“The ad said you wouldn’t have to be there for the birth itself,” Chance explained. He tried to imagine Cordy delivering her baby entirely on her own. Completely by herself, with no one to hold her hand?—
He had to stop because that was way too dark. There had to be someone who could help her. Like Ruby or Liberty. Or even Rye.
“Then who’s going to be with her? She’s going to be by herself when she delivers?” A knot of concern formed between Rye’s eyes. “When is this class? I could?—”
“No,” Chance said quickly. Thinking of Rye being with Cordy, helping her, touching her… it wasn’t jealousy rumbling through him. Only concern for her. “She knows me better. She’d be more comfortable with me.”
Rye gave him a skeptical look. “If you’re sure.”
Chance was pretty fucking far from sure. They drank their coffee while Chance tried to figure out what he could do for Cordy. She seemed to think he was some kind of heartbreaker, disappointing a new woman each morning, but he was genuinely friends with quite a few of his bed partners. He might not be interested in a long-term romantic relationship, but he was always happy to stay friendly.
Calling up one of them wouldn’t go over well, though. Cordy would be pissed if he did. She wasn’t jealous, but she did disapprove. If he was out as a potential coach because he slept around, any woman in his phone was probably out for the same reason. Cordy was never judgmental before, but she was now.
She was desperate, too.
That was probably why he’d reacted so badly when she’d turned down his offer. Here, he’d tried to help her, and Cordy had acted like he would corrupt her baby or something.
Steps sounded on the front porch, followed by the scrabble of dog claws.
“Dad’s here,” Rye said out of habit. There was no need to warn each other, not anymore, but old instincts were hard to erase.
Chance felt his body tense, his old habits rearing up too. Wasn’t like Holden was going to be drunk, not these days, but Chance still reacted the same way.
A few moments later, Quint and Holden came into the kitchen. Pard, Holden’s basset hound, was pulling up the rear.
Quint looked grim as hell. Chance slapped his brother on the shoulder, trying to snap Quint out of his mood. “Coffee’s ready.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m dragging ass.” Quint rubbed a hand over his face. “Need to put some jet fuel in that coffee to get me going.”
“I don’t want to think about what that would do to your stomach.” Chance handed over a mug of regular coffee, no jet fuel added. “I’ll do the grain mixing this afternoon. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Appreciate it. You want me to sort those heifers for you instead?”
Chance nodded. This was how he and Quint had always been, pulling together, trading tasks, keeping everything going on the ranch. After Mom died, they’d had to learn how to do everything and learn fast.
Chance bent down and scratched Pard behind the ears. The basset hound stared up at him from the saddest eyes Chance had ever seen. Even when the dog was happy, he looked miserable.
“What did you get into?” he asked Pard. “You looked like you got dragged backward through a pile of foxtails.” Chance brushed a bunch of them off Pard’s long, floppy ears.
Pard gave Chance a grateful lick before he disappeared under the table.
Once the dog was gone, Chance had no more excuses. He steeled himself and got ready to greet Holden.
Holden Kessal, father to the five Kessal boys, husband to Laura, and the reason the Kessal brothers were as messed up as they were. One man, ten years of drinking, and five sons screwed up in totally different ways. It was like Holden was a cue ball slammed right into them, sending them spinning off in wildly opposite directions.
Chance wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly why he did what he did each night at the bars. Thanks to Holden, he was a billiard ball flying out of control.
His father had loved his mother so much that Holden had tried to drink himself to death when she died. Never mind that he had five boys to raise. It was only the bottle and his grief for him after that.
Chance knew that if he fell for a woman, he’d fall so hard he’d never find the bottom, the same as his father had. That’s what Kessal men did. And if anything happened to her…
He shuddered at the thought. He wasn’t even in love, and the notion made him sick. Best to avoid it all together. Holden was a harsh example of what could happen if Chance risked his heart.
Finally ready, Chance looked at Holden.
The old man was pouring his coffee, his stark white hair falling over his brow. His skin looked… greenish. Not good.
“You all right?” he asked Holden gruffly.
