Rodeo Sheriff. Mary Sullivan
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He held his breath.
Sure, Madeline had allowed Honey to hold her, but this went way past that.
Madeline stretched her tiny arms toward Honey and pursed her tiny mouth.
Honey approached cautiously and touched her lips to the rosebud mouth.
When she eased away, she said, “Thank you, Maddy-addy-addy-o.”
For a protracted moment, Madeline stared solemnly before scrambling around on her chair and sitting down. She picked up one cracker and took a tiny bite. It crumbled into her lap. Her lower lip wobbled.
Honey said, “No problem. Those crackers do that all the time.”
“To me, too, Honey. Remember before?” Tori asked.
Honey brushed off the crumbs and threw them into the garbage. She pushed Madeline closer to the table and drew the plate right under her chin.
“There. Now the crumbs will fall onto the plate.”
Evan sat quietly watching it all. Cole crouched beside him and asked, “How’re you doing?”
The child mumbled, “Okay,” but Cole hadn’t missed the longing while he watched Honey’s interplay with the girls.
Honey’s keen eye caught it all. Cole should have known she would.
When the children finished, Honey brought a damp washcloth over to wipe their hands. She started with Evan and made a fuss over him, so much so his cheeks turned red. Still crouched on his other side, Cole felt the same impulse Madeline had felt when Honey’s hair fell forward.
He itched to run his fingers through it. Over the years, he’d wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
Next, Honey finished with Madeline, who let her clean her jam-sticky hands.
Madeline turned over her hands and held them in front of Honey.
“Yes, I noticed your lovely nails. Chelsea did a fabuloso job, didn’t she?”
Madeline nodded and Cole sighed.
The child had accepted Honey through and through.
She was letting Honey touch her.
She had let Honey kiss her.
Cole stared, shattered by a realization he should have seen sooner.
Honey would make an excellent caregiver. The children’s new nanny had to be Honey.
She might not be right for him, but she was perfect for the children.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it had to be Honey. Well, yeah, one doubt—a big one—her work. Her bar. But otherwise, she was perfect as a nanny. Surely, they could work it out somehow?
“Honey?”
She glanced over her shoulder from the kitchen where she rinsed the washcloth.
“Could I talk to you?” Gesturing with his head toward the hallway, he stepped forward.
With a questioning brow, she preceded him toward the back of the apartment, away from little ears.
“Rachel,” Cole murmured, “watch the kids?”
“Of course.”
Now to convince Honey, a woman who ran a busy and successful business, that he needed her to take care of his children.
It might look like selfishness on his part, but no. It was all about Evan and Madeline.
Honey stepped into her bedroom and Cole halted at the doorway, not sure he wanted to get close to her here. Even so small an intimacy threatened him, especially now, in this time of vulnerable need.
Whatever he had expected should he ever step into Honey Armstrong’s bedroom, it wasn’t this.
Charcoal walls closed in the space, making the large room small and cozy. White linen and lace everywhere brightened things. The startling contrast worked.
With Honey’s take-charge character, he hadn’t expected lace. Sure, she wore a lot of fancy turquoise-and-silver jewelry and leaned toward off-the-shoulder white tops, but making love to her here would be like bedding down in a big bowl of confectioners’ sugar.
It would be amazing.
Honey stood beside her bed, and Cole swallowed. It sounded loud in the quiet room.
Because he’d dreamed so many times of making love to Honey, he stayed where he was in the doorway, far away from all of that feminine lace and fancy wrought iron.
Had the bed been made for her? It was unique enough. Cole could see Honey sketching out what she wanted and having it styled just for her, controlling every minute particle of her life.
Above the bed hung a huge abstract landscape painting in purples, reds and silver. Another contrast. Honey and her passion in oil on canvas.
Had the artist known her?
The name came to him quickly. Local artist Zachary Brandt, whose landscapes hung all over town. None of them was like this one, though. He’d nailed Honey. Metaphorically, at least. Cole hoped they’d never had a relationship, especially not in this very room.
Cole liked the guy. He didn’t want to harbor feelings of jealousy.
Honey cocked her head. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah, uh...” He didn’t have a clue how to broach the subject, so he blurted, “I want you for the children.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to be their nanny.”
“What?” In her shock, Honey’s voice came out strident.
She had to have heard Cole wrong. He had not just asked her to be his nanny.
Not that there was anything wrong with the job. In other circumstances, it would be perfect for her, particularly because she loved children.
But she also loved her business, the bar she ran so well.
What on earth was the man thinking?
“You can’t be serious, Cole.”
“I am.”
He took on that expression of stubborn force she’d seen in the bar when he dealt with drunks. Cole was an easygoing guy until you crossed him. Then he wanted his way.
The guy could be so rigid. It made him a good sheriff. He kept the town in line even as everyone respected him. But now was not the time for obstinacy.
“There was absolutely nothing wrong with Maria Tripoli,” she argued.
Cole leaned an arm up high on the doorjamb and cocked a hip. The man sure knew how to look attractive, but his charms didn’t work on her when he was suggesting something so outrageous.
“Maria was good,” he said, as though making a big concession. “She’s a nice lady, but—”
He chewed on his lower lip, his frustration evident along with his exhaustion.
“But?” Honey prompted.
“Madeline won’t let her touch her.”
Ah. “So I’m deemed adequate because I could get her to let me wipe her hands clean?”
“She lets you hold her.”
“True, but that’s just because of my hair. You said that reminds her of her mother.”
Silent for so long Honey thought he wouldn’t answer, Cole finally responded with emotion thickening his voice. “It was the kiss.”
“Oh.”