The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“No,” she said weakly, and opened her eyes. She heard Cooper release a breath and imagined he’d been hoping she would tell him something like, hey, you won’t believe what Libby found in the kitchen.

“I’m flying through Denver tomorrow on my way to Texas. I’m asking you to bring the medal to me, Emma. My grandfather gave that to me. I’ve carried it for years.”

“I know. Where do you want me to bring it?”

There was another pause, and she wondered if there was something else she was supposed to have said. Perhaps he’d wanted her to deny it, to offer an explanation. What could she say that wouldn’t be empty and meaningless to him now?

“The airport, or some place around there. I have a three-hour layover. So you’ll bring it?”

Emma held up the medal and looked at it. “You don’t have more of them lying around?”

“What?” He made a sound of impatience. “Of course not. But would it matter if I did? It’s mine, it belongs to me, and you took it from me. I’m not another notch on your bedpost.”

Oh, she didn’t blame him for that, but it hurt. He was anything and everything but that. “No, of course not—”

“I don’t care what you have to do, but I better see you in Denver tomorrow. My flight arrives at two. I’ll text you when I land.”

“Cooper, listen, I—”

She heard the unmistakable click of his phone shutting off.

“I think I love you,” she whispered, and clicked off her phone. She gripped the St. Christopher in her hand and turned on her side. A tear slid from the corner of her eye to her pillow. Emma wouldn’t allow herself to cry more than that single tear. She didn’t deserve tears. She hadn’t earned them. She’d brought this debacle on herself and there was no room for crybabies in her thoughts.

She had to get her act together and figure things out. And she had to give Cooper back the piece of him she’d taken without asking.

The next afternoon, Emma waited in the cell phone lot at the Denver airport, having left a message for Cooper to text her when he was coming out so she could drive around to the terminal and pick him up. His text in return was brief: Here.

“Okay,” she said, and steeled herself.

She spotted him instantly, a head taller than most, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, standing on the curb. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, one hand in the pocket of his black jeans. He was wearing a leather jacket, and under it, a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. He had a cap as dark as his hair that he was wearing with the bill to the back.

Emma tried to tamp down her nerves as she pulled up alongside him. He opened the door, tossed in his backpack, and got in.

He took a look at her in her jeans and boots, the turtleneck sweater beneath a down vest. She had braided her hair, and it hung like a rope over her shoulder. Emma smiled a little at his perusal of her, and when she did, Cooper sighed. It sounded full of resignation. He picked up the end of her braid and toyed with it between his fingers. “You’re a mess, Emma Tyler.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, and put the car in gear.

“Where are we going?” he asked as she entered the stream of cars leaving the airport.

“I don’t know. Some place to talk, I guess. There are a few restaurants on Tower Road.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She looked at him and smiled sadly. “Me either, Cooper.” But she kept driving in the direction of Tower Road and pulled into the parking lot of a diner. Where else would she take him? A roadside hotel?

The hostess, a girl with straight brown hair and black pants that rode far too low and too tight on her hips, seated them in a booth. Cooper ordered coffee, black. Emma didn’t want anything, but she felt bad for the waitress, an older, plodding woman with gray hair and a stained uniform, so she ordered coffee and a slice of cheesecake. The waitress did not appear to appreciate Emma’s gesture.

When the waitress had gone, Cooper arched a questioning brow and spread his arms along the back of the booth. “Well? Give it to me,” he said. His gray eyes looked like stone.

Emma unwrapped a straw. “I don’t want to give it to you.”

“It’s mine.”

“I know,” she said. “I stole it from you, remember?”

Cooper groaned and suddenly surged forward. He took his cap off, ran both hands over his head and then reseated his cap. “I would ask you why you did, but I know you won’t give me a straight answer. What the hell, I’ll ask it anyway,” he said, and looked up, his gaze piercing hers. “Why, Emma?”

She swallowed nervously. “I guess that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? If I had a really good reason, a good explanation for taking shit, I probably wouldn’t take shit, you know? Catch-22.”

“That’s a cop-out. Give it back.”

Emma opened her purse and reached inside for the charm. She reluctantly slid it across the table to him. Cooper picked it up and looked at it. He laid it back down on the table and lifted his gaze to her again.