Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 6

  Sometimes the dying can take a lifetime. Sometimes the dying is all you can cope with until something or someone gives you a reason to live again.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister. How could I not? She was the golden child. The girl no one could touch.” Something in Sara’s tone changed, and Cooper watched her face closely. He was beginning to suspect the Campbell family was a hell of a lot more complicated than he’d originally imagined.

  Sara stared across the room. “I’m older than her by two years, and yet as long as I can remember, I wanted to be her. And now…”

  “Now?” he prompted.

  Sara’s gaze fell away from his. “Now I don’t even recognize the person she’s become.” She smiled, a sad, wistful curve of her lips. “She wasn’t always like this.” Sara’s head shot up, her gaze on her sister. Cooper thought she was going to share more, but then the blonde squared her shoulders, slid her arm through his, and insisted he buy her a drink.

  Cooper was, if anything, a gentleman. Sure there were varying degrees as to what constituted the term, but he wasn’t the kind of man to leave a woman wanting. Already feeling as if he’d somehow killed the St. Patty’s Day mood, he headed to the bar, Sara in tow. He took another Guinness, while Sara ordered a white wine.

  The beer was cold and good, and he was going to assume the pinot grigio was as well—judging by the large gulp Sara tossed back. He was just about to suggest they head over to where his brother was, when she nodded toward the far side of the hall.

  “Morgan and Hank are over there. Let’s join them.”

  Cooper didn’t really have a choice, mostly because of the whole being-a-gentleman thing. But he wasn’t complaining, and he sure as hell wouldn’t do something unless he wanted to. The fact that he was more curious than ever over Morgan Campbell might have given him pause if he actually took the time to think on it. But he didn’t take the time. And maybe it was the beer or the music or the whiskey. Or the fact that Sara’s butt looked damn fine in her skintight jeans.

  Whatever it was, he let Sara lead the way and followed her through the crowd.

  8

  About five seconds after she walked into the fire hall, Morgan knew it had been a mistake to come. Why in God’s name had she let Hank convince her she’d have a good time? It was too loud. There were too many people. Too many glances that lingered, some filled with curiosity, most of them filled with something else. Pity. Sadness. She got it. Hell, she even deserved most of what was thrown her way, but still, it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, within a few moments of walking into the St. Patty’s Day celebration, she spied Cooper Simon chatting up none other than her sister, Sara. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. And then he’d had the nerve to look across the room at her, almost as if issuing a challenge, and, like an idiot, she’d taken the bait. Instead of leaving the dance like she wanted, she’d handed Hank her coat and headed for the tables.

  And now here she was, settled into a dark corner, smack dab in the middle of the last place she wanted to be.

  “You want me to grab you a drink?” Hank tugged on his beard and smiled down at her. Fingers tense, she threaded them together under the table and nodded. She needed one.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Whatever you choose is good.” Her voice was high, thin, and she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. I don’t think I can do this.

  “Maybe I should just go…”

  Her words drifted off when she glanced up and spied the back of Hank’s head. He was already on his way to the bar, and with a certain sort of resignation, Morgan sank back into her chair. The Irish band was getting ready to launch another set and… She cocked her head to the side. Wait. Was that Sara and Cooper making their way over?

  Her head whipped around so fast, for a few seconds she saw stars and had to blink to clear them. But there was nowhere to hide. With another shaky exhale, she sat as straight as if she were in church, shoulders so tense, they felt as if they were going to crack. When Cooper and Sara finally made it through the gaggle of couples on the dance floor, she was pretty sure her spine was fused and an earthquake couldn’t get her to budge.

  “You came,” Sara said, setting down her wineglass and adjusting the neckline of her slinky green halter top. It made her breasts pop, and any other man would have turned for a look, but Cooper was focused on Morgan. Which was more than a little unsettling.

  Damn his eyes. They saw everything. She shrugged and went for nonchalance. “Not sure how long I’m going to stay.”

  Sara grabbed her wineglass and took a long swig before smiling down at Morgan. “Either way, it’s a start.”

  “I’m glad you came.” Cooper’s voice was low, almost intimate. Morgan looked at him in surprise, while Sara’s eyes widened a bit. Her sister opened her mouth to say something, but then she clamped her mouth shut. The look on her face made Morgan nervous. She followed her sister’s gaze.

  Oh. Crap. Josh.

  “Unbelievable,” Sara spit out. “He knew I was coming here tonight.”

  Sara’s estranged husband stood near the entrance to the fire hall, an easy smile on his face that faltered when he spied his wife across the room. They were separated, but still…

  “Let’s dance,” Sara said, grabbing Cooper’s arm.

  Morgan winced. Her sister was not the subtle sort.

  Cooper easily slid from her grasp. “If you need someone to make your husband jealous, I’m not the guy.”

  Sara’s face fell—but only for a moment. She was, if anything, quick on her feet. As the band fell into a popular Irish jig, Hank returned with a couple of drinks. Without missing a beat, Sara set down her glass, grabbed the beers from Hank, nearly dropping them as she put them beside her wine. She practically dragged the big man out to the dance floor.

  Which left Morgan alone with Cooper.

