Chapter Four

Despite setting the alarm on her phone, Jane kept a close eye on the clock because she still didn’t feel right about leaving Finn in Cole’s care. She didn’t worry about his safety—it wasn’t like either of them were going to shift their asses off the couch—or even that she mistrusted Cole, because there was no way she’d have left Finn with him if she did.

She just felt guilty. The way mothers did when they weren’t there for their kid every freaking waking and sleeping minute of the day and night. Jane had tried, unsuccessfully, to shake it off over the years, but it was an almost constant companion. Maybe being a divorced, working single mom exacerbated the guilt, but she knew plenty of stay-at-home moms and women with partners who felt it, too.

Why women put that on themselves, she had no idea. Trying to be everything to everyone and feeling like they were failing at everything as the balls they constantly juggled came crashing down on their heads. This job being a classic example.

But suddenly…Cole was here.

Jane had no earthly idea why she trusted him with her son on such short acquaintance. The reality was she barely knew Cole Hauser. Yet…she did trust him. Why? Because right from the start, he’d ceded to all her requests. He’d left her bed when she’d demanded it the night he’d crawled into it, obviously in pain and looking more exhausted than she’d ever seen another human being look. He hadn’t expected her to wait on him hand and foot. And when she’d asked him to avoid them and stay away, he’d done that, too.

Not to mention that Wade had spoken very highly of him and, of course, the easy way he’d clicked with Finn from their first meeting. And, lastly, there was this absolute certainty in her gut. The one thing she’d always trusted and had never led her wrong.

Tad being a classic example.

Her gut had been hinky from the start with him, but she’d been infatuated with his skinny rocker ass enough to ignore the almost constant state of dyspepsia. And when they’d been together long enough for her to think that maybe she loved him, she’d let her hormones override this very visceral signal.

She’d sworn the day Tad had walked out on her and Finn, when he’d been not quite one year old, she’d never, never, ignore her gut again.

And her gut was telling her Cole Hauser was a good guy.

Hell, the man had just given her two precious hours. Two preciously productive daylight hours when she was alert and awake and her energy levels were high. Unlike at night, when she was so tired from her early starts and long days with Finn she could barely keep her eyes open and her productivity was mediocre at best.

She was not thrilled about Cole sitting on his ass all day and doing nothing, but that really wasn’t any of her business. Just because Tad had proven to be an idle man-baby and she really disliked lazy men, didn’t mean Cole was cut from the same cloth. She’d googled him. He was a professional athlete, or he had been. That wasn’t compatible with laziness. That took hours of training and dedication.

It took drive.

Granted, he didn’t seem particularly driven at the moment, unless she counted his appetite for Pop-Tarts, beer, and ESPN, but from what she’d read, his career was pretty much over and he’d come to Credence—to this house—to get away from things. Surely, he was entitled to exist on junk food, booze, and television and get himself a square ass if he wanted. And if he didn’t want to shave or brush his hair, well…that wasn’t any of her business, either.

Jane shook her head at that distracting thought. She would not think about the developing scruff on Cole Hauser’s jawline. She didn’t need another injured thumb! Instead, she took a moment to admire how much she’d achieved today. Hell, she’d been more productive in this couple of hours than she’d been all last night.

Removing the tiles was a painstaking job. Normally, she’d take a sledgehammer to a room full of tiles—smash them up and remove them, quick and easy. But here, in this historically significant house, they had to be pried off individually and with great care. There were areas of the parquetry beneath that were in bad shape, fragile due to age and water damage, and she had to proceed with caution.

Which meant patience and a gentle touch. Ordinarily, that would’ve been fine. Jane loved a slow reveal and knowing she was doing everything in her power to safeguard the historical provenance of a house. And she had allowed herself ample time to do this job.

But that had been predicated on Finn being at his father’s.

With Finn here and her time limited, she was acutely aware of how behind she was, and the urge to work faster—to catch up—warred with the imperative to take things slowly and carefully to preserve the integrity of the valuable parquetry.

