“What is the matter with you?” the woman scolded, ripping a towel free from the handle on the refrigerator door and then grabbing Katie’s wrist to wrap it around her bloody palm.
He could see Katie was trying to hold it together, fighting back tears she refused to let fall, reminding him once again of the contradictions that were Katrina Miller. On one hand she was bold and aggressive, taking her anger out on those poor little flowers, which had surprised the hell out of him. And on the other hand, she reminded him of a desperate, frightened young woman, whose ghosts refused to stop haunting her. She looked so fragile standing there, struggling to keep it together while her mother unwrapped the towel and held her hand over the empty side of the sink while she stared numbly at the crimson drops escaping her fingers.
The impulse to go to her, to pull her into his arms and tell her it was going to be all right, was nearly too strong to resist. If her mother had not been there, it would have been a battle he’d have lost. Cole held himself in check, reminding himself that Katie’s problems were just that—her problems. He shouldn’t get involved. He couldn’t fight her demons for her, not that she’d even let him if he’d wanted to.
“What in the world has gotten into you?” her mother scolded. “How long are you going to let this go on? Maybe if you would just talk to him—”
“No. Mom, I told you before. I’m not talking to him. Stay out of this. Please.” A silent pause, then she gasped, “You told him I was here, didn’t you?” The note of fear in her voice licked up his spine, setting his protective instincts on edge.
“Of course I didn’t tell him. He heard about your father’s stroke from Aunt Valerie on Facebook. He was just calling to express his sympathy—”
“No, he wasn’t, Mom. He’s using you to get to me. He’s fishing to find out if I’m here. Don’t you find it a bit odd that he’s friends with Aunt Valerie on Facebook?”
“Katrina, be reasonable. Maybe if you’d just—”
“Please. Stop. I can’t have this conversation again. You don’t understand—”
Her mother clutched Katie’s hand. “You’re right, honey, I don’t understand, because you won’t talk to me! What could he have possibly done to make you hate him so much? He clearly loves you.”
Katie let out a harsh bark of sarcastic laughter. “If that’s love, then I’m joining a convent.”
Cole was pretty sure Katie had forgotten he was there. Her gaze didn’t stray his direction even once—until he began backing out of the kitchen to give her and her mother some privacy. His movement must have caught her attention, and when she looked at him, he felt like he’d been sucker punched in the gut. That this woman had the ability to affect him so strongly sent alarms sounding off in his head so loudly, he barely heard her say, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Please, Cole, don’t leave. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
After some insistent tugging and reassurance that she was fine, her mother finally let go of her hand and left to go retrieve a first aid kit.
“You’re looking pretty pale. Maybe you should sit down.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. She nodded numbly and moved toward a chair at the kitchen table, eyeing the vase as if it were the enemy. He approached as she took a seat and reached for her wrist. “Let me see your hand.”
She gave him a wary frown and didn’t move.
“Come on, let me see it.”
Slowly, as if she were reaching out to touch a wild animal, she hesitantly laid the back of her hand in his waiting palm. Damn, he knew she was small, but he didn’t realize just how small and delicate until her hand was resting in his. Her fine bones were so fragile and gracefully designed, her skin so soft, it was like holding a porcelain doll in his large calloused mitts.
He swept his thumb over her fingers, opening her hand to get a better look at her palm. Three wounds marred her pale flesh. Two were superficial cuts, but the third was a deeper puncture wound. As gently as possible, he pressed around that spot with his thumbs. “Does it feel like there’s anything in it?”
When she didn’t answer, he glanced up, searching her blank stare. She wasn’t here. Her mind had taken her somewhere else—someplace dark. “Katie, answer me. Is the thorn still in there?”
Her gaze came into focus, connecting with his, and something tightened in his chest. She looked so forlorn, so broken, his grip on her hand instinctively tightened. Absently, his thumb brushed over her wrist, back and forth—gently, comfortingly. Her pulse fluttered beneath his touch. Holy shit, what in the hell had happened to her?
She shook her head and mumbled, “Nothing’s in there.”
It relieved him to see her color returning, that she was no longer starkly pale. For a moment there, he worried she might pass out. Now her cheeks bore a flushed rosy hue—almost feverish. Lord, she was pretty. The pink glow brightened her lips, and the thought briefly crossed his mind of what that mouth would taste like, feel like, moving against his—against his cock . . .
Whoa, where did that come from? Too far . . . he scolded his inner male, the one controlled by his other head. And he’d be damned if that little buddy didn’t begin to rise to the notion. The effect Katie had on him was swift and powerful. He’d never felt anything like it. For crissake, if simply touching her hand could evoke such a reaction from him, he’d hate to see what kissing her would do. The woman had his body responding like some pimple-faced adolescent. It was fucking embarrassing.
He shut down that train of thought with a sound What the hell are you thinking? Get your mind out of the gutter, asshole! He turned his focus back to Katie’s hand. And that was when Cole realized he was still caressing her wrist. He could feel her pulse hammering a rapid staccato against his thumb. Once again, the sudden urge to pull her into his arms nearly overpowered him—as did the need to find whoever sent her the flowers and break the bastard’s neck, just as he’d obviously broken this woman’s spirit.
