Making a Comeback (8 page)

“Good. I’m glad.” He was also relieved she wasn’t here for an emergency. “It’s all-natural. Really, not just as an advertising claim. It’s made by a little old lady from—”

“Pasadena?” She interrupted him with a wide grin and a twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes.

“No. Mendocino.” Why did she have to be so great? Funny and sweet and appreciative. Why couldn’t she be more like her ex? A spoiled, rich asshole.

“And have you met this little old lady personally?” She still had a smile on her face. Or most of her face, the left side didn’t quite go up as much as her right, with the giant gash on her face.

He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her. “Yes. I have. She was at a farmer’s market and she charmed me into buying a whole case of the stuff.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, because it really does help.” Annabelle moved toward him, as if she wanted to come in. Or tell him a secret. “But I can’t reach my back. Would you mind?”

Oh hell.

He stepped back so she could come in. She smelled of lavender and rosemary and eucalyptus and something even sweeter.

A hard rock song blasted from his weight room speakers.

“Let me go turn that off.” He moved down the hallway and she followed.

Annabelle stopped in the doorway of the dining room he’d converted to a home gym and laughed. “Is that me? I don’t remember them doing a poster of that cover.”

“
They
didn’t. I had it done.” It had been ten years ago and he still hung the framed picture in every place he lived. “A buddy of mine worked at this place that could turn anything into a poster for twenty bucks.”

“Twenty bucks, huh?” She gave him a look that might have been disapproving, if not for the way her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips twitched trying to hold back a smile. “That’s some pretty expensive artwork.”

“I paid another thirty for the frame.” He stood there feeling every bit the twenty-one-year-old who’d been so obsessed with Annabelle he’d convinced his friend to risk his job in making the poster when he didn’t have the rights to the photo.

“Fifty bucks, huh. Quite an investment.”

“I was young. I wanted to class up my first apartment.” He wondered briefly if she would have been interested in him back then. Would she have even looked twice at an up-and-coming ballplayer who thought he was the next hot prospect?

“I was even younger.” She approached the poster he had hanging over his weight bench. There was something almost wistful in her tone. “I was so young.”

He watched her study herself and wondered what she must be thinking. Probably that he was some kind of stalker and she would be calling her lawyer when she got home.

“So you really do use me.” She laughed, turning around to show an amused grin on her face. “Does that help you add cardio to your workouts?”

“Huh?” He was surprised at how lightly she was taking this.

“You know, getting your heart rate up?” Her gaze drew over him, settling just below his waist. “Among other things.”

“Look, Annabelle, I didn’t mean to…”

“To what? Get off on my picture?” Her gaze narrowed. “Objectify women?”

“I just liked the photo. I liked it a lot, so I had it blown up.” He felt like a real jerk. “And I kept it because it reminds me of a time in my life when I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing.”

“And you think I did?” She laughed again. “I was so young. So naïve. It’s hard to believe I’m the same person.”

He moved closer to her. Couldn’t help himself.

“Annabelle.” His voice sounded funny to his own ears—strained—as if he couldn’t believe he was standing here, with her, having this conversation with the one woman he’d always dreamed of. But she was real, and she was upset. “Look I’m sorry about the poster. I’ll take it down.”

She shook her head and stepped away from the picture.

“So could you rub this lotion on me?” She looked up at him, with such desperation in her eyes he wouldn’t have refused if she’d asked him to pour gasoline on himself and set himself on fire.

He took the bottle of healing lotion, poured a generous amount in his hands, and took a deep breath when she turned around and lifted her shirt so he could apply it to her back.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” He was screwed. Totally screwed.

“Too constrictive.” She groaned as he applied the lotion. “My ribs aren’t broken, but they still hurt like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’ll be gentle.” He rubbed slowly, gently, up and down her back. The moans of pleasure she made were almost his undoing.

She turned slightly and his hand slipped over her left breast.

Oh sweet lord.

“Not as perky as they once were.” She looked up at him with fire in her eyes. It wasn’t a mad kind of fire, not even an insulted kind of fire. But the most dangerous kind of fire. Desire.

