The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“That sounds like a total violation of my privacy.”


“I think having me look around for you is better than having a private detective look for you. That would have been Carl’s next move. So anyway, why did you leave?”

“Well, it had nothing to do with Carl, that bald bag of wind,” she snapped. “It’s really not complicated, Cooper. I needed a change of view. Haven’t you ever needed a change of view?”

“Sure. But I don’t quit my job for one. I don’t take off overnight.”

She looked as if she intended to argue, but hesitated. She casually touched a lock of hair on his forehead, pushing it aside. He could feel the touch of her finger sink into his skin. “You’re way off base,” she said, and leaned across him and picked up his drink. She deliberately sipped from it, looking at him over the rim of the glass, and put the glass down.

Cooper couldn’t help a small laugh. That move looked so practiced it seemed almost mechanical. He could just imagine it. Innocently touch him, check. Drink from his glass, check. Smile and twist hair around finger, check. “Does that really work? That drink-from-my-glass thing?” he asked, gesturing to his glass. “Do older, fat guys like that?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. She looked away, but Cooper caught her hand and held it. “I know when I’m being played, Emma. And you’re playing me. You must have some secrets to hide.”

She tried to pull her hand free. “You’re annoying the shit out of me now.”

“And you’re starting to fascinate me.” Even though he found her behavior objectionable and reprehensible—stealing was something he couldn’t tolerate in anyone—he still found her oddly intriguing. What made a woman like her do the things she did? Say the things she did? “If I’m wrong, then explain to me why you’re working for Leo Kendrick.”

She smiled with amusement, and he noticed she no longer tried to free her hand of his. “That’s your burning question?”

“It’s not even remotely close to event planning.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed.

“So?”

“So, his nurse is on maternity leave. He needed someone to hang out with him during the day so his dad can take care of other things. And I needed—” She abruptly stopped midsentence and seemed to think better of what she was about to say. “I was happy to do it,” she said, averting her gaze. “I wanted to do it.”

That seemed oddly out of character from what Cooper knew. Happy to do it. Wanting to do it. That was not the Emma who was currently residing in his head, whose hand was currently held in his. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“Why?” she echoed. “Because I love Leo.”

Cooper didn’t know exactly what she meant by that. He’d been surprised to find the man behind the flaming van was living in a chair, his body twisted and useless. “What’s wrong with him?”

There was a slight, but noticeable change in Emma’s careful expression. A sliver of concern slipping through, and then a sharper glance of pain. “He . . . he has Motor Neuron Disease. Like Lou Gehrig’s disease. It destroys the muscles and they atrophy until he can’t talk. Or eat.” She looked down at her glass. “Or breathe.”

Cooper felt a flush of guilt and sympathy under his skin, that rush of relief that by the grace of God, he wasn’t afflicted with something so horrible. Emma’s expression had gone placid again. Any sign of emotion had disappeared, replaced by a look of impatience.

“Well! On that cheerful note,” she said, sliding off her stool and pulling her hand free of his, “I’m done.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder and smiled, leaned in, her gaze on his mouth, stirring his blood, making him think of things that had nothing to do with Carl’s medal. “This has been oodles of fun, but just so we’re clear? Don’t bother me again, Cooper.” She brushed against his thigh as she squeezed out from between the barstools and walked away.

He didn’t try and stop her. He watched her walk to the front of the bar until she disappeared into the main dining area.

He turned back to his drink. The bartender was standing there, his thick hands braced against the bar. “Another drink, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Cooper said. “A double.” He drained his bourbon and slid the empty glass across to the bartender.





NINE

“Scoot over, bitches,” Emma said when she reached the booth her sisters had just taken.

“Emma!” Libby cried with surprise.

“What, you didn’t think I’d come?” Emma asked, and waved a hand at her, indicating she should move over.

“Well, your text wasn’t exactly encouraging. I mean, when someone texts maybe it doesn’t actually mean yes,” Libby said, seeming genuinely happy to see Emma. She scooted across the bench.