Chapter Seven

Jane was determined to not kiss Cole tonight.

She was going to have a beer with him; they were going to chat about Finn. About not letting him eat too much cookie dough and the swing—like, did he even know how to make one that wouldn’t fall down and kill her son—and the rugby clinic. Maybe the weather. Then she was going to get up, go inside, go to bed, and work on her laptop for a few hours. There were invoices and emails she hadn’t gotten to today.

Then she was going to sleep. That was it.

She couldn’t keep kissing him because she wanted to. She was an adult, not a horny teenage girl. There was too much going on in her life and too much on her plate She didn’t have the luxury of making out with guys on porches.

And it didn’t matter that him being here was allowing her to work or that he’d made her milk and cookies or that Finn was so damn happy it made her heart glow. So happy he hadn’t even asked when Tad was coming back the last couple of nights, like he had every day since his father had left him in Credence and hightailed it to Vegas. Tad, who had eventually responded to her where-the-hell-are-you voicemails with vague sorry-more-work-came-up-be-back-soon texting.

It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t right to kiss a man out of gratitude. Not that kind of kissing, anyway. And it sure as shit wasn’t right to fool herself into thinking that was the only reason why she was doing the kissing thing.

So when she slid him his beer over his shoulder like she’d done the last two nights and sat next to him, her long, flowy dress sliding between her legs, she had every intention of not kissing him; then he turned to her after a mouthful of beer and said, “Hey,” and she wanted to kiss him so freaking bad she didn’t bother with cracking her beer at all, just answered his hey with her lips crashing onto his.

But this time she did not let him take control of the kiss. She started it, and she was going to control it, her hands burrowing into his hair to hold his head still as her mouth opened and her tongue pushed inside, and he groaned, and she felt it vibrate all the way down to her toes, her sex clenching in response. Her body pushed closer as she deepened the kiss, sucking up the taste and the aroma and the essence of him, demanding he follow her lead.

And he did. God help her, he did, absorbing the electrical charge pulsing from her body, his hands finding and anchoring on her hips, anchoring her to the stoop. Anchoring her to him as her body throbbed with the desire running hot and heavy through her veins and beating through the aching flesh between her legs. A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper tumbled from the back of her throat, and Jane fisted her fingers in his hair.

Her heart crashed in her chest, and her lungs struggled to suck in the required amount of oxygen to sustain life. God knew what her blood pressure was like. She was a damn stroke waiting to happen, and none of that mattered because Jane just couldn’t get enough. Enough of his taste and his scent and the hot feel of those hands like iron bars on her hips.

But it was okay. She was still in control. She could walk away at any time. Easy peasy. She just needed one more minute.

Just. One. More. Minute.

Damn it…one more minute and she’d be in his lap—possibly on his dick, the way it was going. So, to prove to herself she could, Jane broke away, sitting herself back from him, their fast, erratic breathing the only sound in the thick kind of silence that followed. His syrupy gaze had turned dark as molasses as he searched hers for some kind of explanation. His mouth was kiss-swollen, and he touched his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and it was so freaking sexy she knew if she didn’t stand up and get away, she’d be back at his mouth again, demanding more.

Jane pushed to her feet—a move that seemed dumb, now, given falling down appeared to be imminent—grinding her flip-flops into the stoop to keep herself upright.

“What was that for?” he asked, mimicking her question from their first kiss as his gaze trekked up her body, his voice a low burr in the night.

Hell if she knew.

“The milk and cookies,” she muttered, and, like the two nights before this, she turned on her heel and hightailed it back into the house.

…

If Cole had thought forgetting the first two night’s kisses had been hard, last night’s kiss was impossible. That had blazed a path to his balls all damn day no matter what he was doing, including sweating his arse off anchoring the tire to the tree branch. Finn was helping, mostly by splashing water from the running hose in Cole’s direction. Given it was a hundred degrees and hot work, Cole wasn’t really objecting.

His board shorts were made for the beach, and they would dry.

