Meant-to-Be Mom

by Karen Templeton

“We nailed it together. Although fair warning—some of the things she picked might seem a bit out there. To you, anyway.”

  “Hey. As long as she doesn’t look like one of those Real Housewives chicks, I’m good.”

  Bree chuckled. “No worries. She wouldn’t have gone for the slutty stuff, anyway. But still looking like she was ten wasn’t cutting it, either.” Her lips curved again. “Brooke’s a great kid, Cole. And I loved being with her. Getting to know her.”

  Feeling his face prickle, Cole looked back down the hall, where he could hear, even through the closed door, some pop star warbling her heart out...and his daughter joining in. Amazing.

  “She’s never done that before. Sung like that, I mean. Not that I’ve heard, anyway.”

  “Oops.” At his frown, Bree laughed. “One of the stores was playing nineties hits. I might have started singing along.”

  “Really? You still do that?”

  “Every chance I get. Hey, don’t knock it—some dude on the Lower East Side once handed me five bucks. No lie. I’m thinking of playing Columbus Circle next. Could be a nice little second career, whaddya think?”

  “I think if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you. So you and Diana...it was okay?”

  “Besides her threatening to break my kneecaps if I hurt you or the kids? Sure.”

  “God, I’m sorry.”

  “Hey. Gotta give her props for loyalty, right?”

  “Okay, here’s this one...”

  Brooke reappeared, this time wearing a short gray dress that hugged her slender waist, black sparkly leggings, a little jeans jacket and a giant, bright-colored scarf or something looped helter-skelter around her neck. Chuckling, Bree stepped over to readjust the scarf, working a magic in a few seconds that Cole wouldn’t be able to accomplish in a lifetime.

  “Wow,” Brooke said to her reflection in the mirror next to the dining table, fingering the scarf as if she was afraid it would disappear. “Cool. But I’ll never be able to make it look like this.”

  “It’s not rocket science, sweetie. I will teach you all my tricks.”

  “Promise?” the girl said, looking at Bree in the mirror.

  “Absolutely—”

  The front door opened; Wes came in, stopping dead in his tracks when he spotted Bree before his gaze swung to his sister.

  “What do you think?” Brooke said, twisting around, her eyes sparkling. “Sabrina helped me put this all together—”

  “What the heck are those things on your legs? And that scarf looks totally dumb.”

  “Wes!” Cole said as his daughter’s face crumpled.

  “Well, they do!” Wes said with another glare at Bree before tromping down the hall to his room. But Bree had already turned Brooke back to the mirror, her hands on her shoulders.

  “Tell me something,” she said calmly, her face close to Brooke’s. “Is anything different now than it was before your brother came home?”

  After a moment, the girl shook her head.

  “Then what’s real? What he said? Or what you see? How you feel?”

  “I guess...what I feel?”

  “Right answer. And brothers suck at seeing their sisters as actual human beings. Believe me, I know. I lived through three of ’em. At some point, we all have to learn how to go with what makes us happy.” She gently fingered the girl’s hair off her shoulder. “With what makes you happy. Because looking to anyone else for approval is an exercise in futility.” In the mirror, Cole saw Bree’s gaze shift to his, clearly seeking backup.

  “She’s right, honey. You look amazing. No matter what your brother—or anyone else—thinks.”

  After a moment, Brooke swung around to give Sabrina a hug, then looked back at Cole. “You still want to see the rest of the stuff?”

  “Of course.”

  “I should go, though,” Bree said after the girl went back down the hall.

  “You don’t—”

  “Yeah. I do. What just happened...it had nothing to do with Brooke and everything to do with Wes being uncomfortable with my being here.”

