Meant to Be

by Maggie McGinnis

  “They sound positively lethal. I’d love one.”

  “Good!” Kyla grinned. “Ma was sure you’d say no, but yes is a much better choice. You won’t regret it, even though you’ll be begging Cooper to take you downtown for more, after you taste them.”

  “Um…” Shelby tipped her head, looking confused. “I imagine Cooper has—other things to be doing.”

  Again the pink spots appeared, and Cooper wondered what had sent the rush of color to her face. For someone who purportedly lived in some spotlight or another, she sure seemed easy to fluster.

  Kyla set the bag on the table and stepped into the kitchen, where Cooper could see her visibly struggling not to cringe at the state of things. Without commenting, she pulled plates from a cupboard and walked back to the table, then opened the bag.

  “Honey glazed or chocolate?”

  “Either’s fine, thanks. Um…would you like to—stay?”

  Cooper heard the strain in Shelby’s voice at the same time he figured Kyla realized she was intruding on Shelby’s privacy.

  “Oh.” Kyla’s hands froze. “I’m so sorry. Here I am, barging in here and making myself at home, and you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet.”

  She curled up the top of the bag and set it in the middle of the table. “I just—we just—I’m sorry. Ma and I wanted to make sure you were settling in all right. We’re a big family operation, and we’re used to walking in and out of each other’s houses all the time, and I—sorry. Really.”

  Shelby smiled carefully. “Please don’t apologize. I really appreciate the donuts. It’s very sweet of you. And…Ma?”

  “Right.” Kyla shook her head. “Sorry again. You don’t even know who I’m talking about. Ma’s my mother-in-law, the queen-empress-boss of Whisper Creek—but with the proverbial heart of gold. This was her family’s ranch, originally.”

  She pointed toward the main lodge. “She’s usually in the kitchen down there. She says that’s the only place on the property that has enough windows for her to keep track of everybody.”

  “So…she saw the smoke, too?” Shelby cringed.

  “Eh, no worries.” Kyla shrugged like the clouds still floating around the cabin were barely noticeable. “You didn’t even burn anything down, so you’re already one step ahead of me when I arrived out here.”

  “Oh, lord.” Shelby’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a story.”

  “If you let me make you some tea, I’ll tell it to you.”

  “Um, okay?” Shelby looked like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to refuse, and Cooper felt a momentary pang of sympathy for this woman adrift among strangers.

  But the pang crept away when he thought back to how these same strangers had treated him just a few months ago when he’d shown up on their proverbial doorstep. And he knew whatever had sent Shelby here was no match for the healing power of this ranch and its people.

  “Joining us?” Kyla asked him as she filled the teapot.

  “Nah.” He rolled his eyes. “Can’t stomach that stuff. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

  As he stepped out the door, he flashed one last look back at Shelby, who was leaning against the counter like she needed it to hold her up.

  Yeah, he’d let Kyla have at it for now. But later, if he saw Shelby curled up on her porch chair, tears glistening in her eyes again, he might be hard-pressed to walk away this time.

  Chapter 5

  “You’re worse than the paparazzi, staring like that.” Cole clapped Cooper on the shoulder as he walked by him in the lodge kitchen three days later.

  Cooper turned away from the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips as he sat down at the scarred oak table. “This is what you and your brother are paying me to do. One of these days, maybe I’ll know who this mystery woman is that I’m actually keeping an eye on.”

  “Have you looked her up?”

  “No. I only know her first name, and it’s probably fake, anyway. Not much to go on.”

  “You recognize her?” Cole filled up his own mug and joined Cooper at the table.

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “But I’m clueless in the pop culture arena, so the fact that I don’t recognize her pretty much doesn’t mean shit. She could be Beyoncé, for all I know.”

  Cole laughed. “She’s not. I’m dead curious, though. Never thought we’d have a bona fide celebrity out here.” He winked. “Maybe she’s a movie star or something. Or a supermodel. You never know.”

