Chapter Three

Prickle pants.

Jane was still brooding over that one the next morning when she heard Cole coming down the stairs. She was baking a couple of batches of chocolate chip cookies—Finn’s favorites—while he was upstairs misting Carl’s cage. She braced herself for Cole’s appearance. Given the untouched state of the fridge this morning, she was fairly sure he hadn’t eaten anything last night.

His footsteps didn’t come closer, though. In fact, they got farther away, and, within moments, she heard the front door open and then close. Where he was off to, she had no idea, but he was a grown-ass man and not, as she kept insisting, her problem.

She was too defensive; she knew that. Force of habit. She was just so sick of men making assumptions about her job and her capabilities. Not something she got from a lot of women. Some did judge her, but for her occupational choice, not her competence. They couldn’t understand what she saw in this kind of manual labor and getting her hands dirty.

But they didn’t doubt she was capable. Unlike so many men.

Sure, men who knew her, who worked with or for her, knew better than to doubt or question her experience. But too often Jane felt like she was resetting the clock every time another patronizing male made terrible gender-based assumptions. So, it was easier to be on the defensive from the get-go. To keep her shields up and put her expectations out there. To mark her territory by figuratively pissing on everything at a jobsite.

If it was good enough for men, then why not her?

That didn’t make her popular with a lot of knuckle draggers in the industry. She knew they called her The Shrew behind her back, which was fine. It was better than bitch, and she didn’t have time to make friends, anyway. She was building a business, and a damn good one at that.

Why she hadn’t tooted her own horn when Cole had inquired about the demand for her services, she didn’t know. The company was growing rapidly in their home state of California, with a stellar reputation for quality work. From just herself five years ago, she now employed over seventy core people, and sometimes more, depending on the employment demands and location of each project.

The growth had far outstripped expectations, the company exceeding profit forecasts year on year. And after this magazine article? That level of national attention was the kind of advertising money just couldn’t buy.

Yup—a man sure as hell would have bragged long and loud about this level of success, and she needed to work on that. Work on being unapologetically forthright about the accomplishments of her business. She bet Cole was unapologetic about his rugby success. She bet he’d never had a hard time bragging about being at the top of his game.

Although obviously that wasn’t the case now. Since the accident.

Yeah…she’d googled him. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t. CC had told her he was an old football buddy of Wade’s who’d been injured and was here on some R&R. And Cole himself had told Finn there’d been a car accident. She had all the information she needed. Hell, way more information than she needed. But, last night, after she’d finally put down her tools at almost midnight, she’d given in to temptation.

It seemed Cole was a big deal in Australia. And his career-ending accident had made news headlines. The fact that he’d recently signed a contract with a new club—the Sydney Smoke—worth several million dollars made the accident an even bigger tragedy. The Smoke still had him in their starting lineup, which seemed to be causing endless speculation. Some commentators said it was because Griff King, the coach, never gave up on a man. Some said it was out of respect for his exemplary career success.

But, from what she could gather from so-called experts—the medical, sporting, and armchair variety—Cole Hauser was never playing football again.

And that made her sad for him.

Jane was a naturally empathetic person. Sure, she kept up a good facade of indifference, because god forbid she burst into tears on a jobsite full of men. But…she couldn’t imagine how it’d feel to have to give up her job.

The timer on the oven dinged, startling her, and she realized she was thinking about him again. Why was she thinking about him again? In less than thirty-six hours, he’d blasted into her life and taken up too much of her brain capacity already. Sure, he was a good-looking guy. Tall and broad, fit and honed, his dark curls long enough to be scraped back in a man bun but just pushed carelessly backward off his forehead.

Like a swashbuckling pirate.

He was masculine in a way that charged the air particles all around him, and she did not have time for charged freaking particles. She had enough on her mind without him. Getting this job done while juggling the demands of her son was going to be hard enough without his kind of distraction.

But…he’d surprised her last night. He’d sidestepped her inquiries about his experience, but his lament over the travesty of the red sitting room floor had been genuine. And the way he’d caressed the wood spoke even more than his words.

