Meant to Be Page 12

Phoebe paused again, and in her silence, he could hear her wheels turning as she pieced together the puzzle he hadn’t meant to leave so openly out on the table for her.

  Shit.

  “Well, she’s had fifteen top-ten singles, three platinum albums, and used to sell out stadiums.”

  “Used to?”

  “Yeah. I hate to say it, because I pretty much want to be her someday—if the whole math genius thing doesn’t work out—but she’s kind of on the wane.”

  “Really.” He nodded slowly, clicking his own pieces into place. “Something happen?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s just getting—you know—old.”

  “Old like twenty-five?” He rolled his eyes.

  “Few years older than that, I think.”

  “Gotcha. What else do you know?”

  “Because your buddy’s asking?”

  “Yep.”

  “I kind of know everything there is to know, Coop. Could you be more specific?”

  “Anything happen, say, lately?”

  “Um, hold on. Believe it or not, I haven’t been paying much attention.” Cooper could hear her laptop keys clicking in the background. “Huh. Well, that’s weird.”

  “What is?”

  “Usually she posts stuff every day—or somebody posts for her—but she hasn’t done anything in, like, three wee—oh, no. Oh-h.”

  Cooper tensed. “What?”

  “Did you know Tommy Quinn?”

  “The country singer?” He cringed. “The plane crash?”

  “Yeah.” Phoebe click-click-clicked. “That was her dad, Coop.”

  “No.” Cooper put his hand to his forehead. Shit. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Dammit.” He sighed, Shelby’s tears and tension all becoming crystal clear. “Were they close?”

  “The closest. She used to tour with him, when she was a kid. Before she went pop. She must be wrecked, Coop.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was quiet as he clicked on a new link, then sat back in his chair, struck by the face that stared at him from the publicity photo. “I’m sure she is.”

  “Ooh, here’s an update on a different page—her assistant posted that she’s taking a much-needed breather in order to grieve her father, and asks that the public respect her privacy at this time.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Phoebs.”

  “Hey, Cooper?”

  He sighed, closing his eyes. “Don’t ask, squirt.”

  “Because then you’d have to lie and tell me she’s not taking that breather out there in Montana? With you?”

  “We did not have this call, Ms. CSI.” He looked through the window toward Shelby’s cabin. “I mean it, Phoebs. This is on the way-down-low. Whatever conclusions your Einsteinian brain just leaped to, just pretend—”

  “I get it. I do. My lips are sealed.”

  “And your texting fingers?”

  “All of my parts. Promise.”

  “Thanks, kiddo.” He believed her. He knew he could trust her.

  “Uh-huh.” He heard Phoebe tapping on her keys again. “But just in case it someday comes in handy, should you meet Tara Gibson and want to make her a comfort-food sort of meal to help her feel better, her favorite one is…filet mignon and kale salad. And she loves—wait—gerbera daisies. Yes. And gummy bears, which I guess would be an odd dessert, but maybe sort of charming? If you were going for charming?”

  “Phoebs?”

  “Hey, you called. And you asked. It is not my fault you’re so transparent.”

  He smiled. “Love ya, kiddo.”

  “Love you, too, Coop. And come home.”

  As he hung up, Cooper felt the familiar twinge of longing, but shook it off as he zoomed in on the eyes in the photo he’d been staring at.

  Because pop star Tara Gibson might be a fan of filet and froofy salad, but he was pretty damn sure that her alter ego preferred a good, old-fashioned hamburger. Loaded, with fries and pickles.

  And he knew how to make those just the way she liked them.

  —

  Later that evening, Shelby heard the soft plucking of a guitar outside her back window, and she stopped what she was doing, cocking her head to listen. Was that Cooper?

  She walked to the window to peek out, and there he was, sitting in that hideous chair of his, whistling quietly while his fingers handled the strings like they’d been doing it for years. He was the picture of relaxation, just like he’d been downtown, and she felt her own tension ease as she watched him.

  She sat down in the granny rocker next to her bedroom window, closing her eyes as she listened. He played gently, quietly, like Daddy had. The guitar was perfectly tuned, and had a rich, deep tone that let her know it wasn’t some hundred-dollar music shop knockoff.

  He played an old Garth Brooks song—one of the quiet ones—then her favorite Vince Gill, and another classic she knew all the words to. For the next half hour, he ran through a montage of her father’s cronies, and tears ran slowly down her face as she pictured the whole crew of them onstage at a festival last summer. She’d watched from a hotel TV in California as they’d raised money for some flood or something, and it irked her now that she couldn’t even remember what state had flooded. It should have been stamped in her brain—would have been, if she’d known it was the last time she’d see them all together.

  And that made her sadder.

  When he played the first notes of one of Daddy’s songs, her eyes opened wide. The whole time he’d been out there, she’d had an inkling he was throwing out the music as a little lure, lobbing it toward her cabin in an attempt to pull her outside, into his orbit. And she’d resisted, somehow knowing deep down inside that maybe, possibly, he’d figured her out.

