The Best Mistake

by Nora Roberts

  “No big deal. He didn’t ask for it, or anything.” Coop stuck his hands in his pockets. “He got such a charge out of meeting the players, and one thing kind of led to another.”

  “I know. I hear our team won.”

  “Yeah. Clipped them by one. I had to stop by the paper and file the story, or we’d have been here sooner.”

  “I just got in myself.” On impulse, she walked over, wrapped her arms around him and hugged. Coop’s hands stayed paralyzed in his pockets. “I owe you. You gave him a great day. He won’t forget it.” She drew back. “Neither will I.”

  “It’s no big deal. He just hung out in the press box.”

  “It’s a very big deal, especially since I trapped you into it.” She laughed and tossed back her hair. “You were so transparent this morning, Coop. The idea of having a four-year-old tagging along terrified you. But you did great. Anyway— Sorry,” she said when the phone rang. “Hello? Oh, hi, Stan. Tonight? I’m not scheduled.” Letting out a breath, she sat on the arm of a chair. “I’ll have to let you know. No, Stan, I can’t tell you now. I have to see if I can find a sitter. An hour, then. Yes, I understand you’re in a jam. I’ll call you back.”

  “Problem?”

  “Hmmm . . . Two of the waitresses called in sick for tonight. They’re short-staffed.” She was already dialing the phone. “Hi, Mrs. Finkleman. Yeah, I know. He had a great time. Mm-hmm . . .” Zoe’s gaze flicked up to Coop as Mrs. Finkleman told her how important it was for a boy to have a man in his life. “I’m sure you’re right. I was wondering if you’re busy tonight. Oh. That’s right, I forgot. No, it’s nothing. Have a good time.”

  Zoe hung up and pursed her lips. “It’s their bingo night,” she told Coop. “Beth’s got a date. Maybe Alice.” She reached for the phone again, shook her head. “No, she’s having her in-laws over for dinner.” Her eyes lit on Coop and narrowed in speculation. “You didn’t have any problem with Keenan today.”

  “No,” Coop said slowly, wary of another trap. “He was cool.”

  “Stan doesn’t need me in until nine. Keenan goes to bed at eight, so you wouldn’t have to do anything but hang around, watch television or whatever.”

  “Hang around here, while you work?” He took a step back. “Just me and the kid—like a babysitter? Listen . . .”

  “I’ll pay you. Beth gets five an hour, but I can up the ante.”

  “I don’t want your money, Zoe.”

  “That’s so sweet.” She smiled, took his hand and squeezed. “Really, so sweet of you. If you could come down about eight thirty.”

  “I never said—”

  “You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’ll make some brownies, if I have time. I’d better call Stan back before he pulls out what’s left of his hair.” She picked up the phone, beamed at Coop. “Now I owe you two.”

  “Yeah, right.” He hurried out before she could find some way to owe him three.

  Chapter 5

  For the next couple of hours, Coop immersed himself in “All in the Game,” his weekly syndicated column. The kid had given him the hook, he thought. The first visit to a ball game, the passing on of tradition, and the bond that was forged over the cheers, the crack of the bat, the peanut shells.

  It was a good piece, Coop decided, and wrote easily. He supposed since he owed the idea to Keenan the least he could do was hang around downstairs and eat brownies while the kid slept.

  He wandered back down just as Zoe came through the kitchen door.

  She hadn’t been sure he’d come. She knew she’d hustled him, and after she’d finished being amused by it, she felt guilty. But here he was, right on time, standing at the foot of the steps.

  “I pushed you into a corner. . . .” she began.

  “Yeah, you did.” She looked so somber, he had to smile. “You’ve got a real talent for it.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and smiled back at him. “Sometimes being pushy is the only way to get things done, but I always feel bad about it after. I did bake brownies.”

  “I could smell them all the way upstairs.” When she didn’t move, he tilted his head. Funny, though she was wearing that sexy waitress rig again, she didn’t seem so outrageous. Except for that bow tie, he thought. Something about that black tie around that slim white throat shot straight to his libido.

