He returned to the ranch to try and coax an answer from Sammie about what happened last night. He wasn't even angry about getting hung up on. Now he was just...worried.
But she stayed in the office, her white noise machine on high, and no matter how many times he knocked, she wouldn't come to the door.
He knew the inspection report had come through yesterday, so he set off to the courthouse, intending to get the full story from Judge Watkins.
Only to be told that the judge was not in his chambers today, as he had court all day long. His secretary had literally smiled as she shut the door in Cole's face.
That was the last straw.
“Goddammit!” Cole swore, letting off a volley of emphatic curses as he smacked his hand into the door frame. He hammered his hand against the door, and then started adding in a few kicks as his temper flared hotter. “This is bullshit!”
From across the hall, Seth's head snapped up. His old buddy was instantly at his side, murmuring, “Cool it. Get yourself under control, man. It would really suck to have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
Cole looked up at the ceiling and let out a long breath. “To be honest with you, a night in jail sounds like a real nice vacation at this point.” He dug the heel of his hand into his right eye.
“You look like you've been working way too hard. And playing way too little.”
“Try not at all.”
“Why don't you come out tonight?” Seth asked. “I know you got your whole 'good daddy' thing going on, but doesn't that little man have grandparents itching to spoil him?” When Cole widened his eyes, Seth nodded encouragingly. “Come over to the bar with me. Some of the old guys are still hanging out there; it'd be good to catch up.” Seth clapped him on the shoulder. “You can't be a fine, upstanding citizen every second of the day, Cole.” He grinned and plucked at his uniform. “Even I take this off at the end of the day.”
Cole opened his mouth, ready to protest that he couldn't. But why? Seth was right. His mom and dad were after him on a near daily basis to get their hands on Devon again. What would be the harm? He was walking on eggshells around Sammie and sick to death of nothing but trouble.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, took a deep breath, and then dialed his mom's number.
* * *
Devon's grandparents greeted him with open arms and promises of ice cream and all the movies he could handle. They were going to spoil him to death, Cole was sure of that, but hell, didn't everyone need a little break from responsibility once in a while? Devon could take one night off from the rules.
After all, Cole was doing the same thing.
He felt guilty about how quickly he peeled out of his parents' driveway. But the itchy, crawly, “gonna jump out of my skin in a second” feeling eased with every mile he put between himself and his responsibilities.
He walked into the Hope Springs Eternal Bar feeling thrilled and also ashamed of how thrilled he felt. Seth was already there, still in uniform, his broad back hunched and big head bowed, listening to a small guy talk.
That small guy looked really familiar.
“Bobby?” Cole called across the bar.
Bobby Thatcher looked up from his drink, his manic grin already firmly in place. “Cole fucking Baker! I'll be damned.” He gestured to the bartender. “Tequila all around! Let's get this party started.”
“Bobby, where have you been?” Cole laughed, accepting the shots with a grin. If leaving his responsibilities behind for a night was the destination, then meeting up with Bobby Thatcher was like taking the express train to get there. Half reckless idiot, half evil genius, Bobby Thatcher was a one-man party. At least, Cole hoped he still was. “What are you up to these days?”
“Aw, you know me. Can't nail me down to a single place for too long. If you ever see me in a suit or a uniform, just take me around back and shoot me ’cause that means my life is over.” He socked Seth in the shoulder, making the big man chuckle and roll his eyes.
“Still hanging out on the couches of willing women?” Cole asked.
“Nah, I got a place now. I may not be gainfully employed, but I still know how to hustle. Right now, I'm doing some odd jobs for…” Bobby trailed off and looked at Seth who shook his head minutely.
“Who?” Cole demanded. Back in the day, Bobby was known for being a wild card, a loose cannon always ready and eager to go off. He was fun, but in a dangerous sort of way, and he never seemed to know when enough was enough. The fact that he'd realized his mistake and refused to finish a sentence meant the man was doing some changing.
Then again, so was Cole.
The thought depressed him a little.
“It don't matter,” Bobby laughed. “Some rich guy. Pays me more than I'm worth, and that's just fine with me. That's why this round’s on me.” He slapped a twenty on the bar and pushed another shot in front of Cole.
Cole slammed it back, feeling the heat burn through his body. His limbs felt loose and relaxed for the first time in weeks, and the knotted muscles in his neck, where he always carried his tension, seemed to unwind.
“Come on, you still play?” Bobby gestured towards the open pool table.
Bobby was better at trick shots, but Cole had spent a long time in the barracks playing round after round. He had skill honed with practice, and the fact that Bobby couldn't badger Cole into making dumb shots riled him up. He got angrier and angrier with each round, until finally, after Cole had cleaned up, and he scratched the eight-ball, Bobby slammed his fist down on the side of the table.
“This is bullshit,” he said. “Everybody knows pool is a rigged game anyway. Where it really counts is speed.”
“The hell you talkin’ about?” Seth drawled. He'd been sitting in the corner watching the game, nursing the same beer throughout the night.
