Head Over Heels

by Susan Andersen

  “Well, I’d better get back to work, then.” Sandy hustled off to check the two men playing pool in the corner.

  The rational part of Coop understood she was still taking his measure as her temporary boss and didn’t want to be caught gossiping, but it took a real act of will not to growl with frustration. This sounded like his first genuine lead. He kept hoping the subject would come up again so he could insert himself into the conversation this time, and kicked himself for not doing so when he’d had the chance. Hell, it would have been perfectly natural to be interested. Crystal’s murder was probably the hottest topic in town.

  His mood wasn’t improved by the fact that it was well past nine o’clock when Veronica finally strolled through the Tonk’s front door. He flipped the towel he’d been using to dry glasses over his shoulder and watched as she approached. It was about damn time she’d shown up.

  It had been fairly quiet tonight, the way it was most every Wednesday night, and it hadn’t actually caused anyone undue stress to handle things without her. But that wasn’t the point. He’d told her to be here at eight o’clock, and by God, she should’ve been here. He’d spent thirteen years as a Marine and wasn’t accustomed to having his commands blown off. Especially by some slip of a woman with bones so fragile he could snap her in two without breaking a sweat.

  “Good evening, Cooper,” she said as she sauntered behind the bar for her apron and tray.

  Coop swiveled to watch her tie the white cloth around her hips. She trailed an elusive scent in her wake, and he wasn’t sure if it came from her sleek, swingy hair or was embedded in the plush, long-sleeved top she wore over a pair of slim black trousers. Or maybe from that soft white triangle at the base of her throat, where a faint blue vein pulsed.

  “You’re late,” he growled, shaking off the unwelcome image of going over her inch by inch in search of the source. “When I tell you to be here by eight, I mean eight o’clock sharp.”

  She froze with her hands still behind her back, her small breasts thrust against the clingy velvet of her wine-colored shirt. For a few heartbeats, Collin Raye could be heard marveling from the jukebox how quickly a person could go from someone you loved to someone you used to know. Then Veronica’s hands came around to curl at her sides as she bridged the distance that separated them. She thrust her chin up at him.

  “Let’s get something straight,” she said as she stopped mere inches away and tilted her head back to level a cool gaze at him. “You’re not my daddy—you don’t get to tell me when to be here. If you have suggestions for improving the service around here, or you want to sit down like rational adults to hammer out a schedule, then I’m more than ready to listen. But you don’t order me around, you don’t lay down the law, and you sure as hell don’t talk to me like I’m some errant lackey who failed to fall in with the party line. You seem to forget that I’m the owner here, not you.”

  Shit. He had sort of forgotten about that. And because she’d managed to piss him off with her little reminder, he’d give a bundle to look her straight in those haughty green eyes and say, Fine—I quit.

  He savored the fantasy for a few seconds and was warmed by the thought of leaving her to struggle with everything: the waitress shortage, tending bar, the cleanup, staying abreast of the invoices and the supplies to be ordered. It would be interesting to see how uppity she remained then.

  But since it would also pretty much defeat his purpose for taking this job in the first place, he let it go. He took a step forward instead, his humor immediately restored when she took a reflexive step backward and bumped up against the lit glass shelves that held an array of liquor bottles. She reached back with both hands to grip the one at hip level, and he felt a feral smile stretch the corners of his mouth. Good. She wasn’t as impervious as she’d like to appear.

  Leaning over, Coop slapped his much larger hands down on either side of hers, the knuckles of his thumbs brushing her pinkies. “I’ve got a flash for you, Princess,” he murmured. Breathing in the scent of her shampoo, he determined it wasn’t the elusive fragrance he’d caught a whiff of earlier, and eyed that soft-skinned hollow at the base of her throat consideringly. Then he snapped his wandering mind back to the business at hand. “You’ll be the owner of zip if you don’t bother to come in on time to lend a hand. Sandy and I had to cover for you when you didn’t show.”

  “And I’m sure you both did a stellar job.”

