The Rancher’s Second Chance Read online

  “Cocoa,” she read from the card. “Vegetable oil, flour, sugar.”

  She searched the cupboards, pulling down the ingredients one by one. The need to taste velvet cake was overwhelming. Moving swiftly, she measured and dumped. The batter filled the little loaf pan right to the top. She spread it carefully before re-reading the card.

  “Bake till done?” She looked at the card and then back at the oven. “What temperature, Mom? When is it done?” Hoping she'd recognize “done” when she saw it, she slid the sloshing pan into the oven and squinted at the dials. “That says 'high.' Probably don't want that, but I don't want warm, either.”

  She twisted the dial back and forth indecisively before throwing up her hands. Frustrated tears pricked at the edges of her eyes as she read and re-read the next step.

  “Let glaze cool? What glaze?” She scanned up. “Shit!” She’d missed an entire step at the beginning. Slamming open the cupboards again, she pulled down the cocoa. “Using a candy thermometer…what the hell is a candy thermometer?” She slammed the drawers open. “Okay, maybe another card will tell me?” She went back to the recipe box and ruffled her fingers over the edges before choosing another one at random.

  “Peach Pie!” she whispered. “Oh I wish I'd made that instead. But wait, those are a lot of steps...how did you do this Mom? Didn't you ever cook something easy? Where are the recipes that start, 'open one can of soup, stir?'“ She leafed through the cards again, pulling more out at random. “They just get harder!' she laughed as she wiped away another tear. “Soufflé? Beef Wellington? Seriously?” She shook her head and set the cards back down again. “Okay, nothing about glazes or candy thermometers. I guess I can skip the glaze as long as I have jam.” She opened the fridge and sniffed. “At least the cake smells good.”

  It did smell good. A deep rich scent that was almost smoky-smelling. Which seemed strange because Sammie didn't remember velvet cake tasting smoky at all. She turned away from her hunt for raspberry jam.

  A thick ribbon of smoke poured from each corner of the over door.

  “What the hell?” She pulled open the door. Thick black smoke billowed out. She slammed the door shut, coughing and waving her arms. Then clapped her hands over her ears as the smoke alarm began screeching.

  “Sammie!” Cole burst in, coughing and waving his arms. “What’s happening? Is there a fire?”

  “No! Wait, I don't know, I don't think...the oven…”

  He pulled open the door, coughed, slammed it shut again, and then reached up to silence the smoke alarm's cacophony. “Whoa,” he breathed in the sudden, smoky silence. “What happened?” One look at his concerned face, and her composure broke.

  Sammie burst into hot, angry tears.

  Cole looked alarmed. “Hey, hey, hang on.” He pulled her close, brushing her hair back from her face.

  “I should be able to do this,” she sobbed against his chest. “I should be able to do all of it, and I’m trying so hard, Cole, but I can’t, and I don’t know why!”

  H tucked her hair behind her ear and brushed her tears with his thumb. “Let’s see what’s going on.” He opened the oven again, over her protests. Sammie choked and staggered back, but Cole grabbed a dishtowel and pulled the pan from the rack.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t the cake that was smoking.

  “Look, see there? You just used too small of a pan, and the batter overflowed onto the bottom of the oven. It’s burning off as we speak. Tell you what—go get another pan, and we’ll see if we can’t salvage this.”

  “You think we can?”

  He grinned at her. “Course we can, Sammie.”

  She sniffled and nodded.

  Cole grabbed a metal spatula and began scraping at the bottom of the oven with it. Sammie winced when she saw the molten black goo that came up, but he hummed as if this was just another ranch chore, nothing to worry about.

  His steadiness steadied her. She opened the cupboards. “Will this work?” she asked, once she’d located another pan.

  “Perfect.” He stood up and used a paper towel to wipe the last of the smoking residue off the spatula. “Remember to grease it up first.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I may have forgotten that step, too.”

  He grinned at her. “It’s kind of nice knowing you’re not good at everything you do.”

