The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

He thought about her knit cap and the long strands of blond hair spilling out from beneath it.

Cooper turned at the next corner and drove around the block, coming up to a stop sign directly across from the park. It was empty; it was cold this morning, the sun made bleak by a thin gray haze that had overtaken the sky. He could imagine Emma sitting on that peeling bench, watching kids play. He recalled with a small shiver how angry, how livid he’d been when he’d seen her sitting there a couple of days ago. And yet, at the same time, he’d felt a sense of isolation and loneliness in her as he’d strode to that bench to confront her. Maybe he was reading something into her that wasn’t there. She certainly deserved his disdain, but Cooper couldn’t shake the feeling that she deserved compassion, too.

He was loathsomely familiar with that incongruent feeling—he’d had it many times for Derek. No matter how charming Derek had been over the years, or the promises he’d make and break, or the assurances that this time, he really had changed, Cooper could always sense that it wasn’t so. He truly believed it was beyond Derek’s ability to change. It wasn’t like Cooper was clairvoyant or anything like that, but he had a strange sixth sense about certain people. He had it about Derek, and he had it about Emma.

Cooper glanced at his watch. He should go, get on a plane, get the hell out of here and away from crazy. But when he put the car in gear, he turned back into town and drove down Main Street to Elm.

Emma’s car was not at the Kendrick house. Cooper drove on, to the end of the street, and turned west. Not toward Denver. Toward Homecoming Ranch. He gave a stern talking to himself on the drive up to the ranch. This was a stupid thing to do. Emma wasn’t his problem, so what was the point of this? What the hell was he doing?

He liked her, that was what. It was hard to admit to himself because she was so enigmatic and peculiar. Was it because she was beautiful? Was this infatuation because his body snapped to attention every time he looked at her? Was he so shallow? Or was it something deeper than that?

When he turned into the gates at the ranch, he noticed a couple of men were down in the meadow, working on the fence. Cooper drove up and pulled into the circular drive. He stepped out of his car, shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth, and looked around. Wind chimes were tinkling somewhere nearby, and the breeze was chilly. He looked at the house, expecting the sisters to spill out, the dogs to come out from under the porch, to see a tail of smoke rising from the chimney. But the house was silent.

Cooper glanced around. He felt a little foolish being here after all that had gone on between them. A glutton for punishment. A boy with no game, no head for women. But Cooper also knew if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t reach for her now, he never would, and Emma . . . well, he feared what would happen to Emma if he, or someone, didn’t grab her.





SEVENTEEN

Emma filled each dog bowl with a cup and a half of kibble while the four dogs sat anxiously, each of them drooling, awaiting the signal that they were allowed to eat. As she filled Roscoe’s bowl, she thought she heard something outside and paused.

Roscoe whimpered.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, and finished filling the bowls. “Eat,” she said, and the four dogs lunged for their individual bowls.

She sealed the lid to the bucket of dog food—which they now had to keep in the house, as Rufus had chewed a hole through a lid—and pulled on her mittens. She picked up the bucket and walked outside the garage, strolling toward the house, her mind miles away. In sunny California. With a pair of gray eyes. The strain of having Cooper discover her awful secret had taken a toll—Emma felt as if she were moving in a fog, her life as she’d known it fading away, and a new, harsh light spilling down on her.

A movement caught her eye as Emma moved slowly past her car. She glanced up and stopped midstride. Cooper was on the porch, peering through a window. Only then did she see his car, parked just behind hers.

He turned and started down the steps. He’d only managed one stair when he noticed Emma.

Her pulse began to pound. She put her hand to her head and her knit cap, then self-consciously looked down at the big coat she wore, the rain boots she’d donned to walk down to the barn. Why was he here? He had what he wanted, he’d been so disgusted—

Emma suddenly panicked and dropped the bucket. The sound of it hitting the hard ground startled her and she said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey,” he said, and put up his hands, palms out, almost like he was surrendering.

“I thought you left. Did you come alone? Who else is here?” she exclaimed, and whirled around, turning a complete circle, expecting someone to leap out at her. Who, Carl? That made no sense.