Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) (5 page)

She cut him off. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“I’m aware of that.” A heartbeat passed, and he frowned darkly. She wanted to look away from him—from his all-seeing eyes—but couldn’t. “Look, Morgan. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize for my comments the other day. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” The reply was automatic.

The words
had
stung. There was no denying that, and yet… Yet deep down, Morgan knew it wasn’t Cooper’s fault. She glanced down, noting the ragged edges of her faded gray sweatshirt. And, sheesh, was that gravy splatter from the night before?

He cleared his throat as an awkward silence grew. “Okay. Let’s agree that I acted like a complete asshat the first time we met and move on.”

“Asshat isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but it’s a start.”

“Mr. Asshat?” There was that smile again, and, flustered, because in all honesty, this was the most conversation she’d had with anyone outside her family and Hank in months, she glanced down and worried the edge of her sweatshirt with nervous fingers. She was way out of practice when it came to a simple conversation, and feeling the sting of it.

“Are you going to the St. Patrick’s Day thing in town?”

Her head shot up. “The what?”

“The thing at the fire hall tomorrow night. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.”

God, no. She shook her head.

“Why not? I hear it’s the place to be. Great band. Great music.”

“Not really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“I don’t have a thing.” Her throat was tight, and she blinked rapidly as pictures and memories flashed before her.

“Everybody’s got a thing.”

“Well, I don’t.” Her head whipped up. “Why do you care anyway?”

He didn’t flinch at her tone, and his eyes never left hers. She wanted to apologize for her snarkiness but couldn’t find the words. For a few moments, he was silent, and though she wanted to look away, Morgan found she couldn’t.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly, his voice low. “Everyone has a thing. You’re just hiding yours, and that makes me curious.”

Okay. This was getting a little too close for comfort. “What are you doing with all this stuff?” she suddenly asked, changing the subject, and none too smoothly either.

He held her gaze a heartbeat longer and then got to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as his gaze swept the room. “All these things meant something to someone at some point in time.” He shrugged. “The least I can do is get it organized and then see about getting as much of it as I can back to the folks it belongs to. The McLarens.”

That wasn’t what she’d been expecting, and he must have seen it in her face.

“What did you think I was going to do with it? Give it away?”

“Well, no,” she mumbled.

“Did you think I was going to sell it?” She could tell that bothered him. His mouth was tight, and he didn’t look so happy anymore.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. Which was a lie, because, in fact, it
was
what she’d expected. It was what a lot of people would do in his position. Some would think it was a hell of a lot of trouble to go to, dealing with someone else’s memories.

“There’s a right and there’s a wrong. The wrong isn’t me.” He was silent for a moment. “I guess we’ve both made some assumptions that aren’t true.” He turned and scooped up the tray and then grabbed her bowl.

Score one for Cooper Simon.

Morgan mumbled a thank-you for the food. If her mother was around, she’d have more than a few words to say about her behaviour. But her mother wasn’t around. Her heart squeezed tightly, and she bent over as soon as Cooper’s head disappeared down the stairs.

Her mother wasn’t around, and she was never coming back. The day when everything changed had happened nearly six years ago. And the thing that she couldn’t let go…the thing that weighed her down every single day?

It was all Morgan’s fault.

S
t. Patrick’s Day
in Fisherman’s Landing was a cut above any other Cooper had seen—and he’d seen a lot. There was more green than a guy could handle, and he didn’t mind green, more drunks than you could shake a fist at, and more amiable women than he would like.

The green thing he could get past. Hell, the drunk thing was understandable—it was pretty much an Irish tradition. But the never-ending parade of single women or aunties with young nieces in tow or Nanas with “someone you’ve got to meet” was driving him batshit crazy.

Mostly because every time someone approached him, his sister-in-law, Charlie, would give him
the look
. The look was a cross between
I’ll kick your ass if you even think about it
, and
I won’t be held responsible for what happens if you do more than think
.

Thing was, he could use a good workout session between the sheets—it had been a while. For a man who was used to being looked after on a regular basis, this dry spell was starting to stir things up. Stupid things. Like the fact he was contemplating seeing just how bad an ass kicking from his sister-in-law would be.

But Cooper was quickly realizing that in a small town like Fisherman’s Landing, a low-key, casual hookup wasn’t in the cards. Mainly because the single women in town weren’t looking for that sort of thing. He saw it in their eyes. They wanted something permanent—which he got—he just wasn’t a permanent kind of guy. His brother might have found happiness in this small town, but Cooper needed a shot of bright lights every now and again. Fisherman’s Landing was where he came for a shot of creative juice—that was the only reason. Above and beyond that, he’d made a decision long ago never to fall in love again.

