by Amy Andrews
She’d been adamant she wouldn’t want more, and he’d agreed. As much to convince himself as to convince her. But he was calling bullshit on that—it was going to happen. He could feel it in the slow thud of his pulse, like a drumroll building in his blood.
He knew it as sure as he knew he was never playing rugby again.
“Heads up, Cole!”
Long-honed reflexes saw Cole’s hands automatically reaching for a ball as it spiraled into his chest. He made a harsh kind of oomph noise at the impact. The small-town cop might not have played football in years, but the dude still had a good arm.
So much for the clinic being a distraction. Jesus, man. Get your head in the game.
Arlo grinned at him. “You need an aspirin?”
Suppressing the urge to flip the bird to a cop in front of a bunch of impressionable kids, Cole dragged his head back in the game. Twenty-five kids—twenty-five!—had turned up at the clinic, ranging from Finn at four years old all the way to seventeen. So had quite a few parents, Drew from the funeral home, and a guy called Austin Cooper, who was one of Arlo’s junior officers.
Grimacing, Cole rubbed his chest absently and turned his attention to the different stations he’d set up in the park. Thankfully, there were plenty of trees and they’d been able to keep most of the activities in the shade. It was a little overcast today, which kept things cooler, but there was no disguising it was summer.
Most of the kids were upper-grade-school age and merely needed supervision while performing the set tasks, but there were six kids aged four to five that needed considerably more direction, which was why Cole was at their station. There were three boys and three girls, and, if he wasn’t the one trying to tame them—if he’d just been sitting in the bleachers, observing—he’d have thought it was the most hysterical thing he’d ever seen.
But he was the one down here on the field with them, and it was like trying to herd dyslexic cats.
Finn was pretty good. He’d done some ball work with Cole already these past few days, and he clearly wanted to prove to the other kids that he knew what he was doing. The other five were a mixed bunch of what-the-ever-loving-hell. He already had nicknames for them all.
There was Rambo, because he ran at everything like a bull at a gate, wielding the ball as if it was a machete. Crikey because he stopped every two seconds to stare at ants and butterflies and other similar tiny creatures busy in the grass. Qantas because her uncle apparently was an airline pilot and she’d spent most of her time lying on her back, pointing at planes flying overhead, and making animal shapes out of the clouds.
And then there were Roo and Moo, four-year-old twins. Roo because bouncing appeared to be her natural gait, which was great for covering distances but not so good when it came to the coordination required for kicking. And Moo because the kid seemed to be intent on eating as much grass as she could get her hands on.
It was the full little-league nightmare.
“Okay,” Cole said, drawing their attention. Moo paused with a blade of grass halfway to her mouth and thankfully tossed it on the ground. The last thing he wanted was to have to take the kid to the ER for a stomach pump of grass.
“What we’re going to do next is run between these traffic cones. But not in a straight line; you have to weave like this.”
Cole demonstrated for them, running in a passable fashion without his cane, conscious of the limitations of his hip and his audience. Not that the kids noticed—not when an out-of-uniform Arlo was parading around in cargo shorts that exposed the sleek metal line of his prosthesis, looking like something out of Captain America.
Which was freeing in a way Cole hadn’t expected. He was surprised how unimportant his injury seemed when nobody was paying him any attention. Everything back home had been focused on him and his recovery, and it had subsumed him, but these people didn’t know him, nor did they care. The kids certainly didn’t.
“We’re going to start at that end.” He pointed to the end where the kids were already waiting. “And you’re going to run all the way to me, weaving in and out, and I’m going to time you with my stopwatch.”
Arlo had given out a few of them this morning, along with the rest of the equipment he’d somehow managed to procure, and Cole brandished it now because the man with the stopwatch was king as far as kids were concerned, even if it was a basic, old-fashioned piece. There was an actual moving hand and a button at the top that stopped the hand when pressed. It was the kind coaches had used when he’d been a junior and nothing like the high-tech ones of today.
Still, the kids had already had a turn with it and asked what felt like a million questions about it, including where was it made, could it receive telephone calls, and was it from the olden days like him.
Which made Cole feel about a hundred and three.
“Okay, Finn, you’re first.” Putting Finn first was strategy rather than favoritism. The kid followed instructions to the letter, and it gave the other kids an example to follow. Cole held up the watch and counted to three. “Go,” he called.
Finn took off, executing the course perfectly. Cole high-fived him at the end and called on Rambo next. The kid charged through the course with a bloodcurdling cry like he was hauling himself out of a trench and running toward the enemy. Roo bounced her way through the course, Crikey stepped very delicately in case he stood on any innocent bugs or worms, Moo skipped all the way to the end, and Qantas paused halfway through when she spotted a plane overhead.
Overall, it took ten minutes longer than it probably should have, but the kids were having a good time, and Cole figured his blood pressure could stand it.
“Okay.” He took his cap off and used his forearm to wipe away the sweat before cramming his hat back on again. “Let’s take a break.” The kids all whooped, running for the table under the trees where Arlo had set up ice buckets full of water bottles and containers full of sliced oranges.
