Cole in My Stocking (10 page)

“You’re done here.” Cole interrupted Tooley. His fingers dug into my arm.

“All I’m saying is—”

“You gave your condolences. You have other business with Mandy, you go through Waverly.” Cole let go of me and physically crowded Tooley toward the stairs.

I had a reverse sense of déjà vu. Last time I’d seen them together, they’d had their heads bent in conversation across the station’s big workroom while I’d been handcuffed to Tooley’s desk. Cole had looked like he’d been asking Tooley for something. Though the bigger man, his posture had been conciliatory, respectful. Tooley, red faced, had poked him in the chest. I hadn’t been able to hear what the conversation was about, but I could tell whatever Cole wanted, Tooley had shut him down.

Now the shoe was on the other foot. Tooley wanted to communicate something to me. What, I couldn’t figure. Though, judging by the way his complexion darkened, he wanted to communicate it pretty badly. Cole had shut
him
down. In front of a roomful of people. As I accepted a hug from the next person in line, I felt a thrill of perverse happiness.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but I wasn’t going to be too hard on myself. Today, I had permission to feel whatever I wanted. I’d wait ’til tomorrow to chastise myself for taking pleasure in Tooley’s public embarrassment.

Or maybe I wouldn’t.

Chapter 8

Cole pulled his Ram into Mandy’s driveway. Gravel crunched under the snow tires as he drew to a stop beside her Blazer. He couldn’t believe she was still driving that thing. It had been about ten years old when Gripper bought it off a used car lot for her sixteenth birthday. Cole remembered Grip’s retelling of the moment he’d handed Mandy the keys. “Happy birthday, kiddo,” he’d told her. “Now go get an after school job, because I’m not paying for your insurance or gas.”

Cole hoped that had been a simplification for the sake of conversation, but he had a feeling those had been Grip’s words verbatim. What a shame to think that kind of gruffness was all she’d known growing up.

He’d hoped to see some of her extended family at the funeral this morning, partly because he’d wanted to know it had been more than just her and Grip when she’d been a kid. No one had come. He’d been the closest thing she had to friends or family at her father’s funeral.

That was all kinds of wrong.

“How’s that spare holding up?” he asked, nodding at the Blazer.

“Fine.” Mandy was huddled in her wool coat across the raised console from him. She made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“You should probably get new tires before you head back.” He’d looked her tires over when he’d been here on Friday. Except for the spare, which was in pretty good shape, the tires were bald. It had been a miracle she’d only gotten one flat on the three-hundred-plus-mile trip from Philadelphia.

She blew out a breath. “Yeah. You’re probably right. Dad would have a fit to know I’d gone so long between tire changes. The alignment’s a little wonky too.”

He felt like a jerk for adding to her to-do list. What if she couldn’t afford new tires? She’d only been out of school a few months. Social workers didn’t exactly make big bucks.

He thought about the money he’d snuck out of the safe on Saturday. He’d had a golden opportunity when a friend from Philly had called her. She’d been about to ignore the call, but he told her to head back to her room and talk to her friend, take all the time she needed. Letting her think he was poring over funeral forms, he hauled ass to that safe and worked the combination, prepared to tell her everything if she caught him, but hoping to save that conversation for when Gripper’s death wasn’t so fresh. She hadn’t caught him. Thank God for small favors. The money had been in the blue duffel bag, just as he’d suspected, and he’d had plenty of time to run it out to his truck and return to the paperwork in the kitchen before Mandy got off the phone.

When he’d gotten home that afternoon, he’d counted the money at his kitchen table. It had been close to four hundred
G
’s. Too bad he needed to hand that money over to the Feds. Mandy could probably use it, and it wasn’t like Grip hadn’t earned it. Unfortunately, he’d earned it doing illegal work for a motorcycle club out of Lowell, Mass, a club that had been taken down a few years ago thanks to an undercover FBI agent. Grip had known better than to spend the money or try to launder it into his business. He’d done the weapons work for the MC, converting semi-autos to fully-automatics and probably some other stuff too, but he hadn’t done it willingly. Grip had wanted nothing to do with that dirty money. He hadn’t wanted Mandy to have anything to do with it either.

