Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6)

by Juliana Stone

  V.P.

  Morgan read several more entries—enough to know that the young girl had indeed kept herself from sassing either one of her parents—and that she’d gone to the social. Not only that, but Thomas McLaren had kissed her for so long and so sweetly, she’d “darn near passed out.”

  She would have kept reading, but her leg was cramping something fierce, and Morgan supposed she should get back to it. She was just about to get up when a creak on the stairs told her she wasn’t alone. She froze and gulped down a strangled breath when Cooper appeared with a tray of food.

  “Thought you might be ready for lunch.” Cooper’s deep voice was warm, and those eyes of his found her immediately.

  He wore a pair of old, worn jeans, a white T-shirt, and a red-and-black-plaid button-down shirt. His hair was rumpled, and he’d not shaved since she last saw him. Their gazes connected, and for a moment, it felt as if all the sound had been sucked from the room, leaving her slightly off-balance.

  Not liking the sensation, Morgan shook her head and winced as the music filtered back in. No longer The Eagles, the heavy guitars of AC/DC filled her ears.

  He gestured toward the small table to his left, the one that had held the ledger, and she scrambled to her feet when he moved the stereo so there was room for the tray.

  Embarrassed at being caught goofing off on the job, she knew her face was pink when he turned back to her, but she walked toward him and tried like hell to ignore the heat. She pasted a practiced smile on her face but faltered when she noticed there were two bowls of soup as well as several warm biscuits.

  “You went to town?” she asked carefully. The chowder was from the diner—she’d know that delicious scent anywhere.

  “I did.” He winked. “Apparently, I’m not to feed you beer or yogurt.”

  “You don’t have to feed me at all.”

  Okay. That sounded rude, but Cooper didn’t seem to notice. He pulled out a box for her, and she sat down on it, accepting the warm chowder with a quick nod and watching him from beneath lowered lids as he pulled over another crate for himself.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d join you.”

  She did mind, but Morgan wasn’t about to let him know that. “Suit yourself.”

  After a few spoonsful of chowder, Morgan cleared her throat and took a shot at some sort of conversation. It was better than the god-awful silence and Cooper’s probing gaze.

  “So what’s with the beer and yogurt?” she asked, nibbling at her biscuit and pulling on the edge of her sweatshirt. He followed the movement, and she immediately stopped.

  Cooper swallowed a mouthful of chowder and shrugged. “Aside from a jar of pickles and a container of milk, it’s pretty much all there is in my fridge.” He paused. “Oh, and some sauerkraut.”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Sauerkraut?”

  “I like it on eggs.”

  “That’s the weirdest combination I’ve ever heard.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “And you don’t have eggs.”

  A sly smile his features. “This is true.”

  She took another bite from her biscuit. “So you have a thing against real food?”

  He swallowed another mouthful of soup, and she couldn’t help but notice his mouth. It was full, almost too full for a man, but his strong jaw and slightly crooked nose made it work. The man was attractive with a capital A—she’d have to be a nun not to notice—and she glanced away, suddenly aware of the disparity between them.

  Cooper Simon was money, power, family, and fame. He had a penchant for married women and a taste for scandal; yes, she’d googled the guy. And Morgan? Something deflated inside her, and she tugged on the frayed edge of her sweatshirt again.

  She forgot what it felt like to be something other than what she was. A nobody girl, stuck in a town she hated, weighed down with the memories of a life she missed so desperately, it hurt.

  “I love food. Especially Thai. It’s the grocery stores. I hate them.”

  His voice dragged her from her thoughts, and, suddenly queasy, she set her half-eaten bowl down.

  Cooper grabbed another biscuit. “In fact, I hate pretty much any form of shopping that doesn’t involve using my computer.” He winked at her. “I guess, being a woman, you wouldn’t understand that sort of thing.”

  Her back straightened. Did he just say that? “That’s a pretty stereotypical generalization.”

  He looked surprised. “You don’t enjoy a good day of retail therapy?”

  “No. I don’t.” Her voice was clipped, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was done with the pleasantries. Morgan preferred to be alone, and right now, Cooper Simon was in her space. She didn’t like it. Not one freaking bit.

  “I guess that was a dumb-ass assumption on my part.”

  Again with the smile. It was starting to get on her nerves. “You can stop that, you know.”

  He cranked his head up. “Come again?”

  “You don’t need to smile at me or bring me lunch. You don’t need to keep me company. You don’t owe me anything except a paycheck.”

  But the smile that played around the corners of his mouth didn’t go away. In fact, it deepened. And she noticed a dimple on his right cheek. What was with this guy?

  “You’re a real cranky-pants.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I bet you have.”

  He was looking at her again. In that way of his that made her nervous and defensive and, well, plain old argumentative. Maybe she should have pondered that—why a man she barely knew made her feel that way—but at the moment, all she cared about was wiping that smile from his face.