If push came to shove, she knew she could send out an SOS to company headquarters in Ventura. Alonzo, who’d been with her from the beginning, would come running to give her a hand. He was currently working on another job, but it wasn’t time sensitive, and he loved parquetry with a passion bordering on zeal. She’d been sending him pictures ever since she’d started uncovering the floor, and he was already champing at the bit to see it in person.

She would have handed it over to him, too, when Tad had dumped Finn on her out of the blue, but CC had specifically asked for Jane to handle the job personally and had paid Something Old, Something New a shitload of money to ensure it.

Jane had no doubt if she’d explained her changed circumstances and Alonzo’s excellent credentials to CC that the other woman would’ve been fine with Jane bowing out. She and CC weren’t close friends, but Jane knew her well enough to know CC was a reasonable and generous woman.

She was no don’t-you-know-who-my-husband-is diva, that was for sure.

But…Jane had wanted to do the job. She’d wanted to be the one to restore this floor back to its former grandeur.

The sudden peal of the alarm broke into her thoughts, and Jane tapped it off as she sprang to her feet. Time to rescue Cole. Finn could be relentlessly chatty, and Cole was probably counting down the seconds until he could watch his sports uninterrupted.

Hurrying to the parlor, she arrived just in time to see Finn bouncing on his haunches on the Chesterfield, yelling, “Catch it! Catch it,” and Cole leaning forward at the hips, saying, “Steady man…steady,” and then them both erupting into a cheer, Finn pumping his arm in the air. As she watched, Cole turned to Finn and said, “Howzat?” and they high-fived each other.

It was like a slug to her heart as Jane stood in the doorway, too choked up to breathe—to move—as the scene of pure domestic bliss played out. This is what fathers did. Or one of the things, anyway. Sat with their kids, watched sports on the television with them, shared in a team’s victory, in a great catch or a homerun, sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” when the country won a gold medal.

And the fact Finn didn’t have this as a constant in his life—like millions of other kids did; like she’d had with her father—tugged at her gut, making her sad and achey and yeah…also a little guilty. Like maybe she should have tried harder to mend things with Tad. Maybe she’d been too harsh on him. Maybe she should’ve given him another chance when he’d begged to come back four months after he’d split despite the fact he’d gone straight to another woman’s bed.

Jesus…

Jane shook her head. Why was she even thinking that? She didn’t love Tad anymore. In fact, there were a few times it had been hard to even like him. There was one thing she knew rationally—she and Finn were better off alone than with a man who didn’t prioritize them. Who had a loose association with the word commitment. And access to groupies.

And Tad would always be that guy.

Jane wanted Finn to have a relationship with his father, and, for what it was worth, she believed Tad wanted that, too. But he had maturity issues, and until that changed—and she desperately hoped it would—she was going to have to be the grown-up for both of them.

She and Finn would be fine. They were a team. They didn’t need anyone else. Especially not a guy like Cole, who clearly had his own issues, was here for only a short time, and lived on the other side of the world.

She didn’t want Finn’s heart broken any more this summer.

“Okay, Finn.” She hurried into the room. “Time’s up, sweetie.”

Finn frowned at his mother. “Oh, but Mom!”

Ignoring Finn, she shot Cole a smile. “Thank you so much for entertaining him for me.”

He smiled back, and it was a thing of pure beauty, with his full, perfect lips curving upward, emphasizing his very distracting facial scruff. A ridiculous diamond-bright spark bounced around her belly like an electrified pinball zapping all her good bits.

“No worries. He was fine.”

Jane saw him speaking but barely heard his words—she was still so distracted by his whiskers. She’d always been a sucker for scruff. That very specific stage between deciding not to shave and just prior to complete beard. And she’d watched his jaw these past few days go from dark to darker to three-day-growth to what was now, officially, scruff.

It suited the lean angles of his face and was dark with a hint of salt in it, just like the wild tangle of curls he kept pushing back off his forehead. He looked like a really wicked angel. The fallen variety.

