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He’d given her a night that was exactly what she’d wanted, but he couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t come close to giving her what she’d really needed.
And he was now afraid he didn’t know what that was.
* * *
“I COULD SIT HERE all night with this grandbaby,” Brad practically shouted from his recliner. His volume didn’t disturb a sleeping Zoe, even though he held her in his arms.
Outside, the snow still came down heavily, illuminated by streetlights.
Nora stood in the kitchen doing the dishes with Coop. “You’re surprisingly domesticated for a bachelor.” And she was entirely too comfortable being domestic with him. It was St. Patrick’s Day all over again. There was just something about Coop that hoodwinked common sense. That urged her to trust. That said, “He’s the one.”
“When Pop was first injured, I had to make sure he had good nutrition.” Coop washed dishes efficiently. He’d added the right amount of dish soap and had the proper sponge for the job. “Don’t get me wrong. We eat a lot of meat and we only have a handful of vegetables we like.” He handed her a plate. Their eyes met. Their hands touched.
Her heart beat faster.
Only because she nearly dropped the plate.
Wake up, common sense urged.
Her father was a drunk. He lied to cover his addiction. He lied to earn forgiveness for his insensitivity. He followed every promise of an easy buck, even if he had to spend ten to do so. But... Coop didn’t seem to be a drunk. Sure, she imagined he exaggerated a bit to sell things, like cars and matchmaking services. But he wasn’t an insensitive jerk. People in town cared for him. They watched his back. They wished him well.
Her trip here had seemed so simple. Show up, give Coop the paternity test, state her demands and make the last bus back to Anchorage.
But Coop was nothing like the man her broken heart had painted.
He was...
She was...
His gaze still held hers. “The snow may let up tomorrow.” His eyes were full of promises that had nothing to do with babies and child support.
“And the bus will leave.” She dragged her gaze away. “With us on it.”
He washed the last plate. “How much time is left on your maternity leave?”
“I start back to work a week from Monday.” There was too much longing in her voice. It was time to tell him the truth.
“I only came to find you to arrange for financial support. When my father was sober, which wasn’t often, he felt it necessary to try to be a part of our lives, but he never fulfilled a promise. Not one.” She took the last plate, carefully avoiding his touch. “Even so, every time he showed up, I was hopeful he’d changed. That he’d finally be the father I wanted.” She forced herself to look at him, to make him understand why she couldn’t listen to her heart and stay. “And every time, he broke my heart. I don’t want that for Zoe.”
Coop’s eyes darkened to a stormy green. “I’m not some deadbeat who doesn’t do what he says he’s going to. Is that why you didn’t tell me about Zoe?”
“You dumped me.” She squared her shoulders. “Without so much as a text saying it was great but you weren’t into long-distance relationships.” Her throat was thick with hurt and battered hope, making it hard to speak, hard to be heard, hard to admit, “And then you didn’t remember me.”
“I’m not your father.” Coop held her arms with soapy fingers, turning her to face him. “I’m just a guy who was dazzled by a beautiful woman and woke up scared.”
“You?” The man with the nothing-fazes-me smile? “Scared?” The sharp edge of hurt she’d been carrying around in her heart for ten months dulled somewhat.
“We never talked about the future or our pasts.” Coop lifted her chin with one wet finger. His eyes were soft and apologetic. His voice rough with remorse. “I had dreams of being a sports agent, making big bucks and living large. I had dreams of living in Malibu, driving a Porsche and being a man every woman wanted. And then Ty had his accident.” He paused to clear his throat. “Now I’m a used-car salesman and a struggling matchmaker living in a mobile home with his dad. No woman wants that.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a good-looking guy—” Overlooking the beard, which was growing on her. “With a steady job. Women give you points for that.” Tatiana certainly did.
“Points? Like keeping score?” A hint of a grin teased the corners of his mouth. “I thought rating the opposite sex was something guys did.”
Her cheeks heated. She stepped back and began putting dishes away. “I’ve heard some men rate women on their appearance at first glance. Don’t even think about denying it,” she said when he opened his mouth to do just that. “I’ve heard them. And...” She sounded guilty already. “Some women keep a running tally in order to judge a man’s long-term potential.”
“You do keep score.” He released the sink plug. The water slurped and gurgled, taunting Nora as his laughter might have. “This is better than Gideon’s survey.”
