Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 4

  I can’t remember what this felt like.

  The thought brought hot, prickly tears, and Morgan angrily wiped them away, placing the picture beside the broken glass. She turned sharply, wincing again as pain shot up her leg, and faltered when she spied Cooper Simon watching her from the foyer. He stood by the front door, hands shoved into his pockets and looking a bit unsure.

  “I, ah…” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Your father said you can start on Friday?”

  More than a little embarrassed, Morgan could only nod. How much had he seen and heard?

  “Sure,” she managed to say. “I’ll be out at your place by nine.”

  “Okay,” he replied, reaching for the door but hesitating as he grabbed the handle. A few seconds passed, and then he opened the door. “I’ll see you then.”

  Morgan slowly made her way to the kitchen, grateful to see Hank and her father both gone. She stared at the chili on the counter. At the crack in the window above the kitchen sink. At the worn linoleum beneath her feet.

  Everything looked tired and worn-out. She was tired and worn-out.

  With a shaky sigh, Morgan turned on the stove and went about the business of getting dinner ready. She did what she always did when things got too intense. She shut down. Clamped down on anything that could make her feel. It was how she got through life, and getting through was pretty much all she could handle. For now, it had to be enough.

  5

  “That damn dog is going to be a monster. You know this, right?” Cooper slapped Maverick on the shoulder and chuckled when the animal in question, Stanley, jumped at Rick, leaving a trail of mud down the front of his jeans. The puppy barked excitedly and then ran in circles before attacking the large bone Maverick had brought for it.

  Rick shook his head and glanced down at his dirty jeans. “I keep hoping he’ll stop growing, but he eats like a horse.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not letting Stanley into the house.” Cooper handed his brother a coffee. The two of them were on the front porch enjoying the brisk morning. Sunlight made everything better, it seemed, and with a sudden rise in temperature, he could almost smell spring in the air.

  “Where does the beast sleep anyway?” Cooper took a sip of his hot brew and leaned against the porch railing.

  Maverick shrugged. “Where else? The bed.”

  Cooper’s head snapped up at that. “You let that small horse sleep in your bed? I’ll bet Charlie isn’t too happy about that.”

  Maverick made a face. “She’s the one who invited the bloody thing in when it whined all night a few weeks back. Said it was cruel to leave him in the cage. Now as soon as we turn the lights out, he’s in our bed before we even make it up the stairs.”

  “And how’s that working for ya?” Cooper smiled wickedly. “I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”

  “What?” Maverick looked confused, but only for a moment. He cupped the hot mug between his hands and blew on the hot liquid. “Trust me. I’m not getting naked anywhere near that dog. You see the size of his paws?”

  “Huge.”

  “Damn right they’re huge. And what do dogs like to do?”

  Cooper chuckled. “Fetch balls?”

  “You got it.” Maverick’s face split open in a grin. “I don’t want Stanley anywhere near my baby-making balls.”

  “I hear ya, brother.” Cooper started to take another sip from his coffee and froze. “What did you say?”

  Maverick’s grin was still very much in place. “I said exactly what you think I said.”

  Cooper tossed his coffee mug over the railing and grabbed his brother in a bear hug. The two men hugged like guys do, a quick hard embrace followed by a heavy pat on the shoulder. Afterward, Cooper and Maverick stood in silence and watched Stanley rip into the bone. This was a big deal. Cooper knew that Maverick and Charlie had been trying to have a baby for a few years now. And that Charlie had suffered a miscarriage in her fourth month just last fall.

  Cooper let Maverick have as much time as he needed, and eventually, his brother cleared his throat, though when he spoke, it wasn’t hard to hear the emotion he was feeling.

  “She’s just past the first trimester, and I know Charlie is a little stressed heading into these next few weeks, but the doctor says everything looks good, and there’s no reason to think she won’t carry this child to term.”

  Cooper was going to be an uncle. Pretty damn sweet. “Have you told Mom yet?”

  Rick shook his head. “Nope. Gonna wait until next week.”