  Stung, she narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” She’d worked hard and succeeded in her career. It made no sense that she couldn’t apply the same work ethic to making a home. Her childhood memories of her mother made it seem effortless.

  Now she realized just how much work her mother must have done—uncomplainingly—to give her that happy impression. Happy homes were work, work she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of taking on.

  Was Cole right? Maybe she’d been on her own for too long. Maybe the love and happiness that other people seemed to find were beyond her. She’d been happy—she thought, anyway—with what she had. With juggling multiple teaching positions. With her research. With her relationship with Grady.

  Now she saw that she’d been happy with only crumbs. Instead of the whole damn cake.

  “I know I’m not good at this.” She wanted to lift her hand to wipe away the tear that threatened to fall, but she didn’t want Cole to know he’d made her cry. She didn’t regret last night, not a bit. But she definitely regretted letting him see her like this. “You don’t have to be mean.”

  Cole’s expression softened immediately. He slid the now-two pans into the oven, adjusted the temperature and started the timer, all the while his mouth worked and the muscle at his jaw jumped. As if he was testing his words before saying them.

  “I’m real sorry if you thought I was being mean, Sammie.” He brushed his hands on his jeans before circling her wrists with his fingers. “I only said that because it makes me happy when I can help you out.”

  Sammie’s breath rushed from her lungs in a little oh of astonishment. He lifted one hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Thing is, there ain’t much I wouldn't do for you, Samantha Jensen.”

  “Like fix my baking?” Her feet felt frozen to the floor.

  His grin slanted slyly upward. “And fix your ranch.”

  “And…what else?” She tilted her chin upward.

  “You want me to show you what else I can do for you?”

  “Please do.”

  Cole never kissed her the same way twice. Some kisses were searing, an all-encompassing, mind-melting assault on her defenses that had her trembling in an instant. Others were the lightest teases, almost casual, that left her desperate for more.

  This kiss was entirely different. It was fun, playful. Cole kept his eyes open and fixed on hers as he brushed his lips across her mouth before catching her full bottom lip in his teeth. Trapping her this way, he brushed his hand down the side of her cheek, down her neck, across her breasts and then...

  Lower.

  A muffled, desperate sound escaped from Sammie's throat as he pulled her robe open and slid his fingers below the waistband of her pajama pants. The edge of his mouth kicked upwards into a cocky smile when he found her already wet for him. He hummed his approval and crushed his mouth to hers again. Sammie moaned and arched into him as his fingers slid home. She felt the shape of his agonized curses moving soundlessly against her lips and frantically devoured them. His fingers were so thick and skilled that she was already quivering at the edge, so when his thumb found that frantic, buzzing center of her need, she exploded.

  He swallowed her sounds of pleasure with a groan of his own. Sammie almost keened in sorrow when he slid his fingers from her, but her heart beat faster at the sound of his belt buckle. She flung her robe from her shoulders.

  Without a word, Cole crushed her to his chest and whirled around, bracing himself against the table. Sammie peeled off her shorts and wrapped her legs around his waist, and they both cried out when he slid inside of her. She clung to him as he moved them both, and she buried her face into his n
eck.

  “Cole,” she moaned, chanting his name like a prayer. “Cole, Cole, Cole.”

  He held her so close that his thrusts were shallower than last night, but the way he rolled his hips each time they slid together made her yelp. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like she would shatter if he didn't keep holding her like that...like that...right...like...that.

  She screamed into his neck as her whole body went taut.

  “Sammie, shit, Sammie,” Cole's voice was guttural, a ragged, pleading whisper. “Yes, get there, I can feel you, god, you feel so good, shit...”

  With an anguished cry, he whirled around, setting her onto the table before pulling out. His whole body shook with the effort it took to grab a dishtowel from the counter.

  Sammie watched, fascinated and more than a little awed, as Cole spent himself into the towel, growling out his release with an animal roar that made goosebumps rise on her skin.

  Cole looked up with a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah. Sorry ’bout that, darlin'. I got a little carried away there.”

  She nodded and grinned. “Me too. Uh. Thanks for remembering.”

