Head Over Heels

by Susan Andersen

  “But I didn’t mean to put them on you!”

  Veronica laughed. “You’re a female, hon. It’s our God-given right to plant our cold feet on the nearest warm surface.”

  Lizzy glanced over her shoulder, all big eyes. “You’re not mad at me, then?”

  “Of course I’m not mad at you.” And damn you, Crystal, if you’re the one who put this uncertainty in her, this willingness to accept blame for every little mishap. “I was just startled. Don’t you have any slippers, though?”

  “I have some at my daddy’s house.”

  Veronica knew that sooner or later she’d have to talk to Lizzy about her parents, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so now. “So, did you meet Mr. Blackstock?”

  “Nuh-uh. When I saw him in the kitchen, I came up here.”

  “Which is an extremely smart thing to do when you come across a strange man. When in doubt, fade away, I always say. But I’ll introduce you, because you’ll probably run into him again. The rooms he’s renting don’t have their own kitchen, so we have to share ours with him.” Which didn’t thrill her any more than it did Lizzy.

  The alarm clock on the nightstand went off, and Veronica reached across her niece to turn it off. “Rats. I suppose we’d better get up. Do you have a robe in your room?”

  Lizzy shook her head but gave Veronica a shy smile. “It’s warmer downstairs, though.”

  “Okay. Grab a pair of my socks out of the top drawer for now, and after school we’ll go get you some slippers and a robe. I want you to think about what color you’d like to paint your room, too. That white is sort of boring, don’t you think?”

  Lizzy’s big brown eyes showed a spark of interest. “We’re gonna paint my room?”

  “I think we should. Jazz it up a little, you know?” God knew the entire house needed help if she hoped to sell it so she and Lizzy could get back to civilization anytime soon. And Lizzy’s room was the perfect place to start—it would give her niece a lift while they lived here. “Are you ready to make a run for the kitchen?” Lizzy nodded and Veronica said, “Okay, on the count of three, then, here we go. One, two, three!” She tossed back the blankets, and they scrambled off the bed. Lizzy got herself a pair of woolen socks while Veronica gathered together the clothing she’d need for the day. Their teeth chattered.

  “Man, oh, man!” Veronica shivered. “I’d forgotten how cold it gets up here. I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick, but you go ahead downstairs and get warm.”

  Lizzy shot her an apprehensive look. “What if Mr. Blackstock’s still down there?”

  “Oh, sweetie, he won’t hurt you. He’s a nice man.” May lightning not strike her dead for such a bald-faced lie, but Cooper Blackstock exuded much too much sexuality for her to seriously believe it was little girls he posed a threat to, and she wouldn’t have Lizzy scared.

  “Couldn’t I just stay here and wait for you?”

  “Well, sure, if it’ll make you feel more comfortable. Put those socks on, though, before you freeze your tootsies off. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  She didn’t bother to dress, just did her business, washed her hands in cold water because she knew it would take forever for hot to make its way up through the old pipes, and brushed her teeth. She was out again in record time. “Okay, kiddo, let’s go warm up!”

  They raced down the stairs, and Lizzy was actually giggling when they burst into the kitchen. At the sight of Coop reading a paper at the table, however, her laughter died in her throat. She skidded to a halt, drawing back against her aunt.

  Veronica curled her hands over her shoulders and looked at Coop over Lizzy’s head. He’d looked up at their arrival, and a smile that was surprisingly sweet curved his lips as his gaze settled on Lizzy. His dark eyes softened. “Hey, Little Bit.”

  Arrested by an expression she never in a gajillion years would’ve expected to see on that rabble-rouser face, Veronica had to shake herself free of its spell. “Um, Lizzy, this is Mr. Blackstock, the man I was telling you about. Coop, this is my niece, Lizzy Davis.”

  Something tightened his face for an instant, but the expression came and went before she could analyze it. “Pleased to meet you, Lizzy Davis,” was all he said. “Call me Coop.”

  “’Kay,” Lizzy murmured, but remained firmly pressed against Veronica’s midriff.