Austin Cooper, who’d been running a catching exercise with the older participants, wandered over for a drink and an orange slice. He was also not in uniform, but the senior students—all guys—clearly knew he was a cop. There was an easy rapport between them, though, and Cole supposed he was probably only about ten years older than the youngest of them. There’d been quite a bit of smack talk going on and a lot of laughter.
“You look like you have your hands full,” Austin said as he cracked the lid of an icy-cold water bottle and took a swig.
Cole gave a half laugh, half snort. “I’ll swap you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not sure my knowledge of ants or the olden days is up to scratch.”
The young cop laughed, and Cole rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, mate. I’m putting you at this station tomorrow.”
“Oh no, what a shame.” Austin grabbed his chest in faux disappointment. “I’m back on duty.”
Cole shrugged. “I’ll give them to Arlo.”
“Better plan. They already think he’s a superhero. They’ll probably listen to him.”
Yeah, Cole hadn’t been that great at getting his young charges to listen. But then, he hadn’t expected the cast of The Muppets, either.
“I’m going to take a wild guess here and say you don’t have any kids of your own.”
Cole glanced at Finn. He’d never thought about kids in any real way before. In an abstract one-day-maybe kind of way, but nothing concrete. Looking at his little charges today, that seemed wise.
Finn and Crikey were catching crickets and putting them in the bug catcher he’d insisted on bringing with him. Roo was hopping after them and causing ructions because she was chasing the insects away. Qantas was lying on the ground again, looking at the clouds. Moo was lying next to her, also looking at the clouds while chewing on grass. And Rambo was karate chopping a nearby tree.
“I don’t know what you mean, man,” Cole said as Roo accidentally ran into Crike
y and knocked him over. “I’m a natural.”
Austin gave a laugh, then winked as he called out, “Hey, kids, come here.” He shoved an orange segment in his mouth so he had an orange-peel smile, then turned on them, growling and grinning and causing them to squeal with glee, then scatter as he chased after them.
Finn’s utter delight as he scarpered with the other kids slugged Cole in the gut. He really, really liked the kid. Maybe he could be a father one day.
Maybe…
Chapter Eight
It was raining when Cole wandered out the back door just after seven thirty that evening. The rain wasn’t heavy, but there were small puddles forming in the depressions on the stone steps made by two hundred years of foot traffic. He probably should turn around and go back inside. It was wet, and he was thoroughly rooted from a long day with twenty-five kids hanging on his every word.
Well, the ones not trying to fight trees, catch butterflies, and find cloud animals, anyway.
And maybe Jane wouldn’t come tonight because of the rain. It was hardly the usual breathtaking display of a blazing golden sunset combined with the sultry promise of a summer evening. Although, the light gray mist, the smell of rain, and the pitter-patter of raindrops on the garden foliage was its own kind of wonderful.
And it was dry under the portico.
He glanced to his left. Farther along, an old-fashioned, white, wrought iron love seat sat against the outside wall of the house. It was freestanding, complete with a canopy overhead, and he headed in its direction. Maybe Jane wouldn’t come and kiss him tonight—which was probably for the best, anyway—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t while away an hour or so out here by himself.
Reaching his goal, Cole realized it was a swing, the seat suspended by chains to the canopy supports. He had no idea how old it was or if it could take his weight. It could easily sit three grown adults and was quite deep, the cushions covered in the same white-and-floral canvas-style fabric that was in the canopy.
Choosing to sit in the middle so his weight was evenly distributed, Cole lowered himself gingerly down, just in case. There was some alarming creaking as he sat, the seat swinging as it adjusted to his big frame, but it didn’t suddenly snap and fall to the ground, landing him on his arse, so that was a plus. After a minute or so, when the seat still remained intact, he relaxed, lowering his stick to the ground and setting the swing into gentle motion with his good foot.
Taking a deep breath, he sucked in the sweet fresh air laden with petrichor and wet grass and listened to the chorus of frogs who seemed very happy about the wet weather. He tried not to think about Jane, about whether she’d show tonight. He forced himself to think about tomorrow instead. About the different activities he could do with the kids in the park and how he’d organize a bit of a game in the afternoon so they could see how the exercises he’d been making them do came together to give them the skills they required to play rugby union.
When he was done strategizing that, he thought about today and grinned to himself. It had been controlled chaos with his kids, and he couldn’t deny he’d been pleased when it’d been over and their parents had collected them. But the other participants had been much easier, and Cole had felt unexpectedly thrilled by their obvious enjoyment, especially considering it was literally something he and Arlo had just thrown together.
The fact so many of the kids were coming back for more tomorrow spoke volumes about how well it had been received.
Austin’s words came back to Cole. I’m going to take a wild guess here and say you don’t have any kids of your own. Sure, his little charges may have been a bit unruly, but they’d had a good time, and Finn seemed to think Cole had done okay.