Yup. The man was freaking Lucifer. Great…Satan was sleeping in the room three doors down, and now she was staring.

Quit staring, you weirdo!

“Well, anyway…” she said because she had no clue what he’d said, and well, anyway seemed like it’d probably fit in any conversation. She held her hand out to Finn. “C’mon, let’s go do that finger painting.”

“Mommmm.”

“Finny.” Jane used her I’m-not-messing-around-here voice but softened it with a small smile. “We said two hours and then it was finger-painting time.”

Finn sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Okay.” He slid off the Chesterfield, tucking Carl into his chest as he did before looking over his shoulder at Lucifer. “You want to do some finger painting with me, Cole?”

What? Jane shook her head. No. “Finn… No.” She glanced down at Cole, her gaze skimming the third beer bottle that had been added to the table, before meeting his eyes. “Cole doesn’t want to do any finger painting.”

She spoke to Finn, but her eyes remained fixed on Cole’s. He shrugged nonchalantly, but she could see the irritation lurking in his syrupy gaze. Yep, his eyes were a deep, dark brown. Maybe darker than syrup, even. Molasses, maybe. “I can finger paint.”

Jane blinked. “What?”

“Sure?” He shrugged. “Why not?”

Finn cheered as Cole stood, leaning heavily on his stick. Jane took a step back because, even with the aid of a device, Cole was overwhelmingly able-bodied. He looked like he could easily toss her over his shoulder or on his bed, which caused the kind of excitement inside her underwear that had been absent for far too long.

Yup…there was a party going on down there for sure, and all he’d done was stand up! Gah! She’d known the man for five days. Freaking hell…he really was the devil incarnate.

“If you show me where the stuff is, I can get it set up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jane protested.

“I know. I don’t mind. Plus, you can get some more work done on the floor.”

“Oh yes, please, Mommy.” Finn tugged on the side seam of her shorts. “Can Cole finger paint with me?”

Jane didn’t know what to say. A part of her—the mother-guilt part—wanted to dismiss Cole’s offer because she was the mom. She had to do this stuff with her son, or he’d turn into a…serial killer or something else socially undesirable down the track, right? But the other half was telling her to say yes, let Cole entertain Finn for a little longer. It seemed dumb to look a gift horse in the mouth just because she may or may not want to ride said gift horse, long and hard and bareback…

Jane shut her eyes briefly at the image. Her hormones were really taking the wheel today. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her mouth intently, and a mad pulse flared to life between her legs.

“I really don’t mind,” he reiterated, taking his damn sweet time lifting his gaze.

Jane couldn’t deny how good it would be to keep working on the floor. She had tried to do some during the day when Finn first arrived, setting up activities in the red sitting room so he could play and she could work, but all Finn had really wanted to do was help with the removal process, and the floor was too precious to let a small boy help. There were often jobs he could help her with on projects, but not this one.

Plus, Finn was four! There were plenty of years ahead where he’d have to toil and work, and she wasn’t going to ruin his childhood by turning him into some kind of mommy’s-little-apprentice! He was supposed to be having four weeks of fun and adventure with his dad—Jane certainly wasn’t going to put him to work.

But that had made her behind.

“Well…” Her teeth pressed into her lower lip for a beat or two as she considered yet another tempting offer from Cole. His gaze followed the movement. “If you’re sure?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay then…thanks.”

“Yessss!” Finn jumped up and down and hugged Jane’s leg briefly before snatching Cole’s hand, saying, “The paint’s in the kitchen.”

He started a little slower because of the cane, and Jane opened her mouth to warn Finn to take it easy, but Cole just chuckled and kicked on some speed as Finn dragged him out of the room.

Jane wouldn’t have ever said limps were sexy. In fact, she was pretty sure that was probably a really un-PC thing to think, but it certainly didn’t detract from Cole’s back view one little bit. His limp didn’t diminish his masculinity one jot. The night he’d first arrived, he’d looked rough as hell, and his leg had obviously been hurting, but, apart from then, he’d looked nothing but supremely capable. If anything, the cane emphasized the bunch of his shoulder muscles and his arm muscles on the left and drew her gaze to his ass.

