Someone to Hold (Skylark #4)

Chapter 1

CHASE

I hear shouting as soon as I open the truck’s door, and my booted foot pauses in midair. Definitely kids’ voices—high-pitched and squeaky. It doesn’t sound like trouble, but something’s going down in that house. A smarter man might shut the door and drive away.

I’ve never been much for kids. Way too much noise, especially with the headaches that still plague me since being trampled by an angry bull six months ago. But I’m here at my childhood best friend’s house on the edge of Skylark, Colorado, for one reason.

I made a promise.

Not to Teddy McAllister himself. We hadn’t spoken in almost four years before he drowned in a rafting accident two summers ago. Nope, I’m here for his mother.

And if I’m being honest, for me too.

Helping Linda McAllister means giving myself a shot at purpose again, something that’s been in damn short supply since that bull wrecked my body and my career.

Linda told me Teddy’s widow, Molly, won’t be able to put weight on her sprained ankle for at least a month. The right ankle so no driving. But Linda also wasn’t about to cancel her five-week European cruise and land tour to play nursemaid.

So she called in a favor, and here I am.

My boots crunch across the gravel as I climb the three front steps. One of them has a loose board, but I’ll fix that. I’m a hell of a lot more comfortable being handy than trying to be a manny. But here we are.

I knock and take a step back, bracing myself for round one with Molly McAllister.

I’ve seen her around town since my accident. She’s polite—barely—but we both know she can’t stand me. Not that I blame her.

I was there the weekend she married Teddy six years ago. The twins are seven now. You can do the math. Let’s just say it was a shotgun wedding without the shotgun but also very little romance that I could see.

Teddy acted like he should get a gold star for marrying the woman he knocked up after a one-week fling. Although I probably shouldn’t say “knocked up” and definitely won’t say it to her.

Regrettably, I said a lot worse that weekend.

To be fair, I didn’t realize she was standing in the hallway when I told Teddy to call off the wedding and send his bride-to-be packing. I thought I was being loyal and looking out for him, even after he told me to fuck off.

But when I stepped out of the room, Molly’s wide green eyes landed on me with all the force of that goddamn bull.

My heart had leapt into my throat, but she’d spun on her heel and retreated down the stairs before I could explain.

As if there were words to make her hate me less than she had a right to.

Even though I’d issued the warning as much for her benefit as his.

Teddy McAllister was handsome and charming and had a magnetic energy that drew people—women especially—toward him.

He also had a troubled soul and could just as quickly repel those same people, leaving a trail of pain and heartache in his wake.

More than anything, Teddy hated feeling like he was tied down.

I knew in my heart that at best he’d make a terrible husband and mediocre father. And although I didn’t know Molly, I could tell she needed more than Teddy would be able to give her. Deserved more. She’d been so beautiful and bright, like walking sunshine.

Was I jealous? No. Without a doubt, I knew I didn’t deserve someone as sweet and kind as Molly seemed to be. But neither did Teddy.

He went through with the wedding, and she avoided me the rest of the weekend.

A few weeks later, I won my first pro rodeo championship.

My life got busy, and somewhere between prize buckles and late-night drives to the next town, Teddy and I let our friendship slip away like a mountain creek at the end of summer.

Too shallow and rocky to carry anything of value downstream.

I heard from my sister that he and Molly had twins, but I didn’t hear another word from him. I didn’t reach out either. Maybe I didn’t want to hear how wrong I’d been. Or maybe I didn’t want to be right.

But I never forgot her eyes that night.

So yeah, I’m surprised as hell she’s willing to accept my help now. I’m the guy who called her a mistake, and she’s letting me into her home.

I guess in some cases, desperate times call for assholes.

The door flies open before I can knock again, and a tow-headed boy with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose glares up at me. He’s wearing cargo shorts, no shirt, and there’s a jam smudge on his cheek.

He takes one look at me and backs into the house again. “Stranger danger!” he yells. “Mommy! There’s a stranger at the door! He’s driving a white van!”

Well, shit.

I glance at my white pickup and offer it a silent apology for being mistaken for a van. It’s an F-150, extended cab, new tires. Don’t get me started on the kidnapping insinuation.

I whip off my Stetson and run a hand through my hair. It could use a trim, but we’re not talking “creepy van guy” long.

The kid bolts inside, still shouting, and the door swings wide.

I figure that’s my invitation.

I step inside, and the chaos hits full throttle.

“Mommy, my hair’s a mess!”

“It’s white van!”

“It’s a truck,” I call out, already regretting what I’m about to step into here. “With an extended cab.”

The front door of Linda McAllister’s farmhouse opens into the living room, which looks the same as I remember from childhood, even though it’s been nearly fifteen years since Teddy and I spent hours playing Call of Duty draped across that plaid sofa.

One of the owners before Linda renovated the small rooms into a modified open concept to give the space a larger feel.

The kitchen is off to the left and looks like a pancake bomb recently detonated in the center of it.

Liquid drips from the linoleum counter, and the cabinet doors under the sink are open, like somebody had been looking for a way to turn off the water.