But thoughts of Finn lead to thoughts of Jane. Jane, who was usually here by now, supplying him with beer before kissing him silly. And then suddenly Cole heard a noise to his right and rolled his head in its direction, spying Jane as she stepped out of the doorway carrying two beer bottles in one hand. He watched as she walked forward two paces, then faltered, obviously realizing he wasn’t in his usual spot, turning her head and scanning the yard several times.
“Hey.” His murmur was soft, but she heard it, her head swiveling abruptly in his direction.
“Oh…hey.” She hesitated for a moment and then walked toward him. The beer bottles clinked together at the motion, joining with the frog song and the pitter-patter of rain.
Cole watched her advance, the fabric of the dress outlining her thighs as she walked, the flick of her ponytail swishing left to right behind her head. She stopped when she drew level with the wrought iron leg of the swing, looking down at him for long moments, and damn if Cole’s pulse didn’t skip a beat.
She was lovely in the night, shadows falling gently against her face and body, the soft gray mist shrouding her from behind.
“You look…ridiculously male sitting in that kitschy piece of nineteen-twenties floral garden furniture.”
And she looked very, very female in that dress that flowed and clung in equally fascinating measure. “I was a little worried I might break it, but”—he shrugged—“it’s sturdier than it looks. Plus it’s a lot drier under here then the steps.”
She nodded but didn’t make any move to sit. Or look away, either.
“The rain’s nice,” he said as the silence between them grew.
“Yeah.” She looked absently over her shoulder, then back again. “The grass needed a drink,” she added like something else was required of her before she lapsed into silence once more, her gaze fixed on his face.
Amused at her uncharacteristic muteness, Cole tipped his chin at the beers in her hand. “Is one of those for me?”
“Oh…” She passed him a bottle. “Sorry.”
Cracking the lid, Cole took a deep swallow. He’d been hankering for a beer since Rambo had bounced a ball and hit himself in the head about one minute after the clinic had started. When Jane didn’t make any move to sit, he raised an eyebrow and patted the cushion beside him. “You want to join me?”
It was almost comical the way she looked at the space next to him like it contained a live rattlesnake. She dragged her gaze back to his face, and Cole almost lost his breath at the intensity he saw there. “We can’t keep doing this.”
His belly pulled tight at her directness. He knew she was right, but he’d already become more than a little addicted to their nightly tête-a-têtes, and the thought of stopping made him twitchy. “What?” He smiled and feigned ignorance. “Beer drinking and performance appraisals?”
She refused to return his smile, her gaze holding his, obviously determined to tackle their situation head-on. “You and I both know that’s not what we’re doing.”
Cole sighed. “Yeah.”
“We can’t be making out like teenagers. I’m not a teenager, Cole. I’m a single mother of a four-year-old, and I’m here to do a job. I can’t take my eye off either of those balls, no matter how much I might want to play with you.”
His gut clenched at the infinite possibilities in her frank and unexpected admission of attraction. Cole would like nothing more than some playtime with Jane Spencer. “You want to play with me, huh?”
Jane was clearly not in a joking mood. “Cole…I have responsibilities.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know.”
He did know; he understood she wasn’t footloose and fancy-free. He also understood, as he suspected she did, that neither of them would be able to play in half measures. He already knew it would be all or nothing between them.
“So…we’ll be friends, then.”
Her brow crinkled. “Friends?”
“Sure. Why not? We get along, and I’m still looking after Finn. I can be friends with a woman I’m attracted to and keep it platonic.”
99 percent sure, anyway. Possibly ninety-five. Maybe closer to ninety. But that was still pretty good, right?
“And how many times have you done that?”
Cole made a great show of mentally calculating, but the reality was he didn’t have to think about the number at all. “Zero.”
“Exactly.”
“Just because I haven’t done it before doesn’t mean I can’t. I’m a grown-up, Jane. So are you. Just because we’ve been acting like horny teenagers doesn’t mean we have to continue that way. If you want to keep this all aboveboard, then I can do that. I’m certainly willing to give it a go if you are.”
“I am.” She nodded emphatically. Really emphatically. So emphatically Cole wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.
“Okay. Good.” That was that, then. It’d been decided. He and Jane were to be friends. No more kissing on the back steps. He patted the cushion again. “Sit down, come and listen to the frogs with me, and I’ll tell you a story about why you should never let a group of four-to-five-year-olds loose with a football.”
She laughed then, and the tension that had been building between them popped like a balloon as she sat where he indicated. The seat rocked and made more creaking and groaning noises. Jane gripped the arm of the seat. “Are you sure this thing is safe with both of us on it?”
Cole shook his head. “Nope.”
She laughed again and sat very still while the swinging slowed and then stopped. “Okay, so far so good. Let’s just not wriggle around on it too much, okay?”
Cole did his level best not to think about the ways in which he could wriggle around with his friend Jane and failed spectacularly.
Gingerly, as if any movement might cause the swing to come crashing down, Jane released the arm and raised her beer to her lips and took a sip, slowly relaxing back into the cushions, and they sat in companionable silence for several long moments. “Wow, the frogs really are loud.”
“Yep. They’re going off their tits.”