  Cole frowned. “Except he knows—”

  “What he knows,” she said gently, “is that grown-ups can’t always be trusted. And that, as far as he’s concerned...” Her gaze drifted down the hall for a moment before returning to touch Cole’s. “I’ve already broken my promise, by interfering. So...” She gathered up her purse from beside the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Except he didn’t want her to leave. Which was nuts, because she was right about Wes and because the timing sucked and because life was a helluva lot more complicated than even the most complex video game. And nobody knew better than him that things didn’t work out simply because you wanted them to. Human will only went so far. Or, in his case, nowhere.

  But to see that smile on his daughter’s face...

  When he stepped around Bree to open the front door, she looked up, her eyes slightly wide. Startled. Cole smiled. Keeping it light. Cool.

  “Well. Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, then hesitated a moment too long before finally going outside, her ponytail bobbing as she returned to her car.

  “Where’s Sabrina?” Brooke said behind him as he pushed the door shut.

  “She left,” Cole said, turning to see his daughter in another pair of jeans and a light blue top with glittery stuff on it, worn over a longer, darker blue top.

  “Stupid Wes,” the girl muttered, and Cole was tempted to agree with her.

  Except, truthfully? Right now his son was probably the only thing keeping Cole from repeating history. A blessing, really.

  Even if in a really crappy disguise.

  Chapter Six

  It was nearly nine by the time Sabrina got back to her father’s house, where she found Pop in the sunroom overlooking the backyard—her mother’s favorite spot during her last months, and where he seemed to spend a lot of time. And now, holding a one-way conversation with someone who wasn’t there.

  Except to him.

  “You would’ve gotten such a kick out of it, Jeannie,” Pop said softly, rocking in his favorite chair. Now Sabrina saw he was holding the framed five-by-seven of Mom that usually sat on a small wicker table, facing the garden. “After all the grief Tyler put us through, it did my heart good, to see him so happy. So settled. That Laurel, she’s turned him right around. And you’d love her little boy. Their little boy now. Smiles and laughs all the time...”

  The rocker creaked when he leaned forward to set the picture back. “And Matt’s new baby—he and Kelly named her after you. His birth mother, too. Or did I already tell you that? Funny, how you always said they’d end up together.” He softly chuckled. “I thought you were off your nut, even thinking such a thing. Told you so, too, as I recall. But you were right, sweetheart. Same as you were about most things.”

  Folding his arms across his stomach, he leaned back in the chair. “So that’s three of ’em settled, now that Ethan’s found someone to make him happy again. The kids are all crazy about Claire. You’d be, too. She’s nothing like Merri, but that’s okay. She’s exactly what he needs—what they all need—and that’s what matters, right?”

  Then he sighed. “Don’t really know what’s up with Abby, she never says very much. She’s young yet, though. So no hurry there. Our little Sabrina, though—”

  Her stomach jumped.

  “If you’ve got a moment,” her father went on, “you might want to mention her to the Big Guy, ’cause she’s having a hard time of it right now. Only if it seems appropriate, though—I’m not sure what the protocol is for these things, if I can go straight to Him or I have to go through channels. So you do whatever feels best.”

  He leaned forward again to touch Jeanne’s picture, but now his voice was t
oo low for Sabrina to make out whatever he was saying. Silently, she slipped back into the kitchen, taking a moment to steady her thudding heart. Bad enough she was already shaky after what had happened at Cole’s, her chest caving at that soft look he’d given his daughter...then cramping at Wes’s harsh, mistrustful one.

  The one that kept her from drifting off to fantasyland.

  Blinking, Sabrina opened, then slammed shut, the fridge so Pop would know she was home.

  “That you, Sabrina?”

  “Yep. Want a soda?”

  “Sure. A ginger ale, if there is one.”

  A minute later, she handed him his drink, then popped the tab to her diet cola before sinking onto the cushioned love seat a few feet from his chair. The Colonel opened his own can, taking a long swallow before glancing in her direction.

  “So how’d it go?”

  “Good.” She glanced down at the soda, realized she didn’t want it. “It’s crazy, though, how his parents’ house looks exactly the same. Talk about a blast from the past. Cole even said he repainted it the same colors, a couple of summers ago.”

