Meant to Be Read online

  “I know.” She sighed. “But he does love you, you know.”

  Cooper closed his eyes tightly, picturing his father on the last day he’d spoken to him…seeing the fierce set of his jaw, the flush of color in his face, the disbelief and anger in his eyes.

  “He does, Cooper. This whole thing—it just brought back all of the other stuff, from when Uncle Rick died.”

  “I know, hon. I know.” He lied smoothly, because who was he to contradict his little sister? She believed it to be true because she wanted it to be true, and he wasn’t going to pop that balloon.

  Let Dad do it.

  “So when are you coming home?” Her familiar question…the familiar slice of pain that went with it.

  Home wasn’t home. Not anymore.

  “Well, actually, I’ve got a new assignment out here.”

  “What is it?”

  Cooper flipped his hamburger off the grill, then headed inside, where he could be sure Shelby couldn’t inadvertently overhear him.

  “It’s super-secret stuff. If I told you, I’d have to muzzle you.”

  “Cooper, that didn’t even work when I was five.”

  He practically heard her eyes rolling, and it made him smile. “Fine. I’m keeping an eye on a VIP who’s staying here.”

  “Omigod, is she a movie star? Or a spy or something? Are you working for the FBI now? Why didn’t you tell me?” Phoebe fired the questions fast and furiously, and he could picture her sitting straight up on her bed, thrilled that her brother was actually making something of himself, instead of causing the entire family more shame and embarrassment.

  “She’s not a spy, and no undercover FBI shtick. Sorry.”

  “Huh.” She sighed, then brightened. “But you wouldn’t be able to tell me anyway, right? So maybe you really are!”

  “I’m not, Phoebs. Promise. Just keeping an eye on somebody who wants to be invisible for a little while, apparently.”

  “If she’s trying to be invisible, why are you watching her?”

  “That is a very good question, young lady.” Cooper glanced out the window that faced Shelby’s cabin, but he couldn’t see anything through her curtains. “I’m not even sure I know.”

  “Is she the president of a small island nation?”

  He laughed. “Can’t tell. Sorry.”

  Phoebe sighed again. “My life might be a lot easier if you didn’t have ethics, you know.”

  The silence that followed her words was long and deadly, as they both felt an invisible cloak of doom fall over the conversation.

  Yeah, he had ethics, all right.

  Too bad those ethics had cost him everything he’d worked for, everything he’d ever wanted.

  Too bad those ethics had also cost him his family.

  “Hey…” Cooper coughed lightly. “I’ve gotta eat my burger before it gets cold, but I’m putting an envelope in the mail tomorrow for you. Make sure you get to it before Dad does, okay?”

  He hated himself for trying to break the call off, but dammit, some nights it was just too hard to sit out here in Big Sky country and imagine them all back in Boston, a Red Sox game on the television, the smell of popcorn and Mom’s homemade marinara permeating the entire house.

  “Cooper, don’t send me any money.”

  “I’m actually sending you a giant rattlesnake tail I found this morning out on the cliffs.” Cooper squirted ketchup on his burger, wishing like hell he was doing it in his old apartment, with Phoebe hanging over the counter watching, waiting to throw her arms around his waist, just because.

  His throat felt tight as he took a deep breath. “Okay, kid. I gotta get going.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Miss you too, hon.” He cleared his throat. “Watch for the mail, okay?”

  After he hung up, he stood at the counter for a long moment, sadness and anger mixing into a muddy boil inside him. Yeah, he liked his life at Whisper Creek just fine.

  But it was going to take a long damn time before he forgave the dirty cops who’d stolen his real life out from under him.

  Chapter 4

  The first thing Shelby realized as she awoke the next morning was that the birds in Montana were really, really loud.

  The second thing she realized, as she felt like the end of a telephone pole was slamming into her chest, was that her dad was really, really…gone.

  Still.

