Asking for Trouble Page 4

  “Good. I can’t wait to get the hell out of this place.” A deep sigh stirred Jackson’s matted hair. “I suppose I should call Davis.”

  Miranda stared. “You haven’t told him yet!”

  “My instructions were to only report the good stuff to Andee.” A mutinous scowl creased his brow. “Just following orders.”

  “Oh my God. You have to call them.”

  “It’s not like they could do anything other than worry. I was waiting until the doc gave us some good news.”

  The curtain slid back, and the young intern entered, followed by the tall nurse with a mullet haircut who’d been behind the desk earlier. She carried a tray loaded with an array of sharp implements. Miranda drew in a breath, certain Jackson’s good-natured chirps would turn to blood curdling screams in a matter of moments.

  Cole stood and held onto his nephew. A sheen of perspiration broke across his upper lip as he glanced at the tray.

  The nurse gave him a critical, up and down look. “You aren’t going to pass out, are you?”

  “I hope not.”

  When his face lost the rest of its color, Miranda pried Jackson from his grip. “I think I’d better take him.”

  “Good idea.” The doctor glanced at Cole and frowned. “You look ready to drop. Maybe the waiting room…”

  Cole’s gaze swung from the doctor to Miranda before settling on Jackson. “Shouldn’t I stay with him?”

  “You aren’t going to be any help if you keel over, and frankly, I don’t have time to deal with another patient.”

  Cole’s shoulders slumped.

  Miranda squeezed his arm. “Take the paperwork up to the desk to speed the check-out process once we’re finished, then call your brother.”

  His gaze shifted to the tray again, and his eyes glazed. “I wish it was me instead of him.”

  “I know you do.”

  With a nod and an awkward pat for Jackson’s shoulder, he left the cubicle.

  The doctor picked up the syringe. “Better than having him pass out.” He glanced from the nurse to Miranda. “The two of you are going to have to hold the child still while I stitch him. If it’s too difficult, we’ll swaddle him. I’ll use a local anesthesia so he won’t feel anything, but I don’t expect much cooperation.”

  She tightened her grip on Jackson. “In that case, you won’t be disappointed.”

  Chapter Four

  Miranda eased Jackson out of the car seat and carried him through the yard, past the moose, and into the house. Limp with sleep, the baby didn’t stir once as she laid him in the crib. No point in waking him just to put on pajamas. After tugging off his tiny jeans, she covered him with a fuzzy blanket and left the room.

  Cole sprawled on the couch, a beer clutched in one hand, his dog stretched out on the rug at his feet. Tilting his head, he drained the bottle then set it on the coffee table. “I can’t believe the poor kid needed ten stitches.” His chest rose and fell. “I’d love to get really, really drunk right now. It’s been that kind of day.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I will. The doc said we have to keep an eye on the kid tonight—just in case he has a mild concussion. At least he didn’t seem worried there’d be any lasting effects.”

  “How did Andee take the news?”

  “I spoke to Davis. Once he was through swearing at me, he talked to the nurse. She calmed him down. I’m not sure when he plans to tell Andee.”

  “It would ruin her vacation, and Jackson is going to be fine.”

  He nodded, lines of stress and worry creasing an otherwise handsome face. “I figure it’s my brother’s call how he wants to handle it at this point.” He sat up straighter. “Want a beer?”

  “No. What I want is to go home, eat something, and then go to bed.” She smacked her forehead. “I forgot, I don’t have a car here. You should have dropped me off on the way back.”

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “A little originality would be nice. You used that line last night. Of course I’m leaving, though it would be a shame to disturb Jackson after what he’s been through.” She frowned. “I suppose I could call my neighbor for a ride.”

  “What if he does have a concussion?” His voice rose with an edge of panic. “If he wakes up, I won’t know what to do.”

  “Didn’t you listen to the doctor’s instructions? Check for signs of disorientation, unusual moodiness—”

  “He throws tantrums all the time. How do I know if it’s just his normal bad temper or trauma caused by the knock to his head? Good God, Miranda—”

  She threw up her hands. “Fine, I’ll stay.”