  She knew he hadn’t missed her reactions yesterday afternoon in the truck. She’d tried so hard to hide them, but even without the investigator training she assumed he’d had, he just had this sense about him—a quiet, watchful thing that turned her insides to mush at the same time it made her want stronger armor on the outside so he couldn’t see right through her.

  And when he launched quietly into the first verse of one of her favorite songs, she saw herself standing up, felt herself walk toward her back door, watched herself step carefully down the steps and across the lawn, then heard herself start humming the harmony she’d sung onstage so many years ago.

  He didn’t look up, didn’t comment…just played through the entire song, and then, without pausing, started another. She sat carefully on his steps, closing her eyes as she leaned against the railing, and just listened to the notes float toward her on the evening breeze. She heard Daddy’s voice, and as Cooper smoothly guided his fingers into a song she’d written with Daddy so, so long ago, she started singing. Softly, barely even a whisper, but as she sat there, the notes lost their blackness, their bleakness. They softened around the edges as they balanced in the air, just barely out of reach. They soothed her as nothing else had since she’d heard the news of the crash.

  The sound of Cooper’s voice—soft, low, careful—had her opening her eyes, and they locked with his as he plucked the strings. Their voices entwined, his just under hers, taking Daddy’s part, and her throat constricted at the same time as her voice gained strength. She felt more than heard, and by the time they’d sung four songs, her cheeks were wet.

  “Oh, baby.” Cooper’s voice was rough, raw, as he laid his guitar on the table and sat down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

  And encircled there, her face buried in his chest, his arms like soft steel around her, she started sobbing. She cried for the could-have-beens and should-have-beens, the wishes, the regrets. She cried for the hours she’d spent too far away…the nights she’d spent singing bullshit music to crowds she didn’t care about…the days she’d spent flying and driving away from home.

  Away from herself.

  And he just held her. For what seemed like hours, he held her. Unwavering, unyielding, quiet, strong.

  When finally she felt l
ike she couldn’t possibly have another tear left inside her entire body, she sniffed and pulled away.

  “I’m…sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He shook his head, pulling her back to his chest, rubbing her back up and down, up and down, rhythmic and soothing.

  “How’d you figure it out?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

  “Superb investigative prowess, obviously.”

  “Of course. Sorry.” She pulled back again. “Seriously, how did you know?”

  “An investigator never tells.” He ran his knuckles slowly over her cheek, his voice tender. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thank you. He was—my everything. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s…true.” She shrugged slowly. “All the other stuff was just…stuff. He was the real.”

  Cooper nodded slowly. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here just to get some peace. Looks like the media made a circus out of the whole thing.”

  “They’re pretty good at it.” She sighed.

  “He must have been an amazing dad.”

  “He was.” She nodded, feeling her throat tighten up again. “He really, really was. I have no idea how I’ll live without him. I really don’t, Cooper.”

  A part of her hated how raw her voice sounded, but another part felt a tiny, glimmering warmth as she realized how grateful she was just to be able to talk about him to someone who seemed to actually…care.

  “Tell me about him.” Cooper slid his arm so it was resting on her shoulder—comfortable, warm, inviting.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Anything. Everything. Whatever you want to tell.”

  Chapter 14

  “Shh.” Cooper put a finger to his lips the next morning when Kyla came knocking on his door. Then he pointed to his couch, where Shelby was curled up under a quilt, dead asleep.

  Kyla’s eyes widened as he pushed open the screen door and walked onto his porch. “Cooper?”

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “I don’t know what it looks like. But I’m glad I’m the one who came over, rather than Ma. She’d be ready to skin you alive right now, just thinking of what it might look like.”

  He shook his head. “We were talking. She fell asleep. That’s all.”

  “Just—talking?”

  “Kyla?” He raised his eyebrows like she was out of line for asking, when he knew damn well it was him who could easily be accused of being out of line—him with a guest lying on his couch, when her cabin was a mere thirty feet away.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Sorry. Just surprised me. I was bringing up some of Jenny’s donuts, and I knocked on her door, and she didn’t answer, and…I don’t know. I got scared that she’d gone off by herself at the crack of dawn or something.”

  “No. She’s been here…all night.” He cringed, shaking his head. “But I swear, just talking.”

  Kyla nodded, and he could tell she was trying to keep a serious expression on her face but couldn’t wait to pull out her phone and dial Hayley, Jess, and Lexi as soon as she was clear of his cabin.

  “Gotcha,” she said. “So with all of this—talking, did you learn anything you’re willing to share?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Hm.”

  “Kyla, you can put more tone into a two-letter word than anyone I know.”

  “I have had a lot of practice. And a lot of two-letter words.” She smiled. “And come on. Give me something. It’s our first celebrity, and I don’t know anything about her. I want to know all the dirt about her. But in a super-nice, completely-not-creepy, caring sort of way.”

  “Maybe you should have assigned yourself to be her buddy, then.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but the smile didn’t fade. “I can still reassign you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I might.”

  “You won’t.”

  She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re right. I won’t, but can’t you tell me anything? Do we finally know who she is, at least? Anything?”

  Cooper was silent for a long, long moment, wondering how to answer her question. Yeah, he knew who Shelby was, but he also knew she didn’t want anyone else to know. Sometime around dawn, she’d wrapped a pinky finger around his, looking up at him with tears in those achingly green eyes of hers.

