escort service.”
“I don’t mean that kind of test-drive. I mean forcing them to spend time together.” That didn’t sound romantic at all. Coop squished his eggs into a chunk of potato.
The bar was slowly filling up.
“People lead busy lives,” Gideon said. “Arranging these dates could take more time than we have. Unless...”
Ty and Coop turned to their friend expectantly. Being buddies since elementary school meant they knew better than to interrupt Gideon’s thought process.
“We organize group activities. Preplanned. Pair people up in advance.” Gideon had a gleam in his eyes that indicated he was on to gold. “Activities like a... I don’t know. A boat trip?”
“It’s dead of winter,” Ty said before Coop could.
“Hiking? The views from the mountains are romantic.” Gideon’s cheeks colored slightly. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Again, dead of winter.” Ty, Mr. Glass Half Empty.
“A test-drive...” Gideon’s gaze turned distant. “Of course! An ATV excursion. Who doesn’t love riding through the mountains on an ATV?”
Tatiana came to mind. But someone on the team had to be positive or they might just as well start listing reasons why they loved Alaska. “Awesome idea, Gideon. We could come to the bar afterward for—”
“If you say karaoke, I’ll slug you.” Ty pushed his plate away, scowling.
“A mixer.” Coop gave Ty’s shoulder an encouraging shake, hoping to get rid of some of his own doubts. “You said you wanted a plan. Now we have one.” When Ty’s scowl didn’t lessen, he added, “We’ve always said we can do anything together.”
“Coop’s right.” Gideon raised his coffee cup for a group toast. “Here’s to our sunny, snowless future in the Lower 48.”
Coop raised his mug. “What do you say? Are you in, Ty?” They’d be sunk without him.
“This is crazy.” Ty blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll try not to let you down.”
They clinked mugs.
“We’re all in.” Coop took a sip of strong black coffee, feeling more confident than he had since they’d made the bet. “Now, about that list of singles...”
* * *
“I’M RALLYING THE TROOPS!” Pop entered the Bar & Grill with an unsteady shuffle, a gust of wind and Nora. “Since the snow’s not letting up, I decided it’d be easier to create a baby command center here.”
“Pop.” Coop made a turn-down-the-volume gesture with both hands. “What is a baby command center?” And why did Nora show up every time Coop felt as if his dreams were within reach?
“The storm ain’t moving. And my grandchild needs things.” Pop tottered to a booth and claimed it with his usual fast, plunk-his-butt-down MO.
Almost immediately the door to the bar opened and married women began streaming in as if it was Black Friday at the mercantile. The invasion silenced the bar’s regulars. They brought clothes for Nora and the baby, bassinets and car seats, curiosity and advice. Lots and lots of advice, which quickly turned to stories that made Coop’s stomach turn.
“My baby had the worst colic,” one woman said. “He screamed so loud the neighbors thought we were torturing him.”
“Talk about screams.” Another built upon the building drama. “My Frank had an impacted tooth. Ruptured his gums like a seam ripping on my husband’s pants. I thought he’d bleed out before we made it to the doctor.”
Nora’s smile looked strained. And who could blame her? This was just like the time Coop hired Bobby Evans to help him sell cars. Bobby knew a lot about cars and engines and manufacturer reliability records. He knew nothing about when to shut up. The only car Bobby had sold in his four-week tenure was to his mother.
The tension in Nora’s expression, combined with the way she held the baby protectively to her chest, unleashed boundary-making, protective instincts Coop didn’t know he had.
He crossed the bar and began negotiating a path through the crowd of perfumed women in parkas. They barely budged. At this rate he’d reach Nora by Valentine’s Day.
There was nothing like a baby to attract a lot of women. It was like flies being drawn to honey. “Ladies, please step back. I’m a man who needs to see a baby.” He very carefully didn’t claim Nora’s child as his own.
Worked like a charm. The crowd melted away like room-temperature butter for a hot knife. The women oohed and aahed and patted Coop’s shoulder as if he’d done something truly wonderful.
Kind of made him feel like a cad.
“Cooper wants to hold his baby.” Mrs. Begay topped her statement with a romantic sigh. She’d bought a SUV from him last summer and, on his advice, had special ordered the expensive snow tires that had no doubt carried her here.
Mrs. Harrison, who’d never bought a car from Coop, was a grandmother of five and had been his third-grade teacher. She moved slowly out of his way, watching him from behind cat-eye glasses as if he was still a troublemaking third-grader. “About time someone caught you doing something naughty.”
Feeling kindly, Coop said, “You were right, Mrs. H. I was the one who replaced your glue with mayonnaise.”
That brought a smile to her plump cheeks. “I knew it! Do you know? No little boy has caused as much mischief in my classroom as you did.”
“I take that as a compliment.” And he expected her next car purchase to be from him.
Mrs. Tsosie, who ran the local newspaper almost single-handedly and had purchased her last truck from Coop, produced a serious-looking black camera with a lens the size of a bourbon bottle. “I want a picture of this reformed bachelor holding his baby.”
Reformed? That meant he’d be stuck in Kenkamken Bay forever.
“Oh, no.” Coop’s laughter sounded as hollow as his forgotten dreams. “We’re not taking out a mortgage or anything.”
In the booth, Pop frowned. Across from him, Nora rolled her eyes. Someone in the back of the group said, “I told you so.”
Coop clung to his smile and his bachelor’s shallow pride.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Tsosie said. “Now that you’re a dad, we’ll be seeing more of you in church and less of you in the bar.”
Coach’s laughter penetrated the crowd, penetrated Coop’s car-salesman-thick skin, penetrated his normally unshakable smile. Coop resented the implication that his whole way of life would change with fatherhood, resented it with patience-snapping intensity.
But before he could say fatherhood wouldn’t change him, Mrs. Tsosie said, “Go on. Hold your daughter.”
Your daughter.
A