  “I’ve been called worse.” A pause. “By you.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

  His smile faltered, and that made her feel good. “Morgan.” His voice was soft, cajoling even, but it didn’t matter. The anger in her was bubbling, and though it seemed it had come from nowhere, it was clearly here to stay.

  “Let’s start with ‘charity case,’ shall we? Because that’s a good one.”

  He set down his bowl, that smile of his completely gone. Score one for Morgan.

  “Not fair.”

  “Then I think the term ‘middle-aged’ was used.” She glared at him now, not bothering to hide her anger.

  “Okay. That wasn’t exactly the smartest thing that’s ever come out of my mouth. And I didn’t mean anything by—”

  She cut him off. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “I’m aware of that.” A heartbeat passed, and he frowned darkly. She wanted to look away from him—from his all-seeing eyes—but couldn’t. “Look, Morgan. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize for my comments the other day. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me.” The reply was automatic.

  The words had stung. There was no denying that, and yet… Yet deep down, Morgan knew it wasn’t Cooper’s fault. She glanced down, noting the ragged edges of her faded gray sweatshirt. And, sheesh, was that gravy splatter from the night before?

  He cleared his throat as an awkward silence grew. “Okay. Let’s agree that I acted like a complete asshat the first time we met and move on.”

  “Asshat isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but it’s a start.”

  “Mr. Asshat?” There was that smile again, and, flustered, because in all honesty, this was the most conversation she’d had with anyone outside her family and Hank in months, she glanced down and worried the edge of her sweatshirt with nervous fingers. She was way out of practice when it came to a simple conversation, and feeling the sting of it.

  “Are you going to the St. Patrick’s Day thing in town?”

  Her head shot up. “The what?”

  “The thing at the fire hall tomorrow night. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.”

  God, no. She shook her head.

  “Why not? I hear it’s the place to be. Great band. Great music.”

  “Not really my thin
g.”

  “What is your thing?”

  “I don’t have a thing.” Her throat was tight, and she blinked rapidly as pictures and memories flashed before her.

  “Everybody’s got a thing.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Her head whipped up. “Why do you care anyway?”

  He didn’t flinch at her tone, and his eyes never left hers. She wanted to apologize for her snarkiness but couldn’t find the words. For a few moments, he was silent, and though she wanted to look away, Morgan found she couldn’t.

  “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, his voice low. “Everyone has a thing. You’re just hiding yours, and that makes me curious.”

  Okay. This was getting a little too close for comfort. “What are you doing with all this stuff?” she suddenly asked, changing the subject, and none too smoothly either.

  He held her gaze a heartbeat longer and then got to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as his gaze swept the room. “All these things meant something to someone at some point in time.” He shrugged. “The least I can do is get it organized and then see about getting as much of it as I can back to the folks it belongs to. The McLarens.”

  That wasn’t what she’d been expecting, and he must have seen it in her face.

  “What did you think I was going to do with it? Give it away?”

  “Well, no,” she mumbled.

  “Did you think I was going to sell it?” She could tell that bothered him. His mouth was tight, and he didn’t look so happy anymore.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. Which was a lie, because, in fact, it was what she’d expected. It was what a lot of people would do in his position. Some would think it was a hell of a lot of trouble to go to, dealing with someone else’s memories.

  “There’s a right and there’s a wrong. The wrong isn’t me.” He was silent for a moment. “I guess we’ve both made some assumptions that aren’t true.” He turned and scooped up the tray and then grabbed her bowl.

  Score one for Cooper Simon.

  Morgan mumbled a thank-you for the food. If her mother was around, she’d have more than a few words to say about her behaviour. But her mother wasn’t around. Her heart squeezed tightly, and she bent over as soon as Cooper’s head disappeared down the stairs.

  Her mother wasn’t around, and she was never coming back. The day when everything changed had happened nearly six years ago. And the thing that she couldn’t let go…the thing that weighed her down every single day?

  It was all Morgan’s fault.

  7

  St. Patrick’s Day in Fisherman’s Landing was a cut above any other Cooper had seen—and he’d seen a lot. There was more green than a guy could handle, and he didn’t mind green, more drunks than you could shake a fist at, and more amiable women than he would like.

  The green thing he could get past. Hell, the drunk thing was understandable—it was pretty much an Irish tradition. But the never-ending parade of single women or aunties with young nieces in tow or Nanas with “someone you’ve got to meet” was driving him batshit crazy.

  Mostly because every time someone approached him, his sister-in-law, Charlie, would give him the look. The look was a cross between I’ll kick your ass if you even think about it, and I won’t be held responsible for what happens if you do more than think.

  Thing was, he could use a good workout session between the sheets—it had been a while. For a man who was used to being looked after on a regular basis, this dry spell was starting to stir things up. Stupid things. Like the fact he was contemplating seeing just how bad an ass kicking from his sister-in-law would be.

