Meant to Be Read online

  Cooper might appear all relaxed friendliness, just another jilted guy taking his honeymoon by himself, but any good reporter had a cover story. She needed to keep her guard up, no matter how nice it was to just sit here on this porch, sipping wine and talking in the dark.

  “Maybe after I’ve known you for longer than a day,” she finally said.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded. “How long are you here?”

  “A month or so.”

  “Wow. That’s a long vacation.”

  “Yeah.” She held up her goblet, watching the red wine tip and sway in the candlelit darkness. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had one.”

  “Not much downtime allowed by your ‘little of this, little of that’?”

  “No.” She smiled. “None. What about you? What do you do, when you’re not recovering from cold feet in Big Sky country?”

  He paused for a long moment, sipping from his glass, and she felt her eyes narrow.

  If it took this long to answer…

  “Still figuring that out,” he finally said.

  “Did you ever think you did have it figured out?”

  “Yeah.” His face fell. “Definitely did.”

  “What happened?”

  Cooper took a deep breath, then shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Maybe after I’ve known you longer than a day.”

  Chapter 6

  A couple of days later, Cooper stood on his porch, weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do. For the past two nights, he’d stopped himself from going over to Shelby’s porch, even though he could practically see her tears from his own cabin as she sat bundled in that same blanket, curled up on her porch swing.

  Showing up with spaghetti once was an excusable act of neighborliness. Doing it on a daily basis would only raise all of her suspicious flags, so he’d sat tight, waiting for just the right moment to approach her again. When the sun had risen on yet another gorgeous day, and when it seemed like she was going to spend that day inside once again, he decided he’d had enough of waiting.

  Plus, he was going frigging stir-crazy.

  He’d verified that all guests were out on the trails right now, and he’d asked Cole to leave Pegasus and Bandit behind. Cooper had no idea whether Shelby had ever ridden a horse, had ever wanted to ride a horse, or had any desire to leave her cabin today, but he’d be damned if he’d let another day go by without trying to coerce her into coming outside and riding.

  He walked across the grass, bounded up her steps, and knocked on her door. A few moments later, the curtain fluttered, and he tipped his hand to his hat like an old-West cowboy as she peeked out.

  “Good morning,” he said as she opened the door a foot.

  “Hi.”

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, and underneath, her skin was smudged purple and gray. Her cheeks were pale, and he could see her collarbone jutting through the soft T-shirt she had on. Damn. It was going to take more than Jenny’s donuts to get this woman back to fighting weight.

  “You okay?” he asked, as if he couldn’t see the obvious answer to that in her face.

  “Sure. Yeah. Thank you.”

  Over her shoulder, he could see a mug and plate on the table. The plate held edges of bread, like a little kid had just eaten jam toast there but couldn’t stomach the crusts.

  “I see you mastered the toaster?”

  “Very funny. Yes, I managed.”

  He smiled. “I was hopeful, given that it’s been days since we’ve had to call 911 for you.”

  “Cooper?” Her eyebrows went upward. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes. You can come out for a ride.”

  “Huh?” She shook her head quickly, like she really didn’t understand.

  “A ride. On a horse.” He pointed down the hill, toward the stables. “All of the guests are out on the trails for the day. Cole left us two perfect horses. I wondered if maybe you’d like to get out of this cabin and go for a ride.”

  “I—don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” She fumbled with the curtain. “I just…I’m okay here, inside.”

  “No offense, Shelby, but if you’re going to come all the way to Montana—which is, I guess, pretty far from where you live—you cannot stay inside for a month. Not with these skies. Not with those mountains.” He pointed toward the Rockies, which rose like jagged sapphires against the western skyline. “It’d be criminal.”

  She smiled sadly. “Really.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I just—I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain. I’m kind of trying to keep to myself here. Not sure heading out on horseback is a good idea.”

  Cooper shook his head. “I beg to differ. Heading out on horseback is always a good idea.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  She moved to close the door, but Cooper put one finger on it. “I’ll have your horse saddled and ready in fifteen minutes. Nobody but me will see you, if that’s a concern.”

  He knew damn well it was a concern, but he wasn’t supposed to know that, so he had to play it like he was just the regular-Joe spurned fiancé who wanted to take her out riding.

  She tipped her head, but she didn’t close the door. Good. “Why do you want so badly for me to come?”

  “Because you’re here, and I’m here, and the sky is blue, and the horses need exercise.” He shrugged like that was all there was to it, rather than admitting she looked like a ghost who he was afraid might just float away on the next stiff breeze if he didn’t do something to stop her.

  “Maybe…maybe another time.”

  She closed the door softly, and he stood there for a long moment, cursing coercion skills that had apparently gone to crap. Then he sighed and turned around, headed back for another day of doing hell knew what.

  But he’d get through to her. He’d done it once, under the guise of having too much spaghetti. He could do it again.

  He just needed to figure out how.