“They’re perfect.” He dropped his hand before things could get any more out of control. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” She had just a hint of doubt in her voice. “Clayton offered to have them done. After the twins were born. He even booked the appointment, to celebrate their first birthday. Can you believe that?”

Cooper just shook his head. What kind of man couldn’t appreciate a woman like Annabelle?

“I guess I wasn’t good enough for him anymore.” Her voice held a small quiver of regret. “Well, I should get back to my girls. They’re watching a movie and I hate to use the TV as a babysitter.”

He grunted, not trusting himself with words. He wanted her now more than ever, but she deserved so much more than he could give.

“Oh, thanks for the lotion.” She gave him a shy smile. “Can I keep it?”

She held out her hand and he placed the bottle in her palm.

“I’m glad you have that poster.” She nodded toward the wall. “It makes me think you’re not all alone over here.”

She smiled one more time before turning and walking out his front door.

* * * *

As she walked the short distance to her house, Annabelle shook her head. He had a giant poster of her first swimsuit cover. She should have been offended. Six years ago, she would have been offended. Back when she was struggling with her identity as a new mom and wife to the man who always introduced her as the “former supermodel.” A man who had made it painfully clear he no longer found her attractive. She wasn’t joking about the boob job Clayton had tried to give her as a
gift
once the twins were weaned. He’d hinted that he would be more than happy to pay for a tummy tuck at the same time.

Six days ago she might have been offended. But then again, the whole purpose of that picture was to sell magazines. The kind of magazine people kept, not tossed aside after reading the articles. He’d not only kept the magazines, he’d had the cover blown up into a poster he’d carried around for ten years.

Maybe she should be flattered. Her neighbor still found her attractive. That much was very clear. Even though she was no longer nineteen, with perfectly perky breasts and flawless skin. She gently touched her stitches. She’d have to go back to the doctor to have them removed in a couple of days. And she’d have to ask Cooper for a ride. Unless she wanted to take the bus. Hopefully the doctor would clear her for driving again. But…

She closed her eyes trying to remember something, anything from the accident. What if she couldn’t get behind the wheel? She lived in California. She needed a car. Sure, she could hire a service, but she’d never really liked the idea of a stranger driving her around. And stepping out of a limo to pick up a few groceries seemed a little much.

Annabelle had really hoped to reestablish her modeling career before the end of the new year. She’d hoped for a reliable income stream so she could save the settlement money for the girls’ future. They would go to college. She’d make sure of it. Her daughters would have choices that she’d never had.

They wouldn’t have to rely on the wrong man. Or even the right man, who happened to come into their lives at the wrong time.

“Mommy, can we go to the beach now?” Sophie was less content than her sister to watch movies all day long. “
Please
.”

“I think we could go for a little while. Maybe pack a picnic lunch.” Annabelle was feeling much better thanks to Cooper’s magic lotion. The one made by the little old lady from Mendocino.

“Are you sure we can’t invite Cooper?” Her daughters were almost as smitten with the man as she was.

“No, sweetie. He’s been great. I just don’t want him to feel like we’re imposing on him too much.”

“Oh.” Olivia’s expression was one of mock understanding. Then she tilted her head to the side. “What’s ‘imposing’?”

“It means getting in his way, disrupting his life.”

“Were we imposing on Daddy?” Sophie asked. “Is that why he moved to Florida? Did we erupt his life?”

“Oh honey. No.” Annabelle pulled her daughter into a hug. They were quickly joined by Olivia. “No, you girls had absolutely nothing to do with your father and I getting a divorce.”

They may have been the reason they’d gotten married in the first place, but they had nothing to do with the divorce. If anything, they were the reason she’d stayed as long as she had.

“Sometimes he’d get mad when we erupted his work.” Sophie needed more assurance.

“Interrupted.” Olivia corrected her sister. “A volcano erupts, like the one that killed the dinosaurs.”

“A steroid killed the dinosaurs.” Sophie argued. “Not a volcano. It was a big rock from outer space that crashed into the ocean making them all drown.”