  “I'll wash this, of course.”

  “It's not a big—”

  “I'm clean, Sammie,” he interrupted earnestly. “Got tested in the Army and there...hasn't been anyone since.”

  She touched his face. “I know you wouldn't be careless with me. I'm clean, too.” She looked around the kitchen and down to her naked ass planted on the kitchen table and flushed. “Did we really just do that?”

  Cole kissed her. “We did, and it was awesome.”

  The oven timer beeped.

  They both jumped. Then Cole burst out laughing. “Damn, I forgot all about the cake. I thought I’d lasted longer. You got me feeling like a high schooler again, Sammie.”

  “Oh my God.” Sammie buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, mortified. The beeping cut off, and she heard the over door open.

  “Well?” Cole laughed. “I gotta say, it looks pretty perfect.”

  She opened her eyes just as Cole lifted the second cake pan onto the counter. “You’re right it does look perfect,” she groaned, clapping her hand back over her eyes again. “And you're not...you're still...outside of your pants.”

  He chuckled and set the pan down, then discreetly tucked himself back into his jeans. “I need to get an apron. Baking with you could be hazardous to my vital bits.”

  Sammie snorted but kept her eyes closed.

  It was too much. This happiness. This vulnerability. “I never thought I’d see the day. Cole Baker baking.”

  “It’s in the name, ain’t it?” Sammie felt his hand on her wrist. “Hey, darlin’, why are you hiding that pretty face from me?”

  “Cole.” His name came out in a moan. “I hate letting you see me like this.”

  “Darlin’, I love seeing you like this. Maybe you ought to start seeing yourself in a different light.” He tugged at her wrist again, and she relented, allowing him to lift her hand from her eyes.

  But she still kept them closed.

  “Darlin’.” When she opened her eyes, Cole’s face was inches from hers. “I see you.”

  She lifted her hand, heavy and languid, to touch his face. “I see you, too.”

  She saw. She saw that she needed him. She couldn’t even imagine letting him go, not even to cross the room. It made no sense, how much she needed him, but maybe sense had nothing to do with it. Facts and reason and logic had nothing to do with it.

  Maybe this time she could trust her heart, instead of her head.

  Fourteen

  Devon screamed as loudly as his little lungs would allow and tore down the lawn.

  Cole roared and chased after him. He dove for his son, caught him up in his arms and swung him around, panting.

  “Again!” Devon squealed. He threw his arms in the air.

  “Ow!” Cole complained as the cast thunked him in the nose.

  Sammie burst out laughing.

  It was one of those rare summer mornings that always lingered in Cole’s memory. A spectacular overnight thunderstorm had cooled the air to spring-like temperatures, and the oppressive humidity had yet to take hold again. Cole stretched, relishing the combination of cool air and warm sun before nodding to Devon. “Okay, bud. Ready? Go!”

  Devon tore off screaming again. Sammie held up her hand. “Eight! Nine! Ten!” she called. “Go!”

  As Cole chased his son across the lawn, he wondered how things could be so perfect. A Saturday morning, just the three of them. What could be better? He scooped Devon up and buried his face in his son’s warm tummy, then pulled up his shirt to blow raspberries on his skin.

  Devon squealed and laughed so hard that Cole didn’t even mind getting beaten in the face by the plaster cast. He was happy. This was perfect.

  “Cole?” Sammie called across the lawn. She was on the porch, holding up his phone with a quizzical expression. “It says ‘Mom’?”

  Cole exhaled, “Oh, shit.”

  “Shit!” yelled Devon. Cole set him down on the grass and he tore off again yelling “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  By the time he reached the porch, the call had gone to voicemail. “Shit,” Cole hissed.

  “Everything okay?” Sammie handed him his phone.

  He dragged his hand down his face and stared at the screen. Right on cue, the little voicemail envelope popped up. “Uh, Sammie?”

  “Cole.” Her voice was a warning.

  “I… may have royally fucked up, although, to be fair, my intentions were honorable.”