Not many people got the importance of preserving something from long ago, of reviving a moment in time for all perpetuity—not in this throwaway society. True craftsmanship had been lost in a world of Allen keys and IKEA. There were still those who loved craft and appreciated quality—she employed dozens of them herself—but they were few and far between. They were her kind of people, though, and every one of them held a tiny piece of her heart.

Except she did not want Cole Hauser to have a tiny piece of her heart, no matter how platonic the esteem. He struck her as the kind of guy who wasn’t ever satisfied with just a tiny piece of anything. Professional athletes liked to win.

And Jane wasn’t interested in playing.

Besides, he was obviously dealing with his own crap. The hostile way he’d regarded her helping hand last night was just one indication. He obviously resented his relative incapacity and hated asking for help, which suited her fine. She didn’t have the time, anyway. She only had time for Finn and this job.

The one that would put her company on the map.

An hour later, she was sitting with Finn at the big old central kitchen bench. He was dunking warm cookies into cold milk with one hand and stroking Carl with the other.

Jane wasn’t a fan of the chameleon being on the bench, but it was keeping Finn occupied while she caught up on some work emails on her laptop.

In the distance, she heard the front door open. So did Finn. And Carl. “That’s him!” Finn exclaimed, preparing to leap down from the stool.

“Nuh-uh.” Jane shook her head firmly, and Finn checked his imminent leap. “Stay here and finish your snack, young man. Mr. Hauser doesn’t want you bothering him.”

Just like she didn’t want Cole bothering her.

“Mom…” Finn grumbled, obviously disappointed at this restriction.

Within moments, Cole was in the doorway, several shopping bags hanging off the fingers of his right hand. He was wearing purple-and-yellow frangipani board shorts that molded to his thighs, a plain black T-shirt with the white Nike tick that hugged his chest, shoulders, and abdomen, and a pair of flip-flops.

He couldn’t have looked more Australian had he been wearing a cork hat and muttering crikey!

He should’ve looked ridiculous dressed like he was spending the day at the beach in buttfuck eastern Colorado, but he didn’t. He looked casual and comfortable in his skin, and damn if her belly didn’t do a little flutter.

“Mr. Hauser,” Finn said, his face lighting up like a firework. “Mommy cooked chocolate chip cookies. Do you want one?”

Cole hefted the bags on top of the bench next to the sink. “No thanks, mate.” He pulled out a packet of store-bought cookies. “Got my own.”

Jane wasn’t sure if that was a dig at her or not, but she didn’t have time to process it as Finn’s eyes widened. “Mommy,” he whispered. Finn’s whispers were usually loud as a foghorn, and this one didn’t disappoint. “He called me mate. Just like on Bluey.”

Between The Wiggles and Bluey, Finn was exposed to a high proportion of Australian television content, and his newest favorite was Bluey, a cartoon about the adventures of a Blue Heeler puppy.

She watched surreptitiously as Cole unloaded his bags, shoving the cold stuff in the fridge, including several pints of milk and a couple of six-packs of Bud. Then he stored the non-perishables in an empty under-bench cupboard. He didn’t ask for direction or permission, and Jane didn’t offer any. When he was done, he headed back toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Finn asked as Cole reached the doorway.

He paused. Jane could see the tension in the rigidity of his frame. Hell, she could practically feel it as it wafted off him in waves. “Couple more bags in the car.”

More bags? Jane’s heart sank. Just how long was he planning on staying? She didn’t care how much her stupid belly was fluttering—he had to go. She didn’t need this kind of distraction. She didn’t need any distraction.

“Can I help?”

If anything, that big frame grew tauter, and Jane opened her mouth to hush Finn, to make an excuse. Cole hadn’t appreciated the offer of her help last night; she couldn’t see him being any more impressed with the offer from a child, no matter how innocently it was proposed. But Cole surprised her with a “Sure thing” before disappearing out the door.

Jane blinked. So he could accept help. Just not hers…

A little whoop of joy escaped Finn’s mouth, and he grabbed Carl as he scrambled off the stool. “Oh no.” Jane shook her head. “If Carl decides to make a break for it out there, we might never find him.”

Finn appeared to consider her statement for a moment or two before nodding solemnly and placing the animal back on the countertop. “You stay with Mommy, Carl. I’ll be back.”