“Earmuffs, copper.” Bobby mimed covering his ears. “And look the other way, too, while you're at it.”
Seth rolled his eyes but played along with his old friend. He cupped his hands over his ears and looked the other direction while humming “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Bobby leaned in to Cole. “There's a group of us, meets every Friday night. When was the last time you got behind the wheel of a really sweet ride?”
“You talking about drag racing? Aren't we too old for that bullshit?” Cole had had more than he was used to drinking. His words were slurred.
“Don't be a pussy.”
“I'm not a pussy. I'm not an idiot either.”
“Just come out. I'll make sure you get into the spirit of things once you see what we got going on. Got any money to lay down?” Bobby narrowed his eyes.
Cole thought about his paycheck. He needed money for groceries, for Devon's college savings; he needed to get some more paint, and he needed to make sure he had enough left over for that astronomical day care bill…
All these responsibilities that didn't seem to amount to anything. They didn't earn him respect, that was for sure.
“Yeah, I got some money,” Cole heard himself say.
Bobby grinned.
The starting line was way out past town, on a stretch of lonely highway leading through nothing but scrub.
Cole recognized a few faces in the crowd. Older and more grizzled, but they were the same people he used to see night after night down by the bridge until Jameson's accident. It should have bothered him, being in this crowd again. All the work he'd put into proving he wasn't one of them anymore.
But all that hustle didn't mean much of anything. If Sammie was still shutting him out after all he'd done, if he couldn't manage to make a real home for his son, then what was the damn point? Being a fine, upstanding citizen and a good daddy and a good person and a good man and all that other bullshit just wasn't getting him anywhere.
And being in this crowd was a hell of a lot more fun.
The rumble of the engines, the swearing, and the money changing hands—this was exciting. A life on the edge,
that was what he was made for.
Why try to fight it anymore?
A little itching started at his fingertips and spread up his arms. He could feel himself starting to grip an imaginary steering wheel. As the first racers roared off into the distance, he closed his eyes and imagined the turns, the feeling of speed building. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't manage the turns, he was sure of that. Next round. Yeah next round he would race. Absolutely.
He was still convinced of that even as he heard the wail of sirens.
“It's the cops! Scatter!” Bobby's voice rang out.
Cole blinked. He wasn't drunk, he was sure, but his reaction time seemed to slow down all the same. He looked left, then right, unable to make his body do what his mind was telling it. It was telling him to run, but he was still sitting there when the police cruiser pulled right to the center of the race.
“Cole Baker,” the policeman chuckled as he emerged. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
Inside the cruiser, Richard shook his head.
Twenty-One
“You have got to be kidding me,” Sammie said into the phone.
It was three in the morning, but now she was wide awake.
Anger was better than coffee in these sorts of situations.
She grabbed her coat and purse and headed out the door. In the hallway, she imagined what she'd say to Cole when she saw him.
But when she saw him behind the bars, her entire speech collapsed, and she just sighed.
“Don't look at me,” Cole grumbled. His words were still slurred.
“Tell me you didn't drive drunk.”
“No.”
“Tell me you didn't do anything else that was going to get anyone hurt. Or get yourself hurt.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“Well clearly you did, considering you're sitting there in a jail cell right now. What the hell, Cole? You think this is what Devon needs?”
“It's who I am.”
“You stop that right now.”
“Why? Why shouldn't I say it? It's true. You won't even be with me.” His eyes went wide, and he shut his mouth tight.
Sammie felt like he'd stabbed her in the heart. Hurt and anger fought in her brain.
Anger won. “That has nothing to do with you, Cole,” she snapped. “You knew from the beginning my life isn't here. And now I've got to get back even sooner.” She tightened her grip on the bars wishing they were his neck. “I was straight with you from the very beginning, and you can't say otherwise. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. What the hell are you doing here?”
He turned to the wall. “I'm here because it don't matter. Clearly. I work and I work, and nothing changes.” He paused. “And you're leaving? Were you going to tell me? Clearly not. So why the hell shouldn't I get drunk?”
The slump of his shoulders squeezed at her heart. “Cole, you think I wouldn't stay if I could? I want to be with you, too.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Sammie's eyes went wide. She clamped her mouth shut and hoped he was too drunk to hear what she’d just confessed. She shook her head and deliberately changed topic. “You've worked so hard; you've overcome so much. One night doesn't undo all that.”
“Maybe this is who I am. Maybe this is just how it's supposed to be. Why fight it?”
“What about Devon?”
“Don't talk about him.”
“Why not?”
“He's better off without me anyway. He doesn't need a piece of shit for a dad."
Sammie shook the bars until they rattled. “You are exactly what he needs, and you're not a piece of shit, and I want you to stop that crap right now!”
“But I'm not what you need.”
Sammie froze.
Cole turned to face her. Finally. She wanted to kiss him, until he opened his mouth and said, “Go on and git, Sammie.”