He gave the rope, now hanging over the tree branch above and anchored to the swinging vertical tire, a tug. Then he put his left foot inside the ring of the tire, and, using the rope to pull himself up, he stepped off the grass so that the swing was fully supporting his weight. Given he was two hundred and fifty pounds, it was a good test, but still, he bounced a little through his left knee and tugged hard on the rope to check that it was fully sound.

Cole hadn’t doubted it would withstand the test. The branch he’d chosen was thick and solid, as were the rope and the quality of his knots. Satisfied it was safe, Cole stepped down from the tire onto the grass. “Okay, matey, it’s ready.”

Finn gave a little whoop, dropping the hose near Cole’s bare feet. Wiping his wet bangs out of his eyes, he ran towards the swing. “Can I have a go?”

“Of course.”

Cole showed Finn how to grab the rope and step up into the ring, then gave him a push. “Higher!” Finn said, and Cole gave him a harder push. “Wheeeee!”

Cole laughed as Finn hung on to the rope, his feet anchored inside the ring, and let his head drop backward, clearly enjoying the ruffle of air currents in his wet hair. Who needed the roar of a rugby crowd when the delighted laugh of one little boy could make a guy feel like Superman?

“Higher,” Finn demanded.

“Hold on,” Cole said. “Let me show you another way to ride.” He caught the tire and gently stopped its momentum before grabbing Finn under the arms and lifting him until he was sitting on top of the tire, his legs on either side of the knot that held the tire fast. “Hold on to the rope. Like this.” He placed Finn’s hands, one above the other at the right height, closing his fingers tight around the rope. “You ready, mate?”

A blond head bobbed enthusiastically. “Yep.”

Cole gave the tire a couple of pushes, and Finn held on, grinning crazily as the tire swished back and forth and side to side in random patterns. He swung it so it went around in big circles, and, after that, much to Finn’s absolute delight, he spun the tire around and around, twisting the rope all the way up to the branch, then let it go, watching Finn spin around and around and around as the rope unspooled.

“You dizzy yet?” Cole teased as the tire finally pulled out of its spin for the third time.

Finn giggled and said, “Nope,” but he wriggled as if he was trying to get off, and Cole helped him down. He was comically unsteady on his feet for a beat or two on the squelchy grass, but it didn’t stop him from lurching drunkenly in the direction of the house.

“What are you doing?” he called after the boy, who seemed to be regaining his balance with every step.

“I’m getting Mommy,” he yelled, throwing it over his shoulder as he sped toward the stairs.

Cole didn’t think Jane would want her son dripping water and tracking wet feet through the house, not to mention the slipping hazard, but he’d never taken much heed of that stuff as a kid, either, because he’d been oblivious to puddles and too bulletproof for injury, so he watched Finn disappearing through the back door, calling out to his mother.

Jane was going to be out here soon. Jane, who had kissed him with utter relish last night, unleashing an onslaught that had curled his toes and tightened his balls.

Then run away. Again. For the third night in a row.

And, unlike the previous morning, she’d barely been able to look at him when he’d entered the kitchen, letting him know CC was fine with the swing while her head was in the fridge, then bidding him the briefest of goodbyes before disappearing the second he’d turned his back.

So this should be interesting…

A few minutes later, Finn reappeared, running at the same breakneck speed as before, Jane—in her regulation shorts, tee, and boots—following more sedately behind, looking anywhere but at Cole.

“See, Mommy?” Finn called as he launched himself at the swing with all the confidence and sure-footedness of youth, stepping into the tire and using the rope to haul himself up. “Push me, Cole.”

“Please, Cole,” Jane admonished her son as she drew closer.

“Please,” Finn repeated, too interested in being swung to worry about being chastised over his manners. Cole gave the tire a few pushes. “Higher,” Finn said.

Jane pulled up beside Cole, her boots squelching in the puddle the hose was making. She left a couple of feet between them once again. “Please.”

“Please,” Finn parroted. “Make me fly, please, Cole.”

Cole chuckled at Finn’s infectious enthusiasm, pushing him higher and smiling at the Wheeee! Wheee! exclamations coming from Finn’s mouth.

“Higher!”

Cole pushed him higher, and Jane took an involuntary step closer to the swing. “Not too high, Finny.” Then finally she looked at him, her arms folding, a flash of worry in her eyes. “It is safe, right?”

