tried writing to me and the letter was returned. She knew someone who had a friend at the State Department who told her I’d gotten killed in Syria.”
“Someone breached classified information?” Flipper asked.
“The person who did it felt she needed to know. Like I said, she was trying to reach me.”
“Why was she trying to reach you?” Viper asked.
Laramie paused before saying, “She wanted to let me know she’d gotten pregnant.”
Everyone got quiet and Laramie knew why. They were trying to digest what he’d said. A smile touched his lips when he added, “Yes, what you’re thinking is right. I have a child. A two-year-old son.”
“Hungry, Mommy.”
Standing at the stove while preparing breakfast, Bristol couldn’t help but smile. Each morning her son woke up in a good mood. Hungry, but good. It didn’t matter that he usually had a bedtime snack. He evidently slept that off every night.
“Mommy is almost done, Laramie. Please color me a picture.”
“Okay.”
She’d discovered early that Laramie liked marking up things, preferably with his crayon. When her walls became a target, she’d purchased him a coloring book. Now it was the norm for him to color her a picture in the book while he waited for breakfast. And since he was home with her every day, she used any free time she had to teach him things. He already knew his primary colors, how to count to ten and since she knew fluent French, she made that his second language by identifying things in both English and French. So far he was mastering both.
She had just finished cooking the eggs when the doorbell rang. Laramie ceased his chatter long enough to say, “Door, Mommy.”
Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she turned and said, “Yes, I heard it.” And from the way her heart was pounding in her chest, she knew who it was. Laramie... Coop. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetie.”
Refusing to acknowledge the fact that she’d taken extra care with her looks this morning, she headed for the door. Coop was here to see Laramie and not her.
Before opening the door, she looked through the peephole. There was no way on earth she could dismiss just how incredibly handsome her son’s father was. With his striking masculine looks she found it hard to believe some woman hadn’t snatched him up by now. He’d said he wasn’t married, but he didn’t say whether or not there was a special woman in his life. She tried to push the thought out of her mind; it wasn’t any of her business.
Their only connection, the only reason he was standing on her doorstep a little after eight in the morning, was Laramie. And from the looks of it, he was bearing gifts. She had a feeling her son would be getting an early visit from Santa.
Inhaling deeply, she opened the door. “Good morning, Coop.”
* * *
Bristol looked even more beautiful in the daylight. Today her dark brown hair was flowing down her shoulders. And although she wasn’t wearing lipstick, she’d put something on her lips to make them shine. Another thing different from last night was her outfit. Today she was wearing a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater. Was it a coincidence or had she remembered him once telling her that red was his favorite color?
The color really didn’t matter because the woman standing in the doorway was too stunningly beautiful for words. He drew in a deep breath and pulled in her scent. She was wearing the same perfume from three years ago, from last night. He tried to keep memories of their holiday fling at bay so he could focus on their son. But then how could he, when the result of that fling was why he was here?
He recalled Mac’s lecture. Mac, being the oldest of the group and the one who’d been married the longest, had given him advice last night. If Laramie’s only interest in Bristol was his son, then he needed to make that point clear up front. Mac had known a lot of men who hadn’t. Because of that, the women in those relationships assumed romance and the baby were a package deal.
As he tried to regain control of his senses, it occurred to Coop that while he’d been checking Bristol out, she’d been doing the same with him. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Bristol. I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, your timing is fine,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “I just finished cooking breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.”
Boy, was he ever, and it had nothing to do with food. The moment she’d opened the door, he’d felt it. The sizzle of attraction had been bad enough outside, but now, within the cozy confines of her home, it was stronger than ever. Did she feel it, too?
“Yes, I’m hungry.”
He couldn’t recall ever being swept away by a woman except for once in his life. And she had been that woman.
“Good, because I’ve made plenty. Laramie is up and as usual for this time of morning, he’s in a good mood.”
“Is he ever in a bad mood?” he asked, placing the gift-wrapped packages on her sofa.
She smiled and he wished that smile didn’t cause a stirring in his gut. “Yes, whenever he’s sleepy and tries like the dickens to fight it. That’s when he becomes cranky.” She took in the numerous gifts he’d brought. “Looks like you went shopping.”
He smiled. “I did. I was there when the gift shop at the hotel opened. I plan to do more shopping later today. It’s hard to believe Christmas is in less than two weeks.”
“Yes, it is.”
They reached the kitchen and Coop stopped dead in his tracks. The little boy sitting at the table staring at him was a miniature of himself. The emotions he’d felt when he’d seen his son last night came back to hit him tenfold. Ms. Charlotte and Bristol were right. His son resembled him so much it was uncanny.
They shared the same skin tone, eye color and shape of nose, lips and ears. And then there was that mop of thick curly hair. Although Coop wore his hair cut low now due to military regulations, for years he’d worn it long, even during his teen years. His parents hadn’t had a problem with it as long as he kept it looking neat. And he could tell, even though his son was sitting down, that he was taller than most two-year-olds. But then Cooper men were tall. He was six foot two and so was his father. His grandfathers on both sides had been six foot three.
“Who’s that?” Laramie asked his mother loudly, pointing at Coop.
“It’s not nice to point, Laramie.” The little boy put his finger down but kept an I-am-sizing-you-up look on his little face.
“Laramie, this is your daddy. Can you say Daddy?”
“Daddy?” his son asked his mother, as if for clarification.
“Yes, Daddy.”
The little boy nodded, looked back over at Coop and said, “Daddy.”
Coop’s heart missed a beat at hearing his son call him that for
