Page 14 of Grissom
“I missed you, Too-day. A whole lot,” he murmured against her breasts. He seemed content there and she surely was. It’d been awhile since she’d felt this grounded. Since those few days in Costa Rica. “And I wub you, Too-day.”
Heartbreaking words from an angel.Wub.Her most favorite word in the world.
“And I love you, Luke,” she replied honestly, closing her eyes at the intense mothering instinct sweeping her common sense aside. What she wouldn’t give to have this little guy and his innocent words and hugs in her life every day. But he wasn’t hers, and he had a father—somewhere—the jerk.
With her nose still in Luke’s hair, Tuesday scanned the pasture, no longer afraid of anything or anyone. The horses allhad their noses to the ground, grazing as they walked, and they weren’t as threatening as she’d first thought. Despite their size, they were actually graceful and calm. Serene. A couple were black, one was totally white, but most were reddish-brown with black manes and tails. A few had drawn close to where she and Luke were sitting. A reddish-brown fellow with a white streak down his nose, snout, whatever that long face was called, ambled over and nipped at her hair with huge prehensile lips, as if he was tasting her.
“Buzz off,” Tuesday told the too-friendly beast, leaning as far from it as she could get. Still angry at the worst case of child neglect—in the world!— she asked Luke, “Where’s your father?”Because I am so going to give him a piece of my mind. The nerve of that stupid, stupid man, to leave his son—his three-year-old baby—alone! Again! In a pasture of giant animals that could easily step on him and kill him! What is that man thinking? O-o-o-o, just you wait, Mr. Dumbass McCoy. You are going to get it!
“There you are,” a deep rumbling baritone voice exclaimed from behind the oversized rump of the reddish-brown horse with the white streak on his nose.
“Hi, Daddy,” Luke chirped innocently. “Look! I finded Too-day!”
Had to be Mr. McCoy, the slacker. Tuesday attempted to glare up at the man, but the December sun was behind him, and all she could make out was a large black silhouette with a cowboy hat standing over her.
“I see that,” he replied calmly. Too calmly. As if he hadn’t just lost track of his tiny child. As if nothing was wrong with a three-year-old running through a pasture of elephant-sized animals… All. By. Himself!
The more Tuesday thought about what Mr. McCoy had and hadn’t done, and what could’ve happened, the hotter her blood boiled.
“Whatcha doin’ sitting down there, Miss Tuesday?” Tanner, ever the polite brother, asked from within the shadow his father cast.
Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing down here.“I’d just pulled up and parked when I heard Luke scream, Tanner,” Tuesday replied as evenly as she could muster, lifting one hand from Luke’s warm little body to shield her eyes so she could at least look Mr. McCoy in the eye while she let him have it. No such luck. The man cast a large shadow, but the sun behind him was so bright. “So I did what any responsible adult would do when they find an unattended three-year-old child in a field of wild horses. I ran as fast as I could to rescue Luke before one of them stepped on him.” Tuesday put as much insinuation into her explanation as she could without frightening Tanner. He was as skittish as his little brother was affable.
“Aww, they weren’t gonna step on Luke,” Tanner chided. “They’re just big kids.”
“Kids? You call these monsters kids?” she nearly shrieked.
“Well, yeah. They wouldn’t hurt anyone, Miss Tuesday. Maverick and China train ’em all to be real gentle, just like you.”
Before she could protest being lumped into the same category as horses, Tanner stepped away from his negligent father and piled onto her and Luke, like the teddy bear he’d been in Costa Rica.
Tears sprang to Tuesday’s eyes at the sweet bundles again in her arms. Man, she’d missed these boys. In an attempt to control her emotions, she blew out a breath and sat there with her eyes closed and her arms around them, soaking in the sublime sensation of being loved and needed. Once again, she had the McCoy boys on her lap and in her heart, where she wished theycould stay. But they couldn’t, and there wasn’t a thing to be done about it. They had a father, and as careless as he was, Mr. McCoy was legally their keeper.