  Once more her fingers gripped the edge of the table, and though she hated to admit it, Cooper Simon looked more delicious than any man had the right to. His plain green T-shirt showed off defined abs and biceps, while faded jeans emphasized the length of his boot-clad legs. His dirty-blond hair was slightly askew—as if the wind had touched it, or a woman’s fingers.

  She swallowed. Probably a woman’s fingers.

  She was afraid to look up at him, because, well, she felt him staring, and she was suddenly uncomfortable. Hot and uncomfortable. Two things she hadn’t been in a very, very long time.

  Damn inconvenient.

  “And then there were two,” Cooper said, sitting across from her, sliding over the large, frosty mug of beer Hank had left behind.

  Morgan unclenched her fingers slowly, stretching them out to retrieve her drink. She didn’t even like beer all that much, but with that piercing gaze on her, she took a drink and then wiped at the foam on her upper lip.

  Cooper grinned. “You’ve got ah…”

  “Excuse me?”

  She froze when he leaned across the table and, using his index finger, cleared a spot of beer foam from the tip of her nose. At that moment, they could have been the only two people in the room. Because Morgan couldn’t see past that masculine hand and forearm. Both of which were attached to a man who freaked her out more than she’d like to admit.

  He settled back, that grin still in place. “You had some foam on your nose.”

  Morgan took another drink because she didn’t know what else to do and nearly choked on the dark brew. Coughing, she set the mug down and prayed Sara and Hank would return to the table sooner than later.

  “I thought this wasn’t your thing.”

  She was wondering when he was going to get around to that. “It’s not,” she said slowly, her gaze now on the dance floor. “At least not anymore.”

  Had she really said that out loud? She stifled a groan and clutched the cold mug.

  “So what happened?”

  Morgan took a moment and then slowly turned back to Cooper, a stran
ge kind of feeling washing over her. One that left her aching inside. Since when did she share information? Especially with a man she barely knew?

  But she did. “Life happened.”

  Her therapist in California would be fist pumping all the way to China if he was here. Acknowledging your pain is the first step towards healing.

  “It has a habit of doing that.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze fell to his lips, and something inside her stirred. She must be crazy. Or maybe three gulps of beer had already gone to her head, because Morgan found herself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Would he be strong and forceful? Soft and coaxing? Would he take his time or dive right in?

  She tugged at a piece of hair and stuck it behind her ear before pulling upward on her turtleneck. That action drew Cooper’s gaze, and Morgan’s hand dropped like a stone. Heart pounding, she searched for something to say—anything to take the heat from her.

  “What do you do out in the shop?” she asked quickly, doing what she did best—changing the subject.

  Cooper sat back in his chair. “I work.”

  His manner struck a chord in Morgan. His body shifted slightly. His eyes narrowed, lips tightened. He was hiding something. Suddenly much more interested, she leaned forward.

  “You work. But what’s your job?”

  He seemed to be considering his answer, and after taking a long pull from his beer, he set the mug on the table and arched an eyebrow at her. Seriously. Even his eyebrows were exquisite.

  “What do you think I do?”

  A shot of adrenaline rushed through her, and for a second, Morgan faltered. “I…” She frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s fine. Take your time. Consider all the possibilities. I’m curious to see what you come up with.”

  A devilish grin touched his mouth, one that did nothing to calm her already fast-beating heart. He cocked his head to the side and waited for her response.

  Morgan sat up a little straighter, fingers tracing a pattern in the condensation on her frosted mug. She pursed her lips, brows furrowed a bit, as a ridiculous idea took hold. “I think you’re like a superspy or something.”

  He laughed outright. “Not just a regular old spy, but a super one.”

  “Would a Simon be anything but?” The quip came fast and without thought, as did the smile that accompanied it.

  Cooper stared at her for so long that she squirmed in her seat, and, nervous, she licked her lips.

  “No,” he answered finally. “A Simon would be nothing less than a superspy.”

  “In tights.” She tried to hide a smile but again failed.

  “Definitely not tights. Maybe a military camouflage kind of deal, but no tights.”

  “Okay. Green camouflage.” She paused. “What’s your superpower?”

  “Seduction,” he replied without missing a beat.

  “Really.” Mouth suddenly dry, Morgan took a sip from her mug of beer. “And how many missions have you been involved in?”

  “That, Miss Campbell, is privileged information. I could tell you. But then I’d have to—”

  “Kill me. I know.”

  His smile reached a whole new level of yumminess. “Killing you isn’t exactly what I have in mind.”

  Was he flirting with her?

  Was she flirting back?

  “Morgan?” A woman’s voice cut shut those thoughts down.

  The shot of adrenaline inside her sputtered and died as quickly as the smile on her face. Her stomach clenched, suddenly filled with dread, and for a moment, Morgan thought she was going to be sick. Sweat broke out along her forehead, and she shook her head, hating how she felt but helpless to prevent it.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Morgan glanced up and found her voice. “Martha. I…I didn’t know you were in town.” Soft brown eyes stared back at her, peeking out from beneath hair still a gorgeous shade of silver. Though there were a few more wrinkles across her forehead and mouth, the woman looking down at her appeared no different from the last time Morgan had seen her.

