Page 21 of Gentle Persuasion

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the doorstep. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in more than seventy-two hours. It was the single hardest thing she’d ever done.

Cole stared. How in hell do you stay mad at someone who won’t fight back? He walked in, slamming the door behind him, and followed her into the kitchen on the pretext of getting himself something to eat.

Doors banged, dishes rattled, pots and bowls were shifted, and the remnants of the refrigerator received a thorough inspection. He stared and he glared at everything and everywhere…but at Debbie.

“Looks like you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.” The remark was meant to be sarcastic. He was referring to walking in on the kiss.

“Yes. Your dad is now down to a cane instead of crutches. I painted the fence around the pool. The neighbor across the street gave me some apricots today. I froze six quart bagfuls. They’re really good. Do you like apricots? I could make a—”

“Dammit to hell, girl. I wasn’t’ talking about apricots.”

Her voice was soft, and her touch was gentle. She wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her cheek against his backbone, and hugged.

“Welcome home, Cole Brownfield. You were missed.”

As he’d thought before, he wondered, How the hell do you stay mad with someone who won’t fight back?

His hands caught her wrists, unlocked them, and turned himself in her arms. He pressed her face against his heartbeat, wrapped his hands in her hair, and inhaled. She smelled of soap and flowers…and those goddamned apricots. And he’d never been so glad to be home in his life.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Well, just for the record, I missed being here, too.”

“Are you hungry?”

Hell, yes, I’m hungry. I’m starving for you, Deborah Randall.

“A little. I’m more tired than hungry.”

She leaned back, using his arms for a brace, and took one long look at the shadows in his eyes. She swiped at the hopelessly straight hair brushing his forehead and gave his cheek a pat.

“Go shower…shave…change. I’ll have something ready when you are.”

It was the best deal he’d ever been offered. “I’ll be right back.”

He never made it. Debbie had seen the exhaustion. She suspected what might occur. She’d been right.

She stood outside his closed door, listening. She heard the first shoe hit the floor. Seconds later, after a soft grunt, the other. It was quiet. For long moments, she heard nothing. And then the soft, gentle sound of an exhausted snore.

She pushed open the door. He was flat on his back, one arm slung across his eyes, the other flung across his pillow. His legs dangling from the bed. She went to get Morgan.

“I need help,” she said.

Morgan didn’t ask. He followed. And when he saw his son and the state he was in, tears threatened.

“He works too damned hard,” Morgan said as Debbie motioned for him to pull while she pushed.

Together they managed to get Cole all the way onto the bed.

“He’ll sleep better if we could get his jeans off, but I’ll settle for unbuttoning the top buttons instead.”

Morgan nodded and complied as Debbie went to the linen closet and retrieved a lightweight blanket. It was hot outside, but inside, the air-conditioning kept everything at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. Asleep, that sometimes became too cool for comfort.

She pulled the soft blue blanket over Cole, resisted the urge to lie down beside him, and settled for a pat on his arm instead.

“Come on,” she said. “He can always eat later. I don’t think he’s slept since he left.”

The tears were thick in her voice and in her eyes, but Morgan wisely refrained from mentioning the fact. He had to. He was too full of emotion himself to bring it up.

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