Damn, damn, damn.
He was totally falling for her.
And he didn’t even know who she was.
Chapter 12
“Who’s the girl?” Three hours later, Cooper was accosted by none other than Jasper as he leaned against a tree in the park, watching Shelby make her way down an aisle of craft tables. He had a feeling she didn’t normally get to do anything unaccompanied, so when she’d waved him off a few minutes ago and told him he didn’t need to drool over jewelry and novice paintings with her, he’d simply nodded and positioned himself where he could still see her every move.
She might think she was invisible under her wig and glasses, but it was still eating at him that he didn’t know whether she was likely to be recognized or accosted—and if so, by whom.
“She’s a guest at Whisper Creek.”
“Why the wig?”
Cooper snapped his attention to Jasper. “Huh?”
“Nothing.” Jasper sipped from a travel mug. “Just wondering why she’s undercover.”
Cooper cycled through what he knew about Jasper, which wasn’t very damn much. But he sure would have remembered if the guy had been a cop, sometime along. That’s a detail that would have stuck.
“What makes you think she’s wearing a wig?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Can just tell. She famous or something?”
“Maybe.” That wasn’t a lie, right?
“So you pulled the short straw and got to spend the day looking at crappy art rather than riding? Lucky you.”
“I know.” Cooper tipped his head to keep an eye on Shelby as she rounded the end of one row of tables and started up the next. “Could be worse, though. I’m just trying to show her around a little—give her a taste of the Wild West, Carefree-style.”
At that moment, Shelby looked over at him and smiled, waving quickly like she was assuring him she was fine, and again, Cooper felt that wrench twist his innards. She was like an innocent child wrapped around a ridiculously sexy woman, and he hated that he was so desperate to peel back her layers and figure out what really lay inside.
“You want to really show her what Carefree’s like? Bring her to Salty’s one of these nights.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Cooper shook his head. Just what they needed was a bar full of half-in-the-bag cowboys and really bad karaoke. She’d be so impressed.
Jasper laughed. “Fine. Maybe bring her down to my place for open mic or something. Less alcohol, more talent. Generally. No promises.”
“Maybe I will.”
“You could give the mic a whirl, too, you know. I’d be happy to put you on the roster anytime.”
“Nah. I don’t sing.”
“Not what I heard.” Jasper tipped his head. “Somebody told me you’re the king of bunkhouse country.”
“Somebody’s feeding you shit.”
Jasper laughed again. “Tell you what—I’ll give you a free week’s worth of coffee if you’ll come do it.”
“Damn.” Cooper sighed. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I could use somebody down here who can actually play more than three chords on the guitar.”
“I only know four,” Cooper lied. He’d been playing since junior high—had even been offered a partial scholarship to Berklee back in the day. But he’d had different dreams.
He sighed. Maybe he should have taken the Berklee thing when it was offered, looking at how things had turned out.
“Perfect.” Jasper clapped him on the shoulder. “Then come on down Wednesday night. I’ll give you top billing.”
“I don’t want top billing. I don’t want any billing.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “You say that, but I think your mystery woman there would love to hear you play. Total aphrodisiac, y’know? Chicks dig musicians.”
Cooper could hear him laughing as he walked back toward his café, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, sure there was no damn way he’d ever get up in front of a crowd by choice. He’d had to face enough banks of microphones in the past year—some of them friendly, most of them not—and he wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience, even if this time it’d be one microphone, a friendly crowd, and a guitar to shield him.
Shelby joined him just then, smiling softly as she looked up from under the brim of her floppy hat.
He cleared his throat, trying not to notice how her gold necklace dropped perfectly into the vee of her shirt. “Anybody ever tell you you’re short?”
“I have thirty-five pairs of heels that tell me that on a daily basis, yes.”
He looked at her feet, currently housed in a pair of plain black flip-flops that could serve as free giveaways at a spa or something. But her toenails were perfectly shaped and painted a delicate pink, and her skin looked so, so soft.
He pulled his eyes away, shaking his head internally. “You—um—you hungry?”
“Actually, yes.” She tipped her head like the realization mystified her. “Which is weird, because how many donuts did I inhale just hours ago?”
“A gentleman wouldn’t comment.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Three,” he said. “I’m not a gentleman.”
She elbowed him. “No one would accuse you, I’m sure.” She peered around at the shops and cafés that edged the park. “So where’s the best place for lunch?”
“Depends. What do you feel like eating?”
“Oh, whatever’s easiest. I’m not picky.”
Cooper looked down at her. “What do you want to eat, Shelby?”
“Um.” She swallowed, like he’d caught her doing something wrong. “Honestly, whatever.”
“Okay.” He sighed and started walking. “There’s a great Japanese place over on Magnolia that does raw eel like nobody’s business.”
She stutter-stepped, making him smile. Then she touched his arm gently. “What other choices are there?”
“What are you hungry for?”