The primal knee-jerk reaction surprised him, as did the protective instinct rising up to take root in his gut. He wasn’t the kind of guy that got involved in other people’s shit. If he’d learned anything living on the streets of Reno, it was that life was cruel, and people hurt other people. That was just the way it was. So why would he expect things to be any different in this little frozen patch of the world?
“I finally found the first aid kit. Your father had it shoved behind the—” Katie’s mother came to an abrupt halt when she blew into the kitchen and found Cole holding Katie’s hand. The arched-brow look she shot him was one a mother might give a child who’d just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Afraid the overly perceptive woman might get the wrong idea, he quickly released Katie’s hand and moved back to make room for the woman to sit down.
A polite, somewhat reserved smile graced her lips as she walked over to the table and set the box down. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Before he could respond, Katie said, “This is the fighter I told you about, Mom. The one Uncle Marcus asked me to see.”
“Cole Easton,” he introduced himself, moving forward and extending his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. You must be Marcus’s sister in-law?”
“Carol—and yes, I am.” She took his hand and shook it before turning back to Katie and opening the medical kit. “And you must be his . . . ?” She glanced over, as if expecting him to fill in the blank as she pulled supplies out of the kit and set them on the table.
“Marcus is my manager—among other things, I guess.”
Katie shot him a curious glance, probably wondering what “other things” could mean. She refrained from asking, no doubt remembering the deal she’d struck with him in the car.
“How long have you been fighting?” Carol asked, popping the lid on a bottle of peroxide and pouring it onto a cotton ball.
“Professionally? Fourteen years.”
“How many years total?” Katie asked, glancing between him and her mother.
Carol dabbed the cotton ball on Katie’s h
and and he winced when she sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. For crissake, this must run in the family, because he’d lost count of how many times Marcus had doused him in that shit when he’d come home with broken, bloody knuckles, or a busted-up face. He wanted to distract her from the burn he was all too familiar with. Problem was, he found himself telling her more about himself than he’d intended.
“Total?—sixteen. I left home when I was fifteen. Back then, I fought to survive.” When pity shadowed her beautiful face, he shrugged to say it was no big deal. “I did some unsanctioned fighting for a few years.”
“Unsanctioned?” Her brow arched in question. “Ouch!”
Like Cole had done, her mom was making sure there wasn’t a thorn buried in that puncture wound.
“Underground fighting,” he explained, drawing her attention back to him. “Like fight club stuff.”
“Are you serious? That’s actually a thing?”
Oh, it was a thing, all right. But that was about all he was going to tell her about it. “You know what the first rule about fight club is, right?” he asked, lowering his voice as if he were about to tell her a carefully guarded secret.
“No. What?” she whispered back, her attention completely fixed on him.
Damn, he loved the way her eyes seemed to swallow him whole. Keeping a straight face, he leaned forward and whispered back, “The first rule of fight club is you do not talk about fight club.”
It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her. When she made the connection to the movie the smile that broke across her lovely face sucked all the air from his lungs. Good Lord, she wasn’t just beautiful. Katrina Miller was stunning.
“You’re teasing me,” she accused with mock anger as she tried not to laugh. Carol chuckled as she finished applying the ointment to Katie’s hand.
“I am about fight club. I was trying to distract you. Did it work?”
She glanced down at her hand as Carol was putting the first bandage across her palm. “I guess it did. She’s nearly finished.”
“That’s good.” He smiled with satisfaction, glad he wasn’t baring a part of his painful past for nothing. “But I really did spend two years fighting unsanctioned. That’s how I met your uncle. A scout told him about me, and he came to see me fight.”
“Unsanctioned? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Very. It’s MMA at its rawest—no gloves, no holds barred. But when you’re starving and need a roof over your head, legal is the least of your concerns. Making it out of the cage alive . . . ? Now, that one ranked up there pretty high. Believe me, the irony isn’t lost that after all these years, now I’m injured. Then again, if you let your guard down in the pits I was fighting in, you were likely to get shanked, not just kicked in the spine.”
“I still can’t believe this happened to you,” she murmured as her mother finished putting on the last bandage.
“Yeah, well, join the club.” He was glad Carol was finished, because this conversation had moved from sore and sensitive to downright painful. He didn’t talk about his past—not with anyone—and he sure as hell didn’t discuss his injury, not even with Marcus. So why in the hell was he spilling his guts to this woman he barely knew?—besides the desire to distract her, that was? Maybe it was because he suspected her past was just as fucked up as his own, and misery loves company. Perhaps if she knew a little about him, she’d let her guard down enough for him to discover who in the hell was scaring her, and what he had done to evoke such a violent reaction from her.
“There,” Carol told her, packing her medical supplies back in the box. “You’re all done. Why don’t you go see to your father? He’s waiting for you in the living room. I’ll keep Mr. Easton company while you’re busy.”
Katie scowled at her mother, who seemed impervious to the emerald-eyed glare. How was it possible to look so damn adorable and yet utterly pissed off at the same time? “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled, pushing her chair back.
