Coop thought about Phoenix and her sister in the cabin alone. He knew Phoenix locked up every night. Besides, with all the cabins, tents, RVs and fifth wheels, the bastards would have no idea where she was.
He’d paced the kitchen as he talked to Gibb, the dog trotting along behind him. Whenever he stopped, the dog sat, her eyes alert in expectation. It was like having a shadow...with a tongue that hung out and a butt that constantly wiggled.
When he finished the call, he replaced the phone on the desk and turned to look down at her. She jumped to her feet, ears up.
“Ready for bed?”
The question earned him a bark, then she ran three tight circles—looking far from tired.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” Coop fetched an old blanket and put it in the corner of the kitchen opposite the food and water dish, then called her over with a soft whistle.
Curious, she sprinted to him, ears flopping, butt moving counter to her shoulders. Coop grinned. She really was a cute little thing.
He gestured at the temporary bed. “What do you think?”
She sniffed the blanket, looked at Coop and waited.
“Sorry, but Phoenix isn’t set up for a dog. Her place is too small and she sleeps in a loft—”
Rearing back on her haunches, the dog yapped at him.
Somehow, though it came from a small, adorable pup, that yap felt like a reprimand. “I couldn’t invite her to stay over. Her sister—”
Another yap.
Coop sighed, recognizing the ridiculousness of carrying on a one-sided conversation with a dog. “If we’re going to have these talks, you at least need a name.”
As if she understood, she tipped her head, one ear flopping down, the other cocked in interest.
Kneeling, he offered a hand for her to sniff. “I’ll have to give it some thought. Before your bath, I would have named you Mud. I’m not sure Phoenix would approve, though.”
Butt wiggling, the dog crawled into his lap. With a lusty sigh, she put her head over Coop’s forearm, then looked at him with dark, worried eyes.
“You’ll like it here in the kitchen. It’s cozy and quiet.”
The dog appeared far from convinced. From her perspective, the large kitchen might seem lonely.
Coop glanced at the photo of his wife on the desk area. So often, Anna’s image had kept him company while he worked on accounts, paid bills or researched equipment or employees. Having her near hadn’t filled the emptiness; to the contrary, it had kept the emptiness fresh, as if he’d wanted it to last.
In that moment, it struck Coop that the hollow pain he’d learned to live with was no longer quite so hollow, or quite so painful.
Phoenix, with her smiles, her attitude of determination and her own soft need, had blunted those familiar aches.
His chest constricted, but with a deep breath that he slowly released, everything inside him loosened. It was as if he’d also released the old rage...and the loneliness.
The change had happened so slowly that he hadn’t noticed it—and yet so suddenly that it left him reeling with surprise.
He was different now.
Whatever happened between Phoenix and him, he’d never go back. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could go back.
As he stared at his wife’s smiling image, he smiled, too. He’d kept photos of her everywhere as if by seeing her, she wasn’t really gone. Somewhere along the way they’d become painful reminders of what he’d lost.
Now, he found the photo soothing, like the whisper of a cherished memory...one that no longer hurt.
He stroked the dog, saying, “She loved animals.”
A tiny voice in his head said, So does Phoenix. Hadn’t she rushed to the dog’s rescue? Despite her fear, she hadn’t suggested that they leave.
No matter what she believed about herself, Coop knew that if he hadn’t been with her, Phoenix would have found a way to save the dog. He just hoped and prayed that, if ever put to the test, she’d know to call for backup before doing anything reckless on her own.
He’d wanted to talk with her, to explain that the situation had warranted her caution. There was no reason for her to think she’d acted cowardly. In fact, he hoped she would stay cautious.
But Ridley had shown up with Baxter in tow, and the tension between them had been like a live thing. Every time Baxter had looked at Ridley, sparks flew—even though Ridley refused to look back. Despite the way they’d tried to ignore each other, it was obvious that Phoenix’s call had interrupted their plans.
Coop would have found it funnier if his own plans hadn’t gone off course.
He wanted Phoenix, now more than ever, and if it hadn’t been for the dog, he’d probably be in bed with her right now.
That realization brought its own concerns.
Her bed was out; Ridley was staying with her and there was only the loft.
And his bed...
With another sigh, the dog closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Coop knew it was a pretense because every couple of seconds, she looked up at him—as if to ensure he hadn’t budged.
One more glance at his wife’s image—and he made a decision.
“C’mon, girl. Let’s see if you need to do any business before I turn in.” He carried her out, ignoring the idolizing way she licked his chin.
Since it was dark, he kept a close watch on her after sitting her down. Tomorrow he’d need to get a collar and leash, and he supposed a trip to the vet was in order.
While the dog sniffed every blade of grass, Coop stared toward Phoenix’s cabin, then around the resort. All was quiet. Security lights lit the grounds, as well as exterior lights on the campers. There were enough guests that no one could be truly isolated.
Indicating she’d finished, the dog sat on his foot and leaned against his leg.
Coop scooped her up and they went back inside. He locked the door, then carried the dog to the bed he’d made on the kitchen floor. “Be good,” he told her when she started to follow him.
She sat back, her eyes huge, somehow conveying worry.
“It’ll be fine, and soon you’ll prefer sleeping alone.” Hoping she believed him, he turned out the light and went down the hall.
When he reached his bedroom, he undressed and turned back the bed. There on the nightstand was another photo of his wife. She’d been gone five years now, and there had been times that he’d felt like he’d lived a lifetime without her.
Tonight was different.
Because of Phoenix.
Because what he felt for her was different.
He picked up the photo, brushing his thumb along the edge of the frame. “I will always love you, Anna.”
Her image, so serene, gazed back.
He wanted Phoenix to move on, and because of her, he was ready to do the same.
He smiled at the photo and slipped it into a drawer.
The bedroom, he decided, was not a place for dwelling in the past.
With much on his mind, he turned out the light and stretched out on the bed.
Seconds later, the dog started howling just outside his door.
8
The next morning, while Phoenix inhaled her usual cup of coffee at the camp store, Coop came in, the dog held in one arm. Her ears bounced with each step he took, and she appeared to be smiling as she looked around at everyone and everything.
Such a happy little dog. Seeing her made Phoenix happy, too.
She needed a leash, a collar and probably a dozen other things.
As soon as the pup saw Phoenix, she wriggled to get down. There were very few people in the store this early, so Coop set her on her feet, and she came charging over, her ears blowing back, her frantically wagging tail visible in her whole body.
“Hello, sugar.” Phoenix crouched down and hugged the dog close, accepting the doggy kisses to her face.
“Sugar?” Coop asked. “Is that what we’re calling her?”
One more thing the dog needed: a name. “It was just an endearment.”
“She is sweet,” Coop said as he considered the dog, then he mumbled, “When I’m not trying to sleep, that is.”
Uh-oh. “She kept you up?”
“No, she slept fine—once I let her into the bedroom with me.”
Picturing that brought a smile to her face. “She slept with you?”