A Christmas Miracle for Daisy (Taming of the Sheenans Book 5) (22 page)

Sometimes he didn’t want to be the single dad. Sometimes he didn’t want to be the ambitious guy. Sometimes he just wanted to run away from it all…

His hands balled at his sides. He wanted to hit something, and just bust it wide open.

If he had a sitter for Daisy he’d go to that twenty-four hour gym in Bozeman and get on the treadmill and run until he couldn’t take another step and then once he caught his breath he’d square off with a punching bag and pummel it until his arms gave out.

He needed the release. He needed to let his aggression fly.

He missed his mom.

Going to the house made her seem so real and he’d wanted her to be there today, when he’d entered the house. He’d wanted to see her in the kitchen turning to smile at him as he came through the door.

He’d never told her goodbye.

He’d never said what he’d needed to say to her. That he loved her. That he’d always love her. That she was a great mother even though she sometimes looked so sad…

And then to find that the writer, Shane, had hung bulletin boards all over the dining room and covered those boards with clippings from the murder at the Douglas ranch.

It was too much. It was.

It was still too much and it ate at him, the fact that Shane was in their house doing this. But Whitney was right. You couldn’t just throw a guy like Shane out on the streets. He’d know his rights and probably wouldn’t hesitate to fight back, coming at them with a lawyer, suing for unlawful eviction. And that was the last thing any of them needed.

But he had to do something, didn’t he?

Cormac paced again, and still wound up, grabbed his phone and shot Whitney a text.
You up?

She answered a couple minutes later.
Everything okay?

I don’t suppose you’d want to have a beer and talk.

Her answer was immediate.
I’d rather do wine at this hour.

I have a bottle of red here. Come over.
He swallowed hard and then added.
Please.

Will be there in ten.

She actually arrived fifteen minutes later and apologized for it. “I forgot about parking,” she said when he opened the door.

“You’re fine. You gave the wine a chance to breathe.”

She flashed him a wry smile as she peeled off her coat and dropped it on the back of one of the chairs in the dining room but the coat fell off the chair and she leaned over to grab it, giving him a good look at her butt.

Even in baggy sweatpants she had a great butt.

Suddenly he was distracted, and his body reacted, and he remembered just how sensitive she’d been—

“So what’s going on?” she asked, dropping into one of the chairs at the table. Her thick brown hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing a white baseball style T-shirt with royal blue sleeves that outlined her breasts and he felt like a kid, fixating on all her curves.

She looked really good. But he hadn’t called her over for a midnight booty call. Although the thought was tempting. It was probably a good thing she didn’t normally dress like this around him.

“Is this what you wear to bed?” he asked, pouring the wine into two oversized goblets.

“It’s just loungewear.”

Loungewear. Somehow that sounded really sexy, too.

He handed her the glass and their fingers accidentally brushed. He grew hard all over again. Maybe it was time he started dating again. Clearly he needed to get laid, and clearly he wasn’t going to be taking Whitney to his bed.

He wouldn’t be taking anyone to his bed when he had a four-year-old sleeping in the bedroom.

Maybe that’s what had hijacked his personal life. Becoming a single father.

“Let’s sit in the living room,” he said. “I’m not a fan of dining rooms at the moment.”

“Ah. Right.” She jumped up from the chair as if burned. “Good point.” She followed him to the pair of couches in the suite’s living area and sat down on the couch adjacent to his. “So what are you going to do about Shane and his story?”

He stretched an arm along the back of the couch and tugged on the cushion’s welting. “I don’t know.” He was quiet a long moment, his gut churning again. “I’m not sure what to do.” He looked at her, wanting her input. Needing her input. “What do you think?”

She studied him, her gaze searching his. “If this were a work issue, I’d be comfortable giving you my opinion, but this is different. This is personal—”

“You’re not my colleague right now. You’re not an ex. You’re my friend. What should I do?”

She sipped her wine and then set the glass on the wooden coffee table. “If you don’t know what you want to do, then wait. Don’t do anything. Sit on making a decision until you’ve had time to consider all options. Eventually you will know what you want to do, and you’ll do it better with a cool head rather than in a moment of anger or panic—”

“I don’t panic,” he scoffed.

She grinned. “Fine. In a moment of anger or passion.” Her smiled faded. “But seriously, you’re a master of control, and you’re unsettled right now because the situation feels out of control, but let’s face it, if you hadn’t gone into the house today you wouldn’t know what Shane was writing. You wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. So you do have time. You can afford to let this play out…develop a strategy. If anyone can be strategic, it’s you, Cormac.”

“We don’t know when the book is coming out,” he said slowly.

“Books take time.”

“If they get released at all.”

She shot him a suspicious glance. “You’re not planning anything diabolical, are you? I wouldn’t be cool with that.”

“It’s not your family.”

“You asked my opinion.”

“Can’t you just tell me what I want to hear?”

“No.”

