Make Me A Match. Cari Lynn Webb

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 small tremor passed through Coop’s biceps and headed toward his hands. Probably, he’d lifted weights too hard yesterday morning. There was no way that tremor and the one that started in his quads and moved behind his knees had anything to do with nerves about trying something new. Coop was always the first one to jump off a bridge on a bungee cord or to test-drive a new vehicle in bad weather.

      And yet...the baby in Nora’s arms waved a tiny fist. It was the first time he’d seen the baby move.

      Coop’s step faltered. He grabbed on to Mary Jo’s shoulder.

      The almost divorced mother of two met his gaze with weary brown eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

      Coop’s gaze moved to Nora’s. Her soft blue eyes were also dark rimmed, but there was something else in her gaze, something that caused Coop’s hand to drop and his feet to move forward. That gaze said, “Stay away from me. From us.”

      Who was she to keep him away? Kids needed parents. If the baby was his...

      Regret did a gut-stomping two-step with defeat, dancing right over his big plans.

      Coop took a deep breath, trying to slow the dance, trying to keep the dream alive, trying to shut up the annoying, upstanding side of his character that whispered about accepting responsibility for his actions. Finally, he reached the booth where Pop and Nora sat. “I want to hold her.”

      There was reluctance in Nora’s eyes. He hadn’t asked to hold the baby at all yesterday and now she didn’t trust him. That look. She’d almost shot him down with it the night they’d met. She’d been hard to get—no playing. She’d made him work at winning her over, claiming at first that she only wanted to share some laughs and dance. But the more they’d laughed and danced, the more Coop had wanted. More conversations, more kisses, more Nora.

      “Sit.” She nodded toward the bench beside her. “If you must.”

      He sat, feeling weak and light-headed once more. Had to be the press of bodies and the four-inch-wide camera lens aimed his way. “I’ve never held a baby before.”

      “I’m beginning to think I raised you wrong,” Pop announced loudly, as if Coop sat at the bar and not four feet away. “Playing the field all the time and not even knowing how to care for one of your own.”

      “Pop, please shut up.”

      Nora’s cheeks were as pink as the baby’s blanket. “It’s easy. Bend your arms as though I’m handing you a football. Hold them a little higher than your breadbasket.” Nora jiggled the baby so he could see how to position his arms. Her instructions were softly spoken, but her eyes... Her eyes warned of dire consequences if he dropped the ball—er, baby.

      Mrs. Tsosie snapped a picture.

      Coop held out his arms. “Football metaphors?”

      “Two older brothers.” Nora slipped the small pink bundle into his arms. “I could switch to truck engines or hockey if you prefer. I also throw a mean knuckleball.”

      Well, what do you know? Despite how she’d filled out her dress when they’d first met, Nora was grow-on-you gorgeous and a tomboy.

      Coop couldn’t seem to look away from her pert nose, her delicate mouth or her painfully truthful eyes. They were as blue as an Alaskan summer sky. Despite her tomboy declaration, she wore jeans and a yellow blouse that had style. She wasn’t intimidating in her femininity, like Tatiana. She was approachable, like the girl you asked to help you with algebra homework.

      The proverbial football he held squirmed and waved a tiny fist toward his chin, demanding he give her some attention. The baby’s tiny head rested in the crook of his elbow. Her body fit the length of his forearm, the pink blanket soft against his skin. Everything about her seemed like a perfect miniature of her mother. She opened dark blue eyes over a now familiar-looking nose and stared up at him, huffing and waving her fist once more.

      “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” he whispered in a voice that was suddenly husky.

      The women oohed and aahed again. Mrs. Tsosie snapped more pictures.

      When he made eye contact with her, Zoe wiggled and blew spit bubbles.

      “Show off.” Coop felt something in his chest shift. He was used to women wanting his attention. What Coop wasn’t used to was the feeling that this woman, this small female, was his. His to love by right. His to love by responsibility. His to love because she was so flippin’ adorable.

      “Dang, women,” Pop said in his nearly shouting voice from the other side of the booth. “Give the man some space.” He shooed them away.

      Coop didn’t see where his audience went. He only had eyes for the baby in his arms. His baby. He stroked her velvety cheek with the back of one finger and then traced the familiar Hamilton nose.

      Zoe wrapped her tiny digits around his knuckle, blew out an I-wish-I-could-roll-my-eyes-at-you breath and squeezed.

      Coop felt a corresponding pressure in his chest. In his heart. In the twisted strand of DNA that had passed on the good-parent gene from Pop. He had no idea what his daughter wanted, but whatever it was, he planned on giving it to her. “You don’t need to pay for a paternity test. She’s mine.”

      Nora reached for Zoe but Coop held her off with one hand.

      Nora gathered herself, as if preparing for a score-stopping tackle. But when she spoke, her voice lacked its usual strength. “Don’t get used to this. We’re leaving as soon as bus service resumes. And then we’re done.”

      Bachelor Coop... Car salesman Coop... Those parts of him felt relief.

      But there was a new Coop in town. And that Coop felt a breath-stealing depression at the thought of never seeing Zoe again.

CHAPTER FOUR

      THE WAY COOP had been giving Zoe a wide berth, Nora would never have predicted he’d fall in love with her.

      But there was the proof in his lovesick gaze. In the way he held Zoe close. In the way he whispered, “That’s a great grip for a hockey stick.”

      Fifty points for having a heart.

      The crowd of mothers standing in the middle of the bar laughed and exchanged stories of moments when their men had realized being a father wasn’t the end of the world. It was much preferable to their stories of sick, bleeding babies.

      “Hey, Ty,” Coop said. “Come check out my kid’s grip.” He spoke with pride, as if no other baby could possibly hold on to his finger as tightly as Zoe.

      Nora wanted to snatch her baby back. She wasn’t here to share Zoe with an irresponsible drunk. Coop had come to the bar before noon!

      “She’s just a normal baby.”