She risked a look at Cooper. He was looking at the pile curiously, not understanding what the strange hodgepodge was. But as Emma sorted through it, looking for the box, his expression changed, sliding from confused to shocked.
She found the right box and clamored to her feet and thrust it at him. “Here,” she said, her voice shaking.
Cooper hesitantly took it from her and opened it. The medal was a star with blue ribbons. Cooper pulled the tab of the cardboard bed and lifted it up. With forefinger and thumb, he lifted out a diamond ring.
Emma gasped. How could she have missed it? The answer was simple, really—she’d missed it because the box meant nothing to her. She’d thrown it into this tote with the rest of the things and never looked back.
Cooper was frowning as he returned the ring to the bottom of the little box, the cardboard bed with the medal fastened to it on top. He didn’t look at Emma as he tucked it all back in and shut the lid. He didn’t look at her as he put it in his pocket. He withdrew the other box from his pocket and held it out to her, his gaze on her bed.
The heat of her shame flooded Emma’s cheeks. She took the box from him and began the humiliating process of returning it, along with everything else, to her bag. Cooper watched, studying each item as she stoically put them inside. He didn’t lift his gaze until she’d zipped the bag.
She could scarcely look at him as she dropped her bag to the floor and, with her boot, nudged it back under her bed. What he must think of her! Emma pushed her hair out of her face and folded her arms tightly around herself. Why didn’t he go? He had the medal; he’d seen her brought as low as she could possibly go. Why wouldn’t he just leave?
She couldn’t bear his silence and looked up. Cooper was studying her as if he were trying to figure out how the pieces of her fit together. They don’t fit, obviously! There are pieces of me all over Los Angeles, don’t you get that? She couldn’t bear the silence, the scrutiny. “Jesus, Cooper, can we go now?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and soft. Ambivalent.
She moved, brushing past him as she fled her room and the evidence of how deplorable she was. She strode down the hallway, down the stairs, gaining speed as she moved.
“Hey!” Madeline said happily as Emma barreled down the stairs, Cooper right behind her. “It’s just about happy hour—”
“No,” Emma said curtly. “Cooper has a plane to catch.”
“Oh.” Madeline’s voice was full of disappointment. “Well, Cooper, I hope we see you again.”
“Not likely!” Emma shouted, and pushed through the screen door, bounding down the steps to the car, ignoring the dogs that were jumping around her, demanding attention she would not give them. They may as well learn it now, too, Emma thought. She had an amazing capacity to turn off, to disengage.
She had already turned the engine when Cooper slid into the passenger seat. He said nothing, just stared straight ahead. Disgusted with her, obviously, but the joke was on Cooper. He couldn’t possibly be more disgusted with Emma than she was with herself.
In fact, Cooper didn’t speak at all until they were pulling into the parking lot of the park. And then he asked a very simple question, for which there were no simple answers.
He looked at her, covered her hand with his. Gently. Tenderly. “Why?”
“Don’t try and understand,” she said roughly, her gaze on the trees in front of her. She owed him no explanation, no matter how much she wanted to give him one. No matter how much she wished she had one. She couldn’t make sense of it, much less try and explain it. The humiliations ran together, overlapping, until there was no beginning and no end to them.
Cooper opened the passenger door and put one leg out. But then he turned his head and fixed those gray eyes on her.
Kryptonite, she warned herself. Don’t speak, don’t speak.
“Emma—”
“Get out,” she said. “Get out.”
He didn’t argue.
He’d scarcely closed the door before she sped off. She drove blindly, tears filling her eyes. She’d never felt so debased, not even the day she’d found Laura in her father’s bed. At least that indignity had faded with time, the edges of it fraying. This was heartbreaking and, she was fairly certain, the pain of it would never fade.
Emma had never felt so low.
When she reached the ranch, she ran up the stairs, past Libby and Madeline’s chatter in the kitchen. She took a hot shower, scalding hot, and tried to get that thing, that humiliation, off of her. It wouldn’t come off, of course, because there was no way she could possibly scrub her own essence from her skin. Leo could say it was okay all he wanted, but Emma had seen the truth on Cooper’s face and in his eyes.
It was not okay. It was not okay.
SIXTEEN
Sleep was impossible for Cooper in the bizarre Beaver Room. He tossed and turned, wanting desperately to hit something besides a feather pillow.
He closed his eyes, but he kept seeing all the items Emma had—had what, stolen?—fall from that worn leather bag. He kept seeing the way she sorted through the things, looking for the box, tossing aside this tie clip, that pen, a tie. His first reaction had been disgust—it wasn’t a great leap of logic to figure out how Emma had come by those objects.
But what sort of person did that?
He was trying not to be judgmental about it. A lot of people in Los Angeles slept around and, in fact, Cooper had a couple of partners who had fallen into that category before they’d married. God knew Cooper would be a hypocrite to think he was somehow better than that—he’d been through his share of women in his life.
But there was something very disturbing in taking things from one’s conquests like little trophies.
