“Yeah, I suppose I do. Are you going to tell her?”
“Why do I get all the fun jobs?” Veronica knuckled the headache brewing in her temples. “Still, as much as I’d love to avoid being the one to drop that little bomb on her head, I certainly don’t want her hearing it from someone at school.” She stared glumly at the brightly colored magnets that pinned childish artwork to Marissa’s refrigerator. “Isn’t this just great?” she demanded sarcastically. “Like she needs another shock.”
“This might actually be welcome news, though,” Marissa said quietly. “I would think, at this point, that Lizzy could use all the family she can get.”
They sat silently for a moment, drinking their tea and decimating the plate of Oreos. Then Marissa looked over at Veronica. She pushed her teacup back, drew invisible doodles on the countertop with her fingertip for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Speaking of men, I might have a not-so-dependable guy problem on my own hands.”
Veronica, who had been watching her friend’s uncharacteristic avoidance tactics with puzzlement, frowned as if Marissa’s words had been delivered in a language other than English. Then it sank in that there was only one man to whom she could be referring. “Kody?”
“I’m starting to think he doesn’t want anything to do with my kids.”
Veronica laughed. “You’re kidding.” She immediately saw by the look on Marissa’s face that she wasn’t. “You’re not kidding. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make light of the situation, it just caught me by surprise. Kody seems like the kind of guy who’d be great with kids.”
“Yeah, that’s what I assumed, too. But our dates have all been either for nights when Dess and Riley are spending the evening away from home, or for things like stopping by the Tonk—late-night dates that he always picks me up for after the kids are in bed.”
“Yeah, but that could easily be coincidental, couldn’t it? I mean, that’s usually when you’re available, and when he’s avail—”
“Anything’s possible, Ronnie,” Marissa interrupted. “But I don’t think this is a coincidence.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve just got one of those gut feelings,” Marissa said. “It’s been nibbling away at the edges of my consciousness for a while now, but I guess I haven’t wanted to examine it too closely, you know?”
“Oh, yes,” Veronica agreed fervently. “I understand all too well.” She studied Marissa’s melancholy expression. “Aside from the obvious—that anyone who fails to recognize how great your kids are is pond scum—what’s your bottom-line feeling about this? About him? I’ve never seen anything as immediate as the way you two hit it off. Was that merely really good chemistry—or are you in love with him?”
“The smart money would probably say chemistry, since I haven’t known him all that long. But I’m really afraid it might be love. I haven’t felt like this about a guy since Denny.”
Veronica reached over to squeeze her arm. “Then hadn’t you better come right out and ask him what the deal is? Not to argue with your gut or anything, but you could be reading this all wrong.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Marissa said slowly. Then she sat taller in her seat and looked at Ronnie with sudden resolve. “No. You’re right. This is too important to try to solve with guesswork. I’ll give him a call tonight and arrange to get together. I need to find out what’s what.”
Veronica thought about it as she drove home. She hoped with all her heart that Marissa was wrong. But as she parked the car in front of the house several moments later, she suddenly remembered the night of the VFW overnighter and the look that flashed across Kody’s face when Marissa had invited him to go to the movies the following day with her and the kids. And she wondered if maybe her friend wasn’t on to something. There had been something in that fleeting expression.
Which she could just as easily have read all wrong. If she hadn’t, though—well, what a damn shame that would be. She truly wanted a happily-ever-after ending for her friend; no one deserved one more.
The last person she expected to find in the living room was Coop, and she stopped dead at the sight of him sprawled out on the gold and green brocade sofa.
He rose to his feet. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her heart began to pound and she could feel the flush that surged up her throat and onto her face. “Have you? What a waste of time. Because I have nothing to say to you…James.”
His face went hard. “My name is Cooper! Only my mother called me James—and she only did so because it held more upscale connotations for her than Coop. She was real big on that kind of thing.”
“‘Connotations.’ My. What a big word for a bartender/Marine.” She didn’t flicker so much as an eyelash as they engaged in a heated stare-down.
“Isn’t it, though,” he agreed flatly. “You’d be amazed at what words I know.”