  “He repainted it?”

  “Yep. Man of many talents, that one. Anyway, then Cole’s sister Diana appeared, she ended up going shopping with Brooke and me. It was...fun.”

  Pop gave her a shrewd look. “Did it take your mind off things?”

  “Enough.” Only to fill it with even more junk to deal with. Yay.

  After a moment, Pop said, “I know what I said, the other night. And I’m not going to say I’m not relieved. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t gut me, seeing you go through this. Seeing your heart broken.”

  Sabrina finally took a sip of her soda, a little startled to realize how little she’d thought about Chad and that whole mess all afternoon. Hmm. “More bruised, I think. Not broken.”

  “You sure?”

  “Obviously I’m disappointed. It hurts—a lot—that something I thought was working, wasn’t. Didn’t. But the longer I’m here, the more I realize I’m not nearly as devastated as I thought I’d be. As I should be.”

  “That wouldn’t be you admitting I was right, would it?”

  “May...be,” she said, and he softly laughed, then rubbed his palm across his khakied knee before his expression turned more serious.

  “Don’t think there’s a parent in the world who wouldn’t like to wave a magic wand when one of their kids is in pain, make it all better. Even though that’s how we grow. Get stronger.” He lifted the can to her in a mock toast. “So here’s to better days ahead, kiddo. For all of us.”

  She leaned forward to gently clink her can against his. “Here’s to,” she said, and her dad nodded. And damned if her eyes didn’t flood again as she realized how much she loved this man. Yes, even when he annoyed the hell out of her.

  “And how’s Cole doing?” he asked. “With the kids?”

  “Coping,” she said. Because adding “brilliantly” would probably have come across as overkill. And not exactly objective.

  “They seem like good kids.”

  “They are. From what I’ve witnessed.” Even if Wes sees me as a jagged-toothed, fiery-eyed monster.

  “Still can’t wrap my head around that kid having kids of his own.”

  “I know, right?”

  Pop smiled, then said, “Always liked that boy. Oh, sure, he was a little quiet, maybe. But a good head on his shoulders. Grounded. And he was always respectful. Which was more than I could say about some of those turkeys you brought home.”

  Then he gave her a pointed look, and she sighed. “Pop—”

  “And he worshipped you. Yes, he did,” he said when Sabrina’s mouth fell open. “I know, I know—that was then and this is now—”

  “And now women don’t want to be worshipped. Or at least I sure don’t.”

  “Says the gal who’s had how many relationships go belly-up?”

  “Really, Pop?”

  “Sorry. Okay, I’m not. Because it’s true. Oh, don’t give me that look—I’m not saying women are intellectually less than men, or delicate little flowers that need a man’s protection. I would hope you know me better than that. That you’d remember what I drummed into your brothers’ heads. Hell, what I admired most about your mother was her strength. Her intelligence. Woman put me to shame on both counts more times than I can count. Which is why...”

  His gaze drifted back toward Jeanne’s picture. “I worshipped her. Cherished her.” Then to Sabrina, he said, “Which is what a man does—or should, anyway—when he’s lucky enough to find a woman willing to put up with him. And you know something else? You deserve nothing less. So think on that for a minute, missy.”

  As she sat there, stunned, the Colonel pushed himself to his feet, carrying his can over to the open French door, the damp night air still shimmering with the day’s warmth.

  “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said, the other night.” His eyes met hers. “About the house.”

  The conversational right turn brought more than a little trickle of relief. The for-sale sign had disappeared a couple days before the wedding, actually. When she’d asked about it, however, Pop only said he’d taken it off the market until he decided what he wanted to do. That he’d gotten his deposit back from Sunridge, although two units would be available in the next couple of months, if he changed his mind.

  “And?”

  He pressed his lips together. “You know, ever since our conversation, I could practically hear your mother reading me the riot act for acting like some wishy-washy ninny. For being scared of moving, for God’s sake. Really, how crazy is that?”