Hopefully, she would come out ahead once Grip’s estate was settled. He planned to be there with her every step of the way to make sure she got the best deal possible. And he wouldn’t let her leave without making sure she had new tires on her SUV, even if he had to stoop to buying them himself, which would royally piss her off, no doubt. He’d already pushed it with the changes he’d made to Grip’s funeral, especially arranging the visitation she hadn’t wanted. He hoped she would forgive him for that one day, but if not, at least he knew he’d done the right thing. She’d needed to say goodbye and say it right, and he had a feeling she’d accomplished that today.

“How are you doing?” he asked her, dreading the moment she got out of his truck. She looked so small and fragile in the bucket seat. So beautiful. He wanted to keep her there, in his truck, in his life.

She gave him a wavering smile. “Good.” She nodded, like she was trying to convince herself that was true. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Sad,” he said honestly. He missed Gripper. He was also sad in advance for when he told her everything Gripper wanted him to tell her. She was going to be pissed at him or hurt, or both. The thought of her leaving Newburgh while being mad at him sucked big time. He hadn’t had enough time with Grip, and he wasn’t going to get enough time with Mandy. Always, he wished for more time.

Mandy nodded. Her chin dimpled with understanding. A pleat of uncertainty appeared between her eyebrows. He realized she was trying to read him, but the sunglasses hid his eyes. He slid the shades off and stowed them in the console.

The uncertainty cleared from her face, and she smiled. Her cheeks flushed with color.

He had an urge to invite himself inside and stay with her as long as she’d let him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and give her what comfort he could. Selfishly, he wanted comfort from her too. “You want company?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Her eyes widened. The blush in her cheeks deepened. “No thanks,” she said, averting her gaze to that dark, depressing trailer. “I could probably use some alone time. You know, to think about Dad.” It sounded like something she thought she was supposed to say, not like what she wanted to say.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t sound sure.

He made up his mind to give her a couple hours of space and then come back. She shouldn’t have to spend the day of her father’s funeral alone. It was also Christmas Eve. No one should be alone on Christmas Eve.

“Thanks for everything today.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “I wanted to be mad at you for changing the service. But it was beautiful. Dad would have loved it.”

Her praise warmed his heart. He was glad she liked what he’d done. When they’d planned the funeral together on Saturday, he was still finding his way with her. He hadn’t wanted to go against the decisions she’d made. She was Grip’s daughter. Surely she’d know best what he would have wanted.

But after he’d gone away and had a chance to think about it, it occurred to him she hadn’t known Grip. Not really. Grip had never let her get to know him. Cole had decided to contact Hansen on his own and tweak a few things to help her out. He was extra glad the military honors had come out so well. It was right that Mandy should get a flag to keep. Grip had earned it serving his country.

She cleared her throat. “And the visitation. That was a good idea. Thanks.”

Good. She wasn’t PO’d about that. “You’re welcome. You picked an awesome casket. That was all you.” It had been off-white and trimmed with chrome. Some might have called it over the top, but it reminded him of Gripper’s Harley. Strong, loud and in your face. Come to think of it, it fit Gripper to a
T
as well.

She huffed. “Thanks. Hopefully casket selection isn’t a skill I’ll get to use much, but just in case, I’m glad I’m good at it.”

She tugged the handle to open the door. He braced himself to say goodbye to her, but she turned back to him suddenly. Reaching over the console, she pulled him into a hug.

He went willingly, bending to gather her as close as he could. This might be his only chance to ever hug Mandy. He wasn’t about to squander the opportunity.

Wrapping his arms around her back, he felt how solid she was, how strong. He’d been surprised this morning too, when he’d lifted her into his truck, and later at the funeral parlor, when he’d pulled her up from the floor with his hands on her upper arms. Her toned biceps put some of the cops he worked with to shame.

She felt more compact than he would have expected from how he remembered her, like she’d traded in the curves she’d had in high school for a more athletic physique, going in the opposite direction of most women, who tended to fill out after high school. It was a subtle difference he hadn’t noticed before because she dressed so conservatively now—sweaters and jeans as opposed to tight tops and miniskirts—but holding her like this, it was a difference he could feel. She must work out regularly to feel this compact.

