For Cooper, it was a win. He’d spent a few weeks with a beautiful, albeit somewhat vain and self-centered, woman, and there’d been no fear of attachment.
Jessie topped up his coffee. “Does it ever get old?”
“Sex?” he quipped, trying for a bit of lightness. But Jessie wasn’t biting. Her blue eyes darkened, and she looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. There weren’t many people he’d let get away with being so damn personal, but this was Jessie, and over the years, she’d earned a bit of leeway.
“Being alone. You must get lonely.”
Cooper considered a fluff answer, but in the end, he surprised himself by being brutally honest. “Being alone isn’t the thing that makes you lonely. Wanting someone you can’t have, that’s the culprit.”
“And you’ve never wanted anyone?”
His gut tightened, and he dropped his gaze to the bowl of chowder in front of him. He’d wanted someone once. Wanted her with a need that had left him raw and exposed and vulnerable. He closed his eyes and her face swam before him. He hadn’t thought of her in a very long time.
And damn, but the pain was just as sharp.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” Jessie grabbed two hot plates and headed over to the elderly couple at the window.
Cooper ate his meal in silence. He checked his phone once more and then sent a quick text to his brother, asking Maverick to let him know when he got home.
“You want anything else?”
He glanced up and shook his head. “Nah, the bill is good.” He paused for a moment, watching the older woman. “Hey, what can you tell me about Morgan Campbell?”
Jessie finished totaling his bill and dropped it on the counter in front of him.
“Why you asking?” Her tone was light, but her mouth tightened a bit. Interesting.
“Charlie hired her to start a project for me that I wasn’t sure I needed done.”
Jessie rested her palms on the counter. “And you’ve changed your mind?”
He nodded and waited a beat, thinking about those unusual eyes, about how they’d shut down on him. “So what’s her story?”
Jessie’s mouth pursed, and she glanced over to the older gentlemen who were just getting to their feet. They’d both gone silent, and Cooper had the notion they were hanging on every word. But after a few seconds of silence, they nodded at Jessie and Cooper and left the diner.
Jessie picked at the edge of the napkin he’d discarded and then tossed it into the garbage under the counter. She cleared her throat, and Cooper’s interest grew. Everyone had a story—he knew that. It was just some stories were larger than others. He saw it in his own family. And his gut told him that Morgan’s story was not a run-of-the-mill kind of thing.
“I don’t make a habit of gossiping about those who live in this town, Cooper.” Jessie’s cheeks flushed, and the protective tone in her voice couldn’t be missed.
Cooper got to his feet, knowing he’d clearly touched a nerve. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by asking. I was just curious.”
“Why?”
He shrugged and then pulled on his hat. “Well, first off, she didn’t seem to like me all that much.”
Jessie laughed at that, her soft features lighting up. “And I’m taking it that’s a first for you?”
He grinned. “Not so much a first, but it’s been a while.”
Jessie’s smile slowly faded, and with a sigh, she shrugged. “Morgan’s only been back in town a few months. I heard she was helping her father with the business, and all because Lord knows her sister, Sara, has no interest.” She paused and frowned slightly. “She’s had a rough few years, but her story is for her to tell, not me. If you want to know the details of Morgan Campbell’s life, you’ll have to ask her. But if you want to know how to get hold of her so that you can chat about this project you want done, you’d have to swing by the family home. Her father closed the office about a year ago, and he’s been running Campbell Home Services from there ever since.”
“Okay,” Cooper replied. “Got an address?”
The Morgan family home was located on the west side of town, halfway down a quiet street lined with mature oak trees whose skeletal branches rose into the sky as if seeking warmth. Soon enough, they’d be full and green. Cooper glanced at the piece of paper on his dash and confirmed the number of the house as he pulled into the driveway. There was an F-150 in the driveway as well as the small compact car he’d seen out at his place the week before.
The sun felt good on his face as Cooper climbed onto the porch, and he drank in its warmth while waiting for an answer to his knock. He waited a few moments more, but no one answered. With a small frown on his face, he knocked again, this time a little harder, and was just about to leave when the curtains in the window to his left moved. He spied Morgan and gave a small wave, flashing the smile that usually did the trick. Sure, this woman seemed immune to anything he had to offer, but Cooper figured it couldn’t hurt.
A few seconds passed, and he stood back as the door slowly opened. Once again, she was dressed in loose-fitting clothes that pretty much covered her —sweats that looked as if they’d seen better days. The gray hoodie with USC emblazoned across the chest had frayed ends, and the orange logo was no longer as vibrant as it should be.
Cooper knew this because he’d attended USC for all of one year before he’d switched to Berkeley.
“You were a Trojan?” he asked, noting the surprise that flickered briefly in her eyes.
“I…” She stammered a bit, her right hand fisting as she cleared her throat. “What do you want?”
She sure as hell was a prickly thing, but Cooper had never been the guy to give up. “I was hoping we could have a conversation about the attic.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone mucking about your business.” Her nostrils flared slightly, and patches of color appeared on her face.
“I changed my mind.”