Cooper woke up cranky and tired. He didn’t want to go skiing, but he was too much a guy’s guy to let Luke down. He’d do it, he’d go, he told himself, and then he’d get the hell out of Pine River. He’d take that goddamn medal back to Carl and tell Michael or Jack they had to handle the event up here. Not him. He was going to put the distance of space and time between him and the girl who had, against all odds, crawled under his skin to bite him.
Luke was in a good mood when he picked up Cooper and chatted on the way to the ski valley about everything and nothing. Fortunately, his enthusiasm for the day didn’t require a lot of interactive conversation from Cooper beyond the occasional grunt of agreement or a yes or no.
He couldn’t push Emma from his mind.
She was a beautiful, gorgeous, puzzle of a woman. Cooper had never been the type to think too long about personalities or idiosyncrasies. People were what they were, and he never bothered to examine it. But Emma? How weird, how unhappy, how extraordinary could one woman be? He wanted a woman as beautiful as Emma to be reasonable, to have all those things going for her that would make her a perfect mate.
And why did he want that? Why did he need ordinary? Wouldn’t that bore him after a time? Didn’t it always? Jill was pretty and accomplished and a great hostess (which she’d pointed out to him more than once) and would be a great mother. And yet, there had been something missing for Cooper in that relationship. Jill’s perfection held no intrigue for him.
Emma Tyler was the other extreme, however, and not in a good way.
There had always been something about her that had set her apart from all the other gorgeous blondes in LA, but who would have guessed it was something so bizarre? She’d seemed secure to him before this week, but now, he’d describe her as floating without a rudder.
He was granted a reprieve from the endless loop of thoughts in his head when they reached the ski area and strapped on the sticks. It was great snow, great runs, and it was a good and solid diversion from the strange week he’d spent in Pine River. At the end of the day, he and Luke dined on steaks and beer and relived every turn on every run.
At the end of the meal, Luke b
rought up Emma. “Maddie said you were out at the ranch yesterday,” he’d said as they waited for the check. “That you and Emma came together and left together.”
“Yep,” Cooper said.
“So did you get what you came for?” Luke asked, looking down.
Cooper got more than he had come for, so much more he didn’t even know what he had now. “Yeah,” he said. “She had it.”
Luke looked up. “What now?” he asked. “Are you leaving our little slice of heaven in Pine River?”
Cooper thought of the moment he’d opened his eyes and seen Emma standing at the living room window in that shirt, and the way she’d climbed on top of him, the soft look in her eye that was so different than anything he’d seen from her yet. “I’m going back to LA in the morning,” Cooper said. “A couple of days there, and then I’m off to Texas to help my mom with the holidays.”
“Bummer,” Luke said. “There should be some good snow between now and Christmas. Hey, if you’re back this way at the end of the year, I’d love to have you at our wedding.” Luke smiled. “I should qualify that by saying that I’m not actually authorized to extend that invitation . . . but I think I can pull a few strings.”
Cooper laughed. “Thanks. But I doubt I will make it.”
“Nevertheless,” Luke said, waving a hand. “It’s going to be a small wedding. I’ll put you on the list just in case.” He reached for his wallet as the waitress deposited the check.
The next morning, Cooper was up at dawn, eager to get out of the Beaver Room and Pine River. He figured that if he reached Denver by three o’clock, he could catch a flight to LA and still make cocktail hour at Marnie and Eli’s house. It was a four-hour drive to Denver; he had plenty of time.
Cooper packed up the rental car and headed out on Main Street. At the end of the street, he turned right, toward the old Aspen Highway. The route took him past the city park and the bench where Emma sat in the afternoons, watching the kids.
He thought about her knit cap and the long strands of blond hair spilling out from beneath it.
Cooper turned at the next corner and drove around the block, coming up to a stop sign directly across from the park. It was empty; it was cold this morning, the sun made bleak by a thin gray haze that had overtaken the sky. He could imagine Emma sitting on that peeling bench, watching kids play. He recalled with a small shiver how angry, how livid he’d been when he’d seen her sitting there a couple of days ago. And yet, at the same time, he’d felt a sense of isolation and loneliness in her as he’d strode to that bench to confront her. Maybe he was reading something into her that wasn’t there. She certainly deserved his disdain, but Cooper couldn’t shake the feeling that she deserved compassion, too.
He was loathsomely familiar with that incongruent feeling—he’d had it many times for Derek. No matter how charming Derek had been over the years, or the promises he’d make and break, or the assurances that this time, he really had changed, Cooper could always sense that it wasn’t so. He truly believed it was beyond Derek’s ability to change. It wasn’t like Cooper was clairvoyant or anything like that, but he had a strange sixth sense about certain people. He had it about Derek, and he had it about Emma.
Cooper glanced at his watch. He should go, get on a plane, get the hell out of here and away from crazy. But when he put the car in gear, he turned back into town and drove down Main Street to Elm.
Emma’s car was not at the Kendrick house. Cooper drove on, to the end of the street, and turned west. Not toward Denver. Toward Homecoming Ranch. He gave a stern talking to himself on the drive up to the ranch. This was a stupid thing to do. Emma wasn’t his problem, so what was the point of this? What the hell was he doing?
He liked her, that was what. It was hard to admit to himself because she was so enigmatic and peculiar. Was it because she was beautiful? Was this infatuation because his body snapped to attention every time he looked at her? Was he so shallow? Or was it something deeper than that?