“Who is this stranger, Luke?” Molly demands as she comes around the corner of the hallway that leads to the laundry room, hopping on one foot as she holds the injured one aloft behind her.

She stops cold, and it takes a moment for her eyes to narrow with recognition.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” She’s brandishing the plunger like a weapon.

I lift a brow. “Can you point that thing somewhere else?”

“Why are you driving a white van?”

“It’s a truck, Molly.”

“It looked like a van.” At least the boy’s stopped shouting.

“Mommy, what about my hair?” the girl trailing behind Molly asks.

That’s when I notice

Oh, fuck me.

I was so distracted by the plunger and her glare that I didn’t register Molly’s T-shirt is wet. Also see-through.

Her bra is pink.

And she’s cold. Either that, or she’s smuggling raisins.

I can’t seem to look away.

Even worse? She sees me not being able to look away.

She lets out a little yelp, drops the plunger, and hops down the hall again.

I’m left with two smallish humans and about seventeen kinds of awkward.

The boy bolts after his mother. But the girl tilts her head, bright blond hair and skeptical brown eyes reminding me of her dad.

“Hey there,” I say with a nod. “I’m Chase. I was friends with your dad.”

“Are you the friend that wrestles bulls?”

“I ride them. Or used to.”

“Daddy talked about you. He said you were a troublemaker.”

Takes one to know one, but I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. Not to the dead guy’s daughter, anyway.

I smile despite myself. “He wasn’t wrong. Your dad and I had a lot of adventures. Maybe you, your brother, and I will as well.”

She studies me. “Mommy doesn’t like adventures.”

“She doesn’t have to come along then.”

“Come along where?” Molly’s back and still glaring.

She’s using crutches now, though she doesn’t look much more stable than she did with the hopping. But she’s swapped out the wet T-shirt for a red flannel buttoned up all wrong.

She’s a mess but still manages to look like sweetness and sin wrapped up in a soft plaid shirt.

“Seriously, why are you here?”

“I’m here to get the kids to the bus on time.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again. She’s unknowingly flashing glimpses of creamy skin between the gaps in the front of that flannel, but I keep my eyes at eye level. Barely.

I could fix those buttons for her. I’d like to. Maybe brush my knuckles across her collarbone. I bet she’d be the softest thing I’ve ever touched. It’s also the dumbest thought I’ve ever had, and there have been some real winners.

Sure, I noticed Molly that first weekend, even though she was marrying my best friend. It’s hard to ignore a woman like her. But now she’s both more appealing and also more off limits.

“Are you the nanny?” the girl blurts.

“He’s not the nanny,” Molly says through gritted teeth.

“I prefer manny,” I say with a wink.

The girl giggles. Molly doesn’t.

The boy looks horrified. “Grandma said she hired a girl.”

“I’m not a girl,” I say.

“Yeah, we get that.” Molly puts a hand on the boy’s head. “It’s okay, Lukey. I’ll figure this out before you get home from school. Grab your jacket from the kitchen.”

“You need a shirt,” I tell him.

“It’s in the dryer,” he says, voice trembling.

“You’ve only got one shirt?” I tap the watch encircling my wrist. “Because we gotta go, buddy.”

“It’s his Thursday shirt,” the girl explains which makes zero sense to me.

“So wear your Friday shirt.”

His chin starts to quiver.

Shit.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Molly says gently. “Check the dryer. Your Thursday shirt should be good to go. Laurel, get the backpacks and grab your lunches, please.”

She flicks a dismissive gaze in my direction. “Chase, you’ve done plenty. I’ll walk them to the bus stop and—”

“You know your driveway’s a quarter mile, right?”

“I can walk on crutches.”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

If looks could kill, they’d be digging my grave right now. I know she has every reason to believe I’m a complete dick.

But I’m not. Not anymore.

“I’ll walk with you.” I try to make my tone placating. “We have stuff to talk about.”

For the record, I don’t typically do placating.

She doesn’t look impressed. In fact she looks irritated as fuck. “We don’t.”

“Hey, Luke,” I say as the boy returns fully clothed from the laundry room.

He stumbles back a little. “Ye-e-ss,” he stutters like I’m some child-eating clown who drags his victims to the sewer.

“Your mom told you to grab a jacket.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

I run a hand through my hat hair. “I wasn’t yelling.”

“It sounds like you’re yelling,” the girl says, her chin tipped up like she’s daring me to say more.

I glance over at Molly, who raises a brow. A brow that clearly says, Don’t yell at my kid, you stupid fucker. Message received.

“A jacket,” I repeat in a softer tone.

Luke’s eyes widen, but he moves to the kitchen and grabs a hoodie from a chair.

The girl grins at me. “Now you’re whisper-yelling.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“You won’t be here long enough to work on it,” Molly snaps.

She turns, the kids in tow, and limps toward the front door like a woman on a mission.

She might not be yelling, but her soft as steel voice gets the message across loud and clear. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to follow her anyway.