  “You going to let me in, or do you want me to stand out here?”

  “I have this guilt thing,” she explained, “whenever I have to ask anyone for a favor. And it was so sweet of you to take Keenan to the game, especially when . . .”

  “When I’d been asking you out?”

  She shrugged her shoulders again, let them fall. He was looking at her that way again, and something in her body was reacting helplessly. Better, she thought, to set the rules quickly. “I don’t go out with men. I should have told you straight out.”

  He had to force himself not to lift a hand to that neat little bow and tug. “At all?”

  “It’s just easier not to. They’re not interested in Keenan, or they pretend they are so they can talk me into bed.” When he rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat, she laughed. “What they don’t know is that they’re clear as cellophane. You see, Keenan and I are a team. As a sportswriter, you should know what that means.”

  “Sure. I get it.”

  “Anyway, you gave him a really wonderful day, and I feel like I’m twisting your arm about tonight.”

  He decided, after a moment, that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. There was just too much sincerity in that glorious face for a con. And if there was a twinge of guilt because he had given considerable thought to talking her into bed, that was his problem.

  “Look, he’s asleep, right?”

  “Yes. All the excitement wore him out.”

  “So, I’ll eat your brownies and watch your TV. No big deal.”

  Her smile came easily now, beautifully, and made his mouth water. “I left the number of the club by the phone, just in case. The Finklemans should be home by eleven. She’d come over and relieve you if you want.”

  “We’ll play it by ear.”

  “Thanks, really.” She stepped back into the kitchen to let him in. “My shift ends at two, at closing.”

  “Long day for you.”

  “I’ve got tomorrow off.” After grabbing her purse, she took a quick look around. “Make yourself at home, okay?”

  “I will. See you.”

  She hurried out, those incredibly sexy heels clicking across the tile. Coop let out a long breath and told himself to settle down. The lady had just set the ground rules. Fun and games were out.

  She had the face of a siren, the body of a goddess and legs designed to make a strong man whimper—but deep in her heart she was Betty Crocker.

  Coop took a deep sniff and decided to content himself with a plate of double-fudge brownies.

  * * *

  The storm rolled in just before midnight. Coop had taken Zoe at her word and made himself at home. He was stretched out on her couch, sunk deep in the cushions, with his feet propped comfortably on her coffee table. He was dozing in front of an old war movie, his only regret being that he hadn’t thought to bring a couple of beers down with him.

  Zoe’s selection ran to milk, juice and some unidentified green liquid.

  He’d poked around a little—it was simply in his nature. The clutter ran throughout the house, but he began to see a pattern to it. Obviously she wasn’t a detail person, but the general lack of order made the house comfortable, even cozy. Coop wasn’t sure if the result was by design or simply because she was a woman who worked two jobs and had a kid to raise.

  And from the library books he’d found stacked here and there, it seemed she spent most of her free time reading up on flowers, car repair, tax laws and time management.

  He couldn’t help but think it was a waste of a perfectly stunning woman, this voluntary burial of self in books and nowhere part-time jobs.

  But it wasn’t his prob
lem.

  The crash of thunder from outside harmonized nicely with the artillery barrage on the TV screen. Coop had just decided that this babysitting racket was a snap.

  Then he heard the wailing.

  Marines didn’t wail, he thought fuzzily, especially when they were battling Nazi scum. He yawned, circled his neck until it cracked, then spotted Keenan.

  The boy stood at the base of the stairs in Batman pajamas, a battered stuffed dog clutched in one arm and tears pouring down his face.

  “Mama!” His voice sharpened like an ice pick, then hitched. “Where’s my mama?”

  “She’s at work.” Coop straightened on the sofa and stared helplessly. “Something wrong?”

  A flash of lightning lit the room. By the time the thunder rolled in answer, Keenan screamed like a banshee and launched himself into Coop’s lap.

  “I’m scared. There’s monsters outside. They’re coming to get me.”