  “Damn right we did. But you’re missing the point here, Ronnie.”

  Her chin did the impossible and angled another degree higher. “I didn’t give you permission to call me that. You may call me Veronica.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Fine. You’re missing the point, Veronica. This bar is too busy for you to make your own hours and blow off your responsibilities. And in the immortal words of Rosetta: You don’t pay me enough to do your job and mine, too.”

  She smacked her hands against his chest, giving him a shove that was surprisingly strong for such a delicately built woman. Caught off balance, he stumbled back a step.

  “You’re an excellent storyteller, Blackstock. I mean, truly, that was very affecting. It contained all the elements: humor and pathos, the evil villainess, the courageous hero who unflinchingly does his part but is ready to put his big foot down to save the villainess’s bar in spite of herself.” To Coop’s surprise, she flashed him a smile filled with genuine admiration and humor. “There’s only one teeny-tiny flaw. I’m not some neophyte who just waltzed in off the street; I grew up in this bar. And Wednesday is bowling league night in Fossil—it doesn’t even start to get busy around here until well after nine-thirty. So I doubt you had to knock yourself out to handle”—she peered past him at the clientele scattered around the bar—“the seven, eight, nine customers in here tonight.” Then her smile dropped away and she looked him in the eye. “And even if you had…well, I’d be sorry as could be about it, but I still had something more important to do this evening.”

  “Yeah? You have a hot date with your manicurist or something?”

  “No, Cooper, that would have been yesterday’s important appointment. Today’s was to talk to my niece’s teacher and principal, and to bring Lizzy home and settle her back into her own room. She’s been kicked around enough lately for an entire battalion of little girls, and I wasn’t about to turn right around and leave her the minute we got her squared away. So I spent time with her. And when Mrs. Martelucchi arrived, I spent even more time making sure Lizzy felt comfortable with her, since she’s the woman who’s going to be taking care of her when I have to work.”

  “Mrs. Martelucchi? The lady down the street with the cats?”

  “Yes. She’s not incompetent, you know, just because she has a houseful of cats. She’s simply lonely. Her son died in Desert Storm and he was her last family member. Marissa suggested her, and she’s right. She’s kind, reliable as a Swiss clock, and she’ll fuss over Lizzy. And frankly, Cooper, Lizzy could stand a bit of fussing. She could also stand to be fattened up a little, and Mrs. Martelucchi just happens to make the best chicken parmesan in the world.” She tucked back a tendril of hair that slid onto her cheek. “All of which brings me to my schedule.”

  “Hey!” yelled a man at a table by the jukebox. “Can we get some friggin’ service over here?”

  Veronica grabbed her cash box, did a rapid count of the money inside, then slid it onto her tray, which she picked up off the counter and braced against one hip. “We’ll continue this later.” She eased around Coop, then rounded the end of the bar and headed across the room.

  He watched the subtle sway of her hips as she threaded her way through mostly empty tables to the impatient man and his cronies. As she leaned over to gather up the empties and exchange the full ashtray in the middle of the table for a clean one from her tray, he admitted he didn’t know what the hell to make of her. Just when he thought he had her neatly pigeonholed, she did or said something that upset his perception of her. He kept expecting her to be a replica of her sis
ter, but she seemed to be her own woman instead.

  Watching her interact with the guys in the corner reinforced that. From all accounts, Crystal had worked this bar with a sexy sort of come-on-and-get-me-boys attitude. Veronica’s demeanor was more lay-a-hand-on-me-buster-and-you’ll-be-pulling-back-a-nub.

  Coop hoped she wasn’t counting on her tips to make the rent.

  And he’d sure like to know what the hell her game was. He’d almost believed in her concern for Lizzy. He probably would have bought into it entirely if she’d bothered to show up before yesterday. The woman was no doubt a salesman in her non-Fossil life.

  He wasn’t aware of the strength of his curiosity, however, until she came back to the bar with the order and he heard himself ask, “So, what is it that you do back in the world?”

