cole?” She recovered the space he’d placed between them, her fingertips glancing the back of his hand, but he drew back. Somewhere deep inside him a dull throb of shame pulsed at her flinch.

  Later...later, when his heart thawed and this moratorium on feelings lifted, he would regret hurting her with his abrupt rejection. But right now? Now, he was haunted.

  “I shaved it off after Tonia died. She used to love to play with my hair.” She’d constantly run her fingers through it, tease him about his curls and how they were prettier than hers. He clenched his jaw, worked it for several seconds while the memories flooded him. “After she was gone, I didn’t want it anymore. Couldn’t stand to touch it or look at it in the mirror.”

  Only the faint drone of traffic and the distant hum of voices punctuated the silence that fell between them. Whereas before the silence had been easy, comfortable, now a ragged tension existed, crackling like electrified currents.

  “When Carlin...” Sydney’s voice trailed off. She rarely mentioned her dead sister, and when she spoke again, a rasp deepened her voice. “When Carlin’s hair fell out while going through chemo, my mother saved it. She’d gather the strands from her pillow when Carlin wasn’t looking and store them in a plastic bag that she kept in her top dresser drawer. Carlin had such beautiful hair. Soft, dark brown natural curls with hints of red. If she spent any length of time outside, the sun would bring out those red highlights. Which didn’t happen often, so I learned to treasure those streaks, because they meant my sister was feeling well enough to play outside with me.”

  She inhaled a shaky breath, her hands lifting to her stomach and cradling the small mound. Her face wore a composed expression, but her gaze, fixed somewhere over his shoulder...was stricken. Bruised.

  “About a week after Carlin died,” she whispered, “I found the bag in the garbage. Mom had thrown the hair out. At first, I left it. But later that night, when my parents were asleep, I snuck into the kitchen and dug it out of the trash. I hid it under my mattress. I don’t know why. At the time, I told myself it was to keep my sister near. But now, I think I did it because even then I subconsciously knew Mom had thrown it away out of pain, grief. She couldn’t open her dresser drawer and constantly be reminded of the child she’d lost. One day, though, when the good days eventually outweighed the bad, and she didn’t sob at pictures or memories of her daughter, she might regret throwing that bag away. So, I saved it for her. And years later, I don’t remember why I looked under my mattress, but the bag was gone. I don’t know exactly when Mom found it—the week before or years before—but I went to her room, looked in the dresser, and there was the bag. Back where it belonged.”

  Her eyes shifted, focused on him. How had he believed himself numb? Staring into that ruined gaze, he was seared by the—Jesus, what was it? Not something as simple as pain... No. Heartbreak. God, yes. The utter heartbreak in those beautiful eyes. It churned his gut, screwed it so tight he clenched his teeth against the heated shimmer of anger, against the need to protect her.

  “Sydney,” he whispered.

  She shot up a hand, palm out, warding him off. “Don’t,” she murmured. “I’m okay. I only told you that so hopefully one day you’ll look in the mirror, like my mom did, and not just see loss. Maybe you’ll let your hair grow back because you’ll remember how much Tonia loved it. I—” She briefly closed her eyes and pressed her thumb and finger to them. “I should head back,” she said, dropping her arm to her side, again not looking at him.

  He’d done this—placed this distance, this discomfort between them. Inadvertently, yes, but the blame still sat on his shoulders.

  It’s for the best.

  Possibly, he silently agreed with the soft warning that coasted through his mind. But they were friends. Or on the verge of being friends. And he couldn’t allow her to walk away like...this.

  “Sydney,” he tried again.

  And again, she shut him down.

  “Thank you for the walk and the...” She pinched her forehead, breathing out a low, harsh chuckle. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

  With a taut smile that barely curved her lips and came nowhere near reaching her eyes, she strode past him. He didn’t turn around and watch her leave. Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Capturing the sultry, warm scent of orchids. Listening for her soft footfalls on the grass. Soon enough, both disappeared.

  And as he followed, moments later, returning to his office, he convinced himself the hollow pit inside wasn’t loneliness.

  After all, he’d become an expert at lying to himself.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SYDNEY EXHALED HEAVILY as she pulled open the door to her father’s clinic. The twisting in her stomach had nothing to do with her baby’s active movements—which had steadily increased in the t
wo weeks since she’d last seen the doctor—but with her reason for being here.

