as if he’d never seen an attractive woman before. One of his dining companions that evening had worn a form-fitting dress that was shorter and lower cut than Sierra’s nightgown and he hadn’t felt even a twinge of interest. He needed to quit eyeballing her, or she was going to think he was some sort of deviant. The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable in his home.
Coop opened the wine refrigerator and fished out an open bottle of pinot grigio. Unlike his teammates, he preferred a quality wine to beer or liquor. He’d never been one to enjoy getting drunk. Not since his wild days anyway, when he’d taken pretty much anything that gave him a buzz because at the time it meant taking his pain away.
He took two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the island countertop. Sierra walked in as he was pouring. She had changed into a pair of black leggings and an oversize, faded yellow T-shirt. He found his gaze drawn to her legs again. He typically dated women who were supermodel skinny—and a few of those women had actually been supermodels—but not necessarily because that was what he preferred. That just seemed to be the type of woman who gravitated toward him. He liked that Sierra had some meat on her bones. She was not heavy by any stretch of the imagination. She just looked … healthy. Although he was sure that most women would take that as an insult.
He quickly reminded himself that it didn’t matter what she looked like because she was off-limits.
“Have a seat,” he said, and she slid onto one of the bar stools across the island from him. He corked the wine and slid one of the glasses toward her. “I hope you like white.”
“Oh … um …” She hesitated, a frown causing an adorable little wrinkle between her brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
He put the bottle back in the fridge. Maybe she thought he was trying to get her drunk so he could take advantage of her. “One glass,” he said. “Unless you don’t drink.”
“No, I do. I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea.”
“Are you underage?”
She flashed him a cute smile. “You know I’m not. I’m just worried that one of the girls might wake up. In fact, I’d say it’s a strong possibility, so I need to stay sharp.”
“You think one little glass of wine will impair you?” He folded his arms. “You must be quite the lightweight.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “I can hold my own. I just don’t want to make a bad impression.”
“If you drank an entire bottle, that might worry me, but one glass? Do you think I would offer if I thought it was a bad idea?”
“I guess not.”
“Let’s put it this way: If the twins were your daughters, and you wanted to wind down after a busy day, would you feel comfortable allowing yourself a glass of wine?”
“Yes.”
He slid the wine closer. “So, stop worrying about what I think, and enjoy.” She took it.
“A toast, to your first day,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.
She sipped, nodded and said, “Nice. I wouldn’t have imagined you as the wine-drinking type.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things about me that would surprise you.” He rested his hip against the edge of the countertop. “But tell me about you.”
“I thought we were going to talk about the girls.”
“We will, but I’d like to know a little bit about you first.”
She sipped again, then set her glass down. “You read my file.”
“Yeah, but that was just the basics. I’d like to know more about you as a person. Like, what made you get into nursing?”
“My mom, actually.”
“She was a nurse?
“No, she was a homemaker. She got breast cancer when I was a kid. The nurses were so wonderful to her and to me and my dad and sister. Especially when she was in hospice. I decided then, that’s what I wanted to do.”
“She passed away?”
Sierra nodded. “When I was fourteen.”
“That’s a tough age for a girl to lose her mother.”
“It was harder for my sister, I think. She was only ten.”
He circled the counter and sat on the stool beside hers. “Is there a good age to lose a parent? I was twelve when my mom and dad died. It was really rough.”
“My sister used to be this sweet, happy-go-lucky kid, but after she got really moody and brooding.”
“I was angry,” he said. “I went from being a pretty decent kid to the class bully.”
“It’s not uncommon, in that situation, for a boy to pick on someone smaller and weaker. It probably gave you a feeling of power in an otherwise powerless situation.”
“Except I went after kids who were bigger than me. Because I was so big for my age, that usually meant I was fighting boys who were older than me. And I got the snot kicked out of me a couple of times, but usually I won. And you’re right, it did make me feel powerful. I felt like it was the only thing I had any control over.”
“My sister never picked on anyone, but she was into drugs for a while. Thankfully she cleaned herself up, but when my dad got sick she just couldn’t handle it. When she turned eighteen she took off for L.A. She’s an actress, or trying to be. She’s done a couple of commercials and a few walk-on parts. Mostly she’s a waitress.”
“What is it that your dad has?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being too nosy.
“He’s in the final stages of Alzheimer’s.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifty.”
Damn. “That’s really young for Alzheimer’s, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “It’s rare, but it happens. He started getting symptoms when he was forty-six, and the disease progressed much faster than it would in someone older. They tried every drug out there to slow the progression, but nothing seemed to work. It’s not likely he’ll live out the year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged, eyes lowered, running her thumb around the rim of her glass. “The truth is, he died months ago, at least in all the ways that matter. He’s just a shell. A functioning body. I know he hates living this way.”
She looked so sad. He wanted to hug her, or rub her shoulder, or do something to comfort her, but it didn’t seem appropriate to be touching her. So his only choice was to comfort her with words and shared experiences. Because when it came to losing a parent, he knew just how deeply painful and traumatic it could be.
“When my parents got in the car accident, my dad died instantly. My mom survived the crash, but she was in a coma and brain-dead. My brother,