  Sabrina smiled. “Pretty crazy. So...you’ve decided to...?”

  Honestly, she felt like a reality TV host, waiting for his answer.

  “Sell. And, yes, I’m sure this time. But the Realtor’s right. The place needs help. Painting, what she called ‘staging.’” He made air quotes. “So it doesn’t look like a set from Leave It to Beaver?”

  “More like That ’70s Show. But, yeah.”

  “So will you help?”

  “Me? I dress people, not houses.”

  “So think of the house like a person. And the agent said she’s got a list of places that rent furniture and—” he waved one hand “—all the little stuff.”

  “Accessories?”

  “Whatever. Although first we’ve got to clear out all this junk, get the house painted. If I can find someone who doesn’t charge an arm and a leg. For slapping paint on some walls, for God’s sake. But unfortunately since you guys have the temerity to have lives of your own, I may not have any other choice—”

  Sabrina clamped her mouth shut to keep in the laugh. “Some” walls? The house was nearly 3,500 square feet. That was a lot of walls—

  “Although maybe Cole and the kids would like to help?”

  Wait. What?

  “What?”

  “You just said he repainted his parents’ house. And you think I don’t remember him painting your room? That hideous pink... There’s a reason I never go in there.” He shuddered. “But the point is, he knows how. And when he was here the other day he sounded like he was looking for things for the kids to do.”

  “I somehow doubt painting your house was what he had in mind. Or the kids.”

  “Won’t know until you ask him.”

  “I ask him?”

  “You took his daughter shopping. He owes you one. Right?”

  “I think your logic is a little skewed there—”

  “Saturday would be good,” Pop said, getting to his feet. “I can probably strong-arm your brother into helping, at least for part of the day. Between Cole and Matt, and you, and the kids, I figure we could probably knock out at least the downstairs pretty quickly. Because I’d like to get the house ba
ck on the market as soon as possible.”

  Then, clearly considering this to be a “he spake, and it was done” deal, he walked away.

  Brother.

  Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—she already had Cole’s number in her phone. When he picked up, however, she immediately said, “You don’t have to say yes...”

  * * *

  It was true, nobody had twisted his arm, Cole thought on Saturday when he and the kids arrived at Preston’s. But it was also true that the kids were already going stir-crazy—they’d enrolled in a couple of summer programs, yeah, but those weren’t starting until July. And it wasn’t as though he’d ever forget how good the Nobles had been to him, how generous Jeanne had been with her affection. The Colonel, too, in his own way. How he made every kid who’d ever spent more than five minutes in his presence feel important. As if he or she had a purpose, even if that purpose hadn’t yet fully made itself known. A real shot in the arm for a kid who’d spent most of his childhood feeling like an outcast.

  So that’s why he was here. Not for Bree, and not for himself, but for the man who’d seen the more in Cole long before he had.

  “Hey, guys,” Matt said with a grin for the kids when he opened the door. “Sabrina brought doughnuts, they’re in the kitchen. Go help yourselves.”

  “What kind?” Brooke asked, frowning slightly.

  Amusement danced in Matt’s dark eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t like those jelly ones.”

  “Neither does my sister. So you’re golden.”

  Then both kids looked at Cole. “Dad?” Wes asked.

  “I think you’ll burn it off. Go for it,” he said, and they did. Literally. Before he could change his mind.

  “One thing Erin and I agreed on,” he said when Matt frowned at him, “was that we’d limit their sweets. So this is a treat.”

  “Gotcha,” Matt said, leading Cole into the living room, nearly empty save for a few pieces of furniture shoved to the center of the dusty, marred wood floor, the old damask draperies huddled in one corner. “Kelly sent casseroles, too. Since after she got up with the baby at whatever ungodly hour, she apparently got inspired to cook. Woman’s bat-crap crazy,” he said with a smile that said that was fine with him.