Not because he didn’t believe in love—he’d been there, and it had been hell. But because he figured he wasn’t wired for the long haul. It was a smart man who knew that straight up. He’d screwed up things in the past because he believed he was a better person than he was. He wasn’t going there again.

Which brought him to his current dilemma. He was going to be here for the next few months, and what he wanted was a woman looking for the same thing he was—no-strings sex. Unfortunately, he didn’t think there was such an animal in this town. At least, not that he’d met tonight. With a sigh, Cooper took another pull from his beer and rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders were tight. His mind and body restless and…

Well, hello.

A blonde smiled at him from across the room, her shiny red lips curved into something sultry that a guy in his position wouldn’t mind tasting. The clingy green halter top she wore emphasized a great rack, and her long legs were shown off to perfection, compliments of the skintight jeans that clothed them.

He studied her for a moment… She looked familiar.

“Sara Campbell is not a good idea,” Charlie said, arching an imperious eyebrow his way and slowly shaking her head.

Campbell
. Morgan’s sister.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied easily, smiling back at the woman.

“Let me elaborate, then.
She’s
not a good idea.”

Irritated, he shot Charlie a look and then glared at his brother. “You want to call her off?”

Maverick grinned and shook his head. “I’m not getting involved.”

“You’re a pussy,” Cooper shot at him.

“Maybe.” Maverick nuzzled his wife’s neck. “But I’m a happy pussy.”

Charlie ignored her husband’s mouth and cranked her neck so that Cooper was able to see
the look
quite clearly. “Seriously, Cooper. Sara Campbell is high maintenance. Always has been. And the split from her husband hasn’t exactly been smooth. There’s a lot of unfinished business there, and it’s really not a good idea.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know you like ’em married because you think the strings are cut. Makes it easy to ignore. But trust me, Sara Campbell has strings, even if she’s trying to hide them. If you get involved with her, it will be messy and…”

Cooper was scowling at Charlie, and Charlie was focused on him, so neither one of them saw Sara approach until she was right there by his side.

“Hi, Charlie. Maverick.”

They all turned to Sara, but her attention was solely on Cooper. That sultry smile was still in place, and she licked her lips slowly. “I was wondering if you’d come out for St. Patty’s Day.”

He couldn’t help himself. He gave her a killer smile in return. “It’s Sara, right?”

Charlie snorted, which he ignored, and Maverick pulled his wife away, which he was grateful for. Because right about now, he was thinking, to hell with the consequences. He’d take an ass kicking from his sister-in-law if it meant relieving some of that stress he was feeling.

“So you
do
remember me.”

“I do.” He paused, glancing over her shoulder toward the bar. Her eyes were clear, not coy or hopeful. This woman wasn’t looking for happily ever after. She was looking for a night of sin. Seemed as if his luck had changed. He was just about to ask Sara if she wanted a drink when he spied…

“Is that your sister?” he asked, angling his head for a better look.

Sara followed his gaze. “What do you know. Guess Hank finally convinced her to go out with him.”

Cooper recognized the man with Morgan. “He works for your father, doesn’t he?” Hank’s head was bent low as Morgan said something and shook her head. The guy’s interest was obvious, yet Morgan looked anything but thrilled to be here. In fact, it looked as if she was going to head for the exit when she glanced up and caught Cooper’s gaze.

Her hair was loose, falling in waves around her shoulders, and once again she was covered from head to toe—but the jeans fit better than anything he’d seen her in, and the dark green turtleneck she wore showed off a surprisingly curvy figure. Huh. Who knew?

The fire hall was nearly full—it was loud and chaotic. There was music and laughter and people jostling by as they headed to the makeshift dance floor. Green beer flowed, and Irish whiskey kept the crowd animated. Yet in those few moments when he gazed across the room at Morgan, Cooper felt a certain sort of quiet he’d never felt before. It centered him, calmed that part of him that was tight and stressed.

It was a little unsettling.

Hank leaned in once again, and their connection was severed as she turned her body so that Cooper couldn’t see her face.

“Are they dating?” he found himself asking.

“I hope this is the start of something,” Sara murmured, sliding up beside him. “Hank’s a good guy, and, let’s face it, with all of Morgan’s issues, it’s going to take one hell of a special man to look after her.”

Cooper frowned and turned to Sara. “What do you mean by that?” From what little he’d seen, Morgan Campbell didn’t need anyone looking after her. She was a tough nut to crack—he’d give her that. But the woman had strength. Call it intuition or something else entirely, he sensed this about her. Yet there was more. The shadows that lived in her eyes told him she’d experienced something dark. And the one thing he’d learned so far in this life he’d been living, was that when touched by darkness, you either choose to live or you die.

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.

A
bout 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 strange 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.