Truth to tell, the whole parenting thing from soup to nuts scared the he—er, heck out of him. What did he know about seven-year-old boys? He could barely remember even being one.
He would just have to figure things out. His nephew needed him and he couldn’t let him down like he had Cami.
He couldn’t let the kid go into foster care. He and his sister had gone the rounds with that, being bounced around between their grandmother, their aunt and finally foster care after their mother’s death.
Sure, there were really good foster families out there. They had been lucky enough to have placement with a few, but he wasn’t willing to roll the dice with his nephew’s well-being.
Right now, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if the boy might be better off taking his chances in the system. Joey might think so. They weren’t exactly hitting it off. Rafe never expected to come in like some kind of white knight and save the day but he thought Joey at least might be a little grateful to be living with family instead of strangers.
In truth, Rafe was connected by blood to the boy but that was about it. They had lived separately. He had usually been stationed far away from where Cami lived in her wandering life and his relationship with the boy had been mostly through phone calls and emails and the occasional visit.
He supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised that trying to establish a normal parental-type relationship with him would be a struggle.
He wasn’t sure why the past few weeks had seemed so tough—maybe because he felt out of his element here in this community where he didn’t know anybody and didn’t have anything else to focus on. Perhaps things would go more smoothly after they returned to California and he figured out what he was going to do now that his whole life wasn’t defined by being a navy SEAL.
On the surface, he and Joey should be tight. He had been in the kid’s situation when he was young, lost and afraid with no safe harbor. The only difference was that Rafe had had a little sister to worry about, too.
He could completely relate to his nephew’s stress and uncertainty that resulted in behavior issues.
His mother had been wild and troubled—giving birth to two children from two different men, neither of whom had stayed in the picture long.
She would clean up her act and regain custody of them for a few months and then something would happen—an unexpected bill, a bad date, even somebody making an offhand comment in the grocery store—and she would fall off the wagon again. All her hard work toward sobriety would disintegrate and they would end up with their elderly grandmother or their aunt, who had been busy with her own family and a husband who hadn’t wanted the burden of two more mouths to feed.
A boy should never have to deal with the burden of his mother letting him down, time after time.
More than anything, he wished he could spare Joey that. Since it wasn’t possible, he would do his best to provide the kid a stable home environment while his sister was in prison—and if that meant trying to figure out how to provide nutritious meals without burning them, he would do it.
He opened the cupboard and was looking for the bottle of spaghetti sauce he knew he had purchased earlier in the week when the doorbell suddenly rang.
Oh, yay. Maybe when he wasn’t paying attention, his subconscious had called for pizza delivery.
He headed to the kitchen and opened the door, only to find someone else unexpected.
It was her. The blond and lovely Hope Nichols, who dredged up all kinds of disastrous memories he had buried a long time ago—and who made him feel even more lousy at this whole parenting thing than he already did.
She beamed at him, disconcertingly chipper. “Hi. It’s Rafe, right?”
He felt big and stupid and awkward next to all her soft and delicate prettiness. “That’s right. Rafe Santiago.”
She was probably here to give him the bill for the broken window. What other reason would she have for showing up at his doorstep on a Tuesday evening?
“May I come in? It’s freezing out here. My body still hasn’t acclimated from the desert.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Come in.”
He held the door open, kicking aside the backpack Joey had dropped after school that afternoon.
She sniffed and blinked a few times. “Wow. That’s...strong.”
The house—which was clean and warm but not very homey otherwise—smelled like charred red sauce, he suddenly realized with chagrin.
“Kitchen mishap,” he said, embarrassed. “I was making spaghetti sauce and forgot to stir. I just tossed it out but I’m afraid the smell tends to linger.”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Been there, more times than I can count. I’m a lousy cook.”
“We could start a club.”
She grinned. “Except we’ll be very clear that our members are not to bring refreshments to meetings.”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “Definitely. We’ll put it in the bylaws.”
She paused, then tilted her head. “Do you need a little help? Maybe it’s like grammar, you know? Two negatives making a positive. Maybe with two lousy cooks working together, we can come up with something a little more than halfway decent.”
“English and math in one paragraph. You must be a teacher.”
“Well, I have dual degrees in art history and education. I should also add that while I couldn’t bake a decent chocolate cake if cannibals were waiting to nibble off my arms if I didn’t deliver the goods, I do make a kick-ass red sauce.”
Was she really offering to help him fix dinner? Okay, that was unexpected...and a little surreal.
He ought to politely thank her for the offer and send her on her way. He really wasn’t in the mood for the messy conversation about her parents he knew they needed to have—but he had also spent the past few weeks with very little adult interaction and he was a little desperate to talk about something besides Star Wars and Ninjago.
“Couldn’t hurt. Between the two of us, maybe we could come up with something Joey might actually eat. So far, my efforts in that direction have fallen pretty flat.”