  With a deep sigh, he rose from the couch and stepped over Tucker. “Thank you.” Arms outstretched, he drew her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you so much.”

  Her heart thumped painfully as his familiar scent, a combination of the cedar he worked with and something uniquely Cole, invaded her senses.

  Tugging loose before old memories could mire her in emotion, she stepped away. “I skipped lunch today, and we both missed dinner. Are you as hungry as I am?”

  “My stomach’s been growling for hours.”

  “Then let’s eat.” With Cole trailing behind her, she headed into the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator door and studied the barren shelves in dismay. “Do you live on beer and string cheese?”

  “There’s milk and maybe a couple of eggs left in the carton.” He hung over her shoulder, pressing up against her back. “The lunchmeat was scary looking yesterday. I suppose I should toss it and buy some new.”

  Her heart thrummed in a crazy rhythm. Ducking under his outstretched arm, she crossed the scuffed floor and opened the pantry. Rows of baby food jars sat next to boxes of sugary cereals and a handful of chocolate bars. “Isn’t Jackson too old for baby food?”

  “Andee called it emergency rations, and he seems to like it well enough. I can’t exactly feed him a cheeseburger.”

  “You can if you cut it up into little bites.” She stretched onto her toes. “Is that flour and baking soda I see in the back?”

  “You’d know better than me. You bought it.”

  To make him a birthday cake. The memory of that night, of Cole rubbing chocolate frosting across her breasts, licking it off… Her body heated. One look into glittering eyes told her he was remembering, too.

  He reached for her.

  “No.” The word cracked the silence between them. She sucked in a long breath then let it out slowly. “Just, no.”

  Backing up a step, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Whatever you say.”

  Fighting for composure, she reached for the flour with a shaking hand. “I’ll make pancakes. Breakfast for dinner tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me. I even have syrup.” Extending an arm, but taking care not to brush against her, he pulled the bottle off the shelf and set it on the counter. “What can I do to help?”

  “You can heat the griddle and grease it while I mix up the batter.” With quick, efficient movements, she measured and stirred then waited until the skillet started to sizzle to pour out circles of batter. Minutes later, Miranda flipped fluffy hotcakes onto a plate. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll wait for the next batch.”

  “We’ll share these.” Taking the spatula from her hand, he lifted two perfect disks onto a second plate then set them on the kitchen table. “Sit. Relax.”

  “I need to make more.”

  “I think I can manage.” Big hands were gentle on her shoulders as he pushed her down onto a chair. “Though I can’t promise they’ll be round. My pancakes, on the rare occasions I make them, usually look like amorphous blobs.”

  Her lips quivered in a smile. “That won’t change the taste.”

  He picked up the bowl, then turned to meet her gaze. “Some things may take on a different appearance, but where it matters most, they’re still the same.”

  The butter knife slipped through her fingers and clattered
onto the table. Damn the man. Is he trying to get under my skin?

  Whistling beneath his breath, he poured batter before sliding onto the chair opposite her. After spreading butter and syrup with a lavish hand, he dug into the pancakes. “Good. Way better than the mix where you just add water.”

  “Easy isn’t always better.”

  “You’ve got that right. Easy is hooking up down at the Rusty Nail. Better is you.”

  “Damn it, Cole!”

  He shrugged. “It’s true. I really have missed you.”

  “You think I haven’t?” Jumping up from her chair, she flipped the pancakes. They hit the hot griddle with a sizzle and a splat. “You think splitting up didn’t break my heart?”

  “We could try again.” His eyes glowed with sincerity.

  “No. We can’t, because nothing has changed.”

  “But—”

  “No.” Staring down at the cakes rising on the griddle, she fought against the urge to throw herself into his arms. Just one last time…

  “I don’t suppose the whole, bloody incident in the ER changed your mind about the merits of having kids.”