“It’s just a thing I do. It doesn’t mean anything.” There were no more dishes to put away. No more chores to hide behind.
“What’s my score?” There was a teasing note to his voice, but there was also an underlying platform of seriousness.
Her hands knotted in the tea towel.
He slowly unwound the damp white material and replaced it with his now-dry hands. “Nora.”
She stared at their hands, reminded of that night and of something she hadn’t recalled, something she’d forgotten: his tenderness. “I don’t actually keep score,” she said, still in a place that was half memory, half here-and-now. “I give points when a man does something I like or admire, and I take points away when he does something I don’t.”
“My score, Nora.” Resignation. He knew what was coming.
His deficit shouldn’t have made her feel guilty. He was the one who’d run out on her. But there was his touch, his gentle smile, his broken dreams and his falling in love with Zoe.
“You don’t have a score.” She was a horrible liar.
His thumbs stroked the backs of her hands, an odd contrast to his jaw hardening beneath that scruffy dark beard. “I want a number.”
“You don’t have a score because...” She shouldn’t tell him. They were getting along so well. Civility would help her negotiate child support. But a small part of her wanted him to know—with certainty—that his leaving had hurt her. “Because the amount of points you lost when you sneaked out the door is astronomical. I just can’t trust a man like that.” But she wanted to.
She expected Coop to release her. She expected him to turn away and scoff. She didn’t expect him to pull her close, to look deep in her eyes or to press his whisker-fringed lips softly against hers.
She hadn’t expected him to poke holes in her resolve to raise Zoe alone. But he did, with one too-brief kiss.
His point deficit was erased. Its use invalidated. The point system broken.
Coop stepped back. “I don’t care about points or the past.” He spoke in a low voice, one that set aside pride to make way for truths. “I’m responsible. And I won’t run scared again. I could be responsible for—”
“Don’t say it.” Despite her words, she backed into the corner of the kitchen, waiting to hear what would next come out of his mouth.
“Stay, Nora.” His gaze was guarded. His words as solemn as a wedding vow. “Stay until you’re due back at work. Being a new mom is hard. Give me a chance to...to...spoil you a little.”
To love you a little.
That was what Nora heard him say.
But she wasn’t interested in loving a little. She’d had that with her dad.
And so she turned away.
But she didn’t turn him down.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_11c96ab9-f5c1-5e22-927f-14060128db6d)
“I HAVE AN IDEA for your questionnaire,” Coop said to Ty and Gideon the night after he’d kissed Nora.
The snow had let up but bus service had yet to resume. Nora had said nothing more about staying or going. Coop had told her the short version of his adult life, but he hadn’t confessed the matchmaking was a bet. She’d chalk that up to one more bad behavior he shared with her dad. She’d dock him points. And he needed those points to qualify as dad material.
Coop rubbed his gritty eyes and scanned the bar patrons. “Let’s ask them how they’ve been disappointed in love.”
“Let me count the ways.” Ty stared down a tall glass of ice water. “You’ll blow up Gideon’s program for real this time.”
“I agree with Ty,” Gideon said. “I can’t just ask an open-ended question. I need a check box. A short list of check boxes.”
“Why do you love Alaska?” Coach moved toward the kitchen carrying a tray of dirty glasses and empty snack bowls. “That’s easier to answer than the reasons for a broken heart. And you’ll need to type that up when you lose this bet.”
“He’s right.” Gideon sounded defeated.
“He’s not. We’re not losing.” Coop showed them his phone and an article he’d found online. “Here are ten traits of a heartbreaker.”
Ty leaned in for a closer look. “Too quick to make a connection with you. Doesn’t call back after he scores. Can’t remember your name after he buys you a drink. Doesn’t remember you when he sees you again.” Ty gave Coop an assessing look. “This could be you.”
Coop tried to brush off Ty’s conclusion. “It could be any of us.”
Ty and Gideon shook their heads.
Okay, it was most likely Coop. Self-awareness sucked.
“I can’t predict a man’s behavior,” Gideon pointed out. “And no man will admit to being a jerk.”
“I will,” Coop said, ignoring their dropping jaws. He couldn’t be the only one remorseful about the past. “Where are we with the flyers for this weekend’s ATV social?”
“I put some up at the grocery store and the Laundromat.” Gideon stared at Coop’s cell phone, sounding distracted, which Coop took to mean the wheels in his brain were starting to spin.