Crappity crap. Lucifer in floral board shorts. That should not work.

But it did.

Cole painted with Finn for well over an hour. After they finished, they pegged their many works of art on the clothesline to dry, and then Cole set up the sprinkler in the backyard under the huge Burr Oak. He didn’t check in with Jane or ask permission; he just went ahead. It had been a hot day, but now it was after four—the harsh heat of the sun had mellowed. Plus, the kid was covered in paint, despite the apron Jane had insisted he wear.

Win. Win.

And then there was the added advantage of running off Finn’s pent up energy. The kid was a real live wire, constantly running off at the mouth and always moving. Even watching the cricket, he’d squirmed and fidgeted and chatted continuously to Cole and Carl and the cricketers on the screen. Cole could relate. He might not have suffered from Finn’s verbal diarrhea, but Cole’s mother had always said he’d had ants in his pants and had gotten him into sport at an early age.

She’d known, in the way that mothers did, that those ants needed to be channeled for good or they’d be channeled for bad, particularly in the dodgy area he’d grown up. Cole had started off with basketball because of his height, and swimming, then tennis. He’d excelled at all of them, but then soccer had come along, and he’d realized he was better still at kicking a ball.

But nothing had been like the adrenaline rush of his first rugby game. Hard and fast and…gladiatorial in a way that gave all his teenage energy and rage at his deadbeat father an outlet.

And the rest was history.

“Look at me, Cole!”

Cole, who was watching from the top of the four wide, shallow steps that connected the back portico with the yard, waved at Finn, who’d stripped to his underwear. Cole had found some empty plastic containers of various sizes in the kitchen cupboards and had given them to Finn to fill with water and generally mess around with. Having grown up with few toys, Cole had learned to improvise early, and his mother had firmly believed that anything could be used as a toy.

Finn had filled up the largest container and was now tipping it over his head, drenching himself and grinning a crazily happy grin. “Do it again,” Cole called. “I think you missed some!” And Finn set about filling the container again with the light spray coming from the sprinkler.

It was pleasant on the stairs; the sun had gone down enough now to shade the entire back yard, not just the area under the tree, and the light breeze occasionally wafted some spray his way, cooling Cole even further. The yard wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for a kid to run around in and was fully walled. He’d have killed to have had space like this growing up instead of a small courtyard crammed full of his father’s crap stolen from work sites and left to rust and rot.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he called to Finn. “Just getting a drink. You want a juice box?”

“Oh yes, please!”

Finn’s smile was so big and so happy it slugged Cole right in the center of his chest. Anyone would think he’d offered the kid a ticket to the moon or something.

Levering himself upright with the help of his cane, Cole headed for the kitchen. Jane was there cleaning up the mess of paints and paper they’d left behind. His irritation from earlier returned. The slight purse of her lips as her gaze had fallen on his empty beer bottles had rankled, and he noticed the beer he’d started and finished while they’d been painting and hadn’t yet disposed of was no longer on the bench.

He’d had four beers in about seven hours. He was hardly getting hammered every day. He was on vacation, for fuck’s sake.

“I was going to do that,” he said gruffly as he limped into the room. He’d had every intention of cleaning up once Finn was done under the sprinkler.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re supposed to be using this time to work, not clean up after me when I’m perfectly capable. Don’t let the cane fool you. I’m not an invalid.”

He couldn’t decide if he was cranky about her thinking him lazy or thinking him incapable. Or maybe it was that high ponytail of hers bobbing away, the end swishing against her nape, making him want to tug on it, making him want to press his lips to that nape, making him a little crazy.

He didn’t understand why he was so damn fascinated with this woman. He barely knew her, other than the fact she was pricklier than a hedgehog and also a little judgy. Plus, she was a single mum with a kid. She was so not his type. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d been weirdly alert to the low murmur of her voice wafting into the parlor these past couple of days, and he’d found himself thinking about her before he went to sleep and first thing when he woke.