And then he was off, tearing out the door, leaving both Jane and Carl staring after him. Jane glanced down at the creature, whose intricate multicolored pattern seemed to glow almost fluorescent in the morning sunshine. She supposed most people found it fascinating, but she couldn’t help but regard the creature begrudgingly.

She and Tad had not discussed getting their son a pet; he’d just bought the creature for Finn to compensate for the fact he was shirking his parental responsibilities. Finn had apparently been quite upset at Tad’s announcement about having to go to Mommy’s for a few days—surprise, surprise—and Tad did what Tad always did.

Panicked.

When the two-year-old veiled chameleon in the Denver pet shop window had made Finn smile through his tears, Tad had bought it for him. Jane didn’t know a damn thing about taking care of a chameleon, so, while Tad hopped on a plane to Vegas, Jane had hit the internet and undertaken a crash course. It had then taken her all day to get Carl sorted. This had involved a three-hour round trip to the nearest pet store and several hundred dollars on supplies, from lights to materials for an enclosure to all kinds of different food supplements.

Why couldn’t Tad have bought something easy? Like a dog or a cat. Instead of an exotic tropical creature that required a massive cage, regular misting, and the provision of live crickets as its food source.

Luckily, Jane was more than capable of knocking up the recommended enclosure, which they were housing in the en suite bathroom attached to their bedroom. She couldn’t lie—it did freak her out getting naked in front of an animal whose eyes rolled around in its head and moved independently of each other. She also wasn’t entirely sure about the ethics of exposing herself to an innocent animal. Not that he was in his cage that much. Between Finn ferrying Carl around on his arm or shoulders or head and the animal’s propensity to escape, he was more out than in. Like now, regarding her lazily, looking hale and hearty, like he could live to be one hundred.

So, whether Jane liked it or not, she and Carl were stuck with each other.

“Thank you very much, Tad,” she muttered under her breath.

Ordinarily, Tad would have ditched Finn with his parents, which would have been fine, because Finn adored his grandparents as much as Jane did, and she knew he’d be well looked after. But they were on a cruise.

Jane sighed. Tad wasn’t a bad father. In fact, when he was present, he was really, really good. It helped that he was a big kid himself, with a killer smile and a husky inflection to his singing voice that made women lose their minds. Her included. But he had a loose grasp on time and a fluid schedule that didn’t often take into account his parental responsibilities, and that was as endlessly frustrating after they’d split as it had been when they’d still been married.

Hence the nun thing.

Tad had taught her she couldn’t rely on a man—that she could only rely on herself—and Jane had taken that to heart. And she’d been too damn busy juggling her company while caring for Finn and managing Tad to worry about the pathetic state of her sex life.

But she was thinking about it now as she heard the door open and close again and Finn’s muffled endless chatter. She didn’t need a therapist or a crystal ball to know why. Cole freaking Hauser. An Aussie rugby player who she’d known for less than two days.

Jane stared at the chameleon. “You ever get that fluttery feeling in your tummy, Carl?”

Carl, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer. He just cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes around in that unnerving display of ocular dexterity. He seemed to glow a bit brighter, though, so maybe that was his way of expressing sympathy.

Or maybe he was just laughing his ass off.

Her conjecture was cut off by Finn barreling into the kitchen with a massive bag of chips under each arm. Unfortunately, her son only had one speed. “Mommy, Cole says I can watch sports with him on the TV.”

Jane cocked an eyebrow at her son. “Mr. Hauser,” she corrected.

“I told him he could call me Cole,” the man in question said gruffly as he appeared in the kitchen at a less breakneck pace than her son.

He didn’t look at her, just headed for the bench near the sink, but that fluttery feeling flared to life in her stomach again. Jane stole a glance at Carl, who returned it with a what-you-going-to-do? expression. Seriously, if Carl had possessed eyebrows, they’d be high on his scaly face right now.

The fact she was feeling anything for some guy she barely knew sparked at her nerve endings, and not in a nice tingly way—in a really freaking annoying way.

“Thank you, but not today,” she told his back as he unpacked another bag. “Finn and I have plans.”

He paused for a long moment, the muscles across his shoulders going taut again beneath the close fit of his T-shirt. Jane wondered what was going through his head. Did he think she was one of those helicopter mommas who tried to control everything? Tad had certainly accused her of that from time to time.

