Page 19 of Someone to Hold
He blinks up at me with his mother’s big green eyes. “Sometimes,” he mutters.
“That’s a rough road to hoe, kiddo.”
Molly makes her way slowly down the stairs wearing a pale gray sweatshirt that makes her eyes look even more striking. I lean across the table toward Luke, pitching my voice low enough so that only the twins can hear me. “Can you deal with your food making friends on the plate this once? I’m sure your mom feels bad about spilling her homemade sauce, and it might help her mood if you could suck it up.”
“Mom says sucks is a bad word,” Laurel tells me as Luke frowns.
“I’ll remember that for next time, but how about helping your mom out?”
Who knows if it’s my brand of tough love works, or if the kid is simply motivated by the thought of taking care of his mother, but he eats everything off his plate without complaint. He even picks up a piece of sauce-drenched lettuce and chews it deliberately, his small face scrunched in concentration.
Molly seems shocked—in a pleasant-ish sort of way—that I managed to keep the dinner train rolling. I shouldn’t feel so gratified by her approval, but I do.
I insist on clearing the table and loading the dishwasher while she helps the kids finish their homework, but she tries to get rid of me again as she follows the kids up the stairs for bath and bedtime.
“You’ve done enough,” she insists, her hand resting on the banister. “I can handle the rest.”
“No place else to be.” Besides, she might need backup and another change of clothes if those two are as rowdy in the bath as they were before dinner.
To my surprise, things quiet down. Every few minutes, laughter echoes down the steps. The sound of Molly’s voice drifts down, too, warm and patient as she reads them a story. “And then the knight rode his horse up the mountain.” Her voice has a musical quality that makes something in my chest tighten.
I’ve just finished drying the final hand-washed pot when there’s a rustling sound behind me. I turn to find the kids standing side by side at the edge of the kitchen. The girl wears a nightgown with flowers all over it, and the boy is in striped PJs with a space theme. Their hair is still damp from their baths, cheeks rosy, and they smell like lavender soap and something I can only guess is innocence.
“Thanks for your help today,” Laurel says, then elbows her brother.
“Thank you.” Luke’s fingers twist in the hem of his pajama shirt.
“Yeah, sure.” I rub a hand along the back of my neck. This obviously forced bit of gratitude touches me, both deeply and rather unexpectedly. They’re cute when they aren’t being terrors.
“Race upstairs!” Luke says, turning to make a run for it, but Laurel grabs him and tries to muscle her way into the lead. The boy evades her grasp and vaults himself over the back of the worn sofa in some kind of kangaroo hop.
“Settle down.” Molly’s voice calls from somewhere upstairs, but her tone holds more amusement than admonishment.
Hell, maybe Luke takes after his father in some ways, too. Teddy had the best coordination of anyone I’ve ever met. As a boy, he could climb like nobody’s business—trees or rock faces, and more often than was smart for either of us, the roof of the house.
A smile curves my lips as I watch the kids scamper up the stairs, their footsteps thundering across the floor above. I hang the dish towel I’ve been using to dry the things that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher.
The house is back in order, so there’s no reason for me to stickaround, but I do. After all the noise of the evening, I know my trailer will feel especially quiet. Usually, I crave that kind of silence after the lights and sounds of a crowd at an event. Since my accident, I’ve had too much silence, and now I find myself craving something different—companionship.
The clock on the wall behind me ticks steadily, marking time in the peaceful house. Through the ceiling overhead, I hear the gentle murmur of Molly’s voice as she tucks the kids into bed.
As she makes her awkward way down the stairs on her bottom, her orthopedic boot making a soft thump against each wooden step, the need for companionship shifts into outright desire. And when she offers me a tentative smile, her cheeks flushed and her strawberry blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, it isn’t just my heart that rises to attention.
“They’re finally down,” she says, settling at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at me with those impossibly green eyes. “I can’t thank you enough for staying. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”
The vulnerability in her voice and the way she looks at me—like I’m some kind of hero instead of a washed-up cowboy with more scars than sense—does something to me. It makes me want to be the man she thinks I am.
But wanting and being capable of it are two different things. Let’s face it, Molly McAllister deserves a hell of a lot more than what I have left to give.
7
CHASE
The soundof voices wakes me in the morning, and I blink open my eyes to see sunlight peeking through the edges of the trailer’s blackout curtains.
Shit.
I jackknife upright after glancing at the clock. It’s seven forty-five, which means those voices belong to Luke and Laurel, who are walking past the trailer on their way to catch the bus at the end of the driveway. Which also means I missed helping with breakfast, getting them ready for school, and generally doing the job I’m supposed to do.
