by Nora Roberts
She shot a wave to Lucius, opened the door.
And nearly walked straight into Cooper.
7
It was a toss-up who was more surprised, and disconcerted. But it was Lil who jolted back, even if she recovered quickly. She plastered on a smile and put a friendly laugh in her voice.
“Well, hi, Coop.”
“Lil. I didn’t know you were back.”
“Yesterday.” She couldn’t read his face, his eyes. Both, so familiar, simply didn’t speak to her. “Coming in?”
“Ah, no. You got a package—your place got a package,” he corrected, and handed it to her. He wasn’t wearing gloves, she noted, and his heavy jacket was carelessly open to the cold.
“I was sending something off for my grandmother, and since I was heading back to the farm, they asked if I’d mind dropping it off.”
“Thanks.” She set it aside, then stepped out and closed the door rather than let the heat pump out. She fixed her hat on her head, the same flat-brimmed style she’d always favored. Standing on the porch, she pulled on one of her gloves. It gave her something to do as he watched her in silence. “How’s Sam? I just heard yesterday that he’d gotten hurt.”
“Good, physically. It’s hard on him, not being able to do everything he wants, get around the way he did.”
“I’m going by later.”
“He’ll like that. They both will.” He slid his hands into his pockets, kept those cool blue eyes on her face. “How was South America?”
“Busy, and fascinating.” She pulled on her other glove as they walked down the steps. “Mom said you’d sold your detective agency.”
“I was done with it.”
“You did a lot, left a lot, to help two people who needed you.” The finality in his voice, the flatness in it had her stopping. “It counts, Cooper.”
He only shrugged. “I was ready for a change anyway. This is one.” He glanced around. “You’ve added more since I was here.”
She sent him a puzzled look. “When were you here?”
“I came by when I was out last year. You were . . . somewhere.” He stood at ease in the cold, while the brisk wind kicked through the already disordered waves of his dense brown hair. “Your friend gave me the tour.”
“She didn’t mention it.”
“He. French guy. I heard you were engaged.”
Guilt balled in her belly. “Not exactly.”
“Well. You look good, Lil.”
She forced her lips to curve, forced the same casualness he projected into her voice. “You too.”
“I’d better get going. I’ll tell my grandparents you’re going to try to come by.”
“I’ll see you later.” And with an easy smile, she turned to walk to the small-cat area. She circled around until she heard his truck start, until she heard it drive away. Then she stopped.
There, she thought, not so bad. The first time would be the hardest, and it wasn’t so bad.
A few aches, a few bumps. Nothing fatal.
He did look good, she thought. Older, tougher. Sharper in the face, harder around the eyes. Sexier.
She could live through that. They might be friends again. Not the way they’d been, even before they’d become lovers. But they might be friendly. His grandparents and her parents were good friends, close friends. She and Coop would never be able to avoid each other gracefully, so they’d just have to get along as best they could. Be friendly.
She could do it if he could.
Satisfied, she began to scout around the habitats for signs of trespass—animal or human.
COOP LOOKED INTO the rearview mirror as he drove away, but she didn’t glance back. Just kept going.
That’s the way it was. He wasn’t looking to change it.
He’d caught her off-guard. They’d caught each other off-guard, he corrected, but her surprise had shown on her face, just for a beat or two, but clearly. Surprise, and a shadow of annoyance.
Both gone in a blink.
She’d gotten beautiful.
She’d always been so, to him, but objectively he could look back now and see that she’d been poised for beauty at seventeen. Touched by beauty at the cusp of twenty. But she hadn’t crossed the finish line then, not like now.
For a second there, those big, dark, sultry eyes had taken his breath away.
For a second.
Then she’d smiled, and maybe his heart had twisted, just for another second, over what had been. What was gone.
Everything easy, everything casual between them. That’s the way it should be. He didn’t want anything from her, and had nothing to give back. It was good to know that, since he was back for good.
Oddly enough, he’d been considering coming back for several months. He’d even looked into what steps he’d need to take to sell his private investigator’s business, close his office, sell his apartment. He hadn’t moved on it, had simply continued his work, his life—because not moving was easier.
Then his grandmother had called.
With all the research done and filed in Maybe Someday, it had been a simple matter to make the move. And maybe, if he’d made the damn move earlier, his grandfather wouldn’t have been alone, and in pain after his fall.
And that kind of thinking was useless, he knew it.
Things just happened because they did. He knew that, too.
The point was he was back now. He liked the work—he always had—and God knew he could use a little serenity. Long days, plenty of physical labor, the horses, the routine. And the only real home he’d ever known.
The Maybe Someday might have come before but for Lil. The obstacle, the regret, the uncertainty of Lil. But that was done now, and they could both get back to their lives.
She’d created something so solid and real, so Lil, with her refuge. He hadn’t known how to tell her that, how to tell her that it was a source of pride for him, too. He didn’t know how to tell her he remembered when she’d told him she would build this place, he remembered the look on her face, the light on it, the sound of her voice.
He remembered everything.
Years ago, he thought. A lifetime ago. She’d studied and worked and planned, and made it happen. She’d done exactly what she’d set out to do.