“No skin off my nose,” he said, then resumed his unpacking.

“Pleeease, Mom,” wheedled Finn. It was a tone that always worked on his father. “Cole said we could watch cricket.”

Dragging her eyes off Cole’s shoulders, she smiled brightly at her son. “Not today.”

She’d like nothing more than to sit Finn down in front of an electronic babysitter all day. God knew he’d watch Bluey nonstop if she let him, and it would certainly help her get this job done. But Finn already watched a little too much television when he was at his father’s—despite her frequent conversations with Tad about their agreement regarding screen time—so she made sure she stuck to a regimen, because children needed routine and boundaries.

Even if that did make her the boring parent.

Half an hour of Bluey in the morning, half an hour at lunch, and half an hour after dinner and before bath time. That was more than enough.

“We have all those crafts planned today, and we’re going to the park to try and catch grasshoppers for Carl. You really wanted to do that, remember? We even bought you a bug catcher.”

Jane would rather eat a grasshopper than spend any time chasing after them in the vain hope of catching one, but Finn had been blessed with an excess of energy, and Jane knew from experience that tiring him out with as much physical exercise as possible made for a good night’s sleep.

Finn brightened. “Oh, yes.” He crossed to Cole, his head tipping all the way back to meet the much taller man’s eyes. “Sorry, Cole. I gotta catch bugs for Carl. Mommy says we have to be ’sponsible pet owners.”

Jane smiled at Finn’s parroting. He’d always been a chatterbox, picking words up quickly, even if his pronunciation was hit-and-miss, and she’d talked to him a lot that first day about how a pet was a commitment and an important responsibility. It was gratifying to hear Finn had taken her words to heart.

“No worries, mate,” Cole said. “Check you later.” He offered his fist to Finn, who dutifully bumped his much smaller one against Cole’s. Then he spread his little fingers like his hand was exploding as he pulled it away. When Cole did it, too, Finn grinned in delight.

Jane blinked. What the? Her son and the man they hadn’t even known two days ago had a fist-bump routine? The man who he was gazing at with complete adoration already? It was probably just the cane and the accent and the mate, but Cole Hauser was apparently proving to be catnip for both the Spencers.

While Jane’s brain was pondering that little conundrum, Finn announced, “I’ll go get my bug catcher, Mom.” Before she could drag her head back in the game, Finn was disappearing out the door at his usual fast clip. Which left her and Cole. Alone. His back to her. Tension thick in the air.

The silence grew heavy between them for a beat of two before Jane spoke. “Thank you for the offer.” She’d been brought up to be polite, and Cole’s offer had been thoughtful. The last thing he probably wanted was to spend his downtime with some chatty kid he didn’t know. “But I don’t like Finn to have too much screen time. He’s the kind of kid who needs to expend energy, not store it.”

“Lady, you don’t want your kid hanging out with me, fine. Like I said, no skin off my nose.”

His reply was stiff and testy and screeched across her nerve endings like nails down a chalkboard, raising her hackles. She wished she could deny the underlying accusation in his statement, but she couldn’t. Yes, controlling Finn’s access to the television was important, but it was about more than that. She didn’t want Finn hanging around a guy he’d clearly already taken a shine to.

Like most kids, Finn became easily infatuated with people. Particularly men. And Cole, like Tad, would be gone in a few days, with any luck. She didn’t want Finn to feel abandoned by two men this vacation. She didn’t expect Cole to understand that, and, frankly, she didn’t care. The only feelings she cared about were Finn’s.

Jane stood as she addressed his back. “I think maybe it’s best to avoid each other as much as possible for the duration of your stay.” Her heart banged loud in her chest. Surely, if Cole made himself scarce, Finn wouldn’t get too attached? “How about Finn and I keep out of your way, and you keep out of ours?”

“Suits me,” Cole said, his voice a deep rumble. Then, without turning to acknowledge her, he picked up an apple, shoved a bag of chips under his arm, and limped to the door.

…

Cole aimlessly flicked between channels on Tuesday—his third day in front of the television in the parlor. Yes. The house had a parlor.