  She scooped the misshapen pancakes onto a plate and thumped it down on the table. “You’re an idiot.” Resuming her seat, she forked a bite of cold pancake into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Huh?”

  She smiled sweetly. “I was tempted before. Now I’m not.”

  His eyes widened. “You were tempted to—”

  “Yep, but your utter stupidity squelched the urge.”

  His lips flattened as he reached for another pancake. “That’s encouraging. I can work on the timing of my less than brilliant remarks. Maybe next time…”

  She stood and set her plate in the sink. “I’m going to bed. Alone. You can do the dishes. Goodnight, Cole.”

  “Sweet dreams, Miranda.”

  His deep voice followed her as she left the room.

  The man was more tempting than the devil. After peeking in on Jackson, she detoured into Cole’s room and pulled a T-shirt off the shelf in the closet. No way was she going to sleep in the filthy shorts and shirt she’d been wearing all day. Right now, a hot shower and a soft bed sounded more enticing than anything—including sex with her ex.

  After locking the bathroom door, she stripped off her dirty clothes and threw them in the tub then stepped under the stinging spray of water. Steam rose around her as the hot shower pummeled her shoulders and back, easing away kinks—and tension. After lathering her hair with shampoo that smelled like a pine tree, she soaped the dirty clothes and rinsed them. Turning off the water, she hung the wet clothes over the shower curtain rod, and then dried with the towel Cole had left hanging on the rack. Knowing he’d rubbed it across his chest and down his stomach… Heat shot straight to her core, and her body clenched.

  With a little whimper, she tossed the towel in the hamper and jerked the extra-large T-shirt over her head. It hung low enough to cover her butt—barely. Easing open the door, she peeked out. The living area was dark. No sign of Cole, but light shone through the crack beneath his bedroom door. Scampering toward the guest room, she gently closed the door behind her and let out a breath.

  Jackson was sprawled on his stomach, emitting little hiccupping snorts. Smiling, she climbed into the big bed beside the crib and stretched against cool sheets. Nothing, not even thoughts of Cole in the next room, would keep her from sleeping tonight.

  The baby’s soft cries woke her, penetrating her sleep fogged brain. Shaking her head to clear it, Miranda sat up. Jackson stood, whimpering. His little fingers clutched around the edge of the crib were visible in the dim glow of the nightlight.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sliding out of bed, she picked him up and cuddled him against her chest. His diaper didn’t feel wet.

  He cried a little harder, burrowing his face into her neck.

  “Oh, goodness, you’re probably hungry. You missed dinner last night, too.” Leaving the bedroom, she carried him to the kitchen and set him in his highchair. “How about some applesauce?”

  She took his gurgle as a sign of approval. After retrieving a jar from the pantry, she pulled a spoon out of the drawer and scooted a chair closer. “Yum. Is this what you wanted?”

  Half-way through the meal, Miranda’s neck tingled. Glancing over her shoulder, she jerked. The spoon poked Jackson in the cheek. She turned away from Cole’s intent stare and wiped the baby’s face with a napkin. “Sorry to disturb you. I was trying to keep him quiet.”

  “No problem. Is everything okay?”

  “He woke up crying, but I think he’s just hungry.” When Jackson smacked his lips, she chuckled. “This little guy doesn’t like skipping meals.”

  “We have that in common.” He walked around the table and sat.

  His eyes deepened to the color of dark chocolate as his gaze strayed downward. Cheeks flaming, she tugged the T-shirt lower across her thighs and tried not to stare at his bare chest above faded jeans. Muscle rippled beneath smooth skin as he slouched lower in the chair. At least he’d had the decency to pull on his pants.

  “You can go back to bed.”

  “I wasn’t having much luck sleeping, anyway.”

  Scraping the jar, she slid the last bite into Jackson’s mouth. “Why’s that?”

  “Worried, I guess.”

  “No sign of concussion, so you can relax.” Miranda lifted Jackson from the chair and patted his back. When his eyelids drooped, she smiled. “I think he’ll rest soundly, now.”

