“Well,” Meg said, “there are no guns here—”
She glanced at Cole for confirmation.
“No guns,” he said.
“And we don’t need them,” Meg said. “Because Uncle Cole wants to get better and because of that he’s going to do what we say.”
“I don’t think—” Cole began.
“If he cheats, I’ll arrest him,” Charlie announced, his expression stern. “Cuz I want him to take me fishing. I don’t know about skiing. I never been.”
“You’ll like it,” Cole said. “I’ll take you when my knee is healed.”
“I want Aunt Meg to come, too.” Charlie reached out and took her hand, the gesture warming her heart.
“Then I’d better start getting in shape,” Cole drawled.
“I can help with that,” Meg said.
“I see that look in your eyes,” Cole said. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Meg?”
“Your CPM machine,” she said, not at all affected by his easy smile. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” Cole gestured toward the hall with his head.
In Meg’s experience, a continuous-passive-motion machine was often prescribed for use during the first two weeks after an ACL reconstruction.
“Have you used it today?” she asked.
“I was busy.” His tone held a defensive edge. “Getting things ready for you and Charlie.”
Meg wasn’t sure that Cole was physically capable of doing much to ready the house for their arrival, but she let the topic drop.
“What degree of extension does the doctor want you to achieve before you discontinue the use of the CPM?” Meg kept her tone professional and her comment to the point.
“Ninety-five,” he said.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“I’m almost at ninety-five,” he called to her retreating back.
Meg kept walking. The awkwardness of his gait told her he still had a way to go. Only when she reached his bedroom door did indecision strike. She really should have secured his permission before entering his personal space.
Of course, since he wasn’t yelling for her to return or telling her to stay out, apparently he was okay with her retrieving the equipment. Right?
Pushing open the bedroom door, her breath caught in her throat. Bedroom? More like a suite. A sizable sitting area done in burgundy and grays held a love seat, an easy chair and an end table. A flat-screen television was mounted on one wall. The step up to the king-size bed was aesthetically pleasing but probably a hassle to Cole in his current condition. She took note of the CPM machine next to the bed but passed by it, not ready to stop exploring.
Off to the right was a bathroom with a glassed-in shower and a separate alcove with a tub the size of a Jacuzzi.
Cole’s razor and shaving cream were on the bathroom counter between double sinks. A burgundy towel hung drying on a silver towel bar.
A manly mixture of cologne and soap and shaving cream lingered in the air. Meg could see Cole standing in front of the mirror clad in nothing but a towel, beads of moisture clinging to his muscular chest.
For a second she was back in his old Chevy, tentatively sliding her hands up under his shirt, exploring those muscles with the pads of her fingers.
An unexpected ache of longing washed over her, shocking her with its intensity. The intimacy they’d shared in the vehicle’s backseat had been her first, and if his awkwardness had been an indication, his, as well. It made no sense that the long-ago encounter that night had become the gold standard.
Though Meg hadn’t had many lovers since, she’d had a couple. Both were experienced men. Neither one had sent fire rushing through her veins with a single touch. Or brought her to completion that left her breathless and longing for more.
Meg took a deep breath, banished the memory to the past where it belonged and turned back to the bedroom area, to the equipment propped up beside the headboard. She gathered it in her arms, finding the item more unwieldy than heavy.
When she reached the living room Charlie was teaching Cole a song about monkeys jumping on a bed. Charlie stopped singing when he saw her and raced across the room.
“Aunt Meg, I lighted the fire all by myself.” With a big grin splitting his face, the boy pointed to the hearth where a fire now burned.
She glanced at Cole and raised a brow. Surely he knew that Charlie was much too young to be playing with matches.
Cole smiled as if he could read her mind. “Tell Aunt Meg what you used to start the fire.”
The boy picked up a tan-colored remote control from the side table. “This.”
Of course. A gas log. Energy efficient. Clean. Most of all, so safe a child could “fire” it up.
“It’s nice and—” her word faltered as she caught Cole staring “—warm in here now.”
Warm wasn’t really the word that sprang to mind. Intimate. Cozy. Perhaps even a bit seductive.
Between the crackling fire and the falling snow visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, there was a feeling of closeness that Meg hadn’t expected to experience here.
Charlie pointed to the equipment in her arms. “What’s that?”
The boy moved close, touched a finger to the metal. He jumped back as if it was red-hot then giggled.
Meg smiled at the boyish antics. She turned to place the item on the floor by the sofa. “This is going to help make Uncle Cole strong again.”
“It looks hard.” Charlie’s face scrunched into a frown as Meg placed the CPM machine on the floor.
“It is hard,” Cole agreed. “Can I count on you to help me?”
“Yes, sir.” Charlie nodded vigorously up and down then slanted a glance at Meg before turning back to Cole. “You can count on both of us.”
“Is that right, Meg?” Cole lifted a sardonic brow. “Can I count on you…this time?”
The words stung as much as if he’d slapped her. Yet, for Charlie’s sake, she managed to keep a smile on her lips.
The nerve of the man. He acted as if it was her who’d let him down all those years ago rather than the other way around.
Snapping the last piece of the equipment into place, Meg scrambled to her feet and held out a hand to him. She met his gaze. “Of course you can trust me, Cole. Every bit as much as I can trust you.”
Cole saw the anger in her eyes, heard it in the bite of her tone. Too subtle for Charlie to catch; nevertheless the exchange had brought a chill to the room that no fire could warm.
Though he wanted to tell her that they both knew she was the one who couldn’t be trusted, he kept his mouth shut. He remembered all too well how hard it had been for him as a child to listen to his mom bicker with her new husband.
There was a child in the house. This meant any animosity between him and Meg had to be put to bed. At the very least while Meg was living under his roof and probably until he could sever her custody ties with Charlie.
It wasn’t fair for the boy to be put in the middle of adult business. Besides, what happened between Meg and him had been a lifetime ago. While it was doubtful he’d ever trust her again, they were two adults. For Charlie’s sake they should be able to put the past behind them. Which meant no sniping at each other.