  “Hey . . .” Coop gave the head buried in his chest an inadequate pat. “Hey, it’s just a thunderstorm.”

  “Monsters,” Keenan sobbed. “I want Mama.”

  “Well, she’s—” He started to swear, caught himself. The poor kid was shaking. With an instinct he didn’t recognize, Coop cuddled Keenan in his lap. “You don’t like storms, huh?” All Keenan could do was shake his head and burrow deeper. “They’re just like fireworks. You know, on the Fourth of July, or after your team wins the pennant? They probably just had a big game up there. They’re celebrating.”

  “Monsters,” Keenan repeated, but he’d calmed enough to lift his head and look at Coop. “Big black monsters with sharp teeth.” He jolted at the next clap of thunder. Fresh tears started to roll. “They want to eat me.”

  “Nah.” Experimentally, Coop tested Keenan’s biceps. “You’re too tough.”

  “I am?”

  “You bet. Any monsters who looked in here would see you and run for their lives. They’d never take on Coop and the Keen-man.”

  Keenan sniffled, rubbed a fist over his eyes. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” Coop saw Keenan’s lower lip tremble when thunder grumbled. “Home run,” he said, and Keenan’s trembling mouth curved in a hesitant smile.

  “Can I stay out here with you?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  Keenan, an expert in such matters, settled himself comfortably in Coop’s lap, laid his head against Coop’s heart and sighed.

  * * *

  Zoe was swaying with fatigue by the time she let herself in. It was nearly 3:00 a.m., and she’d been up and going for twenty hours straight. All she wanted was to fall facedown on her bed and sleep.

  She saw them in the gray light of the snowy television screen. They were curled together on the couch, the boy snuggled deep against the man. Something shifted inside her at the sight of them, both sleeping deeply, Keenan’s tousled golden hair beneath Coop’s broad, tanned hand.

  She set her purse and her keys aside without taking her eyes off them.

  How small her son looked, and how safe.

  She slipped out of her shoes and walked to them on stockinged feet. In a natural gesture, she brushed a hand over Coop’s hair before gently lifting her son. Keenan stirred, then settled against her.

  “Mama.”

  “Yes, baby,” she murmured. She nuzzled him as she carried him away, caught the scent of man mixed with boy.

  “The monsters came, but we scared them away.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Coop said the thunder’s just fireworks. I like fireworks.”

  “I know.” She laid him in his bed, smoothing the sheets, his hair, kissing his soft cheeks. “Go back to sleep now.”

  But he already had. She watched him a moment longer in the faint glow of his night-light, then turned and went back downstairs to Coop.

  He was sitting up now, his head in his hands, the heels rubbing against his eyes. She switched off the buzzing television set, then sat on the arm of the couch. Any man who could sleep so comfortably with a child, to her mind, had unlimited potential.

  She wondered, just for an instant, what it would feel like to curl up beside him.

  “The storm woke him?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was rusty. He cleared it. “He was pretty spooked.”

  “He said you chased the monsters away.”

  “Seemed like the right thing to do.” He turned his head to look at her. Those big brown eyes were sleepy and smiling. The quick hitch in his heartbeat warned him to be on his way. But he lingered. “He’s okay now?”

  “He’s fine. You’d make a good daddy.”

  “Oh, well . . .” That had him moving. He stood, working out the kinks. “That’s not my line. But it was no big deal.”

  “It was to me.” She’d embarrassed him, she noted, and she hadn’t meant to. “Why don’t I fix you breakfast tomorrow?”

  “Huh?”

  “Pay you back with pancakes. Mrs. Finkleman tells me you bring in a lot of pizza and Chinese, so I don’t imagine you cook. Do you like pancakes?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Then let me know when you’re up and around. I’ll flip some for you.” She lifted a hand, brushed the hair from his brow. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  “No problem.” He took a step away, swore under his breath and turned back. “Listen, I’ve just got to do this, okay?”

  Before she could respond, he took her face in his hands and closed his mouth over hers.

  The kiss was quick, and it was light, and it sent sparks snapping down her nerve ends.