“Excellent. Let’s do it.” She reached to untwist her multicolored scarf then unbuttoned her red wool peacoat. Beneath, she wore a bright blue sweater that matched her eyes. She looked bright and fresh and just about the prettiest thing he had ever seen.
After an awkward moment, he reached to help her out of it, with manners he had forced himself to learn after he joined the military.
Up close, she smelled delicious, some kind of exotic scent of cinnamon and almonds, and she was warm and enticing.
He told himself that little kick in his gut was only hunger.
He took the coat and hung it on the rack then led the way into the kitchen. “Where do we start?” he asked.
She paused in the middle of the kitchen. “First things first. If you don’t mind, I’ll just rinse out the rest of this saucepan before the fumes singe away more of my nasal lining.”
“Go ahead.”
She headed to the sink and ran water in the sink to flush it down then started opening cupboards and pulling things out. “So where is the little snowball-throwing champion?”
“Next door. Playdate with his partner in crime.”
“Is this the infamous Samantha?”
“The very same. Last night we had a talk with her and her parents about the dangers of throwing snowballs at cars. It should now be safe to drive through the neighborhood.”
“Whew. That’s a relief.” She started mixing things in the now-clean saucepan. “So what’s the story here, if you don’t mind me asking? Where are Joey’s parents? I would love to hear they’re on an extended cruise to the Bahamas and you’re just substituting in the parental department for a few days.”
His mouth tightened. “I wish it were that straightforward.
”
It really wasn’t her business but the truth was, he didn’t have anybody else to talk to about the situation and found he wanted to explain to her.
“Joe’s dad took off before he was born, from what I understand. I don’t know the details. I was overseas.”
“Military?”
“How did you know?”
“The haircut sort of gives it away. Let me guess. Marines.”
“Close. Navy.”
For reasons he didn’t want to look at too closely, he didn’t mention he had been a SEAL. It was a snap decision—similar to allowing her into his house and his kitchen. If he mentioned it, she might more easily make the connection between him and that rebel camp in Colombia and he couldn’t see any good reason to dredge up the painful past they shared while they seemed to be getting along so well.
“Ah. A sailor.” She seemed to accept that with equanimity. “So Joey’s dad isn’t in the picture. What about his mom?”
He pulled a large pot out to boil water for the pasta. Again, he debated what to tell her and then decided to be straightforward about this, at least. “It’s a rough situation. My sister is in trouble with the law. She’s in jail.”
“Oh, no!”
He could have left it at that but he was compelled to explain further. “Last week she pleaded guilty to a multitude of drug charges, including distribution to a minor. Multiple minors, actually. Right now she is in the county jail in Pine Gulch while she awaits sentencing.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s a mess,” he agreed.
“So you stepped up to help with Joey.”
“Somebody had to. We don’t have any other family.”
She mulled that as she opened a can of tomatoes and poured the contents into the saucepan. “Are you on leave, then?”
“I had my twenty years in so I retired.”
It had been the toughest decision of his life, too, but he didn’t add that.
“You gave up your career to take care of your nephew?”
He shifted, uncomfortable. “I’m not quite that noble. I’d been thinking about leaving for a while.” That was somewhat true. As he headed into the tail end of his thirties, he had started to wonder if he still had the chops for what was basically a younger man’s game. He had started to wonder what else might be out there, but he hadn’t been ready to walk away quite yet and had all but committed to re-up for another four years, at least. Everything changed after that phone call from Cami.
“So what will you do now? Are you sticking around Pine Gulch?”
“Only until my sister’s sentencing. I’d like to go back to the San Diego area where I have a condo and a couple of job offers, but she begged me to stay until she is sentenced so she can see her son once or twice. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let Joey finish school here since he has friends and seems to be doing okay.”
“San Diego is nice. Pretty beaches, great weather. An excellent place to raise children.”
He let out a breath, more uneasy at her words than he should be. He was now raising a child. How the he—er, heck was he supposed to do that? The past few weeks had been tough enough. Looking ahead at months and possibly years of being responsible for a boy who wanted little to do with him was more daunting than his first few weeks of BUD/S training.
He would get through this new challenge like he did that hellish experience, by keeping his gaze focused only on the next minute and then the one after that and the one after that.
Right now, the next minute was filled with a beautiful woman in his kitchen, moving from counter to stove to refrigerator with a graceful economy of movement he found extremely appealing. He liked having her here in the kitchen, entirely too much.
Something about her delicate features, the pretty blue eyes and those wild blond curls held back in a ponytail, made his mouth water more than the delicious aromas now wafting from the saucepan she was stirring on the stove.
He wasn’t sure he liked this edgy feeling. As a rule, he tended to favor control, order.