“What?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Listen, darlin'. Sorry you had to get woken up in the middle of the night. But you don't have to come and collect my sorry ass. I should stay here. It's kind of where I belong.” He looked around the cell as if taking in the bars for the first time. “This has been a long time coming.”
“Cole.”
He hung his head.
“Cole!”
He refused to meet her eyes but hugged his arms tightly around his chest.
Staggering backwards, Sammie slowly turned towards the front. “How much?” she asked the officer behind the counter, reaching for her wallet.
“He's free to go whenever he wants, ma'am.”
“What?”
“He wasn't racing. The only thing we could get him on was public drunkenness.” He lowered his voice. “And if we booked him on that, we have to book half the town.”
“So he's just sitting there for no good reason?”
The officer's mouth twisted into a grimace. “Oh, might be a good reason.”
Sammie's anger flared again. “You're not saying he belongs in a place like this, are you?”
The officer gave a tiny little shrug.
“Goddammit! He does not. He's doing so well!”
The officer looked bored. “Sure, ma'am.”
Sammie wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. So she did, turning back to Cole and shouting, “Goddammit! Why are you making me do this, Cole? I shouldn't have to defend you!”
“You don't have to,” came Cole's flat voice. “I'm not going to defend myself, either. I've got only myself to blame for landing here.”
“Dammit!” She turned to the officer. “Unlock the doors.”
“They're already unlocked, ma'am.”
“You can just walk out, Cole.”
“Go home, Sammie!” he roared.
Tears pricking at her eyes, Sammie grabbed her keys. Hiding her eyes from the officer's amusement, she bolted from the office and rushed out into the parking lot. Slamming the door of her car, she buried her head in her hands.
Was she doing the right thing? She wanted to hold Cole when he looked so sad. She wanted to stroke his hair back from his forehead and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he was amazing, that this was just a minor thing.
But why? No one ever told her that. She'd done it all on her own without any support.
And Cole seemed to want to do the same.
That's what she knew. That's what she was good at. Hell, her dad had barely held her after her mom died.
Why should she get all emotional about something like this?
Didn’t her dad just give up on love when it got too hard?
Or did he?
She pulled the keys from the ignition. Her father hadn't shown much love in his lifetime, but by leaving the ranch to her, he ensured that she'd keep the family legacy alive. He didn't give up on her, even when she'd made her feelings about Hope Springs pretty clear by moving away as soon as possible. He'd had faith that she would do the right thing by her hometown, by her family.
By her roots.
Sammie rested her forehead on the cold steering wheel. Here she'd been feeling like she'd been going it alone. But she had the town; she had her family history…
And she had Cole.
And no matter how hard he tried to push her away, she wasn't going to give up on any of that.
She would keep trying.
She pushed the door open again and stepped out into the night air. Striding back into the police station, she ignored the officer's surprised glance.
She walked right up to the cell, yanked the unlocked door open, and folded Cole into her arms.
Twenty-Two
Cole had been low before. Down in the dumps, full of regret, full of self-loathing—these were familiar feelings. Low was a place he visited so regularly, he may as well have a permanent address.
But this low? This was a new one.
He rolled to the side and clutched his pounding head. The pain felt right. He deserved to wake up with the kind of poisonous hangover that would last for days.
&
nbsp; When his phone buzzed a second time, he realized he could go even lower.
Mom: Devvy is getting antsy. Just checking on your ETA
Cole groaned.
Was there anyone left in his life who he hadn't let down? Even the officer behind the desk had averted his eyes as he'd slunk from the jail cell. Sammie's disappointment had radiated off her in waves. As she drove him home, she'd explained—in a flat, chilly voice that terrified him—that the inspection had found more violations. That they'd missed the cutoff.
"Peter and the inspector met right after the report was delivered. Peter won, Cole," she'd announced tiredly, before shutting her bedroom door in his face.
Sammie was going to lose her ranch, and that was his fault.
And Devon.
Devon was the most important person in the world, and he'd let him down, too.
“Get up,” he growled aloud. The miserable pain in his head spiked. He gritted his teeth against the nausea and forced himself to sit up. “Fix it.”
He had to fix it. Sammie was right. He'd worked too hard to throw it all away. There had to be a fix.
But what?
The odds were stacked against him at every turn. If he had a better name—hell, if he had more money—he'd be able to go toe to toe with Peter and force him to back off. He could save the ranch and prove to Sammie he was a stand-up guy she could trust and depend on.
Groaning, Cole staggered to his feet. He lurched to the bathroom and splashed his face, then gulped down three aspirin with a gigantic glass of water. It sloshed dangerously in his stomach, but he wouldn't allow himself the easy way out of throwing it up again.
He would push through it. For Devon.
For Sammie.
He stepped into the shower and forced himself to shiver through the ice-cold spray. It cleared his head enough that he was steady on his feet when he emerged. Another glass of water and a banana, and he knew what he had to do to fix it.
The Rancher’s Second Chance Page 16