  Today she’d find out if she was having a boy or girl.

  Joy spilled through her, effervescent like the lightest champagne. And if underneath that feeling nerves bubbled, well they were expected and couldn’t temper her happiness.

  She stepped into the coolness of the lobby out of the early afternoon heat, and walked up to the receptionist’s desk.

  The pretty young blonde who’d checked her out after her first meeting with Dr. Prioleau greeted her with a smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Collins.”

  “Afternoon.” Sydney nodded, returning the smile and the kindness. “And please, call me Sydney. With my mom coming around here, Ms. Collins might get a little confusing.”

  The blonde, whose desk plate identified her as Lauren Grahame, grinned wider. “All right, Sydney. You filled out paperwork last time, so all I need is your co-pay.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Sydney dug into the purse she had slung sideways around her neck and handed the receptionist her credit card. While waiting for her to run the payment, Sydney glanced at her watch and frowned. Then plucked her phone out of her overalls and checked the lock screen. No missed calls. She’d asked Leo to come with her to the appointment, and her friend had happily agreed. But one o’clock had passed by ten minutes ago, and she still hadn’t arrived and hadn’t called or left a message. Maybe Leo was running behind.

  Just as she tucked the phone back in her pocket, a nurse opened the connecting door and announced Sydney’s name.

  “Great timing,” Lauren said, handing Sydney her card.

  “Thanks.” Sydney smiled. “A friend is supposed to meet me here for the appointment. When she arrives, could you just show—”

  “I’m here.”

  Surprise crackled through her, and she stiffened, her hands freezing over the front pocket of her purse.

  Several things Sydney knew for certain.

  The finale to Game of Thrones sucked.

  Lisa Bonet went to bed every night with a smile on her face.

  And that voice definitely did not belong to Leontyne Dennison.

  Hands still clutching her purse, she slowly turned around.

  And came face-to-face with Cole.

  Nope. Not Leo. In her place stood the Dennison Sydney had been avoiding for the last week and a half. Their encounter outside the ice cream shop and then at The Glen had been such an emotional roller coaster, she’d walked away craving mood stabilizers. And wine. And a good, long, ugly cry. A cry she couldn’t blame on her pregnancy hormones but on the pain and grief of the past.

  Gorgeous and composed, he wore a light blue shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and chest and skimmed his flat stomach. He slid his hands into the front pockets of navy dress pants that emphasized his tapered waist and muscled thighs. His amber eyes revealed none of his thoughts, that carnal mouth flat, in an almost grim line. But even that couldn’t detract from the lushness of its curves. She suspected nothing could do that.

  “What’re you doing here?” she hoarsely demanded. Then, glancing around and taking in the avid attention focused on them from the receptionist and others in the waiting room, she edged closer to him and lowered her voice. “Where’s Leo?”

  “She couldn’t make it. One of the guest bathrooms flooded, and she has to wait at the inn for the plumber. So, she called me, and I told her I would meet you here.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she insisted.

  For a variety of reasons. The main one being, he seemed to have an aversion to anything having to do with her pregnancy. Hell, when the man had touched her stomach in his office, it’d seemed more like an act of torture than affection or curiosity. He’d lost a child; taking him to that examination room and subjecting him to hearing a baby’s heartbeat and seeing the image of that baby on a sonogram was cruel and unusual punishment. She refused to inflict that agony on him.

  “I know I don’t have to,” he said. “I’m here because I want to be.”

  But she was already shaking her head and poking a finger into his abdomen. And damn, were those rocks? Seriously. Who had abs like that outside of Dwayne Johnson? “No, you’re here because you’re doing that ‘heroic’ thing again. When it’s not necessary. I got this.”

  Truthfully, she needed to get used to being on her own. She wouldn’t deny Daniel access to their daughter or son, but being hundreds of miles away, Sydney would be primarily raising their child as a single mother. This was her choice, and she was strong enough to do this.

  Regardless of what Daniel or her parents thought.

  “Sydney.” He gently cupped her prodding finger. “I don’t doubt that you ‘got this.’ I also don’t doubt that you could do this on your own and be just fine. But the fact is you don’t have to. I’m here for you. Just like Leo would’ve been if she could. Just like any friend would.”