A few days ago, that question would have needled the crap out of him, but that streak of worry was like a hand squeezing around Cole’s throat. This was her kid; of course she’d be concerned for his safety. “I would never have let Finn on it if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of it being secure.”

“Okay.” She nodded, worry dissolving to relief in an instant, and Cole wanted to reach out and stroke her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Push me, Mommy.” And then, just as Jane opened her mouth to remind her son of his manners again, Finn said, “Pleeeease.”

She sighed and stepped forward, instructing him to “Hold on tight” as she gave several big pushes, then stood back, falling in next to Cole to make way for the arc of the swing as it twirled around in a broad circle. “Thank you for this,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed firmly on Finn, a smile playing on her mouth,

It was obvious she was enjoying her son’s enjoyment. “Let me guess,” Cole murmured. “You appreciate it?”

She glanced at him, the smile slipping from her face, clearly startled. Did she think he was going to kiss her again? Did she hope? Cole had to admit, that mouth of hers was mighty tempting. But with Finn gleefully wheeee, wheeeee, wheeeeeing in the background, he was excruciatingly aware they were not alone.

She darted her gaze back to Finn, Cole followed suit, and they both watched him for several beats before Jane said, “I’m impressed with your handiwork. The swing does seem solid, and the knot looks competent.”

Cole wasn’t sure if talking about manual labor put her in her comfort zone, gave her some control, or whether it was just preferable to silence, but he could run with it. “I’m good with ropes.”

Another startled glance in his direction. Yeah…maybe he shouldn’t be teasing her in full view of Finn, but Cole couldn’t help himself. He grinned, and for a moment she just stared at him; then a reluctant smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. Glancing back to Finn, she said, “Ropes, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

Even in profile, Cole could see the corner of her mouth tug higher, and his grin grew bigger as she also played this game of whatever the hell it was. “For tying down loads at work sites?” he asked, his tone heavy with faux innocence.

She stepped forward and gave Finn another couple of pushes. “I’ve got to get back to work, Finny. You hold on tight and be good for Cole. Okay?”

“Okay, Mommy,” Finn agreed readily as the tire swung around in slow, wide circles.

She turned, then, taking a couple of steps in the direction of the house, barely faltering and definitely not looking at him as she murmured, “For making pretty marks on my skin,” and continuing on her way.

Cole blinked, then stared after her as her tease hit him square in the junk like a bolt of lightning. His dick underwent a tsunami of swelling. Christ. Thankful for Finn’s preoccupation, he picked up the hose near his feet and shoved it down the front of his board shorts.

…

Jane had no idea why she’d said what she’d said. She’d never been tied up in her life and couldn’t say it was something she was hankering to experience. Sure, in the confines of a relationship, a bit of light bondage could be a thing she might be okay to explore, but frankly, it had been a long time since she’d indulged in any kind of sexy times, and right now she probably needed training wheels, not ropes.

It must’ve been that smile. That playful tone. He’d been flirting with her, and she’d let that go to her head for a moment. It had felt good to be the object of some flirting. It’d been too long. Sure, there’d been men who were interested, who’d flirted with intent, and other men who flirted in a general sense, the kind of flirting that made a woman feel good about herself with absolutely no motive or agenda.

But this was the first time she’d felt herself responding. The first time she’d wanted to respond. It didn’t change the facts, though. A flirtation, as harmless as it may be, could still have consequences when a four-year-old was in the mix. Now, if it had been just her and she’d found herself sharing a house with a hot Aussie pro-baller for a few weeks one summer, neither of them with careers nor businesses to worry about, then this could be a whole different story.

A story she may well have dived into headfirst. But it wasn’t. So she really should stop flirting with him. And smiling at him. And kissing him.

Cole Hauser was her manny. Her temporary manny. And that was it.

Except he was waiting for her again on the stairs, the setting sun painting his outline golden, and the beers in her hand suddenly felt hot—hell, everywhere felt hot—and when she sat down next to him, all she could think about was kissing him. Not the swing, which was a flaming circle of fire hanging from the tree. Not the breathtaking display of nature. Not the trill of insects on the sultry early-evening air.

