Page 7 of Gentle Persuasion

“I know what I see, Cole Brownfield,” Debbie said quietly. “Or are you blind to that, too?”

She left him standing before the mirror to face the devils within himself that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.

Cole stared, long and hard. He shuddered. “No!” he said. “No!” He headed for his room.

***

Three a.m. Debbie gasped and jerked upright, rolled over on her side, and stared at the clock by the bed, trying to decide what had yanked her awake. There! She heard it again, only now she was not lost in sleep.

A floorboard creaked in the hall outside her room and sent her flying to the door. She yanked it open and then blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the light spilling out of the hallway from Cole’s partially open door. It reflected on his bare chest as he came down the hall barefoot wearing a pair of blue jeans with the top two buttons enticingly undone. He looked as if he’d just emerged from the pool. Water was still clinging to his body in interesting patterns, and if Debbie’d had to answer, she’d have had to swear he wasn’t wearing anything underneath that denim.

“You’re home,” she said softly and sighed in relief as she leaned against the doorway.

Yellow silk soft and creamy as warm butter hung from her bare shoulders. Tousled curls, dark and tumbling, framed a sleep-softened, heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and parted, devoid of makeup as was the rest of her face. She looked to be somewhere between sixteen and sexy as hell.

Cole sighed. He was too tired and defenseless to ignore what he was feeling.

“Sorry I woke you, girl,” he said quietly, and ran his finger down the length of her upturned nose. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Debbie said.

“I’m damned glad to be here, Little Red. More than you’ll ever know.”

Memories of the horror of the crime scene he’d just left gnawed at his gut. It was hard to go from the hell on the streets to the heaven of walking into a clean, comfortable, quiet home. But the knowledge that it was always here…waiting…was what kept him coming back sane.

“Is everything…I mean…are you…?” Debbie saw the dull, weary look in his eyes and knew that whatever had pulled him away from home earlier had been serious. She couldn’t continue. There were no words to express her concern. And there was no need. She simply slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his damp chest, hugging him in a nonthreatening, comforting gesture.

Cole’s arms wrapped around her with a slow, defeated movement. He groaned softly as he felt silk and Debbie sticking to his body, and buried his face in her tousled topknot.

“You feel good. You smell good. And no matter what I say tomorrow, I’m damned glad you’re here Debbie Randall.”

His voice was so soft, she almost didn’t hear him repeat, “I’m so very glad you’re here.”

With every ounce of willpower he had and some he had to borrow, he turned her loose and gently pushed her into her room.

“Go to sleep, girl.”

Debbie crawled back into her bed, pulled up the covers, and smiled as she buried her face in the pillow. Maybe…just maybe…it was going to be all right, after all.

***

Cole woke late. Sunrise had already been here and gone as he caught the stripe of yellow high on the wall of his room. It must be nearly noon. Quiet seeped cautiously into his soul. He stretched, sighed, and then stifled a yawn as he realized he had two whole days ahead of him with nothing to do but whatever he wanted.

Quiet! He suddenly realized it was too quiet. He rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of red jogging shorts, gave his face a quick wash, and ran a comb through his hair.

A note hanging behind the Mutant Ninja Turtle magnet on the refrigerator told him why it was so quiet. According to Buddy’s sparse shorthand they were: Doctor—Shopping.

Looking around the spotless kitchen he sighed and allowed himself to wallow in something akin to pity. The first time in days that he’d had a chance to have a meal with the family and they were gone. He didn’t—wouldn’t—admit to himself that the real reason he was feeling sorry for himself was that Debbie was also absent.

A bowl of yellow and white daisies sitting on the windowsill told him she’d been here. The coffee maker was on warm, with the pot half full and his favorite mug sitting beside it, inviting him to partake. He poured and complied.

Like the detective he was, he followed the clues of Debbie’s presence from the cabinet where plates, bowls, and glasses rested in orderly fashion to the glass-covered cake stand holding a partially eaten coffee cake waiting for someone to finish it off.

And, like the good cop he was, he did his duty. The coffee cake went from plate to microwave to his mouth, and all the way down. Full and replete, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened. The house was just like it’d been before his father got hurt, before Debbie Randall came and turned his world upside down. It was clean, quiet, and lonesome as hell.

***

“Hey, Cole! We’re back!”

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