  “Promise we can keep this between us, Cooper? Please?”

  And he’d nodded. He’d squeezed her pinky with his own, knowing her list of people she could trust was so short she wouldn’t even need all of her fingers to count them. And then she’d closed her eyes, her blond hair spread out on the pillow he’d moved from his bed to the couch.

  “Can you just hold my hand while I sleep? Please?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” he finally said. It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

  Because he knew more about Shelby than ever before, but he also knew there were still a lot of layers left to explore.

  —

  “You sound better than last time we talked,” Nicola said a few hours later, and Shelby tucked her phone against her shoulder as she poured lemonade into a glass. From a mix, stirred into water, but still. Lemonade. And she’d made it herself.

  “Thank you. I think maybe I’m finally settling in a little bit.”

  “What have you been up to out there?”

  “A little bit of everything, I guess. Not a lot of anything in particular.”

  Shelby paused, wondering why she was suddenly being so vague with Nicola. Then she glanced out the window of her living area, watching Cooper as he walked up the hill from the lodge, fresh from a run. He looked tired, hot, and sweaty…and she’d never seen a man look better.

  Yeah, huge mystery on the vagueness.

  “Everybody treating you okay out there?” Nic asked.

  Shelby ripped her eyes away from Cooper’s abs. “Um, yes. Everyone I’ve met so far is really nice. It’s really a nice family running this place.”

  “That’s a lot of nices.”

  “Well, they’re…nice.” Shelby cringed. Nic was totally going to figure her out, even from L.A., or wherever she currently was.

  “How about the cowboys? Are they real? Really real? Or is the website a big, fat exaggeration?”

  “Oh, they’re real, all right.”

  Nic laughed. “You sound like you have some up-close-and-personal experience.”

  “Not really, no.” Shelby sipped her drink, resisting the urge to fan herself as Cooper scrubbed his T-shirt down his chest while he drank bottled water on his porch.

  Did he know she was watching?

  Did he hope?

  “Shelby? Any chance you remember how easily I can tell when you’re lying?”

  “I haven’t even said anything I could possibly be lying about.”

  “Fine. Yes or no—have you hooked up with a cowboy?”

  Shelby choked on her lemonade. “What? No!”

  She felt her cheeks heat up as Nic laughed on the other end of the line. Then her assistant suddenly got serious.

  “Hey, Shel? I know the whole idea here is for you to escape reality and get better, but be careful, okay?”

  “Always.”

  “I’m serious. Not everyone in the world has your best interests at heart. Anything you say to anybody out there could come back to haunt you.”

  Shelby felt the corners of her mouth turn downward as she remembered the hours she’d spent talking with Cooper last night.

  “It’s not like that here. They’re not…like that.”

  “Somebody who wants to take advantage of you isn’t going to come in with a sign that says so, honey.”

  “I know.”

  Nic sighed. “Just please promise me you’re being careful.”

  “I promise.”

  “Do me a favor?” Nic paused like she wasn’t sure she should say what was coming next. “I tucked a pile of confidentiality agreements in your carry-on. If anyone gets a clue—accidentally or
otherwise—who you really are, you need to get those signed.”

  “What?” Shelby shook her head. “No. I don’t want to do that. It’s insulting.”

  “It’s business, Shelby.”

  “These are good people, Nic. They’re not people who are going to call the tabloids or write some sort of tell-all about my lack of riding skills and my penchant for donuts.”

  “And nobody out there knows more than that about you right now?” Shelby could feel Nicola’s eyebrow-raise right through the phone.

  Shelby didn’t answer.

  “Shelby?”

  “It’s not—I mean—I can’t—I don’t know.” Shelby paced toward the kitchen. “I’m not making people sign things. It’s horrible.”

  “Oh, lord. There’s a man.”

  “I never said there was a man.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Nicola sighed. “Seriously? One month. We asked you to stay under the radar for one month.”

  “I am under the radar! I’m in freaking Montana, Nic! Who’s going to find me out here? Who would even try, at this point? I’m not exactly cover-model news anymore.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It kind of is.” Shelby sat down on a kitchen stool. “I’m being careful, I promise. I’m not going to do anything stupid, I’m not going to say anything incriminating, but I’m also not going to sit in a cabin for the next two weeks and pretend I don’t exist.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means—I don’t know. Maybe I’m sick of being invisible.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Shelby could picture Nic shaking her head in confusion. “You’re just about the least invisible celebrity on the planet, honey.”

  “Tara is the least invisible celebrity. Shelby is completely invisible.”

  “Okay.” Nic shifted into her soothe-the-star voice, and Shelby rolled her eyes. “We can talk about this when you get back, okay?”

  “I don’t need to talk about it, Nic. But please just let me be…me. At least out here. At least for now.”

  “I’m sorry, Shelby. I’m just worried about you. And I know you have perfectly good judgment under normal circumstances, but you’ve been through a lot. It’s tempting to lean on somebody convenient, even if it’s not someone you should lean on. Do you know what I mean?”