  “That’s a relief.” Standing, he trailed after her and waited inside the doorway while she put the baby in the crib. “Miranda, can I ask you—”

  “Hush, he’s almost asleep.” Walking toward him, she held the T-shirt down with one hand and motioned toward the hall with the other.

  He caught her fingers and pulled her out of the room behind him. Turning, he wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of his skin burned through the thin cotton, and her nipples pearled. When his breath fanned her face, her knees wobbled.

  Grabbing the doorframe, she held on tight. “No, Cole. I’m not going to—”

  His lips closed over hers, the taste of him so familiar she moaned. One hand crept up to touch the base of his neck where wisps of hair tickled the backs of her fingers. The other released the doorframe to glide across the smooth skin of his side. With need overriding common sense, she kissed him back. Damp heat melded them together from chest to thighs.

  A hard prod against her stomach pulled her out of passion induced stupidity, and she gave him a shove. Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes. “We can’t.”

  He waited until she raised her gaze to meet his, then glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. “Can’t isn’t an issue. More like, you won’t.”

  Heat flared through her as waning desire mixed with a healthy dose of irritation. “You’ve got that right. I’m not going to let you talk me into bed.”

  “Jesus, Miranda, I ache with wanting you.” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall. “No one else makes me feel like this.”

  The irritation edged toward bitterness. “Bet that hasn’t stopped you from trying.”

  Her anger dissolved. Of course he’d pursued other women. Just because she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep with another man didn’t mean he—

  “I think you’d be surprised.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, not when you’ve made your feelings clear.” He straightened with arms crossed over his bare chest. “Friends is better than nothing, so will you give me a second chance?”

  Her heart thumped painfully as she stared into warm, brown eyes. “A second chance at what, exactly?”

  “I’ve barely seen you in the last six months. Can’t we still talk once in a while, have dinner or go for a ride.” His smile looked tired. “I’m never bored when I’m with you, and I miss that.”

  “Don’t you think spending
time together is just asking for heartache?”

  “Ignoring each other hasn’t worked real well for me. If I can start thinking of you as nothing but a friend, maybe I’ll be able to move on.”

  Her gaze dropped to his still extended fly, and she raised one brow.

  His teeth flashed. “So, it’ll be a work in progress, but you can hardly blame me. You’re standing there, wearing nothing but my T-shirt…”

  She gave the hem another tug. “I don’t know, Cole.”

  “You’re friends with other men, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “No buts. We’ve managed okay together the last couple of days, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He waved his finger. “There’s that word again.” Letting out a sigh, he pressed on. “Even though I’ve been out of my mind with worry over Jackson, I still enjoyed every minute we were together. I need a dose of your straight talk every now and then to keep me on my toes.”

  “I could send you snarky texts a couple times a week.”

  His soft laugh echoed in the dimly lit hallway. “See, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I guess I was wrong. Looks like men want me for my acerbic wit, not my organizational skills.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “If I agree to see you on occasion for strictly platonic activities, will you quit badgering me and let me go back to bed. It’s the middle of the night, and I’d like to get a few hours of sleep.”

  “You bet.”

  His smooth drawl rolled across her senses like melted butter over the pancakes they’d enjoyed. Pressing her lips together, she nodded, then slipped back into the bedroom, clicking the door shut behind her.

  “Well, hell,” she whispered. “That was stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Navigating around the crib in the glow of the nightlight, she crawled into bed and tucked her knees tight against her chest. Spending any sort of time with Cole would just make her fall in love with him all over again.

  As if you ever stopped.

  The irritating inner voice taunted her. Ignoring it, she pondered the more pressing question. What’s in it for Cole? The man didn’t have women who were just friends. He pursued them with one goal in mind—bed. Hard to believe he’d gone all noble because he missed her zippy comebacks. If she knew Cole—and she knew him better than most—he had an ulterior motive. She sifted through the possibilities until a tension headache threatened. Call her slow, but if sex wasn’t the objective, she couldn’t begin to imagine what Cole Matheson wanted.