by JoAnn Ross
He pressed his lips against her temple. “I know.” Ambitious Rachel might be. Even driven. But she was not the type of woman to play complex emotional games, especially with a child.
“The first time I heard him make that ridiculous statement was at the funeral, when he assured Father O’Malley that we’d be okay. Seven-years-old and he was suddenly the self-proclaimed man of the house. I couldn’t believe my ears. If it weren’t so tragic, it’d be funny.”
“I think it’s genetic,” he said. “Woven into a male’s DNA, carried over from when men left their caves each morning with their sturdy clubs over their shoulders and returned home at the end of the day with a bunch of brontosaurus steaks.”
“It’s crazy.”
“Probably. But I wouldn’t worry too much about Scott, Rachel. He seems to be doing okay. Better than okay. He’s fitting in just fine.”
“I know. It was the same way he did when I had to move him from the private school he’d known since pre-school to a public one.”
“Nothing wrong with public,” he said. “My brothers and I attended them.”
“So did I.”
“And see how well you turned out? Besides, although I admittedly don’t have any of my own, from what I’ve seen, kids are resilient.”
“It’s been a difficult time.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’ve tried to give Scott the stability I knew he needed, but there was so much to do.” She gave him a weary look. “So much still left to do.”
Her hands were twisting agitatedly in her lap. Cooper captured them in his. “You have to give yourself, and Scott, time. Even Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
And wasn’t that just what she needed? A frigging cliché? Could he screw this evening up any more?
“I’m not worried about Rome. I am worried to death about not getting the New Chance renovated in time for the holidays.”
“This isn’t a marathon. And you’re not running against any clock.”
“Easy for you to say,” she countered with a bit more spark. “I have to have the New Chance open by Christmas,” she insisted yet again.
Stubborn. The word didn’t begin to describe this woman. Cooper told himself that the smart thing to do would be to get off this couch, walk out the door to the Jeep and drive away, leaving the delectable, but frustratingly intransigent Rachel to her unbridled Eastern ambition.
“So what, exactly would happen if you didn’t get the place open by Christmas? Would the world as we know it come to an end? Would thousands of vacationers starve without the chance to sample a piece of Rachel Hathaway’s incomparable mincemeat pie? Would the entire economic foundation of our country crumble down around our feet?”
“I’d run out of money, that’s what would happen!” Jerking her hands from his, she jumped to her feet.
Cooper watched her cross the room to the window to stare out into the well of darkness. He’d suspected her funds were limited, but hadn’t realized she was in danger of completely running out of money.
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” She leaned her forehead against the window glass and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I never lose my temper. Ever.”
“If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I had no right to push.”
“I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.” She turned back toward him and let out an unsteady breath.
“You’re entitled. I overstepped my bounds.” He crossed the room to take hold of the hand she’d dragged through her hair. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve just had a milestone moment.”
“What milestone would that be?”
“Our first fight.”
Her lips hinted at a smile. “Still, I shouldn’t have taken my troubles out on you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Is that what we are?” she asked quietly. “Friends?”
In spite of the seriousness of the conversation, Cooper couldn’t resist a slight smile of his own. “You’re an intelligent woman, Rachel. Surely it hasn’t escaped your attention that I’d like to be a great deal more than a friend.”
“As in friends with privileges?”
“I’m not saying I haven’t been there,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t feel right with you.” He paused, watching the soft color drift into her cheeks in confirmation of his words. “So, if you’re not ready for more, I’ll settle for friends.”
For now.
“We don’t even know each other.”
“I think we’ve begun to over the past weeks. Besides, I know Scott, and there’s a great deal of you in your son.”
“Do you think so?” she asked softly.
“I know so. Undoubtedly there’s also a lot of your husband in Scott. From everything he’s told me, Alan was a great guy.”
There. He’d done it. After hearing about his rival for two weeks, and thinking about him a helluva lot more than he should have, Cooper had finally said the man’s name out loud.
“He was.”
“Scott worries that you still miss his father.” Although he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t pry, Cooper couldn’t quite keep the question from his voice.
“I do still miss him,” she admitted, dragging her hand through her hair again. “Oh, not as much as I used to. But there are times, when something good happens, like finding that floor today, when I instinctively turn around to share it with him.”
“I can understand that.”
He’d been there himself. After Ellen’s death, he’d taken to talking to the framed photo of her in her wedding dress, sharing bits and pieces of his day with his bride.
“Or when I’m afraid,” Rachel continued, unaware of the path his thoughts had taken. “Or late at night in bed . . .”
Cooper flashed her his sexiest grin as her cheeks flamed. “I’m well acquainted with that one.”
Before he found himself volunteering to help her out on that score, he decided the time had come to turn the conversation back to something less personal.
“I’m afraid the job of sheriff doesn’t pay all that much, but I’ve managed to put some money away, Rachel. You’re welcome to as much as you need.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your offer, really I do, but this is something I have to do myself.”
