Page 29 of Chasin' Cole

"Thank you," I say again. "Really Brock. It means a lot to me."

He smiles at me before headin’ for the front door.

I return to my coffee before discoverin' a note left by Mom and Howard explainin’ they drove to Oklahoma City to pick up some extra supplies for Della Ray.

Which means I’m home alone.

With Cole.

I grab our cups of coffee and hurry down the long hallway back to my room. Cole is still passed out in the chair where I left him. I set the cups down on my bedside table before gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes immediately open as he gazes up at me.

"Sleep with me," I say.Sleep with me? Rose! "That came out wrong," I let out an embarrassed laugh. "I meant come sleep beside me. That chair looks uncomfortable."

"I'm covered in dirt," he points to his clothes.

"That's OK," I tell him. "If we get them dirty, I'll change the sheets later."Oh my goodness!"That also came out wrong."Again.

Cole smirks as he stands and follows me to my bed. "I like when you get all flustered. Your cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink."

I cover my face with my hands. "I can't believe I just said those things."

Cole slides into my small twin bed and opens his arms. Embarrassment long forgotten, I crawl into his embrace and snuggle against him.

"You really scared me when you passed out," he says gruffly. "I've never been scared like that before."

"I'm sorry," I smile up at him shyly. "I think the heat from the fire wiped me out."

"I love you, Rose," Cole whispers in my ear. "But don't scare me like that ever again."

I wouldn't dream of it.

"I love you, too."

“We had Doc Robins check you out last night. He said we need to keep an eye on you.”

“I feel good this morning,” I tell him.

"How's Brock? Was he here?”

I laugh against his shoulder. "I saw the shiner on his cheek."

"Pretty sure it matches the one on my eye," Cole replies.

"He said if this is what we want, then he won't get in our way."

"Sounds like Lacey to me," Cole wisely deduces.

"Yes, it does," I agree.

“Either way, I need to have a real talk with him. One that doesn’t involve fists and fighting words.”

“What kind of fighting words?” I pry.

“I think he called me a cradle robbing backstabber.”

“So scandalous,” I tease him.

“It hurt,” Cole holds me tighter. “I may be a cradle robber, but I am not a backstabber.”

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