  It was the same every morning—had been since the Thursday when Nicola had stepped into the tour bus in Vegas with tears in her eyes. Every day, Shelby woke, had a blessed few seconds of peace, and then reality blew her back off her feet, like that old cartoon where the coyote got continually, painfully pummeled by the snarky roadrunner.

  Only it wasn’t funny.

  She lay there under the puffy quilt, eyes squeezed shut against the pain, not sure she could even get out of bed and face the day. She was in a strange land, with strangers, and as far as she could figure, she was supposed to stay quietly shut up in a cottage for the next month while her management team scrambled to figure out what was next for Tara Gibson, pop star on the wane.

  They knew just as well as she did that the whole T-Gib machine wasn’t working. Sure, thousands of fans still bought tickets, but they weren’t new fans. And in order to stay alive in this business, she needed those new faces at the arenas, needed different fingers clicking those Buy buttons, needed her numbers to go upward, instead of spiraling down.

  It wasn’t happening.

  And the kicker of it was…she only cared because her bank account—or lack thereof—made her have to.

  The music LolliPop Records was making her put out was complete drivel, to her mind. It was voiceless, mindless, pop-beat crap, sometimes mixed with a rapper-of-the-week who lent his name to her album in exchange for gobs of money she didn’t have. She’d been doing it for twelve years—losing a little piece of her soul with every concert—and she wished she could just finish up this tour, go back to Nashville, buy a little farm, and live quietly off her millions.

  But her millions had fled faster than her fans, locked up in the same Ponzi scheme that had bankrupted her father. So here she was, with her last contracted record already dropping in the charts, and in debt up to her eyeballs. She was a country girl belting out synth-beat tunes, not believing a single word she was singing.

  She was a sellout. She’d known it for years.

  What was killing her right now, though, was that Daddy had known it, too. But he’d held his tongue for a long, long time, until she’d broken down and begged for help during their last call.

  And what had he done? He’d canceled a show, chartered a plane, and headed straight for her.

  But he’d never made it.

  And it was her fault.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to stare up at the log-hewn ceiling. If she squinted, she could see tiny cracks and dents where a nail had gone awry or the builder’s attention had wavered for a moment, and she thought of the song she and Daddy had written one night in a cabin like this. She’d been eleven, grumbling about the tiny shower and dim lighting, and he’d taken her hand, laid it on the log wall, talked to her about his granddaddy, who’d hauled every one of those logs out of the woods, hand-hewn them, and built them into a home for his new wife.

  He’d pointed at the dents, talked about the songs they’d sung in this cabin, and as she’d trailed her hand along the logs, Shelby had practically felt them hum.

  She wished this Whisper Creek cabin didn’t remind her so much of that one.

  But also…she kind of liked that it did.

  A rooster crowed somewhere downhill from the cabin, and she put a pillow over her head, trying to drown him out. All she wanted was to sleep, dammit—just sleep till the ache went away. Then her stomach growled. Again. Maybe she didn’t feel like eating—or anything else—but her stomach apparently had other ideas.

  She shook her head and sat up slowly, pushing the covers to the bottom of the bed. She tried to tell hers
elf she could do this. She had to. She’d just take it minute by minute for right now. And for the next minute, she could be okay. She could stand up, put on a robe, and go brush her teeth. After that minute, she could go to the kitchen and see if she could talk the coffeemaker into brewing. And then maybe…breakfast.

  Eggs. She could cook herself a couple of eggs, couldn’t she? How hard could that be?

  As she tied her robe, her phone rang, and she took a deep breath as she looked at the screen. It was her father’s manager—the man who’d been like an uncle to her all those years ago, before LolliPop Records had scooped her up and molded her into something new.

  “Hey, Morris.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. I hear you’ve been whisked off to the Wild West.”

  “Something like that, yes.” She looked around the cozy cabin. “Though it’s well disguised as an upscale dude ranch. Not so wild.”

  “Is Nicola there with you?”