“Ice rink. Sporting-goods store,” Ty said. “But they aren’t working other than to bring people in to see what madness we’ll undertake next.”
Coop had no idea what madness they’d do next.
“We’ve had about nine people sign up. Mostly guys,” Gideon lamented. “For this to work, we need bachelorettes.”
Coach came out of the kitchen and stopped in front of them. “I used to enjoy running this place with no one but my cousin Rafe and me. If you’re going to consider this your home base, you need to help out.” He handed Ty a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of disinfectant. “Table four needs a wipe down.”
“Why don’t you hire someone?” The way Ty’s chin was jutting, Coop bet Ty had more to say. He used to trash-talk with the best of them, but the former goalie was being civil.
“Because in three weeks you’ll lose the bet and business will return to slow and steady. You and half the male population in this town will still be single.”
“You might be surprised,” Ty said tightly.
“Highly unlikely.” Coach laughed and returned to the kitchen, but his lack of faith in them hovered overhead like a black rain cloud above Sky Hawk Mountain.
“I’d love to prove him wrong.” Gideon wasn’t one to start a fight. With a scowl and a determined edge to his tone, he certainly sounded ready to finish one.
As did Ty. “And then I’d love the three of us to take over one of his teams.” He pounded a fist on the bar, but he might as well have been pounding his chest. “I’ll make them winners. Gideon will make them solvent.”
“Yep,” Gideon said.
“And Coop will create a plan to sell more tickets than any other professional farm team.” Ty’s fist hit the bar one more time.
Nadine walked by wearing a hot pink sweater, which reminded Coop of Zoe, of Nora, of Pop and what he’d be missing if he left Alaska.
“Together. Right?” Ty slapped Gideon and Coop on the back.
“Right,” Coop said with false enthusiasm.
* * *
“BRAD, WHAT EVER happened to your Mrs. Hamilton?” Nora was settled in the corner of Coop’s couch, a sleeping Zoe snuggled in her arms.
Coop’s father muted the big screen, looking as if he’d smelled one of Zoe’s poopy diapers. “Kathy decided I wasn’t the man for her. Then she decided Alaska wasn’t the place for her. And then she decided being a mother wasn’t the role for her.” There was a coldness in his words that rivaled the below-freezing temperature outside. “I could have forgiven her everything but the last.”
Nora brought Zoe a little closer. Poor Coop. “How old was he?”
“Nine.” The older man cleared his throat. “He’d always been the outgoing, trusting type, but that...that changed him. He was only outgoing after that. Other than Gideon and Ty, he didn’t let people get close.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
And yet he’d asked Nora to stay.
Because of Zoe. It had to be because of Zoe.
But there was that kiss...
The volume on the television went back up. Zoe blew a gentle bubble in her sleep.
And Nora couldn’t stop thinking about a little boy with a broken heart and an infectious smile.
* * *
THE CROWD OF singles for the ATV social was promising: six women and nine men, including the three matchmakers. They had many other candidates that couldn’t make the event. Talk and laughter greeted the dawn.
Gideon moved discreetly between their clients, mentioning names the refined survey had suggested might be their soul mates. With the supplemental test, Coop had been paired with Nora, which gave Coop an annoying feeling of warmth in his chest. Love and responsibility had kept him in K-Bay the last time he tried to leave. He wouldn’t let a third chance pass him by, even if it meant risking a relationship with his daughter. Coop had to take this one last shot at greatness.
He and Nora had fallen into an easy rhythm during the week since she’d come to K-Bay. Coop made coffee in the early morning when Zoe awoke and wanted breakfast. After her feeding, he walked and burped the baby while Nora ate. The snow had let up enough to re-open the car lot. Coop came home for lunch. He cooked dinner. He took Nora and the baby to the bar for an hour or so in the evening for informal mixers. But there’d been no more kisses, no more getting carried away on Coop’s part and nearly promising Nora more than he could give.
Nope. They talked about inconsequential things, as if they worked in the same office together. He didn’t admit he couldn’t stop thinking about fatherhood. She didn’t admit he continued to fall short of her fatherhood standards. And Coop was relieved because he didn’t have to choose between his dreams and responsibility.
“Not him.” The distaste in Tatiana’s rising voice killed the positive energy of the ATV crowd. “I’ve dated beards like that. Never again will these cheeks receive beard burns.”
Almost as one, the men placed hands over their bearded chins, even Coop.