  “We’re back for Easter.”

  Panic. Dread. Fear. It was all there inside her. Morgan wasn’t sure how long it took, but the question she needed to ask finally found its way out.

  “Is Nathan with you?”

  Martha regarded her in silence, and then she nodded.

  “He’s here? At the fire hall?”

  Martha looked pained, and maybe if Morgan’s panic wasn’t so high, she could appreciate the woman’s sympathy. “He’s coming in a bit. With some of your…” Martha stumbled over her words and then whispered, “With some of your old gang. Christy’s back as well.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

  Morgan’s throat closed up, and her gaze swung wildly, darting over the crowd on the dance floor. Where the hell was Hank?

  “Hey, are you all right?” Cooper’s gentle question was nearly her undoing.

  She couldn’t answer. Hell, she could barely breathe.

  “Do you want me to take you home?”

  Morgan didn’t think. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she got to her feet. No way could she face Nathan. Or Christy. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “Please,” she whispered, a little unsteady on her feet as she stepped past Martha and uttered a soft good-bye.

  Cooper didn’t ask any questions and for that she was grateful. He tucked her into his side, and together they left the fire hall. She’d left her jacket behind, but Cooper draped his over her shoulders.

  Morgan’s teeth were chattering, and the ride home was a silent one, save for the sad strains of some country song, and even that ended when Cooper pulled into her driveway. She hopped out of his truck as soon as it stopped.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say before turning back to close the door.

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then Cooper’s warm voice slid over her. “That’s my other superpower.”

  She chanced a look into his eyes and saw something that startled her. It wasn’t just sympathy or compassion. It was knowledge. He’d known pain.

  “What’s that, exactly?”

  “Knowing when to cut and run.”

  Morgan stepped back and, with a small wave, headed into the house. Already her cell phone was buzzing, the ringtone “Born in the USA.” It was Hank. He’d spied her on the way out, but she’d pretended not to notice. She’d deal with him later.

  That was her superpower. Avoidance.

  9

  Isabel Simon swept into Fisherman’s Landing like a tornado. She arrived two days early, enough Louis Vuitton luggage in tow to suggest at least a month’s stay. She’d taken exactly three steps inside Maverick’s home when her allergies kicked in, which meant that Stanley needed to stay elsewhere. Hence the reason the dog was camped out at Cooper’s.

  Cooper didn’t mind the dog so much as the mess. The damned thing tracked mud all over the place, shed like a son of a bitch, and liked to chew things. Expensive things. He’d been at Cooper’s going on three days and had already managed to ruin two pairs of runners and his old work boots. The work boots he didn’t mind so much, but the runners? Hell, he’d have to drive an hour to the city to replace them.

  The dog was lucky it was cute, because Cooper was sorely tempted to throw the bag of fur into the ocean.

  “My luck, he’d swim back and track ocean crap all over the place.” He’d just locked Stanley in his cage after taking him for a long walk and watched the puppy flop down onto his bright blue bed. Clearly exhausted, Stanley didn’t bother to whine, as was his custom, when Cooper stepped away from the cage. He didn’t glance at the chew toy or the… Wait. Was that one of Cooper’s socks?

  “Unbelievable.” Cooper stood back and stared down at the already sleeping pup. The water dish was full, and he’d tossed in a bone. He slid his hand inside and retrieved the shredded sock. Last thing he wanted was a trip to the vet’s.

  Stanley would be fine.

  It w
as Thursday, and even though he’d been conned into hosting Good Friday fish night, he hadn’t seen his mother since her arrival and couldn’t put it off any longer. Just this morning, she’d threatened to come out to his place and spend the day. How in hell would he get any work done with Isabel poking in his business? Maybe once the attic was finished, but by the looks of it, it would take Morgan a few more weeks.

  Cooper scooped up his keys, took one last look around, and a few minutes later headed to town. The radio was on low, but he recognized the song. It was the same one that had played Saturday night when he’d taken Morgan home.

  She’d been at his place right on time Monday morning, but the two of them never discussed her quick exit from the fire hall. She headed straight to the attic, prepared lunch in hand, and he settled in for a full day of work. Tuesday had been pretty much the same, and so had Wednesday and Thursday. They were polite to each other, but that was about it.

  Not sure why, but it bothered Cooper. Even tonight, he’d wandered up there before taking the dog out back, but she was busy scribbling away in the ledger and offered a small smile and a wave on her way out a few moments later.

  He decided to put Morgan Campbell out of his thoughts because thinking about her distracted him. And just as he liked to tell anyone who’d listen—he had no time for distractions. Not when he was seriously behind schedule on his latest project.

  Cooper pulled in behind his brother’s truck, and less than a minute later let himself inside Maverick and Charlie’s home. A quick sniff had his stomach rumbling. Steak and lobster on the menu was always a good thing.

  It was close to five, and Rick poked his head out from the kitchen.

  “Charlie got hung up at the shop. I’m back here with Ma.”

  Cooper doffed his jacket and wandered back to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was unexpected—to say the least. His mother was elbow-deep in dishes, washing them by hand, while Charlie’s brother, Connor, stood beside her on a chair and dried them.