Although his face wore that aggravatingly cool lack of expression she’d come to detest, Veronica instinctively knew she’d hit a nerve. She ought to be happy about it, since God knew discovering he was Eddie’s half-brother had scraped all her nerve endings bare. Instead, she felt…dishonorable.
And wasn’t that the shits? How had he managed that? A smart woman would just turn right around and walk away. But, interested in spite of herself, Veronica couldn’t quite prevent herself from inquiring, “So James isn’t actually your name?”
“It’s mine, all right. My legal name is James Cooper Blackstock. But I’ve been known from birth by my middle name. Only my mother used the James part of it, and even she didn’t get insistent about it until after she married Chapman.”
“She was hardly the only one,” Veronica felt compelled to point out. “According to your new best friend David, Eddie called you that, too.”
“Jesus, Ronnie, it was the name he heard from birth. Mom refused to call me anything else.”
“Fine. Thanks for setting me straight. But you can call yourself whatever you want—I still have nothing to say to you.” She started to turn away, then suddenly remembered Lizzy and swung back. “No, that’s not true. You’d damn well better be down here to do more than talk to me. You’d better be waiting for Lizzy to get home, so you can explain to her why her uncle has been living in this house but hasn’t seen fit to share the truth of his relationship with her.”
He froze. “Aw, man,” he said, clearly miserable. “She’s gonna hate my guts.”
Veronica was surprised to see that Mr. Poker Face was quite visibly distressed at the notion. “I guess that’s just the chance you’ll have to take. You weren’t the least bit shy last night about letting people find out you’re Eddie’s brother. You think it won’t be all over her school by tomorrow morning?” She stepped up close and thrust her nose up under his. “It’s bad enough that some little bully-brat’s gonna get his jollies finding a way to rub her nose in it. I’ll be damned if I’ll let her be caught flat-footed by the knowledge, to boot.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he gave her a curt nod. “I’ll talk to her as soon as she gets home.”
“Good.” She stepped back. “Then I guess we have nothing left to say.”
“The hell we don’t!” He grasped her arm. When she stared pointedly at his tanned fingers, he promptly set her loose. But he crowded close, his dark brows gathered over the thrust of his nose as he scowled down at her. “What the hell should I have done, Ronnie? That first night, if I’d walked into your kitchen and announced I was Eddie’s brother and I was here to clear him of your sister’s murder, you would have tossed me out on my ear.”
“Quite possibly I would have. But we’ll never know for certain now, will we? You didn’t give me the chance to make a decision one way or the other. And do I really have to remind you that you’ve had plenty of opportunities since then? Night after night you could have told me. But you know what, Blackstock? I don’t recall hearing a single word come out of your mouth that would’ve clued me in to the identity of the man I w
as sleeping with!”
Hell, no, he hadn’t told her. He hadn’t wanted to give her up, and had feared that admitting he was Eddie’s brother would force him to do exactly that. Coop straightened defensively. No, that wasn’t it. That made her sound too…important in his life. Not that she wasn’t important, of course, just not that important, and—well, that wasn’t the reason, was all. Yet he heard himself mutter, “I didn’t want to give you up, okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was flat, disbelieving, and she didn’t look as though he’d just handed her a powerful weapon. She looked pissed. “So basically what you’re saying is that you’d found yourself a handy-dandy little lay and didn’t want to screw it up—you’ll pardon the pun—with anything so messy as the truth.”
“That’s not what I said at all! Jeez-us!” Ramming his fingers through his hair, he stared at her in frustration. “This is why men hate talking things over with women. We tell you one thing, and you hear something entirely different!”
Watching her open her mouth to no doubt blast him anew, his control snapped. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms, pulled her to him, and clamped his mouth over hers in a fiery kiss that was chock-full of aggravated heat. For several heartbeats he lost himself in her unique taste. Then he ripped his mouth free, set her back on her heels, and took a step back, licking his lips to retain her flavor.
