Second Chance Family - Cindy Kirk Page 0,17
of the tension between her and Cole had eased.
Cole’s eyes might still be shuttered but he’d smiled a couple of times. Not that she cared for herself what the man thought or felt. But at least she knew he wanted things to be comfortable between them…for the child’s sake.
She sent Charlie to the living room to keep Cole company while she wiped down the granite countertops. Meg ran her fingers across the surface, her gaze surveying the room.
The commercial-grade appliances were every cook’s dream. Growing up in a big family, helping in the kitchen was something you were expected to do. Later, after her parents had passed away, and she and Travis had chosen to take on the daunting task of coparenting their siblings, she’d been grateful for all those lessons. But her uncle’s kitchen had been nothing like this one.
“Aunt Meg,” Charlie called out from the other room. “Where are you?”
“Aunt Meg?” She strolled into the room, not sure how she felt about seeing the boy sitting so comfortably beside Cole on the sofa. Especially with his head cocked in a gesture that reminded her of the man sitting beside him. “What happened to Aunt Margaret?”
“Meg is more pretty,” the boy said with a decisive nod. “It’s what Uncle Cole calls you.”
Meg shifted her gaze.
Cole’s lips lifted upward in a smile that looked suspiciously like a smirk. “You’re welcome.”
She’d been about to suggest they play one of the board games she’d brought with her from Charlie’s house or perhaps a rousing hand of Go Fish. But the smirk changed the direction of her thoughts.
“Charlie,” she said. “Would you like to help me make your uncle Cole strong and fast, like a superhero?”
“Yes,” Charlie shouted, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air.
“Indoor voice.” Meg touched a finger to her lips, smiling to soften the words.
“Will he be able to fly?” Charlie flung out his arms as if he were prepared to soar through the air.
“No, he won’t be able to fly but eventually he will be able to take you skiing and then fishing this summer.” Meg kicked the crutches Cole had propped up next to him on the sofa. “He’ll be able to walk and run without these.”
Cole’s expression darkened.
“How are we gonna make him strong?” Charlie asked.
“Through some fun games,” Meg said. “It’s very important that these games are done right. That’s why I’ll be the sheriff and you’ll be the deputy. We’re here to make sure he does what the doctor ordered.”
“Do I get a gun?” the boy asked.
Meg shook her head. “A gun won’t be necessary.”
“My daddy had a gun. I wasn’t allowed to touch it. He kept it locked up in a big cabinet.”
“Well,” Meg said, “there are no guns here—”
She glanced at Cole for confirmation.
“No guns,” he said.
“And we don’t need them,” Meg said. “Because Uncle Cole wants to get better and because of that he’s going to do what we say.”
“I don’t think—” Cole began.
“If he cheats, I’ll arrest him,” Charlie announced, his expression stern. “Cuz I want him to take me fishing. I don’t know about skiing. I never been.”
“You’ll like it,” Cole said. “I’ll take you when my knee is healed.”
“I want Aunt Meg to come, too.” Charlie reached out and took her hand, the gesture warming her heart.
“Then I’d better start getting in shape,” Cole drawled.
“I can help with that,” Meg said.
“I see that look in your eyes,” Cole said. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Meg?”
“Your CPM machine,” she said, not at all affected by his easy smile. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” Cole gestured toward the hall with his head.
In Meg’s experience, a continuous-passive-motion machine was often prescribed for use during the first two weeks after an ACL reconstruction.
“Have you used it today?” she asked.
“I was busy.” His tone held a defensive edge. “Getting things ready for you and Charlie.”
Meg wasn’t sure that Cole was physically capable of doing much to ready the house for their arrival, but she let the topic drop.
“What degree of extension does the doctor want you to achieve before you discontinue the use of the CPM?” Meg kept her tone professional and her comment to the point.
“Ninety-five,” he said.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“I’m almost at ninety-five,” he called to her retreating back.
Meg kept walking. The awkwardness of his gait told her he still had a way to go. Only when she reached his bedroom door did indecision strike. She really should have secured his permission before entering his