Cooper understood pride, having a fair share of it himself. Accepting much-needed help was one thing. Charity was quite another, and there was a razor-thin line between the two.
“I wasn’t offering you charity.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No. I was thinking of making an investment.”
He’d caught her unwilling interest with that one. “In the New Chance?”
“No, in the woman running the New Chance. But I suppose, in the long run it works out the same.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said after a long pause.
It wasn’t much, Cooper decided, but it was a start. “You do that.”
He rose from the couch, reluctantly deciding that he’d made about as much progress as he could hope to this evening. Cooper had always considered himself an easy going guy, but since Rachel’s arrival in River’s Bend, he’d discovered an impatient streak he’d been unaware of possessing.
“I’d better be going so Mrs. MacGregor can get some sleep.”
Rachel smiled as she walked him to the door. “I really did have a lovely evening.”
“We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“I’d like that,” she said, sounding as if she meant it. “Thank you for being so nice to Scott.”
“I’ve already told you, he’s a super kid. It’s easy to be nice to him. Damn.”
She looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”
“We got sidetracked, and I nearly forgot that the reason I asked about Thanksgiving is because Dad and Mitzi wanted me to invite you and Scott to have dinner at the ranch.”
“I’m sorry, but I really—”
“Have to work.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Cooper studied her, taking in the calm, unwavering determination in her eyes, the taut line of her unpainted lips. He wanted Rachel, more than he’d wanted any woman since Ellen. He also was certain that were it not for that damned New Chance Café, he and the lovely young widow wouldn’t be wasting time talking about linoleum, paint color, and indoor trees.
The most important part of law enforcement was not, as TV and movies so often projected, chasing down bad guys, but problem solving. The solution to this problem was readily apparent: if he wanted to make love to Rachel, he’d simply have to help her get the damn place open.
As soon as possible.
“If I promise that the New Chance will be open by Christmas, will you take Thanksgiving off for some much needed R and R?”
“I already went on that train ride,” she reminded him. “I stayed home tonight. And how can you possibly guarantee that?”
“Believe me, Rachel. I never promise anything I can’t deliver.”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, obviously tempted.
“Which do you think Scott would enjoy more?” he asked. “Hanging around watching you sand floors or spending a day at the ranch learning to ride a horse?”
“Of course he’d rather learn to ride. But if I take another day off and the New Chance doesn’t open for Christmas—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off. “It’ll open on time. Trust me.”
“Do you always get everything you want?”
Cooper thought of Ellen, of the giddy, love-filled plans they’d made, of the children dreamed about but never born. “No. Not always.”
There was another long silence as Rachel studied him, seeming to sense that there was more to his short reply than he was saying. Then, apparently deciding there’d been enough personal revelations for one evening, she thankfully didn’t pursue it.
“Just most of the time,” she suggested quietly.
“Most of the time,” Cooper agreed. He ran a hand down her hair, the sleek dark strands feeling like silk as they flowed through his fingers.
It was a good thing that crime was practically nonexistent in River’s Bend because kissing Rachel again had been almost all he’d been able to think about the past few days. And kissing was just for starters.
With free-spirited women accustomed to following their feelings and living for the moment, desire would be enough. With Rachel, things would always be more serious.
More complicated.
It was just as well, Cooper decided. Experience had taught him that most things that came too easily were often not worth having.
“I’m a reasonably patient man, Rachel. I’m willing to wait.”
“You’ll have a very long wait.” Her eyes, wide gray pools of need, belied her words.
“Perhaps.” He ran a slow, teasing fingertip over her lips. “And then again, perhaps not.” Unable to resist, he ducked his head, dragged her up onto her toes, and took her mouth.
The kiss was quick, hot, and potent.
And not nearly enough.
Patience, Cooper warned himself as he opened the door, letting in a gust of brisk autumn air. Some things, some women, were worth waiting for.
“We may have less crime than in the city,” he said. “But make sure you lock up.”
That said, he walked away into the rainy night.
Patience.
19
Scott crept out of bed, avoiding the floorboard he’d discovered squeaked, padded over to the window and watched the Jeep drive away. He hadn’t wanted to go to bed. What he’d wanted was to hang out and have Cooper tell him more outlaw stories, but Warren had told him that guys didn’t like kids hanging around when they were dating their moms.
Not that Cooper and his mom had gone on a real date. But Scott didn’t want to screw things up if the sheriff did decide to ask her out. Cooper didn’t seem to mind Scott hanging around, but Warren’s mom had been married three times and Mrs. MacGregor was always saying how she babysat a lot at Warren’s because his mother, who was between husbands, liked to go dancing and changed men as often as she changed hair color, so Scott figured Warren should know what he was talking about.
What he hadn’t shared with Warren, or anyone, especially his mom, was his wish that Cooper would become his new dad. Scott really, really wished his dad hadn’t died, but sometimes Cooper felt more like a dad than his own had.