When he turned into the gates at the ranch, he noticed a couple of men were down in the meadow, working on the fence. Cooper drove up and pulled into the circular drive. He stepped out of his car, shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth, and looked around. Wind chimes were tinkling somewhere nearby, and the breeze was chilly. He looked at the house, expecting the sisters to spill out, the dogs to come out from under the porch, to see a tail of smoke rising from the chimney. But the house was silent.
Cooper glanced around. He felt a little foolish being here after all that had gone on between them. A glutton for punishment. A boy with no game, no head for women. But Cooper also knew if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t reach for her now, he never would, and Emma . . . well, he feared what would happen to Emma if he, or someone, didn’t grab her.
SEVENTEEN
Emma filled each dog bowl with a cup and a half of kibble while the four dogs sat anxiously, each of them drooling, awaiting the signal that they were allowed to eat. As she filled Roscoe’s bowl, she thought she heard something outside and paused.
Roscoe whimpered.
“Yeah, okay,” she said, and finished filling the bowls. “Eat,” she said, and the four dogs lunged for their individual bowls.
She sealed the lid to the bucket of dog food—which they now had to keep in the house, as Rufus had chewed a hole through a lid—and pulled on her mittens. She picked up the bucket and walked outside the garage, strolling toward the house, her mind miles away. In sunny California. With a pair of gray eyes. The strain of having Cooper discover her awful secret had taken a toll—Emma felt as if she were moving in a fog, her life as she’d known it fading away, and a new, harsh light spilling down on her.
A movement caught her eye as Emma moved slowly past her car. She glanced up and stopped midstride. Cooper was on the porch, peering through a window. Only then did she see his car, parked just behind hers.
He turned and started down the steps. He’d only managed one stair when he noticed Emma.
Her pulse began to pound. She put her hand to her head and her knit cap, then self-consciously looked down at the big coat she wore, the rain boots she’d donned to walk down to the barn. Why was he here? He had what he wanted, he’d been so disgusted—
Emma suddenly panicked and dropped the bucket. The sound of it hitting the hard ground startled her and she said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey,” he said, and put up his hands, palms out, almost like he was surrendering.
“I thought you left. Did you come alone? Who else is here?” she exclaimed, and whirled around, turning a complete circle, expecting someone to leap out at her. Who, Carl? That made no sense.
Cooper lowered his hands. “It’s just me, Emma. Calm down. I was hoping we could talk a moment.”
“No,” she said flatly, backing away, her foot knocking into the bucket she’d dropped. “Why? About what? We’ve said all there is to say. I mean you certainly have, and I damn sure don’t have anything else to say.”
“Just humor me,” he said, taking a step forward.
Humor him? “Are you kidding? I am completely humiliated, Cooper! What more do you want?”
“I don’t want that. I never wanted that,” he said firmly. “The medal is behind us,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “It is what it is. But I . . . I really want to talk to you.” He seemed a little anxious, almost uncertain. As if he wasn’t sure why he was here.
His uncertainty only made it worse for Emma. She felt like a leper. She wanted to die, to crawl under the porch or a car until he left. “God, Cooper, do you have to drag this out?” she pleaded, pressing her mittened hands to her temple. “Please, just say it, whatever it is you think you have to say and leave me alone.”
“Could we go inside?” he asked, jerking his thumb at the house. “It’s cold as hell out here.”
“No! The last time I saw you, you threatened to have
me arrested. You abducted me.”
“I didn’t—” Cooper sighed. “I’m not abducting you. I’m asking you. I only suggested we go inside because it’s freezing.”
Emma didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to hear whatever he felt the need to say to her now that she’d been exposed. She folded her arms, debating.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
Emma looked around her. “Do what?”
“Fold your arms across your body like that. You do it when you’re unsure. It’s like you’re protecting yourself. But you don’t need to fear me, Emma. Let’s go inside.”
How did he see that? Emma dropped her arms. “No. There is nothing left to say, nothing to talk about.”
Cooper ran a hand over his head. “Okay. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of the house, what about the garage? Or the barn? We can even sit in my car if you want. Give me fifteen minutes, Emma. What have you got to lose?”
He had a point—she’d already lost herself completely. But why did he care? “I don’t understand why you’re being so weird.”
He actually smiled a little. “I find it highly ironic that you, of all people, would say that.”
He was right—it was ironic. Emma frowned. She folded her arms again. “Okay, seriously,” she said, calmer now. “What do you want? Why did you drive all the way out here? I mean, I lied, I fessed up, you were disgusted, and you left. So go already.”
“Because I’ve had time to think. Because I want to smooth things out between us before I go. I don’t want to leave it like . . . like it is, Emma. Who knows when we might run across each other again and work an event?”
“I quit, remember? I won’t be back in LA, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“God, you’re stubborn,” he said. “Never say never. You know as well as I that you could end up in LA again. Surely you eventually have to work again. I don’t want to stumble across you at some event and it be so strange that we’re both uncomfortable. Where’s the harm? Fifteen minutes.”
The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River) Page 21