  —

  Later that evening, the clanking of grill tools in the evening air startled Shelby as she sat on the tiny back porch of her cabin, staring out at the flowers up on the hillside. She’d sat down an hour ago, intending to try the yoga breathing some trainer had taught her back in some Midwestern city somewhere along. But three breaths in, she’d sighed and given up, no more convinced than ever that counting breaths could calm a body that didn’t even remember what calm felt like.

  Hearing the clanking of metal had her jerking her head toward Cooper’s cabin, where he’d lit his grill and seemed determined not to look her way as he waited for it to heat up.

  As she watched, he slid four enormous burgers onto the grill, and her mouth watered at the sound of the sizzle. She swallowed, thinking about the fridge just inside her cabin—the one filled with food she usually forced herself to eat because someone had decided it was the correct balance of carbohydrates, fiber, and vitamins.

  That someone was just never…her.

  Cooper closed the grill, uncapping a frosty beer and lifting it to his lips as he sat down in a beat-up old chair on his own back porch. Shelby smiled at the sight of its tattered arms, wondering how in the world a piece of furniture that ugly had ended up at the honeymoon cabin.

  “I know you’re lusting after my chair, but you can’t have it.” He didn’t look at her—just tipped his beer toward her before taking another drink.

  She smiled. “Wasn’t lusting.”

  “Yeah, you were. You’re sitting there on pressure-treated steps, and you’ve been there long enough that your butt’s probably asleep, and you want this chair.”

  “I don’t.”

  He winked. “Would if you tried it. It’s a damn good chair.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I’d let you sit in it, but I barely know you.”

  She laughed. “Good strategy. You know what they say about strangers and old chairs.”

  “What do they say?” He looked ov
er finally, eyebrows raised. He paused, then sipped his beer. “Never mind. They don’t say anything. There isn’t a thing about old chairs. Except that they’re awesome.”

  “Let me guess. You found that thing out on some trail ride, and you dragged it back here? And that’s why it looks so fabulous?”

  Cooper lifted his arms and looked down at the chair. “I resent your implication. And your adjective.”

  “Are you always this attached to furniture you just met?”

  “Nah. Takes me a good long time to get a chair worked in just right. And this one’s me-shaped perfection.”

  Shelby felt her eyebrows come together. “But I thought you just got here, like, a week ago.”

  “Yeah. Well.” The grill suddenly needed his attention. “Some chairs mold faster than others.”

  He flipped the burgers over, and Shelby’s stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl she hoped he couldn’t hear.

  “You eat dinner yet?”

  “Not yet.” She shrugged. “Not really hungry.”

  He looked over, eyebrows up again. “So that grumble I just heard from clear over here? That was maybe a bear in the woods? Not your stomach?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Must be.”

  “You want a burger?”

  God, yes, she wanted a burger. With a big, carb-loaded bun, gobs of ketchup, and some potato chips on the side.

  “Thanks. I’m all set. There’s plenty of food in my cabin.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “But whatever I don’t eat is going to Moose. He’ll be along in about twenty minutes to see what I saved.”

  “Who’s Moose?” she asked, trying not to look around too obviously for a giant, antlered creature.

  “He’s a dog. I think. Hard to tell, under all the fur. He’s a Whisper Creek fixture, and he can smell a burger about six miles out.”

  “And he’s why you make four giant hamburgers?”

  Cooper looked her straight in the eye. “Yeah. Has nothing to do with the fact that I figured you’ve had—what—a piece of toast and an apple today? And I thought you might be starving? So I put an extra burger on for you, hoping maybe you’d come over and eat it?”

  Shelby swallowed. “Oh. That was…really nice of you.”

  “I have ketchup, if that makes your decision easier. Pickles, too.”

  She smiled as the sizzle did her in. It wasn’t his smile.

  Wasn’t.

  “Do you have any cheese?”

  He smiled, deftly slapping square slices of cheese onto the burgers. “Come on over and have a burger, Shelby. I’ll even let you drink one of my beers, but don’t even think about sitting in my chair.”

  Chapter 7

  An hour later, Shelby set her empty beer bottle on Cooper’s railing, sighing in what sounded an awful lot like contentment as she placed a hand on her stomach.

  “Good?” He stood up from his chair and took her plate.

  “Delicious. Thank you.”

  He set their plates on the tiny porch table. “Another beer?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Afraid to drink and drive?” He pointed to her cabin. “Because it’s, like, thirty steps to your door. I can walk you home.”

  She smiled, and he loved the way it made a dimple appear in her right cheek. Her teeth were impossibly white—like, movie-star white—and he had a feeling her full lips were usually covered up in slick lipstick.

  He liked them just the way they were.

  “Just not much of a drinker.” Her voice made him blink and focus on her eyes instead. They were a green that reminded him of the pines down by Whisper Creek, right after a hard rain, when it was misty and quiet.

  For the past hour, he’d worked hard to keep conversation light and casual, filling her in on what he’d learned thus far about Whisper Creek and its people. He had to keep catching himself because he’d supposedly been here only a week longer than she had, but despite his almost-slip on the chair thing, she hadn’t seemed to notice.