“Girls. Do you want to go to the beach or do you want to argue about why the dinosaurs became extinct?” Annabelle loved the way they each stood their ground, like two little scientists arguing over theories. They were already smarter than she was. Or at least, they were smarter than she’d ever been encouraged to be.

“The beach!” Both girls stopped their argument and rushed upstairs to get their swimsuits on. It still amused her to think they could wear swimsuits in January. There was only about a ten to fifteen degree difference in temperature, but it felt so much warmer down here than in San Francisco. They often wore fleece sweatshirts to the beach in San Francisco even in the summer. And they didn’t swim in the ocean. Sure they’d dip their toes in the water, explore tide pools, and fly kites at the beach. Swimming was something they did at the tennis club.

Still, she grabbed the girls’ sweaters. Just in case.

The excitement on her daughters’ faces was reassuring. Moving down here had been the right thing to do. Even if her modeling career wasn’t going to take off. The change had been just what they’d all needed to be happy, healthy, and healing.

Even knowing Annabelle had promised to take her daughters to the beach that afternoon, Cooper felt a jolt straight through him at the sight of them enjoying the sun and the sand. Annabelle was stretched out on one of those low-slung beach chairs with a big floppy hat protecting her delicate skin. Olivia, wearing a pink swimsuit, and Sophie, in green, were happily digging in the sand just above the waterline.

He couldn’t not stop by and see how they were doing.

“Hey, how’s everything going?” He stood above her with the sun on his back.

Annabelle held a hand up to shade her eyes, even though she wore those oversized sunglasses that were practically required gear in Southern California.

“Good.” She smiled when she recognized him. “Just soaking in the fresh air and sunshine.”

“Well, enjoy.” He turned back toward his house but Sophie ran up to him holding a ball and a glove.

“Will you play catch with me?” she pleaded. “Olivia just wants to build castles, but I want to play catch and Mommy’s gotta rest.”

He swallowed, looking down at her earnest expression. She wanted to play a game of catch. Something that had once come as natural to him as breathing.

“Please?” She tilted her head to one side, big blue eyes shining so much like her mother’s.

“Sure. I just need to grab my glove.” He swallowed the twenty pound rosin bag that had lodged in his throat.

“You can use Olivia’s” She held out her sister’s tiny brand-new glove—a Christmas gift, maybe.

“Don’t think so.” He knelt down, inspecting the stiff unbroken leather. “It’s too small, for one thing. And I’m left-handed. I wear my glove on the other hand.”

“Oh.” She sounded slightly disappointed. “I thought it was because it’s pink.”

“I’ll be right back.” He stood up, patted her on the top of her head, and jogged back to his place.

He opened the hall closet where he kept his equipment, shoved in the back where it couldn’t mock him. He unzipped the bag and reached for his trusted companion. He held the leather up to his nose and inhaled. For the first time in a long time, the smell didn’t make his stomach churn. It was familiar. Comforting, even.

He put it on. Yep. It still fit. Fit like a…like an extension of his hand. He punched the pocket, just as he’d done thousands of times. When he didn’t see spots dance in front of his eyes, he figured he could do this. He could play a simple game of catch.

Cooper grabbed an extra ball and zipped up the bag. He toed the closet door closed and headed out the front door feeling as if his left arm wasn’t a thousand pounds heavier than it should be.

“What took you so long?” Sophie stood with one gloved hand on her hip, the other dangling at her side, the ball nestled in her palm.

Had to slay a few demons, milady.

“Took me a few minutes to find my glove,” he lied. It was his courage he’d had to rummage around for.

“Well let’s go then, we’re burning daylight.” Sophie popped the ball into her glove as if she’d been born to play. He could picture her with a wad of bubble gum in her mouth and her cap pulled low over her forehead.

Crouching down a few feet in front of her, he held his glove up, ready for her to make a soft toss. He’d spent a few years working with kids as part of the Harrison Foundation’s minicamp. But those kids had been a little older, like nine to twelve. And they hadn’t been miniature versions of Annabelle Jones.

Sophie did an exaggerated windup, curled her gloved hand in front of her, scrunched her face up with all the seriousness of the most hardened veteran, and hurled the ball toward him. It sailed over his head and he jogged off after it.