“I’ve already given Charlie a refund, so…” He was dismissed. It was in her tone, the coolness in her eyes, and the tilt of her chin. She didn’t like him, and if he’d been thinking right, Cooper might have asked himself why it mattered so much that she did. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just wanting to get his attic sorted out.
It took a bit, but Cooper managed to keep his smile in place. “Are you telling me you won’t reconsider?”
“Who’s there?” The voice came from somewhere behind Morgan, but with the door only open a few inches, Cooper couldn’t see who was there.
“Mr. Campbell?” He took a step to the side and peered over Morgan’s shoulder.
“That’s me.” The answer wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it wasn’t as cold as the look on his daughter’s face either.
The door was yanked open—roughly so—and Morgan winced, glancing away for a moment before swinging her gaze back to Cooper. An older man stood beside her with salt-and-pepper hair poking from beneath a worn-out New York Rangers cap. His eyes were faded, but Cooper saw where Morgan got her unusual coloring. Several days’ worth of whiskers shadowed his chin, and he was dressed in a stained T-shirt and jeans that needed washing. The Campbells didn’t exactly sport the business look, and considering his rocky start with Morgan, Cooper was beginning to think that maybe he should pass on his idea and do the damn work himself.
“This is Mr. Simon,” Morgan said slowly, glancing at her father once more.
The old man’s face lit up. “Simon, is it? You’re not a townie.”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
“Huh. You related to the young man married to Charlie Samuels?”
Cooper nodded. “Rick’s my brother.”
“I like your brother. He’s a Rangers fan.”
“Something we have in common.”
The older man scratched his chin. “You bought the old McLaren place.” It wasn’t a question, and Cooper nodded without answering. “Didn’t Morgan do some work for you last week?”
“She did.” Morgan’s face
was averted and Cooper couldn’t read her.
The old guy’s eyes narrowed. “She screw it up?”
Morgan jerked slightly but didn’t look up at him. Cooper slowly shook his head. “No. In fact, I’m here to apologize for my behaviour the other day, and I’m hoping that she’ll come back. I’ve got a job for her.”
That seemed to change everything.
“Don’t just stand there, Morgan. Let the man in. We can discuss it over a beer.”
Morgan’s head whipped up, and Cooper knew she didn’t want him anywhere near her home or her father.
“I’m sure Mr. Simon—”
“Call me Cooper.”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m sure Mr. Simon is busy, Dad. Any business can be conducted over the phone.” She lifted her chin. “I left a business card on the counter in the kitchen. You can call that number.”
She attempted to close the door, but her father put a stop to it. “Morgan Amelia Campbell. That’s not how we treat a customer.”
But she wasn’t giving in. In fact, she moved as if to block Cooper’s way. For whatever reason, it made him want to get inside all the more. Childish maybe, but all of a sudden, it was game on.
“It’s too early for a beer, don’t you think?” The words were tossed at her father, but Morgan’s gaze didn’t leave Cooper’s.
“It’s four o’clock somewhere,” Mr. Campbell replied. “You coming inside, Cooper?”
“Unbelievable,” Morgan whispered harshly.
Most people would take the hostility in Morgan’s voice to heart—they might wonder about it, but they’d make an offer of employment, maybe, and steer clear of any social obligation to discuss said offer. But Cooper wasn’t most people, and, being the kind of guy that he was, he took Mr. Campbell up on his offer—if only because he knew it would piss off his daughter.
“I’ve got time for one,” Cooper replied, flashing that winning smile of his at Morgan. He gave her a wink and stepped into her house.
4
Morgan couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry. Heck, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything other than passive acceptance. She’d stomped back to the kitchen—stomped, like she was a volatile sixteen-year-old—and considering her bum leg, it was saying something that she managed to get all the way there without a twinge.
She then proceeded to slam cupboards shut, toss bowls into the dishwasher, and make a racket with pretty much everything she touched. And the thing was? She liked it. The anger. The heat. The emotion.
Who the hell did Cooper Simon think he was? He’d called her a charity case and basically fired her ass the week before. Now he wanted her back? And how the hell had he found out where she lived? Charlie. “I’m going to kill her,” she muttered.
Laughter erupted from the front room where Cooper and her father were, and she made a face. Truth be told, she almost stuck out her tongue…almost.
Her father was onto his second beer while Cooper was still nursing his first. Typical. To make matters worse, their conversation had gone nowhere near this so-called job he was looking to hire for, and they’d spent the entire time chatting about sports. Morgan didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Calder Cup. Hell, she didn’t even know what that was, and she knew hockey.
She slammed the utensil drawer shut, smiling savagely at the crescendo of sound it made, before pulling out some leftover chili from the fridge to heat up for supper. After placing the plastic container on the counter, she bent low to grab a pot from the cupboard and inhaled sharply as pain shot up her leg.
“Dammit,” she whispered under her breath. Her fingers found the edge of the counter, and she wasn’t exactly sure how long she stood hunched like that, but it was long enough for none other than Cooper Simon to sneak up on her.
“You okay?” His voice slid at her from behind.
“Do I look okay?” she snapped, before she could think on it. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating that her body could betray her like this. Especially now. With him a few feet away.
“No. You don’t.”