  She pursed her lips into a cute little pout he would have kissed if the timing were better. “Did you forget to go visit your mama, Cole?”

  “Worse. I forgot she was comin’ to visit me.”

  Ten minutes later, he and Devon were both scrubbed and combed to the best of his abilities. Devon’s only clean shirt—the brown one that declared him a “Cowboy Cutie” had some kind of mystery stain on the sleeve cuff, but Cole hoped it looked like part of the design.

  It would have to do, because his parents were pulling into the drive right now.

  When he’d called his parents a month ago, it had only been to let them know of his new address. But when his mother started quizzing him on how Devon was doing—was he eating right, was he getting enough sleep, how much did he weigh at his last check-up—he’d snapped. “I know how to raise my own son, dammit. If you don’t believe me, come see him yourself.”

  It was an amateur mistake, and he’d realized it as soon as he opened his mouth. But the damage was done. His mother had pounced. “We’d love to visit. When’s a good time?”

  When he’d named this date, it seemed so far off. It also seemed likely that Sammie wouldn’t even be around, so he hadn’t bothered to check with her beforehand.

  Another amateur mistake, and one he hoped he’d never make again. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he murmured in her ear as she slid beside him on the porch. He hefted Devon up higher. “Wave to Grammy and Pa,” he prompted, then turned back to Sammie who was watching him with an expression of pure amusement.

  “Are you kidding? I love Mr. and Mrs. Baker, and I know how much they love me, too.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but she still reached up to rub a small circle in the middle of Cole’s back. “Breathe,” she reminded him.

  Cole exhaled.

  “Gammy and Pah!” Devon wiggled to get down from Cole’s arms. To Cole’s eternal relief, his son launched himself towards his grandparents the second they stopped the car. His parents’ squeals and coos of greeting bought him time to compose himself.

  Once more, he was struck with the reminder that Devon had known his grandparents for longer than he’d known his own father. They’d visited Trish in the hospital, held him as a newborn, laughed at his funny infant faces, cheered as he learned to sit, crawl, and walk. Part of Cole was so grateful that Devon had that connection with them.

  The rest of him mourned it. And braced for them
to remind him of it at every opportunity.

  “Hey, little man, we brought you a bear!” Cole’s father waggled a deranged-looking stuffed animal three inches from Devon’s face. His son’s little eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “A bear!” his dad bellowed, as if Devon hadn’t heard him the first time. “We know how much you love bears!”

  “He loves bears?” Cole couldn’t help asking. Sammie shot him a look when she heard how unsure he sounded.

  “Of course he does!” Cole’s mother hefted Devon high on her hip, took the bear, and shoved it against Devon’s chest. “He’s slept with a teddy bear since the day he came home from the hospital!”

  There it was. Cole’s first reminder. It took even less time than he’d expected.

  “What happened to your poor little arm?” Cole hated how his mother directed the question to Devon instead of him. “How did this happen?”

  “I got a bonk,” Devon informed her solemnly.

  “Cole? What happened to his arm?”

  Cole licked his lips. “Just like he said, Ma. He got a bonk.”

  “Were you watching him?”

  Sammie’s hand slid up to the back of Cole’s neck, steadying him. “He’s fine, Ma. He was running around like crazy before you came. It’s not slowing him down a bit.”

  “Poor Devvy. The teddy bear will kiss your boo-boo.” Devon’s brow furrowed further as his grandmother pressed the stuffed animal against his cast.

  Cole glanced heavenward and counted backwards from ten.

  Sammie still watched him carefully as he stepped back and gestured in welcome. “Hey, Mama, good to see you.” He bent nearly double to accept her dry kiss on his cheek, then stood up straighter again to shake his father’s hand. “You guys staying for lunch?”

  “I whipped up some chicken salad,” Sammie piped up. Cole shot her a surprised and grateful look, and she smiled encouragingly. “But if that’s not to your liking, Cole can grill up some hamburgers real quick.”

  “Oh, we’re just here to see our grandson, Samantha.” Cole’s mother wielded Sammie’s full name like a weapon. She gave her a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”