He laughed shortly and tipped his head back, rubbed his eyes. “I need to get out of this place,” he said quietly. “It’s hard being cooped up in a hotel with a four-year-old.” He exhaled. “I almost lost it with her tonight. She had a meltdown and wouldn’t stop crying. I just kind of wanted to go…”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here.” He rubbed his eyes again, his gut cramping, his chest hot and tight. “I forgot how much I hate Marietta.”

*

Whitney heard something
in Cormac’s voice she’d never heard before. Not just pain, but almost despair. She left her seat to go sit next to him, facing him sideways. “Talk to me.”

“Oh, babe, there’s nothing to say. I just…” he shook his head. “I just really wanted…” His voice drifted away and his jaw tightened, flexing, making all the muscles flex all the way down his neck.

Whitney put a hand on his knee. “
Tell me
.”

“I wanted to see her.” His deep voice rasped, all but inaudible. He looked away, grinding his teeth, making the tendons and cords in his neck pop all over again. “My mom. I just wanted her to be there.”

He turned his head and looked at her, his gray-green eyes the same color as the sea. “I was fourteen when I last saw her. And I missed her today. I really missed her and I don’t know if it’s being a father, or visiting the ranch, but man, it wasn’t easy growing up there. It wasn’t easy growing up, period.”

Whitney didn’t know who’d moved—him or her—but she was suddenly in his lap, with his big arms around her, and he just held her, holding on for warmth and comfort, and she could feel his need as strong as if it was her own.

And maybe it was her need, too.

Everyone was so alone in this world.

Everyone had to face life and death and love and loss alone. You had others who could walk with you and try to support you but eventually they’d be gone, too.

She covered one of his hands with hers, and his fingers slipped through hers, locking them in.

She felt his heart beating against her back, and the heat of his body everywhere around her and it made her ache.

She still loved this man.

“You’re not really an Ice Man, are you?” she whispered.

His broad chest lifted and fell. She glanced up into his face. He was smiling crookedly. “You are one ruthless woman.”

“I can’t comment on your sensitive side?”

“No.”

She pressed her lips to the curve of his biceps. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now. It’d be so easy to turn just enough to touch her mouth to his…

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go there. Not with him. Not even if she loved him. Just three more weeks until January and she’d be gone. She needed to go. She needed to cut her ties and move on so she could find someone who loved her and protected her…as much as Cormac was always trying to protect Daisy.

Whitney wasn’t jealous of his love for Daisy, but it was a constant reminder that Cormac could love. But he didn’t love
her
.

“What was she like? Your mom?” Whitney asked. “You’ve never talked about her before.”

Cormac drew a slow breath and then exhaled even more slowly. “I loved her. And all boys love their mom but I really loved her. I thought she was so beautiful—and she was—part-Irish, part-Native American she was like a princess.”

He was silent for so long she realized he was done talking but he hadn’t really answered the questions she wanted to know.

“What happened to her?” she asked after a moment. “How did she die?”

For a minute there was just more silence and then his powerful shoulders shifted wearily. “She took her life. Troy found her.”

Whitney turned in his lap to face him. His eyes were closed. His lips pressed in a line. Pain etched deeply in his hard handsome features.

She lifted a hand to his face, cupping his beard-roughened cheek.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “Everyone acted like they were so shocked. Dad. My brothers. They all acted as if her suicide was out of the blue. It wasn’t. We all knew she was unhappy. But no one did anything to help her.”

“You mean like get her counseling?”

“No, like get her out of that house and away from Dad.” Cormac suddenly lifted Whitney up off his lap and placed her on the couch so he could get up and pace. “I should have done something,” he gritted. “Should have done
something
for her. I loved her. Adored her. And yet I did nothing.”

Whitney leaned forward. “You were a
kid
!”

“Fourteen. A freshman in high school, and in my family, that’s practically a man.”

“Well, your family was wrong. A fourteen-year-old is not a man, and I’m not happy you lost your mom, but I’m glad you thought about her today, and I’m glad you missed her and I’m glad you finally have told me about her. I’ve known you for how many years? We dated for how long? And never once in all those years did you ever talk about her. It’s about time.”

‡

R
eturning to the
Bramble House, Whitney made herself a cup of tea, turned on the gas fireplace, and sat wrapped in a blanket in one of the chintz chairs by the fire, trying to see into the future and not liking what she saw.

Every survival instinct in her screamed danger.

Every survival instinct told her to get out of Dodge while she could.

Marietta was full of folksy small town charm but working in such close proximity to Cormac was clouding her judgment.

He was gorgeous and brilliant and charismatic. She’d never met a sexier, more appealing man in her life. But Cormac had bitten off a lot and he was leaning heavily on her and that would be fine if they were equals…partners…but they weren’t.

He had all the power in this relationship and if she wasn’t very careful, she’d end up crushed. Again.

She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. She didn’t like being dramatic. But she and Cormac didn’t have a very encouraging track record and when the chips were down, Cormac always looked out for his best interests.

Not just once, or twice, but every single time.

Climbing into bed she resolved to be more cautious and if need be, keep Cormac at arm’s length.

Not because she wanted him there, but she had to keep him there. Cormac was her kryptonite.

*