  Veronica’s own nerves were doing an inexplicable little swing dance. “I’m surprised to see you up so early,” she said to Coop. It had been nearly noon before they’d run into each other in the kitchen yesterday, and she, for one, would still be sleeping if not for her responsibility to Lizzy.

  The shoulder he hitched indifferently looked half a yard wide. “I’ve got things to do.” He leaned back in his chair, looking right at home with his paper and his coffee, comfortably clad in an old pair of jeans and a faded black T-shirt, with a camel, burgundy, and black plaid shirt worn open over it.

  It bothered her that she found it difficult to look away, and she bent her head to her niece. “You were right, Lizzy; it’s much warmer down here. And once we fuel you up, you’ll be even warmer yet. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Cereal.”

  “Is that all? Wouldn’t you rather have something warm? A nice, hot bowl of oatmeal, maybe?”

  Lizzy made a face and Coop laughed. “I’m with you, Lizzy. That stuff’s nasty.”

  Veronica gave him a look. “It’s good for her, though. It’ll stick to her ribs until lunchtime.”

  “Not if she rolfs it up because she can’t stand the taste.”

  Lizzy eased out of Veronica’s hold and inched over to Coop. “I don’t like the feel of it in my mouth,” she informed him shyly. “It’s mooshy.” Staring at his hair, she raised a hand as if to touch it, but snatched it back to her side without doing so. Her solemn gaze didn’t stop assessing it, though. “How come your hair sticks up like that?”

  “I don’t know, baby. It just grows that way.” He rubbed a big-knuckled hand over his spiky ’do and flashed her a rueful smile. “Maybe it’s because I wear it so short. It might lie down better if I grew it out a little, but this length is easy to take care of.” He bent his head toward her. “You wanna feel it?”

  Lizzy inched even closer and ran her hand back and forth over the thick brush-cut. Her lips curled up at the corners at the feel of his hair beneath her fingers, and Veronica found her own palms itching as she speculated about its texture.

  Coop returned Lizzy’s smile with a grin of his own. “Your hair sure is pretty. It’s very shiny.”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly. “Like Aunt Ronnie’s.”

  Coop’s gaze rested on Veronica for a moment, and she could just imagine what she looked like. Pulling a comb through her hair hadn’t been high on her to-do list this morning. “Yeah,” he finally agreed lazily, and turned his attention back to Lizzy. “Like Aunt Ronnie’s, in a lighter color sorta way.”

  Veronica poured herself a cup of coffee and nearly scalded her tongue seeking that first jolt of caffeine. Then she opened a cupboard and grabbed down a bowl and a glass. She turned to her niece. “What time does the bus come, Lizagator? Does it still stop at the end of the block?”

  “Yep.” Lizzy glanced at the clock on the stove and gave a start. “Oh, no! I hafta get dressed!” She raced up the back stairs.

  Coop returned his attention to the newspaper, but paused in the midst of turning a page to spare a glance for Veronica. “You sure know how to clear a room.”

  Veronica shrugged and said with studied casualness, “I don’t have the hang of her schedule yet.” But his comment stung, for it forced her to acknowledge the twinge of jealousy his easy way with Lizzy had given her. It was seeing the effortless way he’d won her niece over that had prompted her to ask about the bus, and she cringed inside that she could be so petty. She certainly didn’t want Lizzy to fear him, but apparently she didn’t want her niece to like him, either. What did that say about her?

  After setting her dishes on the cou
nter, she pulled a box of cereal off the shelf and reached into the fridge for the milk. She carried everything over to the table, set her load down across from Coop, and went back for her coffee. In an effort to be adult, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she took a seat and gestured at the newspaper spread out in front of him. “When did they start delivering the Fossil Tribune in the mornings?”

  “They don’t,” he replied. He flipped up the top of the paper so she could see the banner, which read the New York Times.

  It caught her by surprise, and she merely stared for a moment. Then, collecting herself, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t see many of those in this little burg.”

  Coop shrugged. “I’ve got a subscription. For this and USAToday.”