His dad had worked even more than his mom did these days. He’d leave the house for New York City in the dark and usually didn’t come home until after dinner. Sometimes even after bedtime. Lots of nights he stayed at the apartment he kept in the city, which overlooked the Macy’s Parade, but Scott would’ve given up the parade to have his dad home more.
It wasn’t any different on the weekends when his dad would break his promise to come to one of his basketball or baseball games. Sometimes he did show up, but even if he didn’t get called away by some advertising emergency, he was always on his phone, talking, answering emails, and texting.
When Scott had been a little kid, their family had seemed normal. Most of the parents in his private school were the same way. Their dads worked while their moms volunteered at Junior League stuff, played tennis, and in the summer, hung out at the country club pool while their kids took swimming lessons and played Marco Polo.
But when his mom moved him to public school six weeks after his dad’s funeral, he’d noticed that a lot more dads came to root for their kids and even played video games at home with them. Like Cooper had done this afternoon after Scott had finished his homework. It’d be easier to imagine his dad morphing into Iron Man and battling evil enemies than playing Iron Man or Rango with him.
Back in Connecticut, whenever he wished out loud that his dad would be around more, his mother would look upset and remind him that his father had a very important job.
Scott felt queasy in his stomach, like the time he’d gone on the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Oyster Festival, for even thinking that a sheriff’s job was probably more important than advertising.
Just the other day, Cooper had rescued a guy who swerved his pickup and plowed into a tree after a deer ran in front of him. Cooper and the firemen had to cut the driver out of the truck’s cab with the Jaws of Life. Thanks to them, the man only ended up with a broken wrist and some burns from the airbag.
Scott had seen the video—taken by a fisherman who’d been driving by and stopped to help—on the news. But when Scott told Cooper how awesome it had been, the sheriff just shrugged and said he was doing his job.
Which was just what Sheriff Andy Taylor would’ve said.
Jimmy had a boxed set of The Andy Griffith Show he’d gotten one Christmas from his grandmother, who lived in Mount Airy, North Carolina, where Andy Griffith had grown up.
Sometimes, when they’d watched the show on the TV in Jimmy’s bedroom back in Connecticut, Scott had wondered if any kid really had a dad like Opie’s. A dad who’d take you fishing and ask how school had gone, and help out when you screwed up. Which in Opie’s case seemed like almost every week.
Scott bet that if Mayberry had had an outlaw train, Sheriff Taylor would’ve left Barney Fife in charge of the office while he took Opie and Aunt Bea for a ride.
The Jeep’s red taillights disappeared around a corner. Scott sighed, crept back into bed and lay in the dark and tried not to feel guilty for being barely able to remember what his dad looked like.
And for wishing that he could have a dad like Opie Taylor’s.
Or at least a dog.
20
The following morning, after a restless sleep, Rachel was back at the New Chance where things were beginning to take shape. The warm white enamel that had replaced the peeling olive-drab paint made the cleaned and polished copper hood appear to gleam even more brightly.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the new machine—one glance at Johnny’s oil-encrusted vat had been more than enou
gh to make her throw it away—Rachel leaned back against the counter to savor her feeling of satisfaction.
For the first time since she’d begun the Herculean task of renovating the New Chance Café, she could actually envision the restaurant opening on time.
“Looking good,” a familiar deep voice broke into her reveries.
Her fingers tightened on her mug as she slowly turned around. Cooper was standing in the doorway, looking better than any man had a right to look.
“It is, isn’t it? The paint Fred donated turned out perfectly. It’s bright, but has a warm undertone that complements the copper, don’t you think?”
Instead of looking at the wall, he took in her faded red sweatshirt, the silk-screened fat striped cat advertising the wonders of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and her worn jeans, which had splotches of white on one knee from when she’d knelt in dripped paint.
“It’s great,” he said. “But I was referring to the painter.”
She shook her head, even as her lips curved into an answering smile. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“Not when it’s something I want badly enough. And I believe we’ve already determined that I want you, Rachel.”
“Really, Cooper . . .”
“I see you finally got rid of the steer,” he said, changing the subject before she could continue her complaint.
“The steer? Oh, yes, that horrid thing. Cal took it down for me this morning.”
“That old steer’s been a fixture on the New Chance since before I was born,” Cooper said. “It’ll seem kind of strange to have it gone.”
“It isn’t exactly gone.”
“Really?” He picked up a cardboard cup from the stack on the counter and filled it with coffee from her new brewer. “What did you do with it?”
“Promise not to tell Scott?”
He held up his right hand. “Scout’s honor. What’s the matter, are you afraid he’ll ride his bike out to the dump, retrieve it, and bring it back?”
“It’s not at the dump.”
“You put in out in your garden to use as a gigantic scarecrow,” he guessed.