Her eyes raked over him with a frankness he felt right down to his balls, but it was only brief before her brows arched and she bristled again. “I never thought you were.”

Her frame had tensed, and her words were stiff and stilted, but his body was still feeling the effects of her head-to-toe. He was pretty sure it was meant to be clinically assessing, but Cole had been subjected to the female gaze quite a lot in his life, and he knew when a woman was assessing and when she was looking.

“I needed a break and came out to see how you were going and saw you’d moved outside to the sprinkler. Cleaning up was the least I could do for entertaining Finn for me this afternoon and letting me get some work done.”

She stopped and hesitated, and Cole thought she was done before she added, “Thank you. I…appreciate it.”

Cole almost laughed. It was the most reluctant thank-you he’d ever heard. It seemed every time they had a genuine chance to connect, they botched it, rubbing against each other like sandpaper and zapping at each other like static.

He didn’t know why. He was usually pretty smooth with women, but this one hadn’t fallen for the old Cole Hauser charm. Maybe it was the whole mommy thing she had going on. She seemed to treat him like a second child, another person to take care of—which probably said a lot more about her ex than him. But to a guy who already felt like he was learning to walk all over again, taking baby steps in a long, drawn-out recovery, it pissed him off.

This was not the time for that kind of analysis, however. She had a job to get back to, and he should get back to Finn in case he’d found some mischief to get into without the watchful eye of an adult. “Like I said, I don’t mind.”

And if it came out a little testy, then too bad.

Crossing to the fridge, he reached for Finn’s drink and a beer for himself. Except…there was no beer. A couple of hours ago, there’d been a six-pack. And he didn’t have to look too far to know what had happened.

Cole turned to face Jane, the juice box in hand. “Where’s my beer?”

She crossed over to Cole, relieving him of the juice and replacing it with a bottle of water from the fridge door. “I don’t like Finn having too much juice. It’s not good for his teeth. He can have water.” She pulled out a second one and shoved it at Cole’s chest. “So can you.”

Cole blinked. That was not what he asked. He put the water back in the fridge. “Where. Is. My. Beer?”

“I have no idea.”

Except clearly she did. What the actual fuck. “You stole my beer?”

“Nuh-uh. The beer fairy did.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The beer fairy? She sounds like someone who should be leaving beer in the fridge, not removing it.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?”

That smug little self-satisfied smile should not be a turn-on. Sadly, it was. Cole sighed. “You happen to know where this…beer fairy stashed my booze?”

“She…or maybe he…we shouldn’t assume gender…never divulges a hiding place.”

Cole couldn’t decide if the idea of a beer fairy was even more mind-boggling than pondering said fairy’s gender. “Jane.” He was done with the pretense.

“Look… Cole.” She moved around to the other side of the bench; he wasn’t sure if that was to see him better or to put a large object between them. “I do really appreciate what you’ve done today, but I don’t want my kid exposed to your day drinking.”

His what now? “My…day drinking? I’m on vacation.”

“Studies have shown that kids who are exposed to adults regularly drinking around them are more likely to indulge in risky behaviors surrounding alcohol and have more alcohol-related issues as they navigate their teens.”

Cole shook his head. Was she for real? “I’ve been here for five days. I’m going to be gone soon. And I’m on vacation.”

She folded her arms. “He likes you. He’s impressionable.”

“He’s four!” Cole tried and failed to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“Good habits start young.” She pursed her lips, which was strangely distracting. A little twist to her mouth that looked all schoolmistress again and made him wonder what she thought about day boinking. “So do bad.”

Christ… He gave himself a mental shake, engaging the brain in his head, not his pants. Jane Spencer was the full mommy catastrophe. He bet she had a dozen books on child-rearing somewhere at home. He had a feeling her standards would be impossible, which made the fact he really, really wanted to kiss that mouth so hard right now super confusing.

“Fine…” Cole shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Finn was out there unsupervised, and there was no time to argue about something he wasn’t really doing with a woman who made him think of other things he’d rather be doing.