  “No. She stayed back east to take care of things there.” Shelby sighed. “Damage control and all that. I kind of lost it a little bit after the funeral. I think she was afraid I was on the verge of doing something she couldn’t spin.”

  “God forbid. So she sent you far, far away so nobody would figure out you’re an actual human under all that glitter?”

  Shelby laughed quietly as she pictured Morris rolling his eyes under those bushy gray brows that would look terrible on anyone but him.

  “Exactly. But she’s just trying to help. She decided I needed space. So…she found me some. Acres of it, actually.”

  “Did you want space?”

  Shelby bit her cheek before she answered, trying to stop her chin from quivering at his kindly tone. He’d been her father’s best friend for forty years. He was hurting, too, she was sure.

  “I don’t know, Morris. I just…don’t know. I’m not sure jetting off to a guest ranch would have been my first choice. I’m having trouble putting one foot in front of the other right now, let alone figuring out how to go it alone out here for a month.”

  “I can’t believe she sent you out there without security. Are you okay with that?”

  “She wanted to keep things as low-key as possible so the press wouldn’t catch wind. I don’t even know if anyone here knows who I really am.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t even know if I know, at this point.”

  He paused. “Might be nice to just be Shelby for a little while, don’t you think?”

  “Actually? I think it’d be good for me to get reacquainted with her, yes.”

  “You really think nobody’s going to recognize you out there?”

  Shelby stood and walked to the mirror, where she looked at her face for a long moment. “You know what? I’m not sure even you would recognize me right now, Morris.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I’m serious.” She touched her face, leaning close to check out her eye color again. “It’s like I disappeared. Or reappeared, I guess. Did you know I have green eyes?”

  Morris laughed. “ ’Course I do. They match your daddy’s. Just like that gimpy pinky finger you both have.”

  Shelby swallowed hard as she stretched her right hand out in front of her. Dad had passed down his double-jointed pinky to her—great party trick, but not always so great for the guitar.

  “Don’t worry. That finger never slowed him down. Won’t hurt you, either.”

  “I know.”

  “You ever play a real guitar anymore?”

  Shelby paused, eyes automatically locking on the guitar in the corner of the bedroom. She’d picked it up on the way out of the house, unable to leave it behind with everything else. It was Daddy’s favorite—the one with the beat-up case and stories in the strings. It was the one he’d had on his lap for all those tour-bus miles long ago, the one he’d strummed and plucked while leaning over to write down notes and lyrics…the one he’d used to teach her how to play.

  She cleared her throat. “Not really, no.”

  “Well, that’s okay. Your new sound is good, too.”

  “Morris?” Shelby felt her eyebrows creep upward.

  “Yeah?”

  “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  He laughed out loud, then sobered. “One of your dad’s favorite lines.”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes, leaning on the bureau for support. “So how are things going with Daddy’s…whatever’s happening?”

  “All okay. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Right. His house was in foreclosure, Morris was packing up anything that could be auctioned, and still, Shelby wasn’t sure that would clear the debts he’d left behind.

  “Thank you, Morris. He wouldn’t want anybody else to do—this. What you’re doing.”

  “I know, honey. And it’s killing me to do it, but don’t you worry. I’m saving anything I can.”

  She sniffed. Dammit, hold it together. “If you find the old videos—the ones of him and I singing…with Mom—can you please make sure they don’t get into the wrong hands?”

  Morris was silent for so long that Shelby pulled her phone away from her ear, afraid she’d lost the connection. But then he cleared his throat.

  “I’ve been with your daddy for a long time, sweetie. I know what needs hiding, okay?”

  —

  “Good God, what is that smell?” Half an hour later, Cooper put one hand over his nose as he looked out the window toward Shelby’s cabin, where he could see a plume of smoke billowing out the kitchen window.

  He was out the door before he knew he’d moved, and on her porch two seconds later, banging on the screen door. She didn’t immediately answer, so he took a deep breath and pushed through it, walking right into a wall of smoke.