  Any friend would.

  Yes, because they were only—could only ever be—friends. If the other day had revealed anything to her, it was that.

  “Cole,” she said, inching closer and tilting her head back so she wouldn’t miss any nuance in his expression, in his eyes. “Leo shouldn’t have asked you. Because she might not realize this is going to hurt you. But I do. And don’t try and tell me it won’t. I can’t be responsible for causing you more pain. I won’t.”

  He didn’t immediately reply, instead he studied her with shadows darkening his gaze to nearly brown. Then he lowered his head over hers so his lips nearly grazed the tip of her ear, and his delicious, earthy scent surrounded her.

  “You’re a strong woman. And you’re also a soon-to-be mother who is about to experience one of the most emotional moments of her pregnancy. You’re going to look at your baby on that screen and find out if you’re going to have a gorgeous little girl or a precious boy.” His voice thickened, roughened. “Now, your baby will have a face, even if it’s in your head. He or she will be more real to you than ever before, and you might cry. You might do nothing but stare in awe at that black screen with the image of your child. Either way, you’re going to be overwhelmed with emotion because it’s an amazing, special moment. And it’s a moment you should not spend alone. Regardless of how I feel, I’m going in there with you. You won’t be alone. Not on my watch. So, get it through that beautiful, thick head. I’m. Staying.”

  Thick head? She glared at the base of his throat. Well, he could... Oh damn. Beautiful? He thought her head—was beautiful? A ball of warmth dropped into her stomach, detonated, radiating pleasure. Hell, it even tingled in her toes, and she curled the digits into her sandals. She blinked, a little dazed that an offhand compliment from him could make her feel like the sun was rising inside her.

  He’d left her speechless. Because, really, what in the hell did she say to that?

  Or to his willingness—no, his insistence—that he wasn’t leaving her side, regardless of the cost to his own heart, his own pain?

  Obviously, the only thing to say was “Okay,” because she whispered it just as the nurse called her name again.

  Spinning around, she moved forward. She didn’t have to glance around to see if people were staring at her and Cole, because those curious gazes prickled her skin. Good Lord. Rose Bend’s gossip grapevine would be burning up today.

  Speculating if Cole Dennison had taken up with pregnant black sheep Sydney Collins.

  Or worse, the mayor was taking pity on poor Sydney and accompanying her to her doctor’s appointment because the father of her baby couldn’t be bothered.

  As embarrassing as the first one was, the second rumor was even more humiliating. Because it contained a kernel of truth.

  “I’m Sydney,” she said to the nurse.

  “Nice to meet you, Sydney. I’m Jackie,” the nurse greeted. Her gaze flicked behind Sydney. “Hi, Cole.”

>   “Hey, Jackie,” he replied, and a big hand settled on Sydney’s shoulder. “I’m with her today. I hope it’s okay.”

  “If it’s fine with Sydney, it’s good with me.” The nurse smiled. “Follow me. We’re in Room 3 at the end of the hall and to the left.” Moments later they entered an exam room. “You can put your purse down here,” Jackie said, gesturing toward a chair in the corner. “I’ll take your weight and vitals.”

  Sydney narrowed her eyes at the scale, then shifted her glare to Cole. “You. Over there.” She jabbed a finger at the window on the far wall of the room. “And if you look before I tell you to, you’ll turn into a pillar of salt.”

  Jackie grinned while Cole arched his brows high but complied. Only then did she lift her purse over her head, slip out of her shoes and step on the scale.

  “Every little bit helps,” she explained to the nurse, who sagely nodded her head. Of course she understood. She was a woman.

  Then Sydney sighed at the scale’s digital reading. She couldn’t decide if that was baby weight or those fresh glazed doughnuts from Mimi’s Café that she’d become addicted to since returning home. She swore the owner slid crack up in there. Nothing else could explain her obsession with them.

  “You can turn around now,” she said to Cole as she stepped off the offending piece of equipment and into her sandals.

  He returned to her side as she perched on the paper-covered examination table. Moments later, Jackie finished taking Sydney’s temperature, blood pressure and heart rate, recording everything into a handheld tablet.