His turbulent childhood probably had something to do with his need for calm. He had a feeling Hope was part of it, too—after the way he had screwed up on his very first mission as a SEAL, he had channeled all his guilt and regret into becoming a highly trained, totally focused, hard-as-titanium special warfare operator.
His platoon members called him Frío, the Spanish word for cold. Not because he was unfriendly or unfeeling but because he generally turned to ice under pressure.
Come to think of it, that need for order might be one of the reasons he and Joey were struggling to find their way together. Seven-year-old boys—especially troubled, unhappy seven-year-old boys—tended to generate chaos in their wake.
He’d need to find a little of that ice water in his veins pronto and remember he had enough to deal with right now without this unexpected and unwelcome attraction to someone who would likely hate him if she knew who he truly was.
* * *
She hadn’t been lying when she said she wasn’t much of a cook, but maybe she had exaggerated a little.
She wasn’t terrible exactly, she just generally didn’t have the patience or time for it. There was something quite satisfying about having one specialty, though, and she could say without false modesty that her red sauce was something truly remarkable.
Rafe Santiago and his nephew were in for a treat—if she could relax enough to finish the job while the man glowered at her from his position leaning against the counter next to the sink.
Why did he seem so familiar? She wished she could place him. It could just be that she had encountered more than her share of big, tough military types.
Usually they turned her off. She tended to gravitate toward scholars and artists, not big hulking dudes with biceps the size of basketballs.
The truth was, Rafe Santiago made her nervous and it was a feeling she was completely unaccustomed to.
She forced away the feeling and focused instead on the red sauce. She gave the pot a stir and then grabbed a clean spoon so she could taste it.
“Mmm. Needs more oregano.” She shook in a little more and stirred a few more times then grabbed another clean spoon to taste again. “There it is. Perfect. See for yourself.”
“I trust you.”
“Come on. Try it.” She held out yet another spoon for him. After a moment, he rolled his eyes then leaned in and wrapped that very sexy mouth around the spoon.
“Right?” she pushed.
He gave a small laugh that held no small amount of appreciation. “Wow. That is much better than anything I could have come up with.”
“Again, to be clear, a good red sauce is literally one of my very few skills in the kitchen. My aunt Mary despaired of me ever learning to even scramble an egg. I have conquered a halfway decent omelet and the red sauce, but that’s about it. Oh, and couscous. I just spent three years in Morocco and you can’t leave the country without at least trying to make tagines and couscous.”
“In the space of five minutes, you’ve gone from starting a club for people who are helpless in the kitchen to spouting culinary words I barely even know.”
“A tagine is both a cooking implement and a dish. Sort of like the word casserole. It’s a pot that comes with a domed lid. Tagines are also very delicious meat and vegetable dishes, kind of like a stew. I make a really delicious one with honeyed lemons and lamb.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Maybe I’ll make it for you sometime.”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she wanted to yank them back. Why on earth would she say that? She wasn’t going to be cooking for the man again. She shouldn’t be here now. She had a million other things to do at the moment and none of them had anything to do with fixing a red sauce for Rafe Santiago, even if she was incredib
ly drawn to the man.
How could she help it, when he talked about giving up his military career to rescue his nephew? It was a wonder she hadn’t melted into a mushy pile of hormones on his kitchen floor.
“So what time will Joey be back?”
He glanced at the clock on the microwave.
“Hard to say. I told him five-thirty. So far obeying the rules doesn’t seem to be one of his strengths.”
She smiled a little at his disgruntled tone. “Well, you’ll want to give the red sauce about fifteen minutes more than that, stirring every few minutes. Don’t forget to stir. Seriously. Don’t forget! I always set a timer to remind me every two or three minutes. If you start your pasta water boiling now, you can add it just as Joey gets back.”
“That’s it? You come in, throw together dinner and then just take off? You could at least stay and eat it with us.”
Oh, she was tempted. If circumstances had been different, she would have jumped at the chance. But, again, she had a million things to do and she couldn’t afford any distractions. Rafe Santiago was the very definition of the word distraction.
“Sorry, but I can’t.”
He gave her a challenging sort of look. “Why not? That would at least give you a chance to finally bring up the reason you came here in the first place.”
She laughed. “Ulterior motive? Me? Why, you suspicious man. You mean I can’t convince you I stopped by just to save you from certain culinary disaster?”
“Yeah, sorry. Not buying it, though I won’t complain about the pleasant secondary outcome.”
Oh, she liked this man. Entirely too much. Again, she thought how familiar he seemed and was vexed that she couldn’t place him.
“All right. You caught me. The truth is, I found an excellent way for Joey to work off the cost of replacing my truck window.”
“I suspected as much.”
“Okay, here’s the skinny. I know you’re not from Pine Gulch but are you at all familiar with The Christmas Ranch?”
The Christmas Ranch (The Cowboys of Cold Creek) Page 4