Just his mouth and how good it felt and how much she wanted to feel it again. It was like these steps were some kind of external erogenous zone, drawing her closer, tempting her nearer. A hurricane of sensation her brain recognized as a danger zone but her body recklessly ignored.

“Evening,” he said, all low and husky as she sat down.

He didn’t turn to face her as he took the beer off her and cracked the lid, which was just as well because she’d have kissed him again for sure. Just one word and the nearness of his body and she could feel the pull in her cells as if they were the tide and he was the shore.

Jane didn’t respond, just took a long, deep swallow of her beer, her gaze fixing firmly on the slight rotation of the tire under the influence of the gentle breeze fluttering the hem of her dress around her ankles. Maybe if she didn’t look at him she’d remember he was a guy she’d known for less than a week and that she was here to do a job, not neck like a teenager with said guy.

Or maybe she should put on her big-girl panties and tackle it head-on. Yep. That’s what she had to do.

Gathering a breath, Jane turned slightly, risking a look at his profile at the same time he must have decided to risk looking at her, and then they were looking at each other, staring at each other, and Jane lost the breath she’d gathered, and the thought of doing anything other than pressing her mouth to his was so intolerable every nerve synapse in her body twitched in desperation.

Controlled by an imperative she didn’t understand, Jane leaned in, her pulse counting out the beats like an internal metronome as their mouths closed in. What is wrong with me was her last thought as their lips met. And then there were no more thoughts—just a deep, sonorous noise of pleasure and relief. Half moan, half sigh, and all surrender.

From both of them—in unison.

Their lips, moving out of instinct but also practice now, quickly plundered, their tongues tangling and setting up a rhythm Jane already knew as intimately as she knew her own breath. A rhythm they seemed to find so effortlessly at such short acquaintance, accelerating her intoxication, their lips twisting and turning, pushing the kiss harder and deeper and wetter.

God…she was drowning. Her body was humming with an overload of sensations that prickled at her skin, puckered her nipples, and caused an unholy kind of clenching deep between her legs.

She’d had sex that wasn’t anywhere near as good as Cole Hauser’s kisses.

Jane inched her body closer on the step, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel his heat and hardness, map his chest and his abs and run her hands over his thighs. She shimmied her hips and wriggled her bottom, straining to get closer and closer but stopping just shy, millimeters between their shoulders and arms and thighs, because touching him now, in this state of…desperation, could be fatal.

After four nights of this, there was a wild and desperate urge riding her, and touching him with anything other than her mouth felt far too risky. Who knew what chain reaction that could set off? Who knew where it would end?

As if he could feel her reticence to push any further, Cole didn’t encroach on the slither of space between them, either, keeping to his side of it as she kept to hers, his hands gripped firmly around his beer, her hands similarly occupied, just their heads leaning in, their mouths fused in a wicked kind of frenzy.

“Jane…” he muttered, lifting his mouth briefly before pressing his lips to one corner of her mouth, then the other, his tongue swiping between the two points, lingering in the middle to sample the bow of her upper lip. The sensation streaked to her nipples, and Jane moaned, her mouth opening, then claiming his, banishing his teasing and replacing it with something far deeper and dirtier that streaked a hell of a lot lower.

God this was crazy. So crazy. She wanted to throw her leg over him and straddle him and grind herself against him; she wanted to ride him like a cowgirl on these steps and feel him bucking up into her, bucking them all the way to orgasm. Jane was so damn hot for him she was dizzy and shaking and breathless. She had to stop or she was going to touch him, and then they were both doomed.

Wrenching away, Jane forced herself to stare out over the yard again as she took a swallow of her beer, welcoming the coolness of the ale to her overheated system. Cole did the same, and they sat there for long moments with only their ragged breathing between them.

So much for her big-girl panties…

If only she didn’t feel so damn…alive. She hadn’t realized she’d been merely existing until now. Just putting one foot in front of the other, checking off mental lists.

Be a great mom. Be a good boss. Stay friends with her ex. Grow the business. Take some risks but not too many. Make the rent. Pay her bills. Pay her taxes. Put something aside for a rainy day. Oh, and don’t forget to floss.