  She blinked but then said, “I’m a restoration specialist, which is more or less an interior decorator with a history degree.” A quick smile came and went. “I just finished a castle in Scotland that’d been modernized to such a degree you could hardly recognize its origins. It had a thirteenth century exterior and a 1950s interior.”

  “I take it you’re not married, then?” Coop took a step back, his backbone snapping militarily erect. Where the hell had that come from?

  She must have wondered the same thing, for her posture stiffened. “And you assume this because…?”

  He shrugged. “It sounds like you have a job that takes you out of the country for long periods at a time.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that I might have someone who’d understand how important my career is and support me in it?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah—that was my first thought. Then I asked myself why Mr. Understanding wasn’t here lending you a hand. And I considered the fact that you’re not wearing any rings.”

  She looked down at her bare hands, then back up at him. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Observant. But I have to hand it to you—when you’re right, you’re right. I’ve yet to meet the man who’ll make me exchange my freedom for the opportunity to wash his socks—although I’m sure you can imagine how very tempting the thought is.” She gave him a swift once-over. “How about you? Are you married?”

  “Hell, no.”

  A smile quirked the corner of her mouth as she picked up the tray he’d assembled. “That sounds definitive enough.”

  You don’t know the half of it, Princess. As far as he could see, marriage was just one big heartache waiting to happen.

  He watched Veronica carry her order over to the table. By rights, he shouldn’t even care enough about Eddie to be looking for the proof to clear his half-brother’s name. Because back when Coop was eight, his mother had divorced his dad to marry Eddie’s father.

  Mary Cooper Blackstock had been a dyed-in-the-wool snob, which was ironic considering her own beginnings. But perhaps that was the point—she’d dragged herself up from extremely humble roots and was determined to go even higher up the social ladder. Only once in her life had she stumbled on her climb to the prominence she felt she deserved, and that was when she’d married his pop in the heat of the moment. When that heat had burned itself out, she’d turned her efforts into changing a guy who’d been perfectly happy being a mason into her idea of a more suitable mate.

  Coop was damned if he’d ever let that happen to him.

  He would give his mother this, though: She’d actually stuck it out with them for several years before she’d become upwardly mobile again. But when she’d found Thomas Chapman, a man who’d fit much more precisely into her scheme of the universe, she’d walked away from Coop and his dad without a backward glance. A year after that, she’d given birth to Eddie, a golden child also more in keeping with her vision of perfection.

  Coop probably never would have gotten to know his half-brother during his infrequent visits with their mother, except Eddie had been a sunny-natured little dude who’d constantly followed him around and openly worshiped him. What the hell was a guy supposed to do in the face of that?

  When Coop’s father had died shortly after Coop’s fifteenth birthday and he’d had to live with his mom, Eddie had been the only bright spot in his life. Aching with grief and belligerent with the knowledge of his failure to live up to his mother’s expectations, he’d clashed with her constantly. So when the family moved to Fossil the summer after his high school graduation, he’d cut himself free from Mary’s appearance-is-everything style of parenting and hit the road.

  Veronica came back to the bar with an order from a new group that’d come in. She climbed onto a barstool while he assembled the order and sat silently for a moment. Chin propped in her hand, she watched him. “So, what about you, then—what did you do before you came to Fossil?”

  Coop stiffened, then forced himself to relax. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out that early indoctrination at his mother’s knee had made him slightly paranoid about allowing people to form an opinion of him based on what he did for a living. So sue him—he had a thing about being accepted for who he was. “I’ve knocked around from here to there.”

  “Uh-huh. And what does that mean, exactly? What, for instance, does one who knocks around do?”

  Finishing the order, he set it aside and leaned across the bar to bracket her in with his forearms. “A little bit of everything, sugar.” There was something about her that got to him, and if crowding her struck him as a juvenile sort of retaliation for his unwilling fascination, he nevertheless liked seeing the slight flare of disquiet in her eyes and the way she straightened when she found his face suddenly too close to hers.