  Cooper frowned. “Why next week?” The smile on his brother’s face put Cooper on alert.

  “Because she’s coming out here for Easter.”

  “Easter?” Cooper jumped down the steps and retrieved his coffee mug. “It’s only March. Hell, St. Patrick’s day is this weekend.”

  “Easter’s early this year.”

  “Huh.” Son of a bitch. Cooper glanced up at his brother. “She’s not staying with me.” He loved his mother. He really did. But the woman was high-strung, overly dramatic, and a general pain in the ass. She liked to ride him for a lot of the choices he made, which he found ironic considering pretty much every choice she’d made since the day their father had passed was a bad one. Still, she liked to poke in his business. Mostly because she had no idea what his business was, and he was okay with that. The general public thought of him as a wealthy playboy, and he didn’t give a shit.

  But he didn’t need to hear it from his mother. He got along better with her when they had space between them.

  “I figured you’d say that.” Maverick looked pained. “Don’t worry about it. Charlie’s already insisted she stay with us.”

  “Is she bringing Teddy?” Ever since their father died, their mother had become a career divorcée. She was currently involved with a much younger man.

  Maverick shook his head. “Nah. She’s on her own. I talked to Calista yesterday, and I think there’s trouble in paradise.”

  Cooper wasn’t surprised. “Again.”

  “Again,” Maverick repeated.

  Cooper frowned. “What’s going on with Calista these days? She called a few days ago, and I returned the message but haven’t heard back.”

  Maverick handed Cooper his empty cup. “Seems our little sister has filed for divorce.”

  What was there to say to that? Cooper had seen the writing on the wall since Calista’s wedding day when he’d spied her new husband, Zachary, getting a little too friendly with one of the…

  “Apparently, hubby was spending a lot of time with one of her pals, Jessica.”

  “The bridesmaid.”

  “Yep.” Maverick snorted.

  “Called it.”

  Maverick whistled at his puppy. “Well, she doesn’t sound too torn up over the whole thing. Told me she was heading to Europe with a couple of girlfriends and didn’t know when she’d be back.”

  Maverick whistled again, and this time, Stanley dropped his bone and lumbered over to the two men, tail wagging madly, nose rooting around Rick’s pockets for a treat. Once he found what he was looking for, the puppy ambled back to his bone and plopped down.

  “Saturday night, we’re heading to the fire hall for St. Patty’s day. You should come. Charlie and I had a blast last year. It’s a big deal around these parts.”

  “That’s because half the town is Irish.”

  Maverick chuckled. “True. But it’s for a good cause. Fundraiser for the firemen’s association.”

  “I’ll let you know. Depends on how much work I get done.”

  “And how’s that going?”

  “It’s going.” And it was. Slowly. Cooper rolled his shoulders and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got Morgan Campbell coming out tomorrow to start work on the attic for me.”

  Maverick looked surprised. “Thought you didn’t want anyone out here.”

  “Changed my mind. The space up there is incredible, and I’d like to take advantage of it.” He eyed his brother. “I
stopped by their place yesterday.”

  “Whose place is that?”

  “The Campbells’.”

  “Ah.” Rick fingered his mug. “And?”

  “There’s a lot of pain in that house.” He watched his brother closely. “You know anything about it?”

  Maverick shrugged. “I’ve heard some things, but not real clear on the details. People around here are pretty closemouthed. They look out for their own and are selective when it comes to their flavour of gossip.” He chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a small town. They like to talk. But there are some things that aren’t up for public consumption, at least to outsiders like us. The Campbell situation is one of them.”

  Cooper wasn’t one to pry, and he sure as hell wasn’t one to gossip. But something about the look in Morgan’s eyes made him want to know more.

  “What do you know exactly?”

  “I know up until recently, Morgan was living in California. I know that her father drinks more than he should and that her sister is separated from her husband. I know that there was some kind of accident and that the mother and Morgan were involved. But that’s about it. I asked Charlie once, but she’s of the opinion it’s Morgan’s story to tell.”