  Cooper shivered at the thought. His ex had chased modeling dreams, heading out to shoots at dawn, then coming home to their apartment to eat a pea pod…and throw it back up. He’d been blind to it at first, just like he’d been blind to the rest of her shallow, narcissistic behavior. But it had all become clear quickly enough at the end, when she’d ditched both the apartment and him on the day his news had broken.

  “No.” He squeezed his eyes shut quickly to clear Martina from his head. “She’s too short.”

  “Maybe she’s an Olympic gymnast with a deep, dark secret.” Cole raised his eyebrows. “She’s defecting to the U.S. via Whisper Creek.”

  “Sure. Or an exiled princess—something realistic like that.” Cooper rolled his eyes.

  “So what are you gonna do? Kyla’s not really expecting you to sit around for a month at this woman’s beck and call, is she? You getting a raise for this? Because I’m pretty sure celeb-sitting isn’t in your job description, no matter what she says.”

  “I think Kyla gets to rewrite job descriptions as she needs to.” Cooper sighed, draining his cup. “But it’s okay. I’m happy to help out.”

  “So Hollywood is hot.” Cole raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s not why I’m happy to help out. You have a horse we can put her on, if I can convince her to ride?”

  “Sure. You think she’s ever been in the saddle?”

  Cooper shook his head. “No clue. But I think it’s time I find out. I know the trail schedule. I can take her out and keep her away from everybody else. If she’s trying to stay invisible, we can make that happen outside, just as well as we can do it inside. No better therapy than the equine variety, in my book.”

  Cole nodded. “You won’t get any argument here. So let me ask you this—are you gonna tell her you’re the hired watchdog?”

  “Can’t. Kyla and Ma don’t want her to know.”

  “So have they come up with some sort of cover story for why you’re staying in a honeymooners’ cabin…by yourself?”

  Cooper rolled his eyes, wishing the truth wasn’t so close to the story they’d concocted. “Apparently I was jilted at the altar. I’d already paid for the honeymoon, so I decided to take my own damn self on vacation instead.”

  “Wow.” Cole laughed. “I’m so sorry, man.”

  “Yeah. Apparently I’ve had better summers.”

  He sighed, trying to swallow the bile that had risen from his stomach.

  At least that part wasn’t a lie.

  —

  Later that night, Shelby pulled the couch throw across her shoulders and pushed open the screen door to her porch. For the last couple of hours, she’d sat at her kitchen table, a fresh pad of paper in front of her, a pen in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, but she hadn’t made the tiniest mark on that paper. Instead, she’d looked down the hill toward the stables, watching guests come in from a trail ride, laughing and a little bit sore as they untacked their horses and brushed them, talking the entire time.

  She hadn’t been able to hear the words they were saying, but she’d caught tendrils of laughter on the breeze when it had shifted her way. One minute, that laughter would cut deep, because how could people just be moving through the day, not knowing that the entire world had shifted?

  But another minute, Shelby would find herself smiling just the tiniest bit as she watched a pony shake her head, or a kid press his forehead close to his horse’s, or the stout woman who must be Ma ringing the big cowbell on the main lodge porch, announcing dinner.
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  There was just something about this place that called up a simpler time—something that made Shelby feel like if she wanted to, she could maybe walk on down to the stables and saddle up a horse…maybe put on a hat and sunglasses and head out her back door to walk in the meadow that reached upward toward the woods at the top of the hill.

  She wondered if she even remembered how to ride anymore. And strangely, that wondering gave her hope. It was a pinprick of light that reassured her she might find her way back from this dark, dark place.

  She wondered if Cooper rode, and thinking about him gave her a pinprick of a different sort. He’d been so kind this morning, when he could have been judgmental and condescending about her kitchen disaster. After more than a decade of dealing with taskmaster after taskmaster on tour, it was refreshing to meet a man who didn’t make her feel like she was doing something wrong, merely by breathing.