  She was nobody’s pushover, however, for she faced him as coolly as you please. “So what you’re saying is that, basically, you’re a travel bum who can’t keep a job?”

  “Hey, I had a job that lasted more than a dozen years.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Drifter.” Courtesy of the U.S. Marines.

  She looked at him in exasperation. “What qualifies you for this job?”

  “The fact that I can mix drinks and keep drunks from getting disorderly.” He pushed back. “Why? Am I competing with someone else for the position?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then what difference does it make where I worked before? The only thing that should matter is if I’m competent at the job you want me to do, when you want me to do it. And, honey, competent doesn’t begin to even cover my abilities—I’m damn good at whatever I choose to do.” He resumed his position draped across the bar and reached out to trace the tip of his forefinger along the curve between her thumb and finger. “You don’t have to take my word for it, though—you’re welcome to test my proficiency yourself. Anytime. Anywhere.” He nuzzled his nose close to her temple and inhaled a whiff of that elusive scent that surrounded her. Then—miffed that it went straight to his head—he tucked her hair behind her ear and crooked his head to whisper suggestively into the exposed orifice. “On anything.”

  She pushed to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes were flustered as she reached for the tray. But she gave him a frosty up-and-down appraisal and said, “Do me a favor. Hold your breath.” Then she walked away.

  Coop watched her go and thought he oughtta feel a sense of accomplishment at how successfully he’d distracted her. So why did he have that old sick feeling in his gut instead, like the one he used to get when his mother looked at him as if he didn’t quite measure up?

  And he knew he’d done everything in his power to prove her right?

  4

  “AUNT RONNIE? DID YOU KNOW THERE’S A MAN IN our house?”

  Veronica pried one eye open. Lizzy knelt at the side of the bed, her freshly scrubbed face so close to Veronica’s own that it was slightly out of focus. “Hmm?” She was not a morning person, so it took a moment or two for the whispered words to sort themselves out in her sleep-muddled brain. “A man?” She squinted at her niece.

  Lizzy nodded emphatically. “A big man. With stickuppy hair.”

  Ah. Coop. “That’s
Mr. Blackstock. I told you about him, remember? He’s the man Marissa—” It suddenly hit her that she hadn’t divulged that information, and she pushed up onto her elbow, biting back the curse that threatened to slip up her throat. “I’m sorry, Lizzy. I meant to tell you about him after we took Dessa and Riley home last night, but then we stopped for groceries, and Mrs. Martelucchi came, and then I had to get ready for work, and…” She shook her head at the futility of trying to explain the unexplainable, then shivered as a chill draft seeped under the covers.

  At least she was covered. Her niece was without a robe, clad only in a lavender-print flannel nightgown, and Veronica lifted the blankets invitingly. “Want to climb in where it’s nice and warm, while Aunt Ronnie tries to explain why she’s such a forgetful idiot?”

  Lizzy scrambled under the covers. “I shouldn’t,” she said, but scooted deeper into the warmth anyhow. “I hafta get ready for school.”

  Veronica peered past her at the bedside clock. “School starts at nine-ten, right?” She drew her niece to lie spoon fashion with Lizzy’s back against her front and covered them both up, then hooked an arm around the little girl’s waist. “Heck, that’s more than an hour away. You can spare a couple of minutes for a quick cuddle.”

  She was rewarded by the feel of her niece snuggling in.

  “Now, about Mr. Blackstock,” she said. “Marissa hired him to manage the bar, and since you were living with her and there aren’t a lot of places in Fossil that are available to rent, she rented him the attic rooms here.” Lizzy shifted, and the soles of her feet came into contact with Veronica’s shins. Veronica jumped, and the air left her lungs in an explosive hah! “My God, your feet are like ice!”

  “I’m sorry!” Lizzy scrambled to remove herself from range. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ronnie!”

  Veronica tightened her arm around her. “Heyyy. Cold feet aren’t anything you have to apologize for.”