The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“You sure about that?” Cooper asked. “Because judging by how sure Carl is, and how all the color has gone from your pretty face . . . plus the fact that you appear to be shaking a little, I’d say that you do have something of his. So why don’t you give it to me, and I’ll disappear from this quaint little town and this scenic mountain dwelling, and you can go back to your not-real job or whatever it is you’re doing up here.”


Emma was going to faint. She squatted down and petted the four dogs who were absolutely nuts for attention from anyone, just so that she could find her breath. When she had it, she rose up again, fixed her gaze on Cooper as she’d fixed it on a thousand other men, and smiled. “Like I said, you’re talking to the wrong person. Now, I really have to go to my job. My totally real job.” She turned around and walked to her car. She had to fight the strong urge to sprint, and moved at her usual, languid pace. She climbed into her car, turned the ignition, and started down the caliche road, headed for Pine River.

She never once looked back.

Her hands were shaking so badly she had to grip the steering wheel with all her strength to keep from shivering her way off the road.





THREE

As he watched Emma’s white Mercedes bounce down the road, Cooper was reminded of that over-the-top bat mitzvah last year, that deserted kiddie lounge, and the expression in Emma’s eyes. He’d thought many times about the way she’d looked at him that night—like she wanted him and loathed him at once—wondering what it meant, what was going on in her golden head. With some hindsight, he’d decided it was a strange mix of want and trepidation.

He’d just seen that look again.

He felt a touch to his shoulder and turned around. Two pairs of blue eyes were staring up at him. The women bore a slight resemblance to each other in the color of their hair and eyes.

“I’m Madeline Pruett,” said the one with straight, long, black hair and bangs. Her eyes were vivid blue. She extended her hand. “And this is Libby Tyler,” she said of the other, whose eyes were a lighter shade of blue and her dark hair very curly. “We’re Emma’s sisters.”

“Sisters?” he repeated, a little surprised by that. He’d uncovered a stepsister in LA. Laura Franklin was starring in a soap opera, and she’d laughed a little when he asked if she’d seen Emma. “No. Would you think me a really horrible person if I told you I don’t know or care where she is?”

Cooper had assured her that was none of his business, and had assumed the sisters had a rocky relationship.

“She’s very difficult,” Laura had said. “Something isn’t quite right about her, you know? Buy me a drink, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Cooper had thought it an odd thing to offer—someone was looking for Laura’s sister, and she was casting around for a date. “Let me take a rain check,” he’d said. “So no idea where she might be?”

“No idea,” she’d said, smiling prettily.

“Your mom?”

“She hasn’t talked to her, either. They don’t talk so much.” Laura had stepped closer to him. “Like I said, buy me a drink.” She’d smiled in a way that made Cooper think she was offering more. But he’d left it vaguely open, having no desire to have a drink with her.

He’d had no idea Emma had more sisters. No one had mentioned them.

“Half sisters,” the one with curls clarified, as if reading his mind. “I’m so sorry that she, ah . . .” She winced a little, as if searching for the right words.

“Took off,” Madeline finished for her.

“She was in a rush,” Libby said apologetically.

Madeline looked at Libby sidelong, then at Cooper. “So! Are you two . . . ?” She made a swirling motion with her fingers. “Connected?”

“No,” Cooper said.

“Then—”

“Oh, hey!”

None of them had heard Danielle Boxer walk out onto the porch. Cooper knew her because he’d taken a room at her lodge. The Beaver Room, to be exact, the creepiest room in the history of quaint inns. It had been fashioned to look like a beaver den, he supposed, with thick pine planks in the walls and a bizarre pine-stacking around the fireplace that looked like giant pickup sticks.

Ms. Boxer was the one who had told Cooper where Emma was staying, but he was still surprised to see the innkeeper here. This ranch seemed pretty far from the business of running her establishment, which, to this point, had appeared to be a one-woman endeavor. He wondered if Ms. Boxer had come up here to warn Emma he was asking about her.

“Mr. Jessup!” Ms. Boxer said cheerfully as she walked across the porch to join the sisters. “If I’d known you were going to come out so early, I would have offered you a ride.”

“He’s a friend of Emma’s,” Madeline said as if it were impossible to believe, while eyeing him curiously.

“I think “friend” is a little optimistic,” Cooper corrected her. “I know Emma, but only casually.”

“Oh!” said Libby brightly. “Are you a wedding planner, then?”

That question was so far beyond Cooper’s ability to absorb that he could only stare at her.

“Of course not,” Madeline answered for him. “I’m guessing law enforcement.”

“Oh my goodness, she’s not in trouble, is she?” Ms. Boxer asked. “We’ve had enough trouble with Libby here—”