Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(153)

Jonas stared up at his father for several long, agonizing moments before he nodded again.

“Now, Bub, do what I asked. Go get changed. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jonas whispered then continued. “You’re not gonna go –”

Tate squatted in front of his boy.

“No. I’m here with you and Laurie. We’re gonna have breakfast. We’re gonna go to the hospital to see Shambles. And, if you’re lucky, we’re gonna talk Laurie into makin’ you chocolate chip cookies like her Gram used to make.”

“We still have cake,” Jonas said like having chocolate chip cookies and cake in the house was a treasure trove of goodies that was too good to believe was real.

“I could do with a cookie,” I put in and both Jackson boys turned their eyes to me. “Or two,” I finished.

“Are they good?” Jonas asked me.

“She refrigerated the dough before she made them,” I answered like this would make any sense to him, which, from his small, confused grin, it didn’t.

The confusion left his face and he asked, “Can I have some dough?”

“No,” I lied and communicated that it was a lie by smiling at him.

Jonas looked at his Dad who was watching me. Tate’s head slowly turned to his son when Jonas spoke.

“She’s full of it. She’s so gonna let me eat dough.”

“Laurie’s full of it a lot,” Tate shared.

“I am not!” I snapped, only partly annoyed by this blasphemy, mostly I was just glad that the latest drama appeared to be over and I wasn’t crying anymore.

Tate straightened from the crouch, ignored my snap and commanded, “Babe, get your ass in the house and make breakfast.”

I crossed my arms on my chest and glared at him. “First, babe, don’t say ‘ass’ in front of Jonas and second, don’t tell me to make breakfast.”

Tate’s eyebrows went up. “You intend to starve my boy?”

“No, I’ll make breakfast for me and Jonas. You can make yourself a bowl of cereal.”

Tate burst out laughing, his hand snaking out to hook his son around the neck and pull him into his side. When he did, Jonas’s arms slid around Tate’s middle and he pressed himself to his Dad’s frame.

Tate was still chuckling when he looked down at Jonas and stated, “See? Full of it.”

I glared at them both but gave up glaring because this had no effect whatsoever on either of them and they looked sweet standing like that. As sweet as it was, I still stomped toward them, then by them, then into the house.

Then I made French toast.

Yes, for Tate too.

But I also made certain that, after I plonked Tate’s plate in front of him, he was clear I did it under protest.

This made both of them burst out laughing.

Tate was bossy and that was annoying but, after that scene, both my boys were laughing.

Therefore, my job was done.

* * * * *

“She ain’t talkin’,” Special Agent Garth Tambo said to Tate in the hall just down from Sunny’s hospital room.

I looked down the hall to see Shambles in a crouch in front of Jonas, Jonas was speaking and Shambles, looking like he had exactly three seconds of sleep, was nodding.

Tate, myself, FBI Special Agent Tambo and Arnie Fuller, Carnal Chief of Police, father to Tate’s crazy ex-girlfriend and Tate’s mortal enemy (and a man I did not like because he had beady eyes, a serious beer gut which was wrong in his uniform and a penchant for glowering ferociously at Tate) were standing about ten feet from Shambles and Jonas.

“Not talkin’?” Tate asked Tambo and Tambo shook his head.

“Not a peep.” He jerked his head at Shambles. “Not even to her man.”

“Man, right, that’s what he is,” Chief Fuller muttered with disdain and I caught both Tate and Special Agent Tambo’s eyes cutting to him before mine went to him. I noted Tate’s gaze was annoyed, Tambo’s was frustrated.

As for myself, I was angry.

“They’ve been together for six years,” I said to Chief Fuller. “And in those six years they spent two nights apart. One of those nights Sunny spent na**d in the forest oozing blood from stab wounds while Shambles nearly lost his mind with worry looking for her and the other she was in a hospital bed. Six years together, six years of every night but two sleeping in the same bed. If I was Sunny, that’d be the definition of Shambles being my man. Knowing what he went through and how he feels about her, that’s my definition of Shambles being a man.”

Chief Fuller turned his glower to me but Tate spoke.

“Ace –”

I lifted a hand, palm up in Tate’s direction and kept my eyes on Fuller.

“They live in your town. You don’t like hippies, that’s your choice. But that personal choice gets put in a box the minute you put on that uniform.”

“Don’t need you to tell me my job, Miz Grahame,” Fuller said to me.

“I don’t know, I’m new to these parts but, word around town, someone needs to do it,” I shot back, Tate’s arm curved around my shoulders and he pulled and twisted me so my front was against his side.

“That’s right, Jackson, rein her in,” Fuller warned.

“Arnie,” Tate replied, “she’s close to the two of ‘em. Cut her some slack.”