A gloved hand landed lightly on her shoulder, as the irresponsible jerk in question crouched casually beside her and said, “Sure good to see you again, ma’am.”
“Ha! I’ll just bet,” she shot back at him. Would’ve packed more wallop if she hadn’t had to blow her messy hair out of her eyes just to see him. And if he hadn’t reached a gloved index finger into her face and tossed that stubborn chunk of snarls over her shoulder for her. That was—thoughtful. She could finally see him.Wow.
“There you are,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her hair, face, and lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for taking care of my boys in Costa Rica, Miss Smart. I should have. Didn’t mean to be a jerk, but everything happened so fast. I’d gone down there, thinking I’d have a long hard search ahead of me, and that I might never see them again. But the first place we looked, there they were. Safe and sound. With you. As soon as I finally had them in my arms, I kind of zoned out, and all I could do was…” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words.
It was hard to chew this guy out now that he’d gotten up close and personal. He didn’t seem like a negligent father anymore, and there was too much pain in his eyes for Tuesday to cause more. “You did thank me,” she reminded him tartly.
“I hate to admit it, but—”
“My Daddy’s got a big owie,” Luke informed the world loudly, reaching his hand around to point at the back of his own head. “It’s right here. Don’tcha Daddy?”
Mr. McCoy chuckled. “Yes, I do, son. But it’s mostly gone now, thanks to you boys.” Despite his attempt at humor, a flash of something incredibly sad flickered in the wells of his gorgeous eyes.
Tuesday’s heart thudded to a full stop.Thiswas Tanner and Luke’s dad? This handsome brooding male with a neatly trimmed beard and tiny gold sparkles in his warm hazel eyes? This Gerard Butler wannabe?
She remembered the angry, shaggy bear who’d collapsed in her hotel room’s doorway the moment he’d had his boys. Not this dangerous-looking guy who still managed to give off a sexy vibe. My heck, he was as big, well, almost as big as the horse nuzzling the back of his neck like a great big puppy. An unbidden thought sprang to life in Tuesday’s mind. What would it feel like to nuzzle his neck and stick her nose in his deep brown hair? What’d he smell like? His son, Luke? Was this where those delicious smoky cedar, spice, and alfalfa scents came from?
No. Just no.She shook off the ridiculous notion of getting close enough to nuzzle anyone. Way off. She didn’t like Mr. McCoy. He wasn’t anything like Freddie, and he certainly didn’t measure up to her father.
But when he used that same gloved finger to tip the brim of his cowboy hat up and she caught the full effect of his smile, it was harder to breathe, this time for a different reason than anger. Luke and Tanner’s father was a cowboy, through and through. He had the jeans. The hat. A western shirt with the same shiny silver snaps as both his sons’ shirts. His hair was thick, lush, dark chocolate—hat hair that matched Tanner’s, not Luke’s adorable strawberry blond.
Worry lines etched his forehead, and the traces of silver at his temples accentuated the creases at the corners of his eyes. This man had known heartache and pain, but to see it written across his face and buried within his eyes connected him to Tuesday in a way she hadn’t expected. She knew that kind of pain. It wasn’t temporary, and it never went away. It was the deep, ugly kind a person had to learn to live with if they wanted any measure of peace in their life. The kind that devastated aperson’s soul, that left it wrecked and lost and… broken. Not just broken, but shattered into too many pieces to ever be put back together again. He was her, on the long ago morning that Frederick Lamb had found her after her parents’ funeral.
Just then, that extra-large horse with the streak down his snout draped its long head over Mr. McCoy’s shoulder and hugged him, like they were buddies. The horse was saddled. Without looking, Mr. McCoy reached a hand behind his head and stroked its giant head. The darned horse closed its eyes and moaned—or whinnied or nickered or—whatever big horses did. Or said. Because it sure looked like it was communicating nonverbally with Mr. McCoy, like guys with their chin nods and head bobs. She’d heard of pig Latin. Was this horse Latin?