  She hadn’t known him long—and good God, let’s keep it real here—she didn’t know him at all, but she couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy that had hit her this afternoon when she’d thought about him with his brand-new wife next door.

  A couple of hours ago, she’d seen him walk down the hill toward the lodge, and hadn’t quite been able to stop seeing him. For a guy on his honeymoon, he sure spent an awful amount of time alone.

  Of course, he also spent a lot of time in his cabin, so maybe he was having a perfectly good honeymoon, thank you very much.

  “Hey, Shelby.” Cooper’s voice was soft as he stepped around the corner toward her porch, as if she’d conjured him. “Master that trick kitchen yet?”

  She held up her cup, which held only water, but he wouldn’t know it wasn’t filled with coffee she’d brewed herself. “Yes, thank you.”

  “I made too much dinner. Have you eaten?” As he came closer to the porch, she could see he was carrying two plates of spaghetti.

  “Um…” Her mouth watered at the smell, but didn’t come up with words immediately.

  “I’m a terrible judge of how much to put in the pot.” He stepped closer, holding out a plate so the garlic practically crept up her nose and changed her brain chemistry to Italian. He smiled like he knew. “Want some?”

  “Um, sure?” She knew she shouldn’t say yes, shouldn’t accept the invitation, but omigod, that garlic. Her stomach growled in response to the smell, which made him chuckle.

  “Great.” He took the two steps up to her porch in one stride, setting the plates on the little wooden table connecting the Adirondack chairs.

  Oh. He was—staying?

  What was it with people here at Whisper Creek? They kept showing up with food, then parking themselves in her chairs without waiting for an invitation.

  She looked toward his cabin, which looked awfully cozy, with soft lights filtering out through filmy curtains like the ones in her own cottage.

  “What about—your wife?”

  “My wha—?” He looked genuinely confused, which left her genuinely confused, because hello, honeymoon cabin?

  “Your wife.” She pointed across the little yard separating their cottages.

  He looked in the direction her finger was aiming, then back at her. “Oh. Right. Not married.”

  “So…why are you staying in the honeymoon cabin?”

  He paused for a moment, then smiled. “You have any wine that goes with spaghetti?”

  She looked at him curiously.

  Well. Mister tall, dark, and Italian had a story.

  “I’ll see what’s in the fridge.” Shelby stood up and scooted through the screen door, heading for the kitchen, a little dazed. She’d banked on another lonely, quiet evening looking at the stars, wishing she could turn back time. She’d planned on another sleepless night, another set of hours spent staring at the ceiling through a watery haze. She’d never thought a neighbor-guest would show up on her porch with a dinner that smelled so good she forgot to be afraid of him.

  She located a bottle of red and one of chardonnay, found a corkscrew and glasses, and headed back to the porch. On the way there, she stopped for a moment in front of the mirror beside the door, adjusting a stray wisp of hair. Then she stopped. What was she doing?

  “Good news.” She pushed open the door and held up the two bottles. “We have choices.”

  “Excellent. Have a preference?”

  “I’m not much of a drinker, actually.” She threw out her practiced line as she set the bottles on the table, knowing already that she’d sip at one glass, pouring the majority of it down the sink later. She actually liked wine—liked the feel of a well-made goblet in her hands, liked the warmth of the deep red alcohol as it slid down her throat.

  But someone else had liked it, too—liked it far too much—and if there was one path she wasn’t following, it was that one.

  He paused the corkscrew, studying her for a moment. “Well, you’re alone in a honeymoon cabin. I’m alone in a honeymoon cabin. Pretty sure that gives us both enough excuses to polish off as much as we want to.”

  Shelby laughed out loud at his tragic expression, and then put her hand over her mouth. It felt…wrong to laugh. It was wrong still.

  He handed her a half-full goblet, then motioned to her plate. “Eat up, before it gets cold.”

  “That would be awful.” Shelby picked up her fork and tasted the pasta, feeling the spices light up every crevice of her mouth. She took another bite, then another. “Oh, my God. This is really good.”