  But Cooper was quickly realizing that in a small town like Fisherman’s Landing, a low-key, casual hookup wasn’t in the cards. Mainly because the single women in town weren’t looking for that sort of thing. He saw it in their eyes. They wanted something permanent—which he got—he just wasn’t a permanent kind of guy. His brother might have found happiness in this small town, but Cooper needed a shot of bright lights every now and again. Fisherman’s Landing was where he came for a shot of creative juice—that was the only reason. Above and beyond that, he’d made a decision long ago never to fall in love again.

  Not because he didn’t believe in love—he’d been there, and it had been hell. But because he figured he wasn’t wired for the long haul. It was a smart man who knew that straight up. He’d screwed up things in the past because he believed he was a better person than he was. He wasn’t going there again.

  Which brought him to his current dilemma. He was going to be here for the next few months, and what he wanted was a woman looking for the same thing he was—no-strings sex. Unfortunately, he didn’t think there was such an animal in this town. At least, not that he’d met tonight. With a sigh, Cooper took another pull from his beer and rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders were tight. His mind and body restless and…

  Well, hello.

  A blonde smiled at him from across the room, her shiny red lips curved into something sultry that a guy in his position wouldn’t mind tasting. The clingy green halter top she wore emphasized a great rack, and her long legs were shown off to perfection, compliments of the skintight jeans that clothed them.

  He studied her for a moment… She looked familiar.

  “Sara Campbell is not a good idea,” Charlie said, arching an imperious eyebrow his way and slowly shaking her head.

  Campbell. Morgan’s sister.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied easily, smiling back at the woman.

  “Let me elaborate, then. She’s not a good idea.”

  Irritated, he shot Charlie a look and then glared at his brother. “You want to call her off?”

  Maverick grinned and shook his head. “I’m not getting involved.”

  “You’re a pussy,” Cooper shot at him.

  “Maybe.” Maverick nuzzled his wife’s neck. “But I’m a happy pussy.”

  Charlie ignored her husband’s mouth and cranked her neck so that Cooper was able to see the look quite clearly. “Seriously, Cooper. Sara Campbell is high maintenance. Always has been. And the split from her husband hasn’t exactly been smooth. There’s a lot of unfinished business there, and it’s really not a good idea.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know you like ’em married because you think the strings are cut. Makes it easy to ignore. But trust me, Sara Campbell has strings, even if she’s trying to hide them. If you get involved with her, it will be messy and…”

  Cooper was scowling at Charlie, and Charlie was focused on him, so neither one of them saw Sara approach until she was right there by his side.

  “Hi, Charlie. Maverick.”

  They all turned to Sara, but her attention was solely on Cooper. That sultry smile was still in place, and she licked her lips slowly. “I was wondering if you’d come out for St. Patty’s Day.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He gave her a killer smile in return. “It’s Sara, right?”

  Charlie snorted, which he ignored, and Maverick pulled his wife away, which he was grateful for. Because right about now, he was thinking, to hell with the consequences. He’d take an ass kicking from his sister-in-law if it meant relieving some of that stress he was feeling.

  “So you do remember me.”

  “I do.” He paused, glancing over her shoulder toward the bar. Her eyes were clear, not coy or hopeful. This woman wasn’t looking for happily ever after. She was looking for a night of sin. Seemed as if his luck had changed. He was just about to ask Sara if she wanted a drink when he spied…

  “Is that your sister?” he asked, angling his head for a better look.

  Sara followed his gaze. “What do you know. Guess Hank finally convinced her to go out with him.”

  Cooper recognized the man with Morgan. “He works for your father, doesn’t he?” Hank’s head was bent low as Morgan said something and shook her head. The guy’s interest was obvious, yet Morgan looked anything but thrilled to be here. In fact, it looked as if she was go
ing to head for the exit when she glanced up and caught Cooper’s gaze.

  Her hair was loose, falling in waves around her shoulders, and once again she was covered from head to toe—but the jeans fit better than anything he’d seen her in, and the dark green turtleneck she wore showed off a surprisingly curvy figure. Huh. Who knew?

  The fire hall was nearly full—it was loud and chaotic. There was music and laughter and people jostling by as they headed to the makeshift dance floor. Green beer flowed, and Irish whiskey kept the crowd animated. Yet in those few moments when he gazed across the room at Morgan, Cooper felt a certain sort of quiet he’d never felt before. It centered him, calmed that part of him that was tight and stressed.

  It was a little unsettling.

  Hank leaned in once again, and their connection was severed as she turned her body so that Cooper couldn’t see her face.

  “Are they dating?” he found himself asking.

  “I hope this is the start of something,” Sara murmured, sliding up beside him. “Hank’s a good guy, and, let’s face it, with all of Morgan’s issues, it’s going to take one hell of a special man to look after her.”

  Cooper frowned and turned to Sara. “What do you mean by that?” From what little he’d seen, Morgan Campbell didn’t need anyone looking after her. She was a tough nut to crack—he’d give her that. But the woman had strength. Call it intuition or something else entirely, he sensed this about her. Yet there was more. The shadows that lived in her eyes told him she’d experienced something dark. And the one thing he’d learned so far in this life he’d been living, was that when touched by darkness, you either choose to live or you die.