With her. During the day. Although that probably breached her standards, too. Only night fucking for the mommy, and then only strictly missionary.

“I’ll drink water.” He’d lost all appetite for beer, anyway. What he really needed now was tequila. Reaching into the fridge again, he dragged out the bottle she’d handed him before.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate it.”

Cole was getting sick of hearing that word. It was so damn…bland. A mommy word used to make a kid feel special but made Cole feel like she was patting him on the head and sending him away, and he wondered how she’d react if he leaned in right now and kissed her mouth. Kissed her in a way that went beyond appreciation.

In a way that would wipe the word from her vocabulary forever.

But his life was fucked-up enough now without doing something monumentally stupid. Jane was a divorced, single mum who didn’t deserve to be messed with because he wanted to be seen. Not to mention how dangerous to his health she could be, considering how well the woman could wield a tool.

So he got out of the kitchen as quickly as his damn useless leg would carry him and continued down the stairs, kicking off his flip-flops, stripping off his T-shirt, and, much to Finn’s delight, walking straight into the sprinkler.

Cole found himself out on the stairs later that evening, just after eight, watching the day turn to night. The setting sun had given the oak tree a golden crown, but it was slowly fading as a blush stole across the sky, heralding twilight. He could even see the faint glimmer of the first star trying to twinkle through the last dying rays of sunlight. It was peaceful out here, nothing but insect song and the occasional bark from Betty—Tucker and Della’s dog next door—breaking the evening hush.

Cole dragged in a deep cleansing breath of eastern Colorado air, which had cooled nicely.

His gaze fell on the plastic containers still sitting under the tree near the now-dry sprinkler head. After they’d finished in the yard, Jane had taken over, and Cole had gone back to the cricket. He’d vaguely heard her and Finn messing around in the kitchen and then Finn tearing up the stairs at his usual breakneck speed with Jane’s slower, more measured footsteps following behind, but it’d been all quiet for the last hour or so.

He assumed Jane was putting Finn to bed, which meant she’d be down soon getting back to work on the floor. As if he’d conjured her up, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him, and he tensed as they drew closer. She was probably coming to bollock him over the containers still being in the yard or, worse, compensate for his injury by collecting them herself, and he braced himself for whatever form her criticism would take—verbal or implied.

Cole wasn’t sure he was up for either—not when all he’d been thinking about all afternoon was kissing her. Her steps stopped behind him, and he was excruciatingly aware of her presence just beyond his right shoulder.

“Nice night,” she murmured.

Cole opened his mouth to give a noncommittal reply when something cold and wet bumped against his upper arm, and he flinched. A frosty bottle of beer appeared over his shoulder then, and he grabbed it automatically as she said, “Truce?”

“Truce,” he said as she sat on the stair beside him, because questioning her definition would probably have the opposite effect.

She didn’t sit too close, nor was she too far. She was what Cole or any other onlooker might describe as a companionable distance. A space Finn could’ve comfortably occupied. But it didn’t feel companionable. It felt as charged as an electric fence.

That big motherfucker in Jurassic Park.

Cole twisted the top off his bottle, noting that Jane had also helped herself to his beer. “I see the beer fairy gave up my stash.”

“Let’s just say I may have…stumbled across it.” She twisted the top off her bottle. “Consider this my finder’s fee.” Then she raised it, angling the neck in is direction. “Cheers.”

Cole wasn’t sure what had gotten into Jane. She seemed relaxed—friendly, even. Had she already had a couple of beers? Is that what had taken her so long to come downstairs? It was like the night they’d bonded over parquetry flooring all over again, and he liked this version of Jane. He didn’t trust that she was going to be around for too long before her prickles—or his, for that matter—flared again.

Their relationship—for want of a better word—blew so hot and cold he was bound to come down with the flu sooner or later.

Cole tapped the neck of his bottle against hers. “Cheers.”

They drank for a moment or two, and Cole shut his eyes as the taste of cold lager flowed over his tongue. There was nothing better at the end of a warm day than a cold beer. Well, there were actually a lot of things better, but he was trying not to think about them right now.