He felt bloated and slovenly from all the beer and processed food he’d been consuming. He hadn’t looked in the mirror for days, which was just as well, because he really needed to shave and probably do something with his hair, considering he’d done nothing other than push it off his forehead since he got here. God knew that was a surefire recipe for a tangled nightmare.

And he really needed to get outside for a long walk. Exercise was the key to his recovery, and the team physiotherapist would bust his balls for sure if she could see how damn lazy he was being, undoing all the progress they’d made. He would get back to it in the next couple of days, but for the first time in months, he was letting himself wallow in the turd sandwich he’d been handed, and it felt fucking amazing.

His career was over. The end. Finito.

He’d been angry about it and in denial over it and bargained over it with everyone from the national rugby body to a dozen healthcare professionals to God, even. But here in this small town in the middle of bloody nowhere on the other side of the planet, where nobody knew him and nobody cared and there were no media or fans or sycophants around to feed him false beliefs, he’d finally acknowledged what the experts had been telling him for six months.

He was never playing rugby again. Not at an elite level, anyway.

They’d pinned and wired and plated every bone in his right leg, and he would, most likely, get back full use and be able to throw his stick away, but it would never withstand the physical impact of a rugby game.

So yeah…he was going to let himself wallow for a little longer.

After more than a decade of dedication to fitness and nutrition and keeping on top of the game, it was utterly freeing to just let it all go. He hadn’t been able to do that back home with everyone in the sporting world watching him like a hawk. The pressure to shake it off, to regain his fitness and throw himself into it again, to prove the naysayers wrong, had been immense.

And he’d been the guiltiest of all.

Until he’d sat his arse on this couch in this ridiculous room in this even more ridiculous house and let go of those expectations and just fucking wallowed in what he’d lost. And with that had come clarity and a strange kind of acceptance. Didn’t mean he still wasn’t a little bitter about the abrupt end to his career. He was probably always going to carry that chip around. But it did mean he could start looking forward to a new chapter in his life.

“Hi, Cole.”

Cole turned at the voice to find Finn standing in the doorway with Carl sitting on his shoulder like a bloody parrot and just as colorful. He’d caught glimpses of Finn the last couple of days, as he had Jane, but they hadn’t actually spoken, as per their agreement. Jane had usually diverted Finn’s attention, and Cole hadn’t lingered.

He was pretty sure Jane would not approve of this little tête-a-tête. “Hey, mate. Watcha doin’?”

“Nuthin’.”

Finn hesitated for a moment before glancing quickly over his shoulder and stepping inside the room. Yeah…Jane had obviously warned Finn to stay away from the parlor, but he was clearly deciding to throw caution to the wind. The kid had guts; he’d give him that. Jane kept him on a tight rein, and Finn’s face left Cole in no doubt he was more than aware of the consequences of flouting his mother’s rules. Still, his steps became more confident the closer he came to the Chesterfield.

“What are you watching?” Finn asked as he pulled to a stop beside Cole’s leg.

“Boxing.”

Finn studied the vision on the screen for a moment or two. “Can I watch?” He pulled the chameleon off his shoulder and added, “Carl, too?”

How about Finn and I keep out of your way, and you keep out of ours?

Jane’s words floated back to him as if she’d just whispered them in his ear. By any definition, this was not keeping out of his way. But Finn was four and clearly not big on boundaries. Cole was sorely tempted to agree to the request just to annoy Little-Miss-Maybe-It’s-Best-To-Avoid-Each-Other, but this wasn’t his kid, so he didn’t get to make the rules.

Plus, he actually really admired Jane for setting boundaries.

He didn’t know what the story was with her and her ex, but he did know both from his own childhood and many of his teammates with children that raising them wasn’t easy when there were two committed adults in the mix. Raising a kid solo was even harder. And sometimes things like discipline and routine and boundaries were harder to enforce without someone backing you up.

Sure, Jane was prickly and had been firm in her assertion she didn’t want to clap eyes on him, but Cole had been just as irritable over her assumptions of his physical capabilities and more than happy to hole away in the parlor, eating and drinking and dozing in front of ESPN and generally being a sloth.

“I don’t think your mum wants you to watch the television, Finn.”