  “That’s what Jess said.”

  “Jess?”

  “From the diner.”

  Maverick nodded. “Like I said, they protect their own here.”

  Cooper was silent for a few seconds, mulling over the information he’d been able to glean. He’d been thinking of nothing but Morgan Campbell since he’d left her place. The look on her face when she’d picked up the shattered frame had been indescribable. Considering Cooper was a writer, that was saying something.

  “Why do you care?” Maverick called Stanley to his side and reached down to scratch the top of the dog’s head.

  “Just curious is all.”

  Maverick let it drop, gathered up his muddy dog, and hopped into his truck. With a wave, Cooper headed back into the house. He strode through the quiet rooms and retrieved his laptop from the kitchen table before heading out to the shop.

  After briefly considering calling his mother, and just as quickly deciding to wait until the evening, he settled in for a day of work. The sun was shining, his muse was beginning to wake up, and, as his Aunt Virginia always said, “Ya gotta make hay while the sun shines.”

  It was time to put aside his curiosity over Morgan Campbell’s story and get to work on the only one he should be thinking about. The one Lee Holloway needed to tell. Always one to dig deeper, Cooper knew he had time to learn Morgan’s story. He wasn’t exactly sure why it was so important to him. Was it the look in her eyes? Or just plain old curiosity?

  Either way, he needed to push all thoughts of Morgan Campbell and her family aside. Cooper Simon had to disappear, and Lee Holloway needed to make an appearance.

  He rolled up his sleeves, opened his document, and got to work.

  6

  Morgan arrived at the old McLaren estate exactly five minutes before nine in the morning. With only a few days until spring, winter still clung to the area, but even she had to admit there were signs that the changing of seasons was upon them. The snow was beginning to melt, leaving wide swaths of mud and dirt, while small buds were beginning to appear on the trees. Patches of color sprouted where the sun hit, and she spied a robin swooping low over the house.

  Not exactly sure what was expected of her, she’d brought along her cleaning things, but Morgan decided to investigate a bit before hauling everything up to the attic.

  She cut the engine and peered at the house, her gaze slowly sweeping upward until it rested on the stained glass windows that adorned each side of the upper level. This place had been in the McLaren family for over one hundred years and, as far as Morgan knew, had stood empty for at least the last twenty. Before Cooper Simon, that is.

  Seemed a shame that it had fallen into the hands of an outsider.

  And that was exactly what he was—an outsider. He didn’t belong in Fisherman’s Landing any more than the humpback whale who’d made a home in the harbour a few years back did. So why was he here? What was he doing?

  “Why do I care?” she murmured, sliding from the car.

  It was still cool this time of morning, and she shivered as she ran up the steps leading to the porch. The damn twinge in her leg was back, and she winced, taking a moment before she reached for the door. There was a note pinned to it, and she grabbed the piece of paper, glancing around before taking a few moments to read it. The penmanship was clean with bold strokes, and relief flooded her as she scanned the message.

  Please let yourself in. I’ve made sure the heat is on so you shouldn’t be cold. I’ve also left a ledger. There’s quite a bit to organize and catalogue, so I’ll leave that up to you. If you have any questions, I’m working out back in the shop today. Don’t hesitate to come get me. Cooper.

  She didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until it fell out of her in a rush. Feeling more than a little silly, she glanced around one last time and then let herself inside. The house was silent, and she quickly doffed her boots and hung up her jacket.

  “Hello?” She waited a couple of heartbeats and then, satisfied she was alone, headed for the stairs. The door to the attic was at the far end of the hall, and it was open. She passed Cooper’s bedroom, noting the unmade bed, an open suitcase propped against the wall, and a stack of books beside a dresser.

  She wondered what kind of books a man like Cooper Simon would read and then, with a shrug, headed for the narrow stairs that led to the attic. Once she reached the top, she paused, hand on the railing as she drank in a sight that would be an antique lover’s dream. Mouth slightly open, she took a step forward and turned in a full circle.