  “My, my. How very literate.” Then she waved a hand to erase the comment. “Sorry. That sounded as if you’re too blond to sound out the big words all by yourself, and I don’t usually tend to be so rude.” Her gaze got caught up in his pale hair. “Although, if the color fits…” She shook her head impatiently. “Gawd, where is this stuff coming from? I mean, it’s not like it counts anyway, when Miss Clairol is part of the equation.” For crying out loud, Ronnie. Shut up, shut up, shut up! She scowled at him. “This is your fault, you know.”

  His black eyebrows rose. “My fault, huh? For what—impaling myself on the sharp point of your little pink tongue?”

  A sudden surge of heat spread along her nerve endings, and she gave him the don’t-mess-with-me frown she generally reserved for craftsmen who failed to deliver on time. “Why do you have to turn everything into something suggestive?”

  “Do I do that?” Amusement tilted up the corner of his mouth.

  “You know you do, and somehow you manage to push all my buttons.” But telling him as much probably wasn’t the brightest thing to admit, for he studied her with that openly sexual speculation that unnerved her so. It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat, and she raised her chin and blatantly changed the subject. “I need a key to the Tonk.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them. Damn. It really isn’t necessary to broadcast your every move to this man, you know. The smart money would’ve just called Marissa, who no doubt had the spare set.

  But it was too late now, for Coop was already nodding. “All right. I’ll get one made up for you while I’m out today.”

  “It will have to be early today,” she said ungraciously. “I need it by eleven.”

  He slowly straightened from his indolent lounge. “Why? What’s going on at eleven?”

  She had no good reason to keep it from him, and as manager of the bar, he had a perfect right to know. Yet still she heard herself say, “Something I need the key for, okay?”

  Then she flinched, for her reply had come out a lot more defensively than the situation merited. She’d used what she privately labeled her “Fossil kneejerk” tone, and that was much too reminiscent of a disposition she’d worked extremely hard to overcome.

  A disposition that seemed to rear its ugly head whenever Cooper Blackstock was near.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d hankered to see the world beyond Fossil. She’d longed to view beautiful things, to use her mind and make something of herself. But Daddy had teased her mercilessly for her dreams, and since she’d never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, she’d responded, more often than not, with a snappishness it made her wince to remember.

  But damned if she was falling back into that pit. She opened her mouth to apologize—which she seemed to be doing way too much of this morning—and to inform him of the reason she needed the key by eleven. Before so much as another “sorry” could pass her lips, however, Coop pushed his chair back from the table with a nerve-twanging screech and stood. On his feet, he took up even more space than he had seated. Or maybe it was his palpable displeasure that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room and take up all the available space. The lazy amusement he’d displayed a moment ago had vanished, and it was all Veronica could do to maintain eye contact beneath the hard-eyed, level look he trained on her.

  Hands on his hips, he gave her a clipped nod. “Fine,” he said. “You’ll have your damn key by eleven. But I’ll tell you something, Princess: It’s a wonder to me that no one’s ever wrung that lily-white neck of yours.”

  And with a final glower, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Coop dropped off the newly cut key at ten-thirty and left the house again without exchanging a word with little Miss Veronica. Climbing back into his car, he swore to himself that, come eleven A.M., he wouldn’t be anywhere near the Tonk to see what she’d wanted it for. But at five minutes to the hour, he found himself driving by. Whispering curses for giving a damn when he had far more pressing matters to occupy his free time, he nevertheless found himself making a U-turn down the street and parking where he could keep an eye on the bar’s front door like some cut-rate private eye from an old B movie.

  He scowled as he peered down the block. What was it about this woman, anyway? Aside from that gorgeous baby skin, he supposed she was attractive enough in an uptight, bossy sort of way. She was a far cry from drop-dead gorgeous, though; she verged on skinny and lacked all but a hint of the lush ass and full breasts he usually went for. So why did she seem to be burrowing her way under his skin?

  A disgruntled noise rumbled in the back of his throat and Coop reached for the ignition key to turn the car back on. Ticks burrowed under a person’s skin, too, and he’d simply have to excise Veronica Davis the same way he would any other parasite: with one swift, efficient jerk. He put the car in gear and glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming traffic. It was time to get the hell out of here. He had things to do.

