Butterscotch wove in between Bailey’s feet as she made her way downstairs. She’d slept later than usual, and her growling belly was staging a protest. Sun poured through the front shop windows, reminding her she needed to dust.
At least they were in for another gorgeous day. Her gaze fell to the pickup out front and recognition dawned. Cole. What is he doing here?
Butterscotch meowed for breakfast.
“Just a minute. If my coffee can wait, so can your milk.”
She strode to the door, expecting to let Cole in, but he wasn’t there. That’s odd. She looked up and down the street, and across at Gus’s diner, which was still bustling with the breakfast crowd.
As she approached the pickup, there was no doubt—it was definitely Cole’s truck, dented bumper and all. She peered inside and jumped.
Cole was crunched up in the tiny cab, his face smashed against the steering wheel, one leg pressed against the gear shift, the other elevated on the passenger seat back. He looked adorable. Had he spent all night there? To make sure she was safe?
Her heart squeezed. Stubborn man.
Sunlight streaked across his face, and he shifted restlessly.
She took one more glance up and down the street, found no one watching, and rapped on the window.
It took a moment, but Cole opened his eyes—the haze of sleep still heavy in them. He sat up, his mouth open, clearly disoriented. Seeing her, he smiled and leaned over, unlocking the passenger door.
She rested against it. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
The fog gone, a pair of gorgeous green eyes stared back at her. “Morning.” He adjusted his misaligned clothes and ran a hand through his hair. “Sleep well?”
“Very, though I doubt you can say the same.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” He stretched and something popped.
She winced. “That didn’t sound good.”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” He stretched his neck side to side, revealing a large steering-wheel imprint.
She laughed.
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
She indicated his cheek. “The steering wheel left its mark.”
“Oh.” He grinned sheepishly and rubbed his skin.
“Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee? It looks like you could use one.”
“All right. Don’t mind if I do.” He climbed from the truck, moving a bit gingerly at first, and followed her inside.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said over her shoulder, making her way to the kitchen.
“I know.”
She pulled two mugs from the cupboard and poured them each a cup. “I was planning on making some pancakes. Mabel got another shipment of fresh blueberries in yesterday. Wanna stay for breakfast?”
“I’d love to.”
Cole set his napkin on the table. “That was delicious.”
Bailey smiled at his appreciation for something as simple as homemade pancakes. “Glad you enjoyed it.” She lifted her plate and reached for his.
“No.” He shook his head. “I got this. McKenna rule—he who cooks doesn’t do dishes.”
“Is that so?” She handed him her plate and watched as he set about clearing the rest of the table.
“Yes, ma’am.” He spun a plate on the tip of his finger before sliding it atop the pile already effortlessly balanced in his other hand, whistling as he worked.
“And how often do you provide this entertaining service?”
He grinned, twirling the butter knife in the air before catching it. “More often than I’d like to admit, but it’s better than eating my cooking.”
She chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”
The kitchen door creaked, and Cole turned.
Much to Bailey’s surprise, he managed to keep the towering stack of plates in perfect order.
With a smile, she looked to see who entered and her breath caught.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tom said, looping a finger in his waistband. His gaze raked over her, and her stomach turned sour. There was nothing indecent about her sleeping attire—a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt, but somehow he made her feel dirty with a single glance.
“You weren’t interrupting. We were just having breakfast.” She fought the urge to explain. Tom wouldn’t believe her anyway. He’d already made up his mind about her—to him she’d always be Easy Lay Bay. She cringed at the horrid nickname.
“Looks like a nice hearty breakfast.” Tom sauntered forward. “Always good after a lot of activity.”
Cole lowered the stack of dishes to the table. “Like the lady said, we were just finishing breakfast.”
“Right.” Tom took pains to draw the word out.
Cole stepped between her and Tom. “Was there something you needed?”
Tom tilted his head, gazing at Bailey over Cole’s shoulder. “Sheriff needs to see Miss Craig.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it in detail, but suffice it to say, the sheriff has some news about your aunt’s crash.”
“Agnes?” What news could there be?
“He’d like you to drop by the station”—Tom’s gaze raked over her once more—“after you’re properly dressed, of course.”
She swallowed the bile burning up her throat. “I’ll be over shortly.”
Tom didn’t move, just stood staring at her, taunting her.
“Anything else?” Cole took another step forward, quickly diminishing the space between him and Tom.
What was he doing? Trying to make things worse by starting a fight? That’d be the flame that would ignite the already tentatively explosive situation into a grand spectacle for all to see. By lunchtime everyone in town would hear of how Tom had caught her and Cole red-handed, trying to play off a night of sex as an innocent breakfast. A fight between Tom and her supposed lover would only add fuel to the fire that would tear her apart all over again.
Her heart physically ached—her chest tightened, strangling the breath from her. At least before she’d deserved the criticism, the harsh words, the cruel nickname, but this time she’d only tried to be nice. She should have known better. She’d let her guard down, and now she was going to pay.
“I asked if there was anything else,” Cole said, the words clipped and precise.
Tom seemed to be truly reveling in the moment. “Not a thing.” With a tip of his hat, he swaggered to the door and with one last grin was gone.
Biting back tears, Bailey stood and grabbed the stack of dishes.
Cole turned. “Let me get that.”
“I’ve got it.”
He reached for them.
She clutched them tighter. “It’s fine.” To her mortification, her hands shook, rattling the silverware atop the pile. She spun toward the kitchen and the silverware tumbled with a clang to the floor. She bent, scrambling to pick them up. If she just kept moving . . .
Cole knelt beside her and stilled her hand with his. “Hey.”
She pulled away, grabbing the forks and springing to her feet. “Look, I’ve got to get ready and go see Slidell.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“And give Tom more ammo? No thanks.” She carried the dishes to the kitchen and flung them in the sink.
“Don’t let Tom make you feel guilty about something that didn’t happen.”
“That’s not the point.” She dumped in dish soap and turned the water on.
Cole stepped closer. “It’s precisely the point.”
Keep your distance. I’m not strong enough for this. Not now. Not with all that’s happening.
She braced her hands on the counter. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’ve got to get ready, so if you could please leave.”
“Bay?” The tenderness of his tone nearly unleashed her tears.
“Please.” She shut off the water and started scrubbing the first dish she grabbed.
“All right.” He stepped back. “Maybe we can talk later.”
“We’ll see.” She kept scrubbing, knowing there wouldn’t be a later.