Page 120 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Rocco was just a big kid himself.

He told them stories of his adventures in the jungle, describing the actions with captivating gestures and voices. He did bird calls and jaguar growls. Monkey screeches and crocodile ... whatever noise it is a crocodile makes. The children devoured everyone of his tales with open mouths of awe and wide eyes of wonder.

Brooke loved this time with Rocco, too. It’d been way too long since they’d done something so ... normal. Usually, when she went to visit him, they went on a jungle cruise or a rainforest hike. He took her to all the touristy places and brought her to his animal refuge center. He felt like he needed to always keep her entertained and busy. And, yeah, that was all great. But she didn’t need it all the time. Sometimes the best memories were made doing the simplest things. Like baking cookies with your brother for Mother’s Day.

She slid the last batch of cookies into the oven and set the timer. Rocco and the kids were at the table giggling and icing the cookies that had cooled.

“Look, Brooke, I made this cookie look like it has mermaid scales,” Talia said. “Like you.” She giggled, and it was honestly pure magic to Brooke’s ears. These children didn’t have their mothers anymore, but together they were going to make damn sure they never forgot them.

Brooke ran her hand over the back of Talia’s head, then kissed her crown before she could stop herself. “That looks really good. I think I would have purple and blue scales if I were a mermaid.”

Talia beamed.

Brooke caught Rocco’s eye. “I’m just going to run upstairs. I want to throw on some sweatpants and get comfier.”

Rocco nodded, then went back to helping Silas pipe a monkey onto his cookie.

Brooke wanted to take the stairs two at a time since she itched to get some kind of exercise in, but she refrained and held onto the railing. Her feet were mostly healed, but the last thing she needed to do was overdo it and reverse her progress.

Unbuttoning her jeans, she slid them down her thighs and slithered into a pair of buttery-soft plum-colored sweats she’d included in her online order. If she’d been home alone, or it’d just been Clint and Talia, she would have taken off her bra, too, but she kept it on. She did actually like going braless for those few days. It was freeing.

With a spring in her step and an uncontrollable smile on her face she headed back down the stairs, humming a song, only to stop halfway on the midway landing when a male voice she didn’t recognize said, “Holy fuck, that’s Brooke Barker.” Then there was the flash of a camera from a phone, blinding her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” asked a female voice.

More flashes.

“Hey, hey, no, not cool,” said Rocco a moment before the door slammed shut.

Ice filled Brooke’s veins, and she froze in place.

Rocco spun around, horror and guilt in his eyes. “They ... they knocked,” he said. “I guess the gas for their stove in their cabin isn’t working. Nobody at the pub could help, so they came up here and knocked on the door. I sho—I shouldn’t have opened it. But I thought it was maybe one of the guys.”

Hard knocking at the door had them both staring at the solid wood like deer in the headlights. “Brooke, why are you hiding here? The whole world thinks you’re dead, you know.”

“Maybe she’s being held against her will?” said the young woman. “Brooke, if you are being held against your will, we can get help.”

Brooke buried her face in her palms. This could not get any worse. Two randos now had her picture and her location. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world learned of her mortality and whereabouts. Until whoever tried to kill her realized they hadn’t succeeded.

Their entire plan was going up in flames from the simple snap of a photo.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her heart jumped up her throat at the familiar, angry, rumbly voice of a man she was falling hard and fast for.

“Bro, are you keeping Brooke Barker hostage? We saw her in there with some dude.”

“You’re seeing things. What are you doing up here?”

“Our gas in our cabin isn’t working. But, bro, did you fucking kidnap Brooke Barker?”

“Nobody kidnapped anybody. Which cabin are you in?”

“Five.”

“I’ll be down there in ten minutes to help you with your stove.”

“I think we should call the police,” the young man said. “This guy has Brooke Barker in his house. The whole world thinks she killed herself, meanwhile he’s probably had her locked in his basement putting lotion on her skin fearing the hose again.”

“Get. Back. To. Your. Cabin,” Clint enunciated with enough threat, gooseflesh broke out across Brooke’s arms.

---