“You say mom funny.”

Cole laughed. “So do you.”

Finn joined in the laughing, obviously amused at Cole’s ridiculous statement, like there couldn’t possibly be more than one way to say mom. But it didn’t last long before Finn’s expression turned to one of pleading hopefulness. He was a boy on a mission and not going to be derailed from his objective.

“Please can I watch, Cole? Just for a liddle while.” His gaze implored Cole with unwavering dedication. “I’m s’posed to be watching Bluey now, and Mommy lets me watch Bluey for thirty minutes. Could I watch thirty minutes of the boxing, please? Plllleeaseee!”

Cole admired both Finn’s logic and the way he hit the right note somewhere between wheedling and hopeful. It was certainly persuasive. He could see how easily Finn could twist someone around his little finger. But Finn’s reasonable request put Cole firmly between a rock and a hard place. “I don’t want to make your mum mad.”

“Mommy doesn’t get mad. She gets fus…fustated.”

Cole cocked an eyebrow, grinning despite himself. He’d known Jane for a handful of days but could already imagine her holding on to the slender thread of her patience as she explained she wasn’t mad, she was frustrated, as she gritted her teeth. “That right, huh?”

She’d seemed pretty mad that night she’d threatened him with pliers. And when she’d asked him to stay out of her way.

“Besides,” Finn said, obviously switching tack. “Mr. Benji is here about the floor. They’ll be ages.”

Finn said the floor like it was the deathliest dull thing on the face of the planet. Like filing a tax return. Or lawn bowls. And he supposed, to a kid, it probably was. “Okay.” He could still hear faint murmuring outside. “Half an hour.”

Or until his mother realized where the hell he was.

Cole wasn’t deliberately trying to undermine Jane’s rule, but he didn’t mind the company, and the kid was clearly bored. And, in his experience, bored kids got themselves into trouble a little too easily. God knew he’d gotten up to all kinds of mischief as a kid when he’d been home alone while his mother was at work and his father was missing in action. The amount of times he’d played with matches, it was a wonder he hadn’t burned the house down or caught his hair on fire.

Finn beamed. “Yessss!” Then he did a fist pump that was cute as hell. “Thank you, Cole, thank you,” he said as he launched himself at the couch, squirming over until his leg was jammed against Cole’s, his little feet hanging over the edge of the Chesterfield at the ankles, Carl ensconced quite happily, it would seem, in his lap.

And that’s how they stayed for the next forty minutes. The time flew, and Cole wasn’t really keeping an eye on his watch. Finn was surprisingly good company for a four-year-old. He wasn’t disturbed by the blood or the hitting, just curious about everything, peppering Cole with questions that kept him on his toes. Like, what were the ropes made out of? And why did referees wear bow ties?

Neither of them heard the front door close. But they did hear Jane calling out, “Finn?”

Uh oh. Finn, his hand midway between the popcorn bowl and his mouth, glanced toward the door, then back to Cole. “Mommy’s finished.” He whispered like he knew it was only a matter of time before his whereabouts were discovered.

“Finnn?” There was a singsongy note to the way she called her son’s name. So she wasn’t cranky. Yet.

Cole nodded his head solemnly. “Think we’ve been busted, mate.”

The boxing match forgotten, they both watched the doorway, girding their loins as they waited for Jane to put two and two together. It didn’t take long. Crossing her arms, her eyebrows knitting together, she leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of Finn sitting next to Cole, his little feet sticking off the cushion, a hand stuffed full of popcorn.

“Finn William Randolph Spencer.” Her lips pursed disapprovingly. “You’re supposed to be in your room misting your cage and watching Bluey, not bothering Cole.”

“Don’t blame him. I told him he could sit with me for a while.”

She cocked one imperious eyebrow at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Cole—” She paused like she wished she knew all his names so she could chastise him the same way she’d done Finn. “Cole Hauser. As the responsible adult in this situation, I’m totally blaming you.”

Maybe it had been the lack of her company the last couple of days, but the way she said his name—kinda gruff and stern—was having, he imagined, the opposite effect to the one she was going for. It was very…schoolmistress.

Jesus. What a time to learn he had a schoolmistress fetish.