Longest damn hour of her life . . .
She should have warned Cole her mother could be a bit . . . blunt . . . and bull-headed . . . and outspoken sometimes. But before she’d thought to mention it, they’d been entering the house and she’d seen those roses—aaaand promptly lost it, behaving like a fricking head case. No doubt, right about now, Cole was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. If he wasn’t scared off by her flower massacre, he sure as hell would be after spending an hour with her mother. Clearly, she hadn’t thought this one through when she’d suggested he come with her today.
Then again, she’d hardly been able to think, let alone do it rationally, after walking in on him this morning. And it was his fault she was running late. If he’d have gotten his naked ass out of bed in the first place, she’d have had plenty of time to do him before leaving. Do him . . . She nearly choked on the mental picture her slip-up conjured. What the hell was the matter with her? His evaluation . . . Do his evaluation.
After finishing her father’s PT a few minutes early, Katie crept down the hall toward the kitchen, taking care to avoid the squeaky floorboard that would alert them she was on the other side of the wall. It was a path she’d taken many a times as a teen, sneaking out of or into the house after breaking curfew. Being an adult and still sneaking about in her childhood home certainly wasn’t one of her proudest moments. Then again, since she’d met Cole, she seemed to be having a whole slew of those. What was one more? She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping on Cole and her mother, but curiosity overruled propriety, and she really wanted to know what they were talking about. By the sound of things, she couldn’t have come at a better time.
“Are you married, Mr. Easton?”
“Cole. And no, ma’am, I’m not married.”
“Ever been?”
Oh, jeez . . .
He chuckled. “No. I’ve never married.”
“Do you have a girlfriend back home?”
Katie cringed. What was with the third degree? For crying out loud! But even as she stood there in the hall, mentally berating her mother, she found herself holding her breath while she waited rather anxiously to hear his answer.
“No. No girlfriend.”
An unexpected surge of joy bloomed inside her—
“My career isn’t exactly conducive to healthy relationships.”
—followed by a crashing wave of disappointment. Why did she care? She didn’t, she decided. Katie wasn’t looking for another relationship. The last one nearly killed her, and she vowed she’d never put herself in that kind of a position ever again.
It was just as well, but it stung no less when her mother bluntly said, “So then you aren’t interested in Katie?”
Cole replied without a second’s hesitation. “No, I’m not. That’s not why I’m here.”
Ouch . . . Hearing more than enough and ready to nip that convo in the bud, Katie took two steps back and planted her foot on the squeaky board. On cue, it protested under her weight with a loud creeeeak, and big surprise, their little coffee talk abruptly ended. Pasting on a smile, she stepped into the kitchen to find her mother and Cole sitting at the table. Each had a coffee mug in hand, and he was just finishing an egg sandwich she must have cooked for him. Typical Carol Miller, born and raised one state over, her “Minnesota Nice” style of feed ’em then grill ’em never changed. Not that Cole seemed to mind, with his mouth full of fried egg and toast.
“Ready?” she asked, with falsetto cheer as she walked over to the closet in the mudroom and snagged her coat.
“You’re done early,” her mother commented innocently, pushing back her chair to rise.
She could feel Cole’s gaze tracking her across the room. That she was so blasted aware of him ground salt into her wounded pride. Would it kill him to want her a little bit? Not that she’d ever let things go down that road, but her ego could use the stroking after the battering it’d just taken. He could have at least thought about it for a second—asshole.
“Yea
h, well, I have a ten-o'clock appointment and unfortunately we kinda got a late start. So . . .” As she wrestled with her boot, she shot him a thanks to you glower and then focused her attention on tucking in her pant leg. She tossed Cole his coat before stepping into the other boot. She lost her balance, hopping around as she tried to zip the leg closed, feeling the heat of his amused gaze on her the whole time. Graceful, she was not, but what-the-hell-ever. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress him.
Cole thanked her mother for the breakfast and the conversation, sounding genuinely sincere. Well, wasn’t he the polite one. She mumbled a hasty good-bye, promising she’d be back in the morning—on time—and then rushed out the door.
Katie was upset, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. As she drove to the hospital in absolute silence, the tension between them seemed to take on a life of its own. “I know why you’re upset.”
She gave him no response.
“You have no right to be mad if you can’t be honest about your feelings.”
Katie whipped her head around and daggered him with her emerald glare. “My feelings? I’ve known you for a whole day, Cole. That’s pretty presumptive of you to assume I care either way.”
She was right. It had only been a day, yet he’d spent more consecutive hours with her than he had with any other woman in the last year. So yeah, to him it felt like they’d known each other a whole hell of a lot longer than just a day. Then add the Marcus factor to their unique living situation, and they might as well be BFFs. Retrospectively, maybe it wasn’t his place to say anything, but he could hardly not when she was so clearly troubled.
“Why don’t you just tell your parents the truth?”
Her face scrunched into a confused scowl as if she wasn’t quite following the conversation. “What truth?”
So now she was going to be obtuse. He exhaled a frustrated sigh. “That the guy who’s sending you those flowers is scaring the shit out of you.”
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