Soft and curvy, lean and strong. Didn’t matter to him. He had a feeling he would have enjoyed this hug just as much if she’d put on weight since high school like his sisters had. Mandy could look any which way, and she’d still be perfect to him.

He felt her hands curl into fists behind his neck. She was holding onto him fiercely enough to remind him of that moment in Grip’s kitchen when she’d touched him after spilling her coffee. Like in that moment, he thought maybe she felt something for him, and maybe, if he was lucky, it was a tenth as powerful as what he felt for her.

Not that this was the time to act on those feelings. Not that there ever would be a time to act on them. They lived in different states. He was sixteen years older than her. She hated Newburgh, and with good reason. This town had given her nothing but bad memories.

But still, he couldn’t help sensing that her hug was a confession of something she was too shy to say. Wishful thinking, probably.

Knowing he’d have to let her go soon, he pressed his cheek to the top of her head and drank in the sweet, vanilla scent of her hair. Holding her, even with a raised console in the way, was its own kind of heaven.

“Really, thanks,” she murmured into his suit jacket. “I don’t think I’d have made it through the morning without you.” Her voice was strained, like she was trying not to cry. Shit. He hated seeing her in any kind of pain. Seeing Mandy in pain had always been his undoing. Always would be.

He palmed the back of her head. How could he tell her he felt exactly the same way, that he would have been lost without her by his side today? He didn’t want to freak her out, because surely she’d meant it in a platonic way, whereas he didn’t feel platonic in the least.

He settled for, “You’re welcome, honey.”

There was that
honey
again. He couldn’t seem to keep it from slipping out when he was around her. His heart was too open to her. Time to go so he could cool his jets.

He set her away from him, missing her warmth and scent immediately.

She scrambled out of the truck before he could gauge her reaction. Hopefully, he hadn’t made that too weird for her.

He watched as she trotted up the steps to the trailer. Once she was on the porch with the screen door shut behind her, she gave him a shy wave and a smile that hit him right in the heart. Her cheeks were rosier than ever, and he didn’t think it was because of the five seconds of cold she’d endured between his truck and the porch.

He waved and backed out of the driveway. Screw that couple of hours. He was going to change, pick up some Chinese food, and haul ass back over here. Bad idea or not, he wanted to spend time with Mandy. He had a feeling she wanted that too.

* * * *

Cole probably thought I was a freak for bolting out of his truck, but I had to before I did something even more foolish than hugging him, like taking him up on his offer to come inside.

Frozen gravel crunched under my shoes as I hurried to the house. Inside my coat I was burning up with embarrassment. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was rampant attraction. Plus embarrassment.

I waited until I was behind the storm door’s sheet of grimy glass before facing him and waving goodbye. That way he probably wouldn’t be able to see the blush I felt heating my cheeks.

He raised two fingers off the steering wheel before slinging an arm over the passenger headrest to back down the driveway. Sub-zero cool factor. That’s what Cole had.

That was probably why the man flustered me. Butterflies had stormed my stomach as I’d reached for him in the truck a minute ago. I’d feared his reaction, worried he’d think it was too forward of me, that it meant more than I meant it to mean. I’d almost changed my mind halfway to him, but he’d closed the distance and folded me into his arms before I could chicken out.

It had been like hugging a warm, living tree. His strength had seeped through my skin and into my bones. I’d wanted to remain in his embrace forever. I might have only intended it to be a thankful-friend hug, but it turned into so much more. Whether I intended it or not, there were feelings flowing between us.

When he relaxed his grip, I forced myself to let go. It was the hardest thing in the world to decline his offer of company, but if I let him in, I might kiss him. My father had just died, for Pete’s sake. I couldn’t kiss anybody. I shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of kissing anybody.

What better way to live up to my Newburgh reputation?

Even if by some bizarre miracle Cole was as into me as I was into him, even if he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t do that to him. I’d confused enough guys with my love of smooching and my skittish avoidance of every other incarnation of physical affection.