Karen Templeton - Meant-to-Be Mum

Because I had the mother of all crushes on your daughter, sir.

And how is Sabrina, by the way?

The Colonel’s brows dipped slightly behind his glasses, as if he knew exactly what Cole was thinking. Which wouldn’t surprise him in the least. It used to rattle all the kids, Preston’s uncanny ability to read their minds, to put the kibosh on trouble before they could get into it. Most of the time, anyway.

But not all.

Both kids politely shook the older man’s hand, although Brooke hung back, more like a much younger child would have. Not surprising, Cole supposed, considering recent events.

And damned if the Colonel didn’t somehow pick up on that, too, immediately engaging both kids in some tale or other from when Cole had been a fixture in the Nobles’ kitchen, when Jeanne Noble had known his food preferences better than his own mother. And as he watched his still shell-shocked children begin to thaw in the warmth of the older man’s spirited tale-telling, he realized he couldn’t ever remember the Colonel talking down to a kid, how he always treated them as the intelligent, capable beings he knew, and expected, them to be. Not surprisingly, the kids were eating it up. Same as Cole had.

Then the older man met Cole’s gaze, his smile almost wistful. “The three of you should come over. So we can catch up properly. Not in the middle of the Food Lion.”

“Oh. Um...I...”

“How about this afternoon? If you’re not busy, I mean. Jeanne’s roses are spectacular this year, with all this rain. She would’ve been so pleased. You remember, I’m sure, how much she loved those roses.”

Loved . Past tense.

Cole’s heart lurched in his chest. That explained the slightly not-there look in the older man’s eyes. Why he was shopping.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. Eight years ago now.”

“But you still have the house?”

“For now. Since everyone’s out on their own...” Preston’s attention drifted back to the kids, now quietly arguing over grapes. Or something. “The boy looks exactly like you, doesn’t he?”

“Except about fifty pounds lighter.”

The older man turned back to him. “You’d already lost a lot of it, though, by your junior year.” He chuckled. “When you shot up six inches in as many months. Jeannie said you never saw it. Your metamorphosis.”

Cole felt his face warm. “I...no. I guess I didn’t.”

The Colonel humphed, clearly keeping whatever else he was thinking to himself as he looked back at the bickering duo. “It’s not like I don’t see the others fairly often, since they’re all still around. Well, except for Sabrina, she’s in New York. Pretty much only comes back for weddings. And new babies. And we’ve got plenty of those. Still. It’s not like it used to be, when the house was filled.” He paused. “Too damn big now,” he said softly. “Too quiet.”

The longing in the older man’s voice knifed straight through Cole, partly because he doubted Preston even realized it was there. If it was one thing the guy wasn’t, it was manipulative. Anal and demanding, perhaps, he thought with a smile, but definitely not one to play the pity card. And since his own parents were away—and had never been the coddling grandparent types, anyway—and Erin’s parents were both dead, what could it hurt to the let the old guy play honorary grandpa for an hour or so?

And frankly, Cole wouldn’t mind seeing the house again. If for no other reason than to perhaps expunge a memory or two.

“We’re having dinner with my sister tonight,” he said, “but I suppose we could come over for a little while this afternoon.”

Preston beamed. “That would be great. Around two or so?”

“We’ll be there.”

The other man clapped him on the shoulder before steering his cart down the aisle. Cole watched him for a second, then wandered over to the veggie section, ignoring his children’s grimaces as he bagged a bunch of broccoli and plunked it into the cart. “Heads up—we’re going to go visit Colonel Noble later.”

“Why?” Wesley said, suspicious.

“Because he invited us. And it’ll be fun, getting to see the house again.”

Fun. Yeah. Let’s go with that .

“One of his kids...” To Cole’s surprise, his throat caught. He cleared it, then said, “Was my best friend, all through middle and high school.”

“What was his name?”

He tossed a three pack of multicolored peppers into the cart. “ Her name.” And some asparagus, tightly rubber-banded. “Sabrina.”

“Your best friend was a girl.”

“Yep.”

Wesley shook his head as Brooke leaned on the front of the cart, impeding Cole’s progress. “How come you never mentioned her before?”

“I’m sure I did. I must have.”

“Nope. I would’ve remembered. So how come?”

Did he dare try Brussels sprouts on them? He did.

“Haven’t seen her in years. One of those things.”

And amazingly he sounded almost nonchalant. In the past, over and done, didn’t matter. Highly doubtful he’d ever see her again.

Except Brooke gave him one of her strange looks, her searing, green-eyed stare reminding him yet again that he was perpetually an inch away from screwing up. Especially now. But at least, for these few minutes, he’d managed to distract them from what must have been the constant refrain of their mother’s pulling the rug out from under them. Completely of their own volition and without Cole’s knowledge, his extraordinarily courageous children had given his ex the choice between them and a lifestyle that had left them feeling like also-rans—and she had not chosen them.

And this—they—did matter. Now mattered. In a way that nothing else ever had, or ever would. Because while his love life was apparently doomed to eternal suckage, these kids would know they came first. That he loved them, and was proud of them, and wanted nothing less than the best for them.

Even if that included tiny cabbage-like vegetables, so innocently snuggled together in their little green net, unaware of their own gross-out factor. Awesome. “Dinner. Tomorrow,” he said. Both kids groaned, and Cole smiled.

Maybe he had no idea what he was doing, but at least they’d know he cared.

* * *

Blowing out a breath, Sabrina Noble stuffed her wallet back inside her purse as the taxi chugged away behind her down the tree-lined street. Shadow and sunlight danced across the lawn like a thousand fairies, beckoning her up the wide, welcoming stairs fronting the serene Queen Anne.

Home .

As in, that place you go when your future gets shot out from under you. Although not for long, the for-sale sign reminded her. She frowned, still not entirely sure how she felt about that.

A rose-scented breeze—not a smell one often caught in Manhattan, if ever—tangled with her long hair, and made her shiver slightly underneath her floaty top. Although not because she was cold.

Squaring her shoulders, Sabrina trudged up the brick walk, her largest rolling bag clackety-clacking behind her, echoing the refrain in her head—that she had no intention of staying a minute longer than necessary. She lugged the bag up onto the porch, returning to the curb for the rest of her luggage before retrieving the spare key from the secret pocket on the underside of the striped cushion on the far rocker. The front door open, she breathed in that same faint scent of eucalyptus she’d always associate with her childhood. With her adoptive mother, Jeanne, who’d installed that “secret” pocket. Amazing, that they’d never been robbed.

Although they had been, actually, of the woman who’d loved more than any human being Sabrina had ever known.