  When she didn’t move a muscle, he lifted his head, looked at her. She was staring at him, her eyes heavy and dark. He thought he saw the same stunned reaction in them that was curling somewhere in his gut. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he shook his head and kissed her again. Longer, deeper, until he felt her bones begin to melt. Until he heard the small whimper of pleasure purr in her throat.

  Her hands slid up his arms, gripped, then moved up to tangle in his hair. They stood there, locked against each other.

  One of them quivered, perhaps both. It didn’t seem to matter as the warm taste of her seeped into his mouth, into his blood. It was like a dream that he hadn’t yet shaken off, one that tempted him to sink back in, to forget reality.

  She’d forgotten it. All she knew for one glorious moment was that she was being held in strong arms, that her mouth was being savored wonderfully, and that needs, so long dormant, were swimming to the surface and breaking into life.

  Touch me. She wondered if she said it, or if the words simply whirled hazily in her head. But his hand, hard and sure, ran once down her body, kindling fires.

  She remembered what it was to burn, and what it was like when the flames died out and left you alone.

  “Coop.” Oh, she wanted, so badly, just to let it happen. But she wasn’t a young, reckless girl this time. And she had more to think of than herself. “Coop. No.”

  His mouth clung to hers for another moment, his teeth nipping. But he drew back. He was, he realized, as breathless as a man who’d slid headfirst into home plate.

  “Now I’m supposed to say I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “No, you’re not. I’m not.”

  “Good.” The hands that were resting on her shoulders kneaded once, then slipped away into his pockets. “Me neither. I’ve been thinking about doing that since I first saw your feet.”

  Her brows rose. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “My what?”

  “Your feet. You were standing on the ladder, painting. You weren’t wearing any shoes. You’ve got tremendously sexy feet.”

  “Really?” It amazed her that he could tie her into helpless knots one minute, then make her laugh the next. “Thanks. I think.”

  “I guess I’d better go.”

  “Yeah, you’d better.”

  He nodded, started out. This time, when he stopped, she braced, and she yearned. But he simply turned and looked at her. “I’m not
going to try to talk you into bed. But I want you there. I figured I should let you know.”

  “I appreciate it,” she said in a shaky voice.

  When the door closed behind him, she let her weak legs fold and sat down on the couch. What, she asked herself, was she supposed to do now?

  Chapter 6

  When Coop dragged himself out of bed, it was nearly noon. He stumbled into the shower and nearly drowned himself before both of his eyes opened. Wet and out of sorts, he rubbed himself down, gave a moment’s thought to shaving, then dismissed the idea.

  He tugged on gym shorts and a T-shirt before heading directly to the coffeemaker. While it brewed, he opened his front door and let the full power of the sun shock him the rest of the way awake.

  They were in the yard, Zoe and Keenan, laughing as mother tried to help son hit fungoes with a plastic bat. The kid wasn’t having much luck, Coop noted. But he was sure having fun. He started to step back inside before either of them spotted him. But the jock in him had him kibitzing.

  “He’ll never hit anything standing that way,” Coop called out, and had two pairs of big brown eyes looking up in his direction.

  “Hi, Coop. Hi. I’m playing baseball.” Thrilled to have an audience, Keenan waved his bat and nearly caught his mother on the chin.

  “Watch it, champ,” she said, and shifted out of range. “Good morning,” she called out. “Want your breakfast?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Keenan took another pathetic swing and had Coop muttering under his breath. Swung like a girl. Somebody had to show the kid how to hold a bat, didn’t they? he asked himself as he started down.

  “You’re choking it too much.”

  Zoe’s brows drew together. “The book I got said—”

  “Book.” He cursed automatically. Keenan echoed him. “Sorry,” he muttered when Zoe gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Now listen, you learn how to add and subtract from books. You don’t learn baseball. Just like a girl.” He crouched down and adjusted Keenan’s hands.

  Zoe had been ready to concede to the expert, but the last statement stopped her. “Excuse me? Are you implying that females can’t play sports?”