“That would be Cole Jacob Hauser.” He paused for a beat before adding, “ma’am.” He couldn’t help it—the devil was suddenly riding him, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw the slightest twitch at one corner of her mouth.

But it was fleeting as she advanced into the room, her gaze falling on the television as the defending champion landed a blow square to the jaw of his rival, knocking out the guard protecting his teeth, a thick spray of blood flying from his mouth as his neck snapped around.

Stepping in Finn’s line of sight, between him and the television, Jane sliced her gaze sideways to Cole. “Boxing?” She folded her arms again as her quiet, controlled voice moved beyond chastising to something far more aggrieved. “You let him watch a boxing match?”

The station chose that moment to replay the hit in slow motion, the blood spray even more grotesque, the whiplash movement of the neck slightly sickening. In hindsight, Cole had to admit it might not have been the best choice for a four-year-old, but it wasn’t running of the bulls.

Or female mud wrestling.

She looked to the massive bowl of popcorn Finn was nursing on his lap and the two empty bottles of Bud and a juice box sitting on the paper towel he’d laid on top of the antiquey-looking table at the end of the Chesterfield.

“C’mon, Finn.” She dropped her arms and held out her hand to her son. “Let’s go do some finger painting.”

“Oh, Mom… Can I please watch some more sports with Cole?”

“I think you’ve seen enough sports for one day.”

Her emphasis left Cole in no doubt what she thought about boxing—certainly not one she wanted her kid to witness. “But we were having fun.”

Jane dropped her hand to her side. “Finger painting is fun.”

Finn didn’t look like he considered finger painting fun. At least not in comparison to Cole, television, and popcorn. He turned beseeching eyes on Cole. “Tell Mommy how much fun sports is.”

Cole almost laughed out loud. He didn’t know Jane’s sporting preferences, but right now, if he had to guess, he’d say she wasn’t a fan of any. But there was something about the childlike desperation in Finn’s eyes that tugged hard somewhere around Cole’s middle.

How could he say no to that? Glancing at Jane, he said, “Look…I really don’t mind him being here with me. And we can watch something else.” He picked up the remote and changed it to the channel he knew was showing cricket. It was an old one-day match between the West Indies and New Zealand that Cole had seen a few years ago, but he doubted Finn would care. “There’s no violence in cricket, and it’s bound by strict rules of etiquette.”

Which was broadly true. Cricket wasn’t known for being a bloodbath. Sure, there was some smack talk going on between the opposing teams, and players might occasionally injure themselves and draw blood, but it was generally very suitable for children.

“Oh yes.” Finn clapped, his eyes lit with excitement. “I want to watch cricket, Mommy.”

Jane shook her head, but, egged on by Finn’s enthusiasm, Cole leaped in to play his trump card. “Look. How about this. He watches two hours of cricket with me, and then he can finger paint with you.” She opened her mouth to object, but Cole plowed right on. “Come on, Jane, think about it. You can do a couple hours’ work on the floor.”

She closed her mouth abruptly, and Cole knew he’d found her Achilles heel. “Two. Whole. Uninterrupted. Hours. During the day.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, which was distracting as fuck, her gaze moving from Cole to Finn to the cricket, then back to Cole. He wanted to say you know you want to but didn’t think she’d appreciate his cockiness. Those prickles of hers were never far from the surface, and Cole was pretty sure cockiness caused them to unfurl. “You can go to bed two hours earlier tonight.”

He doubted she would if she was as behind as he figured, but she had to be pretty wrecked from the hours she was keeping. Not that she looked it.

There was more lip chewing as Jane, obviously torn, weighed her options. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’ll be so good, Mommy.”

“He’ll be fine,” Cole said. “Really.”

She kind of sagged a little, and Cole swore he could see a weight lifting off her shoulders. “Okay, well…thank you. I really appreciate that. But only two hours.” She wagged her finger at Finn for emphasis, but Cole couldn’t help but think it was for him, too, and there went that schoolmistress thing again.

“And only cricket.”

She was addressing him this time. She’d dropped her finger, but he felt it mentally keeping him in line. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes went a little round at him ma’aming her, and there was a definite look that arced between them in that second. And a pulse in the air that stayed with him long after she exited the room.