Unlike Cole, the Noble clan patriarch hadn’t changed a whole lot that Cole could tell. Although he had to be in his seventies by now, the retired air force officer had lost none of the imposing bearing that had gone a long way toward keeping his motley group of adopted and foster children in line for so many years. The shoulders were still square, the posture still ramrod straight, his intense blue gaze as direct as ever. But not, Cole could see now that he was closer, as bright.
It also occurred to him he couldn’t remember Preston ever doing the grocery shopping. That had been his wife Jeanne’s domain.
Now he clasped Cole’s hand in a firm shake. All forgiven? Forgotten? Unknown? Although Sabrina would’ve had to say something, wouldn’t she? To explain—
“Didn’t mean to creep you out,” the Colonel said, “but I wasn’t sure it was you at first. What on earth are you doing back here, boy? Thought you’d fled New Jersey years ago.”
Cole smiled. “I’m only in Maple River for the summer. Taking care of my parents’ place while they’re away.” He grinned down at Brooke, frowning so hard Cole had to fight a laugh. “This is my daughter, Brooke. And this guy,” he said as Wes wandered back, curiosity clearly overriding—for the moment—his annoyance with his father’s junk-food ban, “is my son, Wesley. Kids, this is Preston Noble. Spent a lot of time at his house, when I was around your age.”
Because I had the mother of all crushes on your daughter, sir.
And how is Sabrina, by the way?
The Colonel’s brows dipped slightly behind his glasses, as if he knew exactly what Cole was thinking. Which wouldn’t surprise him in the least. It used to rattle all the kids, Preston’s uncanny ability to read their minds, to put the kibosh on trouble before they could get into it. Most of the time, anyway.
But not all.
Both kids politely shook the older man’s hand, although Brooke hung back, more like a much younger child would have. Not surprising, Cole supposed, considering recent events.
And damned if the Colonel didn’t somehow pick up on that, too, immediately engaging both kids in some tale or other from when Cole had been a fixture in the Nobles’ kitchen, when Jeanne Noble had known his food preferences better than his own mother. And as he watched his still shell-shocked children begin to thaw in the warmth of the older man’s spirited tale-telling, he realized he couldn’t ever remember the Colonel talking down to a kid, how he always treated them as the intelligent, capable beings he knew, and expected, them to be. Not surprisingly, the kids were eating it up. Same as Cole had.
Then the older man met Cole’s gaze, his smile almost wistful. “The three of you should come over. So we can catch up properly. Not in the middle of the Food Lion.”
“Oh. Um...I...”
“How about this afternoon? If you’re not busy, I mean. Jeanne’s roses are spectacular this year, with all this rain. She would’ve been so pleased. You remember, I’m sure, how much she loved those roses.”
Loved. Past tense.
Cole’s heart lurched in his chest. That explained the slightly not-there look in the older man’s eyes. Why he was shopping.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No reason you should have. Eight years ago now.”
“But you still have the house?”
“For now. Since everyone’s out on their own...” Preston’s attention drifted back to the kids, now quietly arguing over grapes. Or something. “The boy looks exactly like you, doesn’t he?”
“Except about fifty pounds lighter.”
The older man turned back to him. “You’d already lost a lot of it, though, by your junior year.” He chuckled. “When you shot up six inches in as many months. Jeannie said you never saw it. Your metamorphosis.”
Cole felt his face warm. “I...no. I guess I didn’t.”
The Colonel humphed, clearly keeping whatever else he was thinking to himself as he looked back at the bickering duo. “It’s not like I don’t see the others fairly often, since they’re all still around. Well, except for Sabrina, she’s in New York. Pretty much only comes back for weddings. And new babies. And we’ve got plenty of those. Still. It’s not like it used to be, when the house was filled.” He paused. “Too damn big now,” he said softly. “Too quiet.”
The longing in the older man’s voice knifed straight through Cole, partly because he doubted Preston even realized it was there. If it was one thing the guy wasn’t, it was manipulative. Anal and demanding, perhaps, he thought with a smile, but definitely not one to play the pity card. And since his own parents were away—and had never been the coddling grandparent types, anyway—and Erin’s parents were both dead, what could it hurt to the let the old guy play honorary grandpa for an hour or so?
And frankly, Cole wouldn’t mind seeing the house again. If for no other reason than to perhaps expunge a memory or two.
“We’re having dinner with my sister tonight,” he said, “but I suppose we could come over for a little while this afternoon.”
Preston beamed. “That would be great. Around two or so?”
“We’ll be there.”
The other man clapped him on the shoulder before steering his cart down the aisle. Cole watched him for a second, then wandered over to the veggie section, ignoring his children’s grimaces as he bagged a bunch of broccoli and plunked it into the cart. “Heads up—we’re going to go visit Colonel Noble later.”
“Why?” Wesley said, suspicious.
“Because he invited us. And it’ll be fun, getting to see the house again.”
Fun. Yeah. Let’s go with that.
“One of his kids...” To Cole’s surprise, his throat caught. He cleared it, then said, “Was my best friend, all through middle and high school.”
“What was his name?”
He tossed a three pack of multicolored peppers into the cart. “Her name.” And some asparagus, tightly rubber-banded. “Sabrina.”
“Your best friend was a girl.”
“Yep.”
Wesley shook his head as Brooke leaned on the front of the cart, impeding Cole’s progress. “How come you never mentioned her before?”
“I’m sure I did. I must have.”
“Nope. I would’ve remembered. So how come?”
Did he dare try Brussels sprouts on them? He did.
“Haven’t seen her in years. One of those things.”
And amazingly he sounded almost nonchalant. In the past, over and done, didn’t matter. Highly doubtful he’d ever see her again.
Except Brooke gave him one of her strange looks, her searing, green-eyed stare reminding him yet again that he was perpetually an inch away from screwing up. Especially now. But at least, for these few minutes, he’d managed to distract them from what must have been the constant refrain of their mother’s pulling the rug out from under them. Completely of their own volition and without Cole’s knowledge, his extraordinarily courageous children had given his ex the choice between them and a lifestyle that had left them feeling like also-rans—and she had not chosen them.
And this—they—did matter. Now mattered. In a way that nothing else ever had, or ever would. Because while his love life was apparently doomed to eternal suckage, these kids would know they came first. That he loved them, and was proud of them, and wanted nothing less than the best for them.
Even if that included tiny cabbage-like vegetables, so innocently snuggled together in their little