  “Shelby?” He squinted, trying to see through the clouds, spotting her by the stove, fire extinguisher in her hands.

  “Right here,” she said, her voice defeated and small as she set the extinguisher on the counter and reached over the sink to open the window wider.

  “You okay? What happened?”

  He saw her start to answer, then eye him suspiciously as she lifted the extinguisher again. “Who are you?”

  “Cooper.” He pointed toward his cabin. “I’m staying next door. We met last night.”

  He backed up, feeling the fear emanate from her whole body as she probably wondered how he knew who she was—or if he knew who she was. “Kyla told me your name yesterday, but that’s all I know, if it matters. So…are you all right?”

  Her shoulders slowly fell an inch, but her grip stayed tight. “I’m okay. Just having a little disagreement with the stove here.”

  She closed her eyes tightly and pointed to where one frying pan was still smoking, and another had a layer of unrecognizable black paste inside.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask who’s winning.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “Do you always have this effect on appliances?”

  “No, but I don’t usually pick fights with them quite this early in the morning.”

  “Good strategy, sounds like.”

  She rolled her eyes, but finally put down the extinguisher and picked up a pan to dump it in the sink.

  As she turned her back, Cooper did a quick 360 of the cabin, noting the placement of furniture, doors, and appliances one more time. He’d done it before she’d arrived, but when a person moved into a space, things changed. And one hassock three feet from where it had been could mean the difference between a clean exit and a broken nose, if there was an emergency and he had to get her out of this cabin fast.

  He cleared his throat. “Do you want some help?”

  “With breakfast?” Her eyes went wide, and now that the smoke was clearing, he could see that all she had on was a T-shirt and soft little shorts she’d probably slept in. Her long blond hair was tousled into a messy knot on the back of her head, and in her vulnerability, she just looked…cute.

  “Actually, I meant with the smoke, or…cleanup. Clearly, you have the whole
breakfast thing handled.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”

  Cooper saw a smile crack through her consternation, but he had a sneaking suspicion she might still launch the extinguisher at him, were it something softer. Her voice struck something inside him, like he’d heard it before, but he couldn’t place it. He could sense the South in her accent, but it was slight, pleasant, not the twang he heard butchered in movies.

  She dumped the other frying pan into the sink and ran some hot water and soap over the pile, but just as she turned the water off, there was a knock at her door.

  She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “Please tell me that’s not the fire department.”

  He stepped toward the door, automatically reaching for his belt, then letting his hand fall when he realized there was nothing on his hip anymore. Hadn’t been, for far too long already.

  So why was he still reaching?

  Kyla waved from the porch, her smile trying to mask her obvious concern about the state of her guest…and her new honeymoon cabin.

  “Morning, Shelby. I see you’ve met Cooper.” She opened the door, holding up a white paper bag with pink writing. “Do you like donuts? We have extras from breakfast—I mean, if you haven’t eaten.”

  Cooper smiled, but didn’t say anything as Shelby pointed a warning finger his way.

  “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.” Shelby gingerly opened the window next to the kitchen table. “Breakfast and I seem to be having some issues this morning.”

  “Then my donuts are well-timed. And I realized I forgot to give you the Kitchen 101 orientation yesterday.”

  “When you saw the smoke, you mean?” Pink spots suddenly appeared on Shelby’s cheeks, and it struck Cooper that for a celebrity, she was acting remarkably un-celebrity-like.

  Except for the cooking, that is. Clearly, she was used to someone else making food happen in her life.

  “Careful.” He pointed to the bag. “Those donuts are from Heaven Scent Bakery downtown. One bite of Jenny’s cooking, and you’ll never eat a Krispy Kreme again.”

  Cooper saw Shelby eye the bag hungrily, but as he glanced at her figure—just a quick glance, thank you very much—he had a feeling donuts weren’t part of her normal celebrity menu. She couldn’t weigh more than one-ten, soaking wet.