  “It’s just…spaghetti.”

  “I know. But it’s the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted.” She tried to slow her fork, suddenly self-conscious that she was plowing through her plate at a speed generally reserved for frat boys at a pie-eating contest.

  “Then you are really easy to please.” Cooper smiled as he watched her.

  “I’m well-trained in that art, thank you.”

  Shelby bit her lip after the words came out, but it was too late.

  He looked up. “Huh. Loaded statements for eight hundred, Alex.”

  “Sorry.” Shelby lifted a napkin to her mouth, mostly to cover the redness she felt creeping up her cheeks. “I didn’t really mean that.”

  “Fibs for five hundred.”

  She smiled as he put up five fingers. “I’m just—I don’t know—I try to be…easy to get along with. That’s all.”

  “Do people expect you not to be?”

  She swallowed a snort. “Pretty much always, yes. It’s practically a requirement for survival, in my line of work.”

  “Why? What do you do?” He posed the question innocently, like he couldn’t care less what the answer was, but she could sense a frisson of energy under the question.

  For a wild second, she was tempted to tell him. But she didn’t know him from Job, and she’d be an idiot to start confiding in a stranger less than a week after she’d escaped the craziness that was her life.

  Even if that stranger did make the best spaghetti she’d ever tasted.

  And was unfairly, ungodly hot.

  And apparently didn’t have a wife stowed in his cabin.

  She spun her glass slowly in her hands, trying to think of an answer that would be truthful, but not revealing.

  “I do…a little of this and a little of that.”

  He smiled, like he’d predicted exactly that answer. “A woman of mystery.”

  That smile tickled her way down low, and she sat back in her chair, lifting her wine to her lips. Time to turn the attention firmly away from herself.

  “What about you? What makes a man travel to Montana and rent a honeymoon cabin, by himself?”

  Cooper pushed his plate away and sat back in his own chair, one hand relaxed behind his head as the other cupped his wineglass.

  “Well, in truth, I didn’t mean to book the cabin for just me. It was supposed to actually be my honeymoon cabin.”

  “Oh-h.” The word came out long and soft as Shelby watched a scatter of emotions cross his face. What had happened? “I’m…sorry.”

  He t
ook a sip of his wine, then a long breath. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  She studied him as he stared toward the stables, his jaw tense. Someone had hurt him, and badly. She was surprised to feel a jab to her own stomach as she watched him try to swallow his pain.

  Then she had a horrible thought.

  “Did she…die?”

  “No.” He shook his head quickly. “But I think she decided that death would be preferable to marriage…or marriage to me, anyway.”

  They were both silent for a long moment as Shelby tried to think of a response. But what did you say to that?

  “Wow.” She finally nodded slowly. “You must be pretty awful.”

  “Thank you. That’s—ow.” He shook his head, wincing, but smiling, too. “Really?”

  She smiled. “Well, you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d appreciate platitudes.”

  “True, but still.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. What happened?”

  “Cold feet.”

  His answer came out quickly, like he’d practiced it…like it wasn’t quite the whole story, but in a breakup, were there ever two words that could encompass that whole story, whatever it was?

  “Did you ever make her this spaghetti?”

  “Huh?” He shook his head again, his eyebrows crowding together.

  She pointed at her empty plate. “Any woman who breaks things off after tasting this spaghetti has a screw loose. I’m just saying.”

  Shelby saw his jaw tighten as he looked away. “My mother would agree with you. It’s her recipe.”

  He smiled sadly, then took a quick breath, tipping his head toward her door. “So what about you? Got a tale worthy of this wine? How did you end up alone in a honeymoon cabin?”

  She looked at him, and for another brief, insane second almost considered telling him something—anything—about herself.

  Her real self.

  But then she stopped, feeling her invisible shield slowly crank into gear just as she started to relax with Cooper. Everybody in the business had a story about some rogue reporter who came in undercover and ended up publishing the career-jolting exposé of the decade, and she wasn’t anxious to experience her own version of it.