Meant-to-Be Mum

“I’m almost afraid to ask what that was all about,” Cole said, and she laughed.

“I’m almost afraid to tell you.”

On a tight smile, Cole hitched up the knees of his khakis and lowered himself to the bench beside her. “But you’re going to,” he said, not looking at her. Unable to.

Sabrina laughed again, the sound as gentle as the early summer breeze dancing around them. “I was being grilled.” When Cole’s head swung to hers, she shrugged. “He was curious, understandably enough. About what we used to be to each other.” She paused. “What we might be now. Especially since you apparently told him I saved your butt?”

Grimacing, Cole looked away again. “And what did you say?”

“That whatever we once were,” she said softly, “it’s in the past.”

Her words should have been a relief. Which they were, in a way. Then why the sting? The stupid, totally illogical disappointment?

* * *

Jersey Boys: Born … raised … and ready

Meant-to-Be Mum

Karen Templeton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN TEMPLETON is a recent inductee into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame. A three-time RITA^>® Award-winning author, she has written more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon and lives in New Mexico with two hideously spoiled cats, has raised five sons and lived to tell the tale, and could not live without dark chocolate, mascara and Netflix.

This book is dedicated to everyone who’s ever doubted their ability to fix something. Especially when it looked hopeless. But they did it anyway. Because they were too stubborn to give up, or listen to the naysayers.

You are my people.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Dad. Dad!”

His brain already in knots from grocery shopping with a pair of adolescents, Cole Rayburn frowned at his shivering twelve-year-old daughter. Who was clearly about to freeze in her tank top and short-alls in the frigid store, despite the curtain of blond hair shielding her bare shoulders. But would she listen to Cole’s suggestion to take a sweater with her? Oh, hell, no—

The slight note of alarm in Brooke’s voice belatedly registered, echoing through his entire nervous system. Not that he’d let her see it—

“What is it, honey?”

“That man over there,” she whispered, sidling closer to Cole’s elbow. Much as she’d done for the past week, as if afraid he’d disappear if she let him out of her sight. Gratifying and terrifying all at once. “No, the one by the apples. With the white hair. He keeps staring. Like he knows us or something.” A few feet away, her slouching, dark-haired brother, Wesley, gawked at a towering display of canned soda. Longingly. Cole briefly met his son’s silent plea, ignored both the stab of guilt and Wes’s sigh, then finally looked to see who Brooke was talking about.

And damned if his own adolescence didn’t flash before his eyes.

He’d assumed, of course, he’d eventually run into one or more of the family he’d practically grown up with. Just not this soon. Or that he’d have such mixed feelings about the reunion, even after all this time.

Or whether the man everyone called the Colonel would be more inclined to welcome him home like the Prodigal Son...or splatter his guts all over the grapefruit.

“Cole?” Preston said. Grinning, actually. So far, so good. “Cole Rayburn?”

“Yes, sir,” Cole said, returning the grin, even as he reminded himself it’d been more than twenty years since Sabrina Noble had dragged home, like a stray puppy, the flabby dork he used to be. The Colonel still had a couple of inches on him—although, at six-four, he pretty much towered over everybody—but Cole understood why the older man hadn’t recognized him at first. Few people from those days would.

By now they were side by side, their carts facing opposite directions like a pair of horse riders meeting up on a trail. Unlike Cole, the Noble clan patriarch hadn’t changed a whole lot that Cole could tell. Although he had to be in his seventies by now, the retired air force officer had lost none of the imposing bearing that had gone a long way toward keeping his motley group of adopted and foster children in line for so many years. The shoulders were still square, the posture still ramrod straight, his intense blue gaze as direct as ever. But not, Cole could see now that he was closer, as bright.

It also occurred to him he couldn’t remember Preston ever doing the grocery shopping. That had been his wife Jeanne’s domain.

Now he clasped Cole’s hand in a firm shake. All forgiven? Forgotten? Unknown? Although Sabrina would’ve had to say something, wouldn’t she? To explain—

“Didn’t mean to creep you out,” the Colonel said, “but I wasn’t sure it was you at first. What on earth are you doing back here, boy? Thought you’d fled New Jersey years ago.”