Inappropriate didn’t even begin to cut it.

A small, grunty kind of noise interrupted the silence, dragging his gaze to the plastic-coated antenna of the baby monitor sticking out of Jane’s short’s pocket. He lifted his eyes to her face. “Finn snores?”

She smiled as she placed the beer to her lips once more. “Like a train.” Then she took a swig.

Cole’s breath hitched. Well, fuck him sideways…that was sexy. That smiling-around-the-lip-of-the-bottle thing, her mouth all turned up and glistening. It made him think about her mouth wet from his kisses, her mouth wet around other things. His gaze slid to her throat, which undulated as she swallowed.

The beer left her lips, and Jane wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes finding his again. “It’s his adenoids.” She said it like she thought him fully capable of following along and not still in a brain fuzz from the sexy smiling-around-the-bottle thing.

“He may need them out at some point. The ENT guy is keeping an eye on it at the moment.”

And if that didn’t make Cole acutely aware that this woman beside him was a mother with a kid and all the responsibilities that went along with that, then nothing else would. “He doesn’t look much like you.”

She gave a laugh. “No. Finn is the spitting image of his father. Blond, blue-eyed, carefree with the gift of the gab.”

Cole thought he detected a trace of something in her laugh. Bitterness? Regret? “Is that hard?”

She frowned, turning her eyes on him. “What?”

“Seeing your ex in him every day?”

“No.” She laughed again as she turned her gaze back to the encroaching night beyond the porch. “Absolutely not.”

“Finn’s not a constant reminder of what you had?”

“Of course he is. Tad is Finn’s father and always will be. But it’s not how you’re implying. Tad and I are long over.”

Cole took a sip of his beer. “It sounds like there’s some friction between the two of you.”

“No.” She sighed. “Not exactly. When he puts his mind to it, Tad is a great dad—very attentive. He’s just…prone to distraction.”

“Is that what happened with this job? You said Finn was supposed to be with his father in California.”

“Yeah. A…gig came up.”

Jane’s voice was achingly neutral, but the white clench at the angle of her jaw was a tell. “Finn’s father is a musician?”

“Yes.”

Never in a million years would Cole have guessed that Jane had been married to a muso. She seemed far too practical to fall in love with a dreamer. “What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him?”

She gave a half laugh. “I doubt it. He plays with a band called Two Hands Clapping. His name is Tad Spencer.”

Nope. Never heard of him. “You kept your married name?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s Finn’s last name, too, and all my business stuff was already in that name, and it was just…way down on my list of priorities, I guess.”

Cole nodded. He imagined she had enough to do without dealing with a bunch of red tape. “You don’t have…parents or friends or a sister who could look after Finn?”

“My parents are in the military. They’re currently based in Germany. I don’t have siblings. Tad’s parents are on a cruise. And yes, I do have friends back in California I could call on, but not for four weeks. That’s not fair on them or Finn. And besides, he was expecting some fun time with his dad. He doesn’t need to be shunted somewhere else or get the message that I’m somehow unavailable to him.”

“Will you be able to finish the job in time?”

She took a sip of the beer before she answered. “I’m…not sure. I think I’m going to have to call on some help just in case.”

Cole blinked at the disappointment in her voice. “You don’t like asking for help.”

“It’s not that. I just…I don’t know, it’s a matter of pride, I guess. And it’s one of those jobs that come along so rarely. I was looking forward to being the person responsible for its restoration. I wanted to do it all by myself.” She turned her eyes on him. “You know what I mean?”

Cole nodded. He understood exactly. He’d been part of a team his whole working life, giving and taking. Celebrating in victory, commiserating in defeat. But he also knew that teamwork was underpinned by individual performances and that was an individual responsibility.

This was clearly a matter of pride for her, and he, maybe better than anyone right now, understood injured pride.

She was doing an awful lot of things solo, though. Maybe she could benefit from a little teamwork. “I could look after Finn for the next few weeks.”