  The space was huge, encompassing the entire breadth of the house, and while there was some open space, most of the area was filled top to bottom. Furniture. Antiques. Paintings. Piles of books. Boxes and trunks. Dishes. Was that a sewing machine?

  And there was dust. Lord, but there was dust. She sneezed and shuddered, shaking off a weird sensation as a cold draft blew through the attic.

  She wandered among the McLaren belongings, slowly making her way to the far side, and peeked out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun that filtered through was warm on her face, and she glanced down below. There was an outbuilding, most likely Cooper’s workplace and—was that a face in the window?

  She stepped back quickly, nearly falling over a large wooden crate, glad there was no one around to witness her dumb-ass move. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Jesus, Morgan,” she muttered. “Where’s that damn ledger?”

  She spied it almost immediately, back near the door, set aside on a small table that also held a compact stereo. Scooping up yet another note left behind in Cooper’s unmistakable penmanship, she quickly read it and turned on the machine.

  His iPod was already hooked up, and after selecting one of his playlists—’70’s and ’80’s classics—she smiled as The Eagles filled the silence around her.

  Okay. So he had good taste in music. She shrugged and scooped up the ledger. “Whatever.”

  Morgan decided the best way to organize the space was to start to her immediate right and work her way around the room. There were several large paintings, a couple from well-known artists (considering she recognized the names, they had to be), and after she gave them a proper dusting with one of the cloths Cooper had left for her, she carried them to the cleared space and propped them against the wall. She decided to gather up all the framed art and pictures she could find and keep them together.

  It took a while—there were thirty-one in total—and once she entered them into the ledger, she spied a large steam trunk, partially hidden by an old red velvet throw. Upon closer inspection, she realized the throw was, in fact, drapery, and she folded the fabric, placing it on the floor beside the trunk, sneezing several times as she did so.

  The trunk itself was a beautiful
piece, the color of burnt tobacco, with an intricate silver inlay, in bad need of a polish, with the inscription McLaren. It took a bit for her to get it open, and only after major effort did the hinges release and squeak open. Kneeling in front of it, she carefully peeled back several layers of delicate, aged doilies, and then sat there in silence for several long moments. The gentle strains of “Tequila Sunrise” and Glenn Frey’s voice colored the air, but the contents of the trunk held her interest.

  There were books—old books from the looks of them—and vintage photos and jewelry and silverware and…

  She reached inside and carefully picked up what looked like a small leather-bound portfolio, but when she opened it, Morgan realized it was a journal. The handwriting was delicate and feminine—somewhat girly—and with a wince, she sank back to her haunches and settled into a more comfortable position. The pages were yellowed, discolored with age, but the ink, though faded, was legible. She couldn’t help herself and began to read.

  July 4th, 1951

  Daddy says I can’t go to the Independence parade on account I was sassing Mother. I’m so mad at him, I swear smoke is coming out of my ears. He knows Thomas will be there, and I’m sure that’s the real reason he won’t let me go. I mean, really, all I did was tell Mother I needed an extra five minutes and then I’d help her peel the potatoes. Anyway, he doesn’t know that I plan on meeting up with Thomas after the fireworks. Right down by the rail ties. I can’t wait. I think I’m in love.

  V.P.

  Morgan fingered the page and chuckled at that. There were several little hearts drawn around the entry, and with a soft smile curving her lips, she continued to read.

  July 5th, 1951

  I don’t think anymore. I know I’m in love. I met Thomas down near the rail ties, and he held my hand all the way to the river. He told me that no one had hair like the color of mine and that I had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen on a girl. My heart keeps fluttering just thinking about how he made me feel. I swear I can hardly get this down on paper except to say that I’m in love with a boy, and I think he’s in love with me. He asked me to next Saturday’s social at the church, and I swear to God, I’m going. Even if it means I have to sew my mouth shut to keep from sassing anyone. I’m going to the social with Thomas McLaren, and I hope he holds my hand again. I especially hope that he kisses me. I get a weird feeling just thinking about it. Wish me luck.