“A hamburger. Fries. Ketchup. Pickles.”
He laughed. “Complicated palate, princess.” Then he took her hand, and she let him. “Come on. I know just the place.”
—
An hour later, Shelby wiped her mouth and leaned back in her chair, so deliciously full she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move till bedtime. When Cooper had pulled her into the quaint café across from the park, she’d looked around dubiously. It had looked a little froofy for what she’d assumed was his taste, but he’d been in town longer. She’d trusted that he’d known what he was doing.
When he’d handed her a laminated menu, she’d had to take a deep breath and put it down so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking. It was exactly the kind of menu she and Daddy had loved—the kind loaded with short-stack pancakes and eggs-over-easy, sausages and burgers and hand-cut fries, and drinks that came in a frosty mug, delivered by an overworked waitress.
And donuts. Always the donuts.
For years on tour, they’d loved to sneak out of their trailer at dawn, before the crew was awake, before townspeople even knew they’d rolled in for that night’s concert. They’d take their bikes out of the back and they’d ride around town in the dewy dawn, looking for a half-lit sign that advertised breakfast all day, or twenty-four-hour coffee, or for a place that looked decrepit but had a full parking lot.
They’d park their bikes, pull their baseball hats down low, and find a seat. They’d order off those laminated menus and they’d talk about the news, the weather, the folks on the spinning stools—anything to pretend they were just another couple of people passing through town on their way to something else completely normal…rather than to a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans later that night.
“Think you’ll survive till supper now?” Cooper’s voice jarred her out of her memory as he pointed at her empty plate.
She swallowed, nodding as she pasted on a tiny smile. Time to return to the present. “It’s a possibility.”
“Burgers meet your five-star appro
val?”
“Best burgers I’ve ever had have come from the sketchiest-looking diners.”
“Really.” He stretched out the word, sitting back, eyebrows up like he couldn’t believe she’d ever been in a diner, let alone enjoyed the experience.
“Really. I could give you a list of recommendations—in almost any state—should you ever get the urge to do a diner crawl someday.”
“I might just take you up on that.” He tipped his head. “Except that the idea of it makes you look—I don’t know—really sad.”
“Sorry. Just…memories.” She shrugged slowly, trying to capture the tears that threatened behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do in front of Cooper was start crying, for Heaven’s sake.
“Gotcha.” He looked at her for a beat longer, then put his hands behind his head and looked out the window. “Want to go see who’s playing in the park?”
Her eyes followed his to a white bandstand straight out of the same movie set the entire downtown area seemed cut from.
She smiled. “You must get some really big acts out here, with that stage.”
“You know it. Jasper—the coffee guy—is in charge of booking the entertainment. Bands with more than five members have to hit the next town over.”
“Nice.” Shelby laughed, then grabbed the bill as the waitress set it down next to Cooper.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He reached out. “My treat.”
“Only a gentleman would treat.” She winked as she laid money on the table. “And you already told me you aren’t one. You got the coffee, and the donuts. This one’s on me.”
“Well, if I’d known that, I would have ordered the filet.” He stood up, coming around the table to pull out her chair, and though this was something people did do for her all the time, it struck her completely differently when Cooper did it.
“Let’s go check out the entertainment,” he said, taking her hand in his. It made her feel…safe, in a way that her bodyguards never had.
And that was a pretty heady sensation.
They crossed the street and found a free park bench while the band was warming up for the late-afternoon concert, and Shelby pulled her hat down lower when she noticed someone eyeing her for a beat too long.
At the same moment, Cooper slid an arm across the back of the bench, his fingertips just barely touching her shoulder. Had he seen the woman, too?
He leaned close to her ear, making her shiver. “I have an idea.”
“That should probably scare me.”
“Possibly. But here’s the thing—enough people know me out here already to know there’s no damn way I’d ever have a chance with some Hollywood celebrity type, so if you want to pretend for the afternoon that you’re just my out-of-town girlfriend, in for the weekend, we could totally sell that you’re not, in fact, anybody special.”
Shelby half-snorted, then darted her hand across her nose, embarrassed. “Sorry. That very ladylike sound wasn’t a reaction to the idea. Just the supposition that if I was your girlfriend, then obviously I’d be nobody special.”
“Bad word choice.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. Somebody normal.” Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind. Somebody not famous, okay? That’s what I meant.”
“Gotcha. But I guess my agreement would depend on one thing.”
“Which is?”
“How much do these people know about your former girlfriend? Because I’m not sure I want to be lumped into the same pot as someone who, A—didn’t fully appreciate your spaghetti, and B—would have hurt you so badly that you headed almost the entire way across the country to get away from your own home.”
She braced herself, not looking at him, because she knew she was poking at territory he’d been evasive about already. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t help herself.
Maybe it was the way his fingertips brushed her bare shoulder. Maybe it was the way his eyes drank her in like he wasn’t even looking at the outside of her—just the inside. Maybe it was the way he held her hand like she was precious glass, like he’d leap in front of a car to save her if one came roaring by.