  Yeah. Kyla shouldn’t have worried about him sticking to the cover story. He was totally selling it.

  Shelby cleared her throat. “You know, you seem to know an awful lot about this place, for just being here a couple of weeks.”

  His gut sank as her eyebrows went upward. Or…maybe not selling it, so much.

  “I’m just curious.” He shrugged. “And I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. I’m not so good at being idle. Or, apparently, quiet. So I ask a lot of questions.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” She rolled her eyes, which made him laugh, because if she had any idea how many questions he wasn’t asking, she’d be running for her cabin. He hadn’t bitten his proverbial tongue so often in a conversation since before he’d joined the force.

  “Job hazard, I guess.”

  “So what do you really do, back in Boston?”

  Cooper took a deep breath as his own words from the other night came winging his way. Here he was dying to know more about her life—while pretending not to care—but the first question she shot his way about his own personal history had him shutting down fast.

  But if he ever wanted her to open up, he supposed he’d have to start, right?

  “I was—a cop.”

  “Was?”

  “Past tense, yeah.” He nodded bitterly.

  “And…then you won the lottery and retired early?”

  Ha. “Something like that.”

  She studied him, and weirdly, it didn’t freak him out. “Kind of young to have that kind of career in your rearview, aren’t you?”

  “Not so young.”

  “Young enough. Why’d you stop?”

  Cooper hid behind another swallow as he formulated words that would make sense, be mostly true…and not have her wishing she hadn’t asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Most things are.” She nodded, but instead of pushing, she just gazed at the old oak behind their cabins.

  He braced himself for a follow-up question, but none came. Instead, she just sat there in the Adirondack chair he’d pulled around from the front porch, not asking any questions.

  But whether she was just being polite, or didn’t actually care, he couldn’t tell.

  He wished that didn’t bother him.

  “Did you like it?” she finally asked. “Being a cop?”

  “Loved it.” He nodded. “Mostly. Till I didn’t.”

  “What was your favorite part?”

  He took a deep breath. What had been his favorite part? Could he even remember, now that it was all colored by how the last six months had gone down?

  “The kids,” he said, landing on something that hadn’t changed. “I loved getting through to the kids, before the bad guys got through to them.”

  “Did you work in the schools?”

  “Sometimes. I did a lot of youth center programming. That was more my thing—working with the kids who thought they were too tough for the system.”

  Her eyes met his, and then they narrowed slightly. “Do you miss it?”

  He paused, both because he wasn’t sure how to answer that particular question, and because he couldn’t help but appreciate the way she was skating around the why-did-you-leave question now that he’d sidestepped it.

  “I miss parts of it. But other parts—not so much.”

  “Think you’ll ever go back?”

  “To police work? Or Boston?”

  She shrugged. “Either. Both.”

  “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “I just—I don’t know. There are a lot of reasons to go back, and a lot of reasons not to. Both the job and Boston. I don’t know where I’ll land, once I finish sorting it all out.”

  “Fair enough.” She nodded. “Sorry if I’m treading on personal territory.”

  “You totally are.”

  She bit her lip, and it made him smile. “Sorry. No more deep questions. I’ll stick to the shallow kind.”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t kno
w. What’s your favorite kind of, um, beer? Is that safe enough?”

  “Sam Adams. Duh. And yes. Safe enough. How about yours?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Okay.” He tried to think of a similar question. Maybe if he lobbed enough distractors her way, he’d finally be able to ask a real one. “Favorite car?”

  “Anything that could take me away from my current life.”

  Her eyes widened after the words came out, and she held up her empty beer bottle, like she was surprised to see how much she’d drunk.

  He fiddled with a loose string on his chair, trying to look casual. “Is this where I pretend I didn’t hear that, because you clearly didn’t mean to say it? Or is this where I push for details?”

  “Depends how polite you are. Or nosy.”

  “I was a cop, Shelby. Nosy comes with the territory.”

  “Shit.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, and she took a glug of beer big enough to come back as an impressive belch in a moment.

  “So? Let’s hear it. What’s your story? A woman your age doesn’t usually just show up at a dude ranch alone for a month, unless she’s got a good reason.”

  He saw her swallow hard as she looked away. Then she dragged her eyes back to his. “I’ve got a pretty good reason.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’ll have to guess.”

  “You’re a cop. What happened to just the facts, ma’am?”

  “Not a cop anymore. Not tied to cop rules.”

  “Shit again.”

  He laughed. “You know, you swear kind of a lot for a Southern gal.”

  “I’ve sworn exactly twice, and I used the same word both times, so really, it counts as one.”

  “And you have a Southern gal’s way of making up rules.”

  “No, I don’t.” She shook her head, and he saw her jaw tighten. “I’m not a stereotype, Cooper.”

  He paused. “Never would have suggested you are, Shelby. Especially since I don’t even know who you are, besides a woman staying alone on a Montana ranch, wishing for wheels to take her away from her own life.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard not to ask the questions when you give me an opening like that.”