  He had to wait for a step-van to drive past, and before he could pull out into the street in its wake, the vehicle eased to the curb in front of the Tonk. Coop settled back in his seat. He barely had time to read the logo, CASCADE AIR, off the rear panel doors when Veronica came out of the house, hurriedly locked it up behind her, and dodged the light flow of traffic to cross the street to the van.

  Storm clouds blocked the sun as she talked with great animation to the driver, an athletically built man in blue overalls who grinned down at her and stood a lot closer than Coop thought necessary for a repairman. A moment later, Veronica let herself and the man into the Tonk.

  What’s this? Coop climbed out of his car and strode down the street, determined to find out what she was up to. Nothing was wrong with the heating or cooling systems in the bar, so who was this guy—some old high school flame? Was she using the Tonk for a nooner? Now, there was an appropriate use of the family biz.

  And why is it any skin off your dick if she is, Blackstock? It’s her bar. He paused with his hand on the Tonk’s doorknob, then yanked it open and stepped inside. No, dammit, it was Lizzy’s bar. And he was merely looking out for his niece’s interests.

  He thought about the little girl as he paused to let his eyes adjust to the bar’s dimness. He hadn’t expected to melt inside when he met her, but he’d taken one look at those big, grave eyes, and it had been like his experience with her daddy all over again. He never had been able to keep his distance from Eddie, no matter how hard he’d tried, and he had a feeling it was going to be the same with Lizzy.

  When he’d decided to keep his identity a secret, he’d thought it would be simple to watch his niece from a distance. Not only would it cover his own butt in case Eddie had shown Lizzy pictures or talked about him, but it would also save her from having to deal with a relative who was virtually a stranger in the midst of all the other shit she had going on in her life.

  It seemed naive in retrospect, but he’d actually thought staying detached would be a piece of cake, even when Veronica had finally shown up and he’d discovered they’d be living in the same house. He hadn’t factored in the enticement of Lizzy, though. There was just something about her that drew him every bit as strongly as Eddie ever had.


  Voices from the back room snapped him out of his reverie, and he pushed away from the door. A moment later Veronica and her repairman walked into the bar, and ignoring the voice that snidely suggested Aunt Ronnie had some enticements of her own, Coop squared his shoulders and sauntered over to meet her.

  5

  VERONICA WATCHED COOP WALK ACROSS THE BAR AS if he owned the joint and felt her back stiffen. “What are you doing here?”

  “I stopped by to see if you needed help with anything.” A pleasant smile curved his lips, but the dark eyes inspecting Kody, the installer from Cascade Air, showed a vigilant sort of curiosity.

  Her instinctive reaction was to decline his offer in no uncertain terms, and, in truth, there wasn’t anything he could do. She bit back the urge to snap out a knee-jerk no, however. As long as he was the Tonk’s manager, she didn’t have to be, and as holder of that position, he had a right to know what she planned to do with the bar. So, with a sigh, she excused herself to Kody and, grasping Coop’s forearm, led him out of earshot.

  She immediately regretted touching him. The layer of velvet-soft pinwale corduroy that kept their flesh from touching didn’t do a thing to prevent his body heat from radiating through the plaid fabric, and she was highly aware of the corded strength of his arm beneath her hand.

  She was highly aware of him, period. Too aware. That had been the problem with this guy from the beginning. And she didn’t understand it. She’d never gone for the sulky-mouthed, hard-bodied type—her usual kind of man was cultured and favored Brooks Brothers suits with complementing power ties. Coop probably thought culture was pouring a beer into a stein instead of glugging it straight from the can.

  The snideness of that thought produced a twinge of shame. Not only was it amazingly snobbish for someone who’d grown up in a bar, she also had a flash of the New York Times on the kitchen table this morning.

  Then she shrugged the feeling aside. So, big deal; he read newspapers—and more widely than she did, she’d concede. It didn’t make him any more likely to pass up a sporting event for a stroll through a museum. And it was the museumgoers, not the jock types, who had always been the kind of man to rev her motor.