He’d known she would. She wouldn’t have settled for less.
He’d made something. It had taken a lot of time, a lot of mistakes, but he’d made something of himself, and for himself. And he could walk away from that because the point had been to make it.
Now the point was here. He turned onto the farm road. Right here, he thought, right now.
When he went inside, Lucy was in the kitchen, baking.
“Smells good.”
“Thought I’d do a couple of pies.” She offered a smile, strained around the edges. “Everybody get off all right?”
“Group of four. Gull’s got them.” The blacksmith’s son hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, but served as trail guide and man-of-work for Wilks’s Stables. “Weather’s clear, and he’s keeping them to a couple of easy rides.” Since it was there, he poured himself some coffee. “I’m going to go out and check on the new foals and their mas.”
She nodded, looked in on her pies, though they both knew she could time them by instinct to the minute. “Maybe, if you don’t mind, you could ask Sam to go out with you. He’s having a mood today.”
“Sure. He upstairs?”
“Last I checked.” She flicked her fingers at the hair she now wore short as a boy’s and had let go a stunning and shining silver. “Checking’s one of the things, I expect, put him in the mood.”
Rather than speak, he just put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
She would’ve checked, Coop thought, several times. Just as he had no doubt she’d been out to the barn to check on the foals. She’d have seen to the chickens and the pigs, getting all the chores done she could manage before Sam could try to do them.
And she’d have fixed his breakfast, just as
she’d fixed Coop’s. Seen to the house, the laundry.
She was wearing herself out, even with him there.
He went upstairs.
For the first couple of months after his grandfather had been released from the hospital, he’d stayed in the parlor they’d outfitted as a bedroom. He’d needed a wheelchair and help with the most personal functions.
And he’d hated it.
The minute he’d been able to manage the stairs, however long it took, however hard it had been, he’d insisted on moving back to the room he shared with his wife.
The door was open. Inside Coop saw his grandfather sitting in a chair, scowling at the television and rubbing his leg.
There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there two years before, grooves dug by pain and frustration more than age. And maybe, Coop thought, some fear along with it.
“Hey, Grandpa.”
Sam turned the scowl toward Coop. “Not a damn thing worth looking at on the television. If she sent you up here to check on me, to see if I need something to drink, something to eat, something to read, somebody to burp me like a baby, I don’t.”
“Actually, I’m heading out to check on the horses and thought you could give me a hand. But if you’d rather watch TV . . .”
“Don’t think that kind of psychology holds water with me. I wasn’t born yesterday. Just get me my damn boots.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got the boots, one of the pairs set neatly on the closet floor. He didn’t offer to help, something his practical and insightful grandmother couldn’t seem to stop herself from doing. But Coop judged that came from fear, too.
Instead he talked about the business, the current trail ride, then his stop at the refuge.
“Lil said she’d stop by and see you today.”
“Be pleased to see her, long as it’s not a sick call.” Sam levered himself up, bracing a hand on the back of the chair as he got his cane. “What did she have to say about running around in those foreign mountains?”
“I didn’t ask. I was only there a couple minutes.”
Sam shook his head. He moved well, Coop thought, for a man who’d busted himself up four short months before. But the stiffness was there, the awkwardness, enough to remind Coop just how easy and economic Sam’s gait had once been.
“Gotta wonder about your brain, boy.”
“Sorry?”
“Pretty girl like that, and one everybody knows you had a hankering for once upon a time, and you can’t spare more than a couple minutes?”
“She was busy,” Coop said as they started toward the stairs. “I was busy. Plus, that was once upon a time. Another plus, she’s involved with someone.”
Sam snorted as he clumped downstairs, with Coop positioned to catch him if he lost balance. “Some foreigner.”
“Have you developed a prejudice against things foreign just recently?”
Though his mouth was tight from the effort to negotiate the stairs, humor twinkled into Sam’s eyes. “I’m an old man. I’m allowed, even expected, to be crotchety. ’Sides, involved ain’t nothing. You young people today don’t have the gumption to go after a woman because she’s involved.”
“ ‘You young people’? That would be part of the new and expected crotchety?”
“Sass.” But he didn’t complain when Coop helped him into his outdoor gear. “We’re going out the front. She’s back in the kitchen, and I don’t want her raining all her worries and don’t-do’s down on my head.”
“Okay.”
Sam let out a little sigh, and put on his old, rolled-brimmed hat. “You’re a good boy, Cooper, even if you are stupid about women.”
“I’m stupid about women?” Coop led Sam outside. He’d shoveled the porch, the steps, a path to the trucks, others to outbuildings. “You’re the one who has his wife nagging at him. Maybe if you did more in that bed at night than snore, she’d leave you alone in the daytime.”
“Sass,” Sam repeated, but he wheezed out a laugh. “I oughta give you a good whack with this cane.”
“Then I’d just have to help you up when you fell on your ass.”
“I can stand long enough to get the job done. That’s what she won’t get through her head.”