And then a guy she didn’t know had crawled into her bed, started looking after her son and sucking face with her every night, and suddenly, her days had become alive with delicious possibilities.

Which was madness.

This was just a blip, a temporary blip, and then it’d all be over. She’d be back to mental lists and the treadmill of a working mom. So she really needed to cut this—whatever this was—off at the knees because she didn’t want to get too used to Cole Hauser or his mouth. Even now, she was battling the urge to toss her bottle of beer on the grass and climb all over him.

Standing abruptly, she turned and placed her foot on the step above, needing to flee before she did something she knew would have an irreversible impact. If she let herself want this man too much, she might never survive him leaving.

“So that’s what we’re going to do now, you and me?”

Jane’s foot was on the next step when his question halted her progress. She glanced down at him, their gazes locking.

“We’re just going to…sit out here every night and kiss like a pair of horny fifteen-year-olds?”

The right answer was no, absolutely not. But it was exactly what they’d been doing. And now that she was about to flee the scene, once again, the seductive thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they could keep it to just kissing reared its head. Maybe kissing allowed them to blow off some steam without getting into anything too serious.

Like straddling and grinding and groping.

“I don’t know.” Jane was still a little breathless, which gave her voice a husky kind of vibrato. “Maybe.” That was only being honest, right? Maybe it was wrong to admit it, but everything was such a jumble right now. “You got a problem with that?”

It would be good if he did. Like…really good. The last thing she wanted was to keep kissing a guy who wasn’t really into it.

“Nope.” He shook his head slowly. “Not even a little bit.”

And damn if that denial didn’t worm itself right between her legs. “Okay, then,” she said and forced her feet to keep moving. She was almost at the door when his low voice floated to her on the sultry night air and her step, once again, faltered.

“What happens when we want more?”

“I won’t,” she denied. Except she would. God help her, she would.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

Jane had never heard less conviction in a voice—ever. But she was willing to cling to any denial right now, no matter how unconvincing.

…

Cole found it hard to believe that a little over a week ago he’d never met Jane Spencer. Had never known she existed. A week ago, he’d been on a plane, flying to the other side of the world to hole away from everything and everyone and feel sorry for himself in buttfuck nowhere while he waited on a job offer.

And, for all intents and purposes, he had. But there was more than hibernation going on in Credence, Colorado. Way more. And it felt…big.

A woman who knew her way around a toolbox, a woman with a kid, a woman who kept kissing him every night, then running away, had burst into his life and yanked him out of his pity party. A woman he hadn’t known a week ago and who he really should leave well alone.

Yet…he could think of little else.

Thank god for this rugby clinic today giving him something else to think about other than Jane’s declaration last night that kissing him may just become a regular occurrence. And how long before it went beyond kissing?

So far Jane had kept a pretty tight leash on what was happening on those steps. It was as if she was allowing herself a little indulgence each night before bed but no more. Rationing herself to only one wrapped chocolate from the box in case she got greedy and devoured the whole lot in one sitting. And Cole was 100 percent fine with that.

Kissing Jane was pretty much the best thing he’d ever done with his mouth.

But he definitely wouldn’t say no if she wanted to indulge in a little more. If she wanted to devour every last inch of him. And that was a problem, because while a fling might be a most excellent distraction from his woes and exactly what he needed right now, Jane Spencer had not been put on this earth to be Cole Hauser’s distraction.

She obviously had to be more circumspect about things, and he respected that.

It was clear Jane wasn’t someone open to a one-night stand or even a short-term fling. In his experience—and yes, thanks to rugby, he did have a bit of experience in this department—women who only wanted a quick tumble in the sheets were exceptionally forward about their desires, either verbally or physically. Which was fantastic. He’d been more than receptive to such an arrangement from time to time, and he admired women who were up-front about their needs.

He also knew when women wanted something deeper than physical fun, when they were after a relationship and weren’t prepared to indulge in one without the other, something that Cole also greatly admired. And he had, on a handful of occasions, gone there as well. There’d been a few longer-term girlfriends over the years.

