The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“Dani!” Libby cried.

Now his curiosity was aroused, wondering what sort of trouble that curly-haired sister might have had. “I’m not law enforcement,” he said.

“Whatever you do, why don’t you come in for some coffee?” Madeline asked. “Maybe we can help.”

“Thanks, but I don’t have a lot of time. Would you mind telling me where she’s working?”

Madeline and Libby looked at each other. “Is she in some sort of trouble?” Libby asked.

“No,” Cooper said, shaking his head. She wasn’t yet, anyway. “There’s been a slight misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“What sort of misunderstanding?” Madeline asked.

“You’ll have to ask her. I just hope to get it cleared up as quickly as possible so I can get on with some work I have in the area. If you could tell me where she’s gone, I’d really appreciate it.” Cooper smiled as charmingly as he could.

Madeline and Libby exchanged another wary look, but before either of them could decide how to answer, Ms. Boxer said, “She’s gone into Pine River. She’s keeping Leo Kendrick in the afternoons.”

Madeline gasped. “Dani!”

“What?” Ms. Boxer asked. “That’s where she is, ain’t she? Leo lives on Elm Street, Mr. Jessup. I don’t remember the house number, but you can’t miss it. Little green house with a fence.”

“Dani, please don’t say any more,” Madeline said, more forcefully.

“That’s all I need. Thank you,” Cooper said. “Nice to meet you all.” He turned and strode for his rental car.

In his rearview mirror he could still see the women standing on the porch steps, the lights of the Christmas tree twinkling in a window behind them. They looked as if they were arguing.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. He should have said no to Carl, he thought irritably, a straight-up, no. But after meeting with Carl that day, Cooper had gone back to the TA offices—offices that were littered with baby bouncers, stuffed dinosaurs, diapers, and baby wipes. Even the trash can that had once served as a makeshift basketball goal had been turned into a diaper pail. Cell phones were considered toys, and it didn’t matter whose cell phone, either.

As Cooper tried to tell the guys about his meeting with Carl, he had to do it over the singing Elmo that was being persistently shoved in his ear by one of Michael Raney’s twin toddler boys, Braden or Brodie—Cooper couldn’t tell them apart most of the time. The twins had come only a year after Michael’s wife, Leah, had given birth to Daisy. It was a damn rabbit warren at their house.

Cooper had been more impatient than normal; he’d be the first to admit it. And he’d made a remark about the noise level in the office. He was pretty sure he’d said something along the lines of, “Elmo is distracting me,” but it might have come out, “Braden and Brodie are worse than the monkeys in Costa Rica. Get Elmo out of my face before I drop-kick him out the window.”

Of course Michael had gotten his back up. “Hey! No one calls those two monkeys except me,” he said, pointing to the boys as they fought over a truck.

“You know what you are, Coop? Jealous.” This, from Eli McCain, another of Cooper’s partners, and the father of little Maya. “I know what you want,” he’d casually continued in that West Texas drawl he’d never managed to lose after all these years in LA. “You want a wife and kids like the rest of us. Only you’re too bullheaded to admit it.”

That remark had rankled Cooper even more. These guys assumed just because they’d started producing offspring like some Future Farmers of America program, he must want the same thing. It so happened that Cooper had no idea what he wanted, but he did not want to babysit on the job. “I’ve got nothing against your slide into a soft belly and endless TV, Eli,” Cooper said. “But we specialize in staging extreme sport outings for the rich and famous. This,” he said, gesturing around him, “does not convey extreme sport or rich or famous. This looks like a romper room.”

“Chill out, Coop,” said Jack Price, the fourth and final Thrillseekers partner. “We get most of our business online or by phone. No one comes to the office. No one is tripping over strollers except you. And Michael’s boys only come once a week.”