She sighed.
Or maybe she was making all of that up because she was so damn lonely she didn’t know up from down right now. He’d probably be mortified if he knew how she was taking his actions and amping them up into something he’d never intended them to be.
Just then, the lead singer of the tiny group onstage took the microphone, introducing himself and the band members, and Cooper turned toward the bandstand.
Saved again, Shelby thought. The man was a master of evading personal questions, even if he hadn’t engineered it this particular time.
The band started playing, and Shelby found herself mesmerized by the interaction of fiddle and keyboard and guitar. They played a lively set that had kids dancing up near the stage, and it was obvious to Shelby as she watched the band members that they were having fun playing on this tiny stage, in this tiny park, in this little slice of Heaven, Montana.
She swallowed hard. When had she stopped having fun onstage? How many years ago? She watched their wide smiles, heard their gorgeous harmonies, loved how they played back-to-back, then hopped around the stage so they could all see the audience at all angles.
She remembered doing that with Daddy, way long ago. There was nothing he’d loved better than to set up a surprise afternoon concert on a town green, somewhere close to where the big concert was planned. He’d pick just a couple of his guys and a minimum of equipment, and they’d go set up and play for an hour. Not long enough for everybody and his brother to text their friends to come—just long enough to have some fun with the people who were already there.
She remembered sitting on the steps of too many bandstands to count, dressed in whatever collection of clothing she’d piled on that morning, always with a ribbon in her hair to match. And she’d watch the audience watching her daddy. She’d watch the women hold their hands to their hearts, she’d watch the men wishing they could buy him a beer and sit down to shoot the shit after the set, she’d watch the teenagers pretending they weren’t listening.
And then Daddy would pull her up onstage and hand her a microphone, and she’d sing a couple of songs she and Daddy had written. He’d give her her own bow, and he’d give her full writing credits, which had always made her heart just about burst, because seriously, she was just a kid. What did she know?
“Hey.” Cooper’s voice was soft in her ear as he reached up and touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
At that moment, she realized he was wiping away a tear, and she pulled away from him, swiping at her eyes.
Dammit.
But he didn’t ask any more questions—just squeezed her hand. She assumed he’d ask if she wanted to leave, but he didn’t…and weirdly, she didn’t want to go just yet. She wanted to watch this little family band. She wanted to see them laugh, see them love their audience, see them be…happy. It reminded her of the better times, of Daddy at his best…his happiest.
And a tiny part of her smiled.
She looked down at her hand, entwined with Cooper’s, and she took a deep breath, feeling a warm tingle steal through her limbs, straight from her fingers.
Maybe she was just another guest to him—that was a huge, glaring possibility.
But to her, it was becoming all too clear that Cooper Davis was not just another guy.
Chapter 13
On the way back to the ranch, Cooper flipped on the radio and found it tuned to some pop station he wouldn’t have chosen, but didn’t totally hate. Since he figured Shelby’d had her fill of country music back in the park, he didn’t change the station to his usual favorite.
“Thanks for taking me into town,” Shelby said. “I might have to marry Jasper, just for his coffee.”
“You’ll have to fight Lexi for him. She staked a claim when she arrived.”
Shelby laughed. “How does Gunnar feel about tha—”
She
broke off, tipping her head toward the radio. A song had just come on by some young thing named Tara Gibson—which he knew only because as a joke, Phoebe had loaded her entire collection of Tara’s songs onto his phone six months ago.
He felt Shelby’s eyes on him, but when he turned to meet them, she averted hers.
He pointed to the radio, a hunch tickling at his innards—one he couldn’t quite get hold of, but one that was growing fast.
“You know this one?”
She laughed, but it was bitter, not amused. “Yep.”
“My sister’s addicted to this artist.” He rolled his eyes. “I can’t stand most of what she listens to.”
“I’m sure.” He saw her arms tighten around her middle, but she didn’t look at him.
“It’s funny. I actually like this one, though.”
“The song?” She turned toward him.
He shook his head. “Not so much, no.” He saw her shoulders fall. “But her voice slays me.”
Shelby turned toward the window, but not before he saw the tiniest smile sneak up her face.
Huh.
—
The next day, after he’d spent hours glued to his laptop, Cooper clicked through the ten Web pages he had open while he dialed his sister.
“Hey, Coop. You miss me already?” Phoebe’s laughing voice answered, and like always, it gouged him down deep.
“Always, hon, even though you’re a pain in my neck.”
“Am not.”
“Hey—what do you know about Tara Gibson?”
Phoebe paused. “Wow. There’s a question I never expected to hear out of my brother’s mouth.”
“I know.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just general curiosity.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Yeah, she’d totally buy that…for about a second. He needed a cover story. “Buddy of mine’s working her tour. He was asking.”
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