But Jane was a curious mix of neither. She clearly did want him, did find it hard to resist him, but didn’t fall into the first group, despite it probably best suiting her circumstances because, he had little doubt, if Jane Spencer had set her heart on fucking him, Cole would already be well and truly fucked.

Hell, he’d have third-degree elbow burns right now from all their fucking.

Nor did she fit into the second group. She wasn’t hanging out for more; she wasn’t acting familiar; she wasn’t talking to him about dating and taking things slowly. In fact, she wasn’t talking to him at all. Not about their situation, anyway. About Finn, yes, and about a dozen inane topics when Finn was around, which was 90 percent of the time.

And during the other 10 percent? She was grabbing him and kissing him. But with absolutely zero suggestion they take it further physically or in any other way.

In short, Jane was a conundrum Cole hadn’t come across before, and therefore he had no idea how to act. He’d just been going with the flow, letting her call the shots, but, as he’d said last night, what happened when they wanted more? When kissing turned to touching, when light caresses turned to bold, purposeful petting and the shedding of clothes?

She’d been adamant she wouldn’t want more, and he’d agreed. As much to convince himself as to convince her. But he was calling bullshit on that—it was going to happen. He could feel it in the slow thud of his pulse, like a drumroll building in his blood.

He knew it as sure as he knew he was never playing rugby again.

“Heads up, Cole!”

Long-honed reflexes saw Cole’s hands automatically reaching for a ball as it spiraled into his chest. He made a harsh kind of oomph noise at the impact. The small-town cop might not have played football in years, but the dude still had a good arm.

So much for the clinic being a distraction. Jesus, man. Get your head in the game.

Arlo grinned at him. “You need an aspirin?”

Suppressing the urge to flip the bird to a cop in front of a bunch of impressionable kids, Cole dragged his head back in the game. Twenty-five kids—twenty-five!—had turned up at the clinic, ranging from Finn at four years old all the way to seventeen. So had quite a few parents, Drew from the funeral home, and a guy called Austin Cooper, who was one of Arlo’s junior officers.

Grimacing, Cole rubbed his chest absently and turned his attention to the different stations he’d set up in the park. Thankfully, there were plenty of trees and they’d been able to keep most of the activities in the shade. It was a little overcast today, which kept things cooler, but there was no disguising it was summer.

Most of the kids were upper-grade-school age and merely needed supervision while performing the set tasks, but there were six kids aged four to five that needed considerably more direction, which was why Cole was at their station. There were three boys and three girls, and, if he wasn’t the one trying to tame them—if he’d just been sitting in the bleachers, observing—he’d have thought it was the most hysterical thing he’d ever seen.

But he was the one down here on the field with them, and it was like trying to herd dyslexic cats.

Finn was pretty good. He’d done some ball work with Cole already these past few days, and he clearly wanted to prove to the other kids that he knew what he was doing. The other five were a mixed bunch of what-the-ever-loving-hell. He already had nicknames for them all.

There was Rambo, because he ran at everything like a bull at a gate, wielding the ball as if it was a machete. Crikey because he stopped every two seconds to stare at ants and butterflies and other similar tiny creatures busy in the grass. Qantas because her uncle apparently was an airline pilot and she’d spent most of her time lying on her back, pointing at planes flying overhead, and making animal shapes out of the clouds.

And then there were Roo and Moo, four-year-old twins. Roo because bouncing appeared to be her natural gait, which was great for covering distances but not so good when it came to the coordination required for kicking. And Moo because the kid seemed to be intent on eating as much grass as she could get her hands on.

It was the full little-league nightmare.

“Okay,” Cole said, drawing their attention. Moo paused with a blade of grass halfway to her mouth and thankfully tossed it on the ground. The last thing he wanted was to have to take the kid to the ER for a stomach pump of grass.

“What we’re going to do next is run between these traffic cones. But not in a straight line; you have to weave like this.”

Cole demonstrated for them, running in a passable fashion without his cane, conscious of the limitations of his hip and his audience. Not that the kids noticed—not when an out-of-uniform Arlo was parading around in cargo shorts that exposed the sleek metal line of his prosthesis, looking like something out of Captain America.