“You and me together?” he said. “Man, Ronnie, if that didn’t turn out to be more wicked potent than I ever expected. But once I’d got a taste, I wanted to keep on tasting it, which I figured would never happen if I told you about my relationship with Eddie. So, yeah, I kept it to myself. I probably shouldn’t have, but I didn’t want to find myself suddenly locked out of your life.” He gave her a hard look. “Which is exactly what happened the minute you found out.”
“Proving that once again women are inherently unfair. Yes, indeed, we simply revel in making men pay for itty-bitty transgressions like making time with us under false pretenses.” Her laugh was harsh, unamused. “Leave it to a guy to turn this all around so it’s my fault you had to lie to me.” Shooting him a final furious look, she turned on her heel and stalked from the room.
Coop’s first impulse was to chase after her and make her listen to reason. Instead, with a frustrated growl, he threw himself down on the couch. Boo appeared out of nowhere and launched himself onto his lap, promptly sinking needle-sharp claws into Coop’s thigh when his precarious landing caused him to slide.
Grimacing, Coop reached down to unhook the kitten from his leg. Settling him on his lap, he stroked Boo’s plush black fur from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, and smiled crookedly when the cat’s gravel-truck purr kicked into gear. “So, did you catch any of that?” he asked, scratching him under the chin. Boo craned his neck and gazed through slitted eyes into the distance, his motor rumbling like an overloaded cement mixer. “Looks like I’m in the doghouse.”
The cat slanted him a look, then closed his eyes and jacked up the volume on his purr.
“Yeah, I don’t get women, either. They’re so friggin’ emotional, not cool and logical like us guys.” Coop stared thoughtfully at the empty doorway where he’d watched Ronnie storm out. “Still. Maybe—now, don’t go quoting me here—but just maybe she has a point. I didn’t want to get involved with her in the first place because of our blood ties to my brother and her sister. But you know what, little buddy? Somehow we got involved, anyway. And I’m telling you right now, Boo, if you don’t learn anything else during your nine lives, you can take this to the cat food bank.” He pinned the supremely indifferent kitten with an intense look. “Problematic siblings or not, I am not ready to give her up.”
He and the cat were still sitting in the same spot a short while later when Lizzy got home from school. At the sound of the back door opening, Boo leaped from his lap and raced into the kitchen to greet his mistress. Coop, however, remained where he was for a moment, listening to the kitchen door close and the sounds of the fridge opening and closing and the clink of the cookie jar. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was. He’d reconnoitered an Iraqi hostage stronghold guarded by men with automatic weapons and felt less trepidation than he did at the prospect of facing his six-year-old niece.
But sitting here acting like a chickenshit would get him absolutely nowhere, and the clock was ticking. As long as his cover was blown anyway, he planned to get some answers he hadn’t been able to get by pretending to be someone other than Eddie’s brother. Climbing to his feet, he rubbed his hands down the thighs of his jeans.
He found Lizzy sitting at the kitchen table, swinging her legs while she dunked cookies in a glass of milk. Boo prowled the floor, alternately leaping at her swaying foot and staring hopefully at the hand carrying food from glass to mouth. “Hi.”
She looked up and gave him a big, milky smile. “Hi, Coop! I’m having a Lassie dinner.”
“A what?”
“That’s what Aunt Ronnie calls milk and cookies: a Lassie dinner. She said some kid named Timmy always got milk and cookies after Lassie rescued him.” She shrugged. “It was some show about a dog that she watched when she was jus’ a little kid.”
Coop sat at the table across from her. “How was school today?”
Her narrow little shoulders hitched. “Okay, I guess. It was gym day, and Mr. Pelby made us do squat thrusts before we got to use the balance beam.”
“Squat thrusts’ll make you strong.”
“I s’pose.” She shrugged again. “I think they’re dumb.”
Okay, so much for chitchat. He leaned forward in his seat. “Listen, Little Bit…I’d like to tell you something.”
She finished draining her glass and replaced it carefully on the table, then looked over at Coop and gave him her solemn, milk-mustachioed attention. “’Kay.”
“I don’t know how to pussyfoot around this, so I’m just gonna say it straight out: I’m your uncle.”