She counted to three and slowly straightened her body. In those three seconds, she pulled out that mask of “nothingness” she kept in her back pocket and turned around.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked, all polite and accommodating.
The man was silent for a few moments, though he watched her closely. So closely that, for a second, she was afraid he could see right through her. Morgan’s heart sped up and her face froze. It felt like if she attempted to smile or do anything, her skin would crack and she’d fall apart.
“Your father asked me to come back here and grab him a beer.”
Of course he did.
“You’re not having another?” Good. Her voice was even.
He shook his head, his mouth curving into a smile. “Nah. I’ve got to drive.”
Mouth pursed tightly, she reached for the fridge again and pulled out a Bud Light. She tossed it at Cooper, hoping like hell he’d fail the test, but of course he caught the bottle easily. The most she could hope for was a good eruption of foam when he opened it.
“So your father says you can start Friday?”
“What was that?” Morgan had turned away, but at his words, found herself staring into those blue eyes yet again.
Cooper smiled, an easy sort of thing that drew the eye to his generous mouth and strong chin. I bet he practices in the mirror.
The thought slid through Morgan’s mind, and she nearly smiled in return, but luckily caught herself in time. She tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, uncomfortable when his gaze followed her actions.
“The attic. I’ve decided that I need it catalogued, organized, and packed up. Your father said you can start Friday.”
Morgan didn’t have a chance to respond. The back door flew open, and Hank Johnson stepped into the kitchen. A lifelong friend and one of the only employees Campbell’s Home Services had left, he was a big man with a big smile, soft brown eyes, and an even bigger heart. Hank had been there for Morgan when her life went sideways and she’d been at her lowest. He was like family, and she was grateful for his presence.
Hank looked from Morgan to Cooper and, without a pause, held out his hand to Cooper. “Don’t think we’ve met. Name’s Hank.”
“Cooper.”
The men shook hands. “You’re Rick’s brother.”
“Can’t deny that,” Cooper responded with a chuckle.
“He’s a good guy.” Hank’s gaze slid to Morgan. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Nope,” Morgan replied, voice a little high and way too curt.
Hank held her gaze a heartbeat longer, eyes narrowed slightly. He cleared his throat and tugged on his playoff beard. The thing was long and thick, making Hank look a bit like a mountain man. But it suited his rugged features, and he’d been sporting a playoff beard since the 2010 men’s league playoffs. The damn thing had taken on a life of its own.
“I just swung by for the keys to the plow. I’ve got to remove the snow buildup from the church parking lot before Mrs. Anderson hunts me down and makes me recite one hundred Hail Mary’s.” He paused. “They’re not out back in the shop.”
Great. “Okay. Let me see if Dad remembers where he put them.”
She moved past the men, kept her steps slow but sure, and paused just inside the front room. Her father stood in the shadows that drenched the far corner, beside the hutch and the low-slung table filled with family photos. He was still as a statue, one hand wrapped around his Bud Light, the other in midair.
He reached for one of the photos, his hand shaking, and that pit of despair inside Morgan opened like a black hole, making her chest tight and her throat close up. In that moment, Ryan Campbell looked as lost as Morgan felt.
Her father turned slightly and held the framed photo so that the light from the window fell over it. How long he held the picture there, Morgan couldn’t say. But it was long enough for him to set down his beer and touch i
t lovingly with those trembling fingers of his. Long enough for him to grab it close to his chest and hold it there a few seconds more.
It was long enough for Morgan to glimpse a bit of the man he used to be. And long enough for her to know his pain was just as deep and hard as ever. That the scars left on her family after the day-when-everything-changed were nowhere near healed.
Her heart thudded, and she took a step forward but froze when her father shook his head violently and tossed the photo across the room. The sound was sharp and dead and hard as glass shattered against the wall. Morgan could only watch him in silence when he turned to her.
For several long moments, the two of them stared at each other. One, a broken man who owned a bitter, dark heart filled with rage and blame. The other, a shadow of her former self with scars that ran deep. A woman who’d forgotten what hope and love and joy were.
They hadn’t always been like this, but Morgan could barely remember the “before” they’d been.
She cleared her throat. “Hank needs the keys to the Bobcat.”
Her father scowled. “They’re in the shop.”
She kept her voice neutral. “He says they’re not.”
Ryan Campbell’s face darkened, and he finished his beer in one gulp, then shoved past his daughter with a curse. “Damn kids don’t know where anything is around here. No wonder this place is falling apart.”
Her father headed to the kitchen while Morgan slowly made her way across the room. She carefully picked up the pieces of glass from the pale green leather sofa and set them in a pile on the coffee table. The busted frame was upside-down, and she stared at it for a good long while before finally reaching forward and scooping it up.
She didn’t have to look at it to know what picture was there. And she didn’t look—not at first. But some invisible force had her turning the frame over, and she stared down at the image, not quite prepared for the deluge of emotion that churned inside her.
In the photo, taken the day of her last meet, an NCAA record-breaking event for Morgan, she stared into the camera, eyes alive, smile wide and open, her arms around her mother and father. Nathan had been there too—he’d snapped the photo.
Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 3