“She loves you. You scared her. And now neither one of you will give the other one a break. You’re pissed off because you can’t do everything you want, the way you want to do it. You’ve got to walk with a stick, and might have to for the rest of it. So what?” he said without letting a drop of sympathy escape. “You’re walking, aren’t you?”
“Won’t let me step out of my own house, on my own land. I don’t need a nursemaid.”
“I’m not your nursemaid,” Coop said flatly. “She fusses around you, and at you, because she’s scared. And you snap and slap back at her. You never used to.”
“She never used to dog me like I was a toddler,” Sam said with some heat.
“You shattered your goddamn leg, Grandpa. The fact is you’re not steady enough to walk around in the damn snow by yourself. You will be, because you’re too stubborn not to get where you want to go. It’s going to take more time. You just have to deal with it.”
“Easier to say when you’re still eyeball-to-eyeball with thirty than when you’re getting a glimpse of eighty.”
“Then you should appreciate time more, and stop wasting it complaining about the woman who loves every crotchety inch of you.”
“You’ve got a lot to say all of a sudden.”
“I’ve been saving it up.”
Sam lifted his weathered face to the air. “A man needs his pride.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They made their slow, laborious way to the barn. Inside, Coop ignored the fact Sam was out of breath. He could catch it while they looked at the horses.
They’d had three foalings that winter. Two had gone smooth and one had been breech. Coop and his grandmother had helped bring that one into the world, and Coop had slept in the barn that night and the next.
He stopped at the stall where the mare and the filly stayed, and slid over the door to go inside. Under Sam’s watchful eye, Coop murmured to the mare, ran his hands over her to check for heat, for strain. Carefully, he examined her udder, her teats. She stood placidly under the familiar touch while the filly butted her head to Coop’s ass to get his attention.
He turned, rubbed her pretty buckskin coat.
“That one’s yours as much as hers,” Sam told him. “You named her yet?”
“Could be Lucky, because God knows. But it doesn’t suit her.” Coop checked the filly’s mouth, her teeth. He studied the big doe eyes. “It’s clichéd, but this one’s a princess. She sure thinks of herself that way.”
“We’ll put it down that way. Cooper’s Princess. The rest is yours, too. You know that.”
“Grandpa.”
“I’ll have my say here. Your grandmother and I talked about it over the years. We couldn’t be sure you wanted it or not, but in the end, we made that legal. It’s yours when we’re gone. I want you to tell me if you want it or you don’t.”
Cooper rose, and immediately the filly deserted him to nurse. “Yes, I want it.”
“Good.” Sam gave a quick nod. “Now, are you going to play with those horses all day or see to the others?”
Coop stepped out, secured the gate, then moved on to the next.
“I got something else.” Sam’s cane rang on the concrete as he followed. “Man your age needs a place of his own. He’s got no business living with a couple of old people.”
“You sure are into ‘old’ these days.”
“That’s just right. I know you moved in to help out. That’s what kin does. I’m grateful nonetheless. But you can’t stay in the house this way.”
“You kicking me out?”
“I guess I am. Now, we can build something. Pick out a spot that suits you.”
“I don’t see using the land to plant a house when we could be using it to plant crops or graze hors
es.”
“You think like a farmer,” Sam said, with pride. “But still in all, a man needs his place. You can pick out some land and go that way. Or if that’s not what suits you, at least not right yet, you can fix the bunkhouse up. It’s a good size. Few walls in it, better floor. Might use a new roof. We can do that for you.”
Coop checked the next mare, the next foal. “The bunkhouse would work for me. I’ll get it fixed up. I won’t take your money for it, Grandpa. That’s the line. A man has to have his pride,” he said. “I’ve got money. More than I need now.”
Which was something he wanted to talk to his grandparents about. But not quite yet.
“So I’ll look into it.”
“That’s settled then.” Sam leaned on his cane and reached out to stroke the mare’s cheek. “There’s Lolly, there’s a girl. Given us three fine foals over the years. Sweet as a lollipop, aren’t you? Born to be a ma, and to take a rider up and give him a good, gentle ride.”
Lolly blew at him, affectionately.
“I need to sit a horse again, Cooper. Not being able to makes it feel like I lost this leg steada busting it.”
“Okay. I’ll saddle a couple up.”
Sam’s head snapped up, and in his eyes shone both shock and hope. “Your grandma’ll skin us.”
“She’ll have to catch us first. A walk, Grandpa. Not even a trot. Deal?”
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice quavered before he strengthened it. “Yeah, that suits me.”
Coop saddled two of the oldest and quietest mounts. He’d thought he’d known, thought he’d understood how hard this enforced convalescence was on his grandfather. The look on Sam’s face when he’d said they’d ride told him he hadn’t. Not nearly.
If he was making a mistake, he was making it for the right reasons. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He helped Sam mount, and knew the motion and effort caused some pain. But what he saw in his grandfather’s eyes was pleasure, and relief.
He swung into the saddle himself.
A plod, Coop supposed. A couple of old horses wading through snow, and going nowhere in particular. But by God, Sam Wilks looked right on horseback. Years fell away—he could watch them slide off his grandfather’s face. In the saddle his movements were smooth and easy. Economic, Coop thought again.