“Nuh-uh!” Her leg abruptly stopped swinging and she gave him an indignant stare. “My uncle’s name is James.”
“Actually, baby, my whole name is James Cooper Blackstock, but I’ve always gone by Cooper. Only your daddy’s mother, who was my mother, too, and your daddy called me James.”
She stared at him, then, abruptly, pushed away from the table and ran from the room.
Coop remained where he was. “Well, that went just fucking swell,” he muttered to Boo, who was chasing down the crumbs that had landed on the floor at Lizzy’s abrupt departure from the table. His niece hadn’t reviled him for a lying, scum-sucking dog, but she’d probably never speak to him again, either. The prospect bothered him more than he liked to think about, and he didn’t have the first idea what he could do to make it right.
When he heard footsteps suddenly clatter back down the stairs, he straightened in his seat. The tread faltered at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, then Lizzy poked her head around the wall, tucked her chin, and shot him a glance from beneath her bangs. A second later, she eased into the room, a bulky album clutched to her chest.
Coop sat very still while she crossed the room, afraid to make any sudden moves that might scare her off. Pushing her abandoned milk glass aside, she set the album on the table, then climbed onto the chair across the table. Silently she flipped through the pages, then turned the book so he could see. Her soft little finger landed squarely on a photograph. “That’s you.”
It was a full-body snapshot of him in his dress blues, the visor of his hat shadowing his face. He remembered the day Zach Taylor had taken it. “Yeah. I was a bit younger then.” Like ten years.
“You sent me a doll from Bennice. That’s in Italy.”
His throat went tight, and he nodded. “Venice,” he corrected her softly. “A Fool doll that I got at Carnival. Did you like it?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly. “Next to Celebration Barbie, it’s my fave-rit, but I don’t have it right now, ’cuz it’s at my daddy’s house.” She climbed down from her chair and circled the
table to stand in front of him.
She studied him for a couple of moments, then nodded as if making up her mind, and clambered up onto his lap. “So. You gonna bring my daddy home?”
17
“SO, ‘UNCLE COOP,’ ALSO KNOWN AS UNCLE JAMES, is Lizzy’s new best friend,” Veronica glumly informed Marissa over the clatter of crockery in the Dinosaur Café the following Monday. “While I’m the Unbeliever—which I’m pretty sure is second cousin to the Antichrist.”
Marissa skooched her chair in to let a burdened waitress squeeze between the tables in the steamy, crowded restaurant. As she returned Veronica’s look across the table, her mouth curled up in a lopsided smile. “You don’t think you’re being just the teeniest bit melodramatic?”
“No. That would be claiming my kinship as first cousin.” The café door opened, letting in a blast of cold air, and Veronica hunched her shoulders against it, cupping her hands around the heat of her cup of soup. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when she walked in on a phone conversation I was having with a prospective client. You would’ve thought I was going to roust her out of bed in the dead of night and drag her from hearth and home.”
“You’ve got a new job lined up?”
“Not yet. But yesterday I had a message from a woman named Georgia Levinstein. Do you remember the eighteenth century farmhouse I redid in Maryland?”
“Of course. It was your first solo job, and you sent me pictures.”
“Apparently Mrs. Levinstein saw my work on it. She has a Greek Revival house in Boston she wants me to take a look at. It’s not like I even agreed to it,” she said defensively, then took a savage bite of her turkey sandwich and chewed furiously. Swallowing, she faced her friend a bit indignantly. “I told Mrs. Levinstein I was engaged elsewhere at the moment and that it might be several months before I’d be free to even submit a proper proposal for a new project. But she agreed to wait, and Lizzy walked in during the part where I was telling her that meanwhile if she wanted to send me photos, I’d be happy to do a little research and put together a preproposal, in which I state my understanding of the client’s goals. I do this because it gives the client a rough estimate of what it would take to accomplish those goals—both in time and money—and it ensures us, if both parties are still interested later, that we weren’t talking apples and oranges during our original conversation.”
Head Over Heels Page 19
