then as if Coop was being dismissed, Laramie picked up a crayon and began coloring in the book in front of him.
“You can go ahead and sit down, Coop.”
Laramie snatched his head back up and scrunched up his face and said, “He Daddy, Mommy. Not Coop.”
Bristol smiled. “You, and only you, can call him Daddy. I can call him Coop. You call him Daddy. Understand?”
Laramie nodded his head up and down. “Yes, Mommy.”
Then to explain further she said, “I can also call him Laramie.”
Laramie’s face scrunched up again. “But that’s me.”
“Yes, but his name is Laramie, too.”
Laramie then looked at his daddy. “You got my name?” he asked.
Coop decided not to say it was the other way around. Instead he would let Bristol handle this since she seemed to know how much their son could understand. “Yes, I have your name.”
“But Mommy calls him Coop so he’ll know when I am talking to him and not to you. Okay?”
Laramie nodded. “Okay.” He then went back to coloring in his book.
Coop moved to the table and sat down. That got his son’s attention again. Laramie looked over at him and with a stern face asked, “Clean hands, Daddy?” And to show what he meant, he held his hands out in front of him. “My hands clean.”
“Oh.” Coop got the message and glanced over at Bristol. “Where can I wash my hands?”
He could tell she was fighting back a smile when she said, “There’s a bathroom right off the living room.”
He stood. “Thanks.” He headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. He had a feeling his two-year old son planned to keep him on his toes.
* * *
“Be still my hormones,” Bristol muttered under her breath as she watched Coop leave the kitchen and head for the bathroom. Today he was wearing a pair of khakis and a pullover brown sweater. She was convinced that no matter what he put on his body, he was the epitome of sexy. There wasn’t a single thing about him that didn’t start her heart fluttering and send her female senses into overdrive. Then there was that self-assured walk he’d mastered. The man was true masculinity on legs.
“Daddy gone?”
She glanced over at her son as she placed the plates on the table. Was that sadness she saw in his little eyes? Of course, she had to be imagining things since Laramie had just met Coop. He couldn’t have gotten attached already. She’d known Laramie would like Coop since he liked everybody.
“No, Daddy went to wash his hands.”
Laramie nodded and then said, “Good.” He then added, “Me got clean hands, Mommy.” And just like he’d done for Coop, as proof of how clean they were, he held them out and flipped them over a few times.
She smiled and said, “Yes, you have clean hands, Laramie.”
At that moment Coop returned and sat back down at the table. “Daddy back,” Laramie said, smiling.
Coop returned his son’s smile. “Yes, Daddy’s back.”
* * *
“Daddy, want to play some more?”
Coop, who was stretched on the floor, wondered how one little boy could have so much energy. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. Had he been here nearly four hours already? Breakfast had been delicious and he’d discovered just what a great cook Bristol was. When he’d complimented her she credited her aunt for making sure her culinary skills were up to par before she’d left New York to live in Paris.
After breakfast he helped Bristol tidy up the kitchen, although she’d said his help was unnecessary. But he’d wanted to help. Laramie had sat at the kitchen table, ignoring them while he colored.
Afterward they had gone to the living room. They’d placed most of the presents under the tree but there had been a few he’d let his son open now. Namely, more coloring books. To give him time alone with Laramie, Bristol had gone upstairs to her studio and closed the door. He felt good knowing she trusted him to take care of Laramie.
For a two-year old, his son was pretty darn smart. He spoke in understandable sentences and even knew how to speak French. During breakfast Bristol would lapse into French with Laramie. Coop appreciated that fact since he himself spoke several different languages, including French, and he enjoyed conversing with them in the language.
“Play games, Daddy.”
Coop pulled himself up and looked at Laramie. He knew that his son didn’t know the true meaning of the word daddy. To him it was just a name, but Coop hoped when Laramie got older it would come to mean a lot more. He wouldn’t be around his son 24/7 because of the nature of his work as a SEAL. But he would be with him every chance he got.
That meant after every mission, he would head to New York. It no longer mattered that he liked California’s weather better. His son was in New York and that’s where he intended to be.
“He hasn’t worn you out yet?”
He glanced up and saw a smiling Bristol standing in the entryway to her living room. He chuckled. “No, not yet.”
“Well, you get a break since it’s lunchtime.”
As if Bristol had said a magic word, Laramie jumped up off the floor. “Lunch, Mommy?”
“Yes, Laramie. Lunch.”
He was about to race for the kitchen when Coop stopped him and asked, “Clean hands?”
Laramie’s small eyes widened. He then looked down at his hands. “No.”
Coop nodded. “Come on, let’s wash our hands.”
Bristol watched them go, walking side by side. Father and son. It was a vision she’d thought she would never see, and seeing it now pulled at her heart. She recalled the telephone call she’d made to Dionne last night, to let her know Laramie was alive. It had taken her a full hour to tell her best friend everything, including how she’d fainted.
Then Dionne had asked her some tough questions. Namely, how she felt about Laramie and if she still loved him. Bristol had to explain that of course she still loved him but now her fears were greater than ever. She had taken news of his death hard and the grief had been so deep she’d sworn never to get that attached to another person again. It seemed all those she loved eventually died. Her mother. Her father. Her aunt Dolly. Was that why she was sometimes overprotective with her son? At least Margie thought that she was.
The work Coop did was dangerous. He risked his life constantly. Most of the time his whereabouts were unknown because the nature of his work was highly classified. There was no way she could make such a person a permanent part of her life. She couldn’t imagine going through that sort of grief again. He’d beaten death once but the next time he might not be so lucky.
Dionne
