Tucker's Crossing. Marina Adair

contorted his body smaller, sweeping the room for any sign of his father, any sign that something was out of place.

      The curtains billowed back and forth, casting eerie shadows on the walls and over his bedspread, shining off of the trophies from his high school days. His boots stood on the floor, his jeans over the bedpost where he’d tossed them, and his wallet sat on the nightstand next to his . . .

      Everything slowed to a chilling stop. Fear shot down his spine—fear ingrained by repetition. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat empty on the dresser. A familiar calling card.

      From inside the room, a shadow to Cody’s left moved, shifted closer. Instinct kicked in. He grabbed the bottle and swiveled his body to face the threat, all the while edging toward the back of the headboard and taking aim. At the last moment, he locked on to cornflower eyes, wide with alarm, staring back at him.

      Lowering the bottle to the mattress, he blinked. Three times, needing to be certain he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Himself. His nine-year-old self. Staring back at him.

      It was official. He was losing it.

      Cody closed his eyes and tried to think back to earlier, before he fell asleep, to figure out how the bottle got in his room. It hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. At least he didn’t think so.

      No, he amended, he knew it hadn’t. But unless his dad had risen from the grave, and brought back his childhood self, then...

      “You okay?”

      Cody’s lids flew open at the voice, and he once again found himself staring into the eyes of his past. What the hell was going on? Maybe he’d found his dad’s stash and drunk himself stupid.

      He needed to either wake up or get back to sleep, whichever was the opposite of now. He moved, trying to get closer to his ghost. The sheets pulled taut, sending the bottle clanking to the floor. The glass didn’t shatter but sent a thunderous shot through the air.

      Cody jumped. His other self darted around the bed in time to see the bottle spinning to a stop.

      “Should I get my mom?”

      Cody felt his shoulders rise in a shrug. Slowly, his eyes fell to his hands, and it was like he was looking at someone else, watching it all unfold on some screen. His fists were tight with the threat of violence and ready for battle. He heard his childhood self swear. Saw him scurry sideways, taking cover behind the foot of the bed.

      Cody leaned closer, his eyes bulging a little when the reality sank in that he was ready to strike . . . his son. Shame rose fast, scalding the back of his throat.

      Like father, like son.

      To Cody, being a strong man meant always holding tight to your self-control. He’d worked hard over the years to become the kind of man he could be proud of, a man in control of his future, his anger, and his world. Two nights back in this house, down the hall from Shelby and his son, was enough to bring it all crashing down.

      Cody sat up and looked at Jacob. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to wake a sleeping man?”

      Now it was Jacob’s turn to shrug. “Then you shouldn’t scream out in your sleep. Bet you woke the guys in the bunkhouse.”

      Even though Cody’s body was strung to the point of snapping, and his mind raced with what-ifs, he couldn’t help but smile at the kid’s anything-but-respectful tone. Then Jacob sighed and with a final shrug of the shoulders, said, “Come on.”

      Cody swung his legs over the side of the mattress and sat up. Not wanting to be left alone with his mind still in another dimension, and needing to make some kind of connection with his son, he slid on his jeans and followed Jacob to the kitchen.

      The boy scoured the various pantries and cupboards, in the end lining up a gallon of milk, powdered cocoa, vanilla, a pot, two mugs, and a jar of cinnamon on the counter. He shuffled over to the table, took a seat and gestured for Cody to do the same.

      Looking at the items meticulously arranged as if prepped by a sous-chef, Cody found himself wondering if the kid thought the cocoa would make itself. Needing to keep hold of what little leeway he’d gained with Jacob, Cody figured the best bet was to pull up a chair and wait it out.

      He’d no sooner rested his elbows on the table than Cody felt, more than heard, Shelby pad into the room. Dressed in that pale yellow robe that stopped mid-thigh, and gave way to several fantasies Cody had harbored over the years, her eyes were dazed with sleep and her hair bed-rumpled sexy. Her nude feet, tipped with red polish, added a hint of sensual to the adorable.

      Cody wanted to take her back to bed and hold her while she slept. Then wake her up moaning with pleasure. Neither of which was going to happen.

      “Nightmare, huh?” she mumbled, smoothing Jacob’s hair in a maternal gesture that had Cody’s heart melting.

      Jacob looked at Cody, then back to his mom. “Yup.”

      “All right, one sweet-dream coming right up.”

      Shelby, still looking half-asleep, assembled the ingredients in the pan in a clockwork manner that said she’d done this before.

      “Cody needs one too.”

      Cody started at the sound of his name coming off his son’s lips. It wasn’t dad, or papa, but it also wasn’t sir or him or that guy. So for now, it was a start.

      “Oh?” Shelby turned around, her voice giving away her surprise as if she had only just realized Cody was there. Her gaze dropped and widened when she took in his half-naked state, and the haze of sleep faded to make room for desire.

      Cody watched her watch him, happy that this mind-blowing attraction was mutual. Her eyes jumped to his, and he winked. She quickly spun back around, a flush tinting her cheeks. “Two sweet-dreams it is.”

      With a final flick of the whisk, Shelby poured the concoction into the mugs and set them on the table. Jacob inhaled half of the football-shaped mug in a single gulp, a cocoa mustache marking his upper lip, before Cody had even taken his first sip.

      “Thank you,” Cody managed, unable to look away from Shelby and suddenly feeling the need to say something. He was embarrassed about waking up crying like some kid, especially knowing that this woman was the only one who could look beneath the cool exterior and see right into him. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

      As if sensing his unease, Jacob polished off his drink and said, “Sometimes I have nightmares too. Mom just makes me a sweet-dream, and I go right back to sleep. No biggie, right, Mom?”

      “Right, sweetheart. No biggie.” Shelby’s tone was one of acceptance, meant to comfort. But even though the words were spoken to Jacob, Cody knew they were directed at him.

      Seizing the small opening Jacob had given him, and needing to divert the focus off himself before Shelby saw too much, Cody turned his full attention to his son. “What do you do the other times?”

      “I crawl into her bed.”

      Shelby flushed at the innocent comment. And Cody began to think that a night in Shelby’s bed could quite possibly cure all of his problems. Then he remembered how responsive she was, how freely she gave of herself, and knew that one night with Shelby would never be enough.

      And that was the problem.

      Shelby shuffled Jake off to bed and tucked him back in with very little resistance. Walking into that kitchen and seeing father and son looking sleep-mussed still took her breath away. She considered going straight back to her room and putting off talking to Cody for just one more night, especially after the sparks that had simmered between them. But they had put this off long enough.

      She stopped inside the doorway and watched Cody for some sign of awareness. After a few minutes she realized he was purposely keeping his eyes averted. Which meant he’d been avoiding her as much as she’d been avoiding him. Tonight, Cody had been blessedly absent at dinner. And now they stood, forced into the same room by their son, still managing to avoid