Which was freeing in a way Cole hadn’t expected. He was surprised how unimportant his injury seemed when nobody was paying him any attention. Everything back home had been focused on him and his recovery, and it had subsumed him, but these people didn’t know him, nor did they care. The kids certainly didn’t.

“We’re going to start at that end.” He pointed to the end where the kids were already waiting. “And you’re going to run all the way to me, weaving in and out, and I’m going to time you with my stopwatch.”

Arlo had given out a few of them this morning, along with the rest of the equipment he’d somehow managed to procure, and Cole brandished it now because the man with the stopwatch was king as far as kids were concerned, even if it was a basic, old-fashioned piece. There was an actual moving hand and a button at the top that stopped the hand when pressed. It was the kind coaches had used when he’d been a junior and nothing like the high-tech ones of today.

Still, the kids had already had a turn with it and asked what felt like a million questions about it, including where was it made, could it receive telephone calls, and was it from the olden days like him.

Which made Cole feel about a hundred and three.

“Okay, Finn, you’re first.” Putting Finn first was strategy rather than favoritism. The kid followed instructions to the letter, and it gave the other kids an example to follow. Cole held up the watch and counted to three. “Go,” he called.

Finn took off, executing the course perfectly. Cole high-fived him at the end and called on Rambo next. The kid charged through the course with a bloodcurdling cry like he was hauling himself out of a trench and running toward the enemy. Roo bounced her way through the course, Crikey stepped very delicately in case he stood on any innocent bugs or worms, Moo skipped all the way to the end, and Qantas paused halfway through when she spotted a plane overhead.

Overall, it took ten minutes longer than it probably should have, but the kids were having a good time, and Cole figured his blood pressure could stand it.

“Okay.” He took his cap off and used his forearm to wipe away the sweat before cramming his hat back on again. “Let’s take a break.” The kids all whooped, running for the table under the trees where Arlo had set up ice buckets full of water bottles and containers full of sliced oranges.

Austin Cooper, who’d been running a catching exercise with the older participants, wandered over for a drink and an orange slice. He was also not in uniform, but the senior students—all guys—clearly knew he was a cop. There was an easy rapport between them, though, and Cole supposed he was probably only about ten years older than the youngest of them. There’d been quite a bit of smack talk going on and a lot of laughter.

“You look like you have your hands full,” Austin said as he cracked the lid of an icy-cold water bottle and took a swig.

Cole gave a half laugh, half snort. “I’ll swap you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure my knowledge of ants or the olden days is up to scratch.”

The young cop laughed, and Cole rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, mate. I’m putting you at this station tomorrow.”

“Oh no, what a shame.” Austin grabbed his chest in faux disappointment. “I’m back on duty.”

Cole shrugged. “I’ll give them to Arlo.”

“Better plan. They already think he’s a superhero. They’ll probably listen to him.”

Yeah, Cole hadn’t been that great at getting his young charges to listen. But then, he hadn’t expected the cast of The Muppets, either.

“I’m going to take a wild guess here and say you don’t have any kids of your own.”

Cole glanced at Finn. He’d never thought about kids in any real way before. In an abstract one-day-maybe kind of way, but nothing concrete. Looking at his little charges today, that seemed wise.

Finn and Crikey were catching crickets and putting them in the bug catcher he’d insisted on bringing with him. Roo was hopping after them and causing ructions because she was chasing the insects away. Qantas was lying on the ground again, looking at the clouds. Moo was lying next to her, also looking at the clouds while chewing on grass. And Rambo was karate chopping a nearby tree.

“I don’t know what you mean, man,” Cole said as Roo accidentally ran into Crikey and knocked him over. “I’m a natural.”

Austin gave a laugh, then winked as he called out, “Hey, kids, come here.” He shoved an orange segment in his mouth so he had an orange-peel smile, then turned on them, growling and grinning and causing them to squeal with glee, then scatter as he chased after them.

Finn’s utter delight as he scarpered with the other kids slugged Cole in the gut. He really, really liked the kid. Maybe he could be a father one day.

Maybe…