by JoAnn Ross
Liar.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Scott threw his arms around her waist. “I knew you’d say yes!”
“I said I’ll think about it,” Rachel pointed out.
“I know. But that’s always what you say when you’re going to give in.”
“It is?”
“Yep.”
“Every time?”
He nodded. “Every time.”
“Hmmm,” Rachel mused. “Perhaps, to keep from being too predictable, I should just say no this time.”
“Mom!”
She grinned. “I’ll think about it.”
Scott’s young face relaxed into a broad grin of his own. “Sweet! You rock, Mom!”
23
Rachel was surprised when Cooper changed tactics. At the end of his shift the second evening after Halloween, he showed up at the New Chance, declaring his intention to work. Behaving as if the sensual moments and heated kisses they’d shared had never occurred, he began treating her as a merely a friend. Rather than a potential lover.
Even as Rachel told herself that she should be relieved and grateful that he’d seemingly abandoned his seduction campaign, she found herself missing the way he had, for a brief time, made her feel, not like the exhausted, widowed single mother restaurant owner she was, but like a desirable woman. There were times, during those nights when they were all alone, staining woodwork or sanding chairs for refinishing, she found herself wanting to drag him into the new cooler and jump him.
Over the next week, he proved to be a willing, albeit less than skilled manual laborer, throwing himself into his work with an enthusiasm that reminded her of Scott tackling a new project. He hadn’t lied about his painting skills. They were, if anything, even weaker than her own.
She set him to countersinking the nails on the shelves, but when he hit his thumb twice and scarred the dark wood with the head of the hammer, Rachel sought to find something else to keep him occupied.
When she suggested he help his father install the stained-glass in the front door, Dan immediately threatened to quit if his son got anywhere near his pet project.
Unfortunately, as bad as Cooper’s painting and carpentry skills were, he proved to be a terrible bricklayer. Ten minutes after he’d begun working as Jake’s apprentice, the older man had threatened to quit if Rachel couldn’t find something else for, in Jake’s vernacular, “that ten-thumbed jackass” to do.
“The new sink’s been leaking in the men’s room,” she said thoughtfully as Cooper stood cheerfully by, waiting for new orders. “How are you with plumbing?”
“I’ll never know until I try.”
His offhand answer didn’t exactly instill a great deal of confidence, but Rachel reminded herself that it was, after all, only a small leak. More like an occasional drip. Probably all that was needed was a washer. And it would keep him in another part of the restaurant, safe from the usually good-natured Cal, who’d threaten to go after Cooper with his nail gun if he put another ding in the shelving.
“Just change the washer,” she instructed. “Don’t try anything fancy.”
“What’s the matter, Rachel, don’t you trust me to do the job right?” There was a glint of laughter in his eyes.
“Of course I do,” she said, not quite truthfully. While she’d already discovered that Cooper Murphy had many talents, especially when it came to his people skills, he’d proven to be a remarkably inept handyman.
Cooper grinned at her blatant lie. “I’ll call if I get in over my head.”
Rachel found herself smiling as she watched him saunter away. Then, dragging her gaze from his Wrangler butt, she set to work on the miles of pantry shelves that still needed a final sanding.
She’d lost track of how long she’d been working. The men had left. Outside, a harvest moon was rising, bathing Modoc Mountain in a blood-red glow that was almost otherworldly. Immersed in her work, Rachel had actually forgotten about Cooper.
Until she heard him call her name from the restroom.
“Uh, Rachel?”
“Cooper?” She set down her sanding block. “Are you still here?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve just about got it.”
“Great.” She glanced at her watch. Sixty minutes. Not bad for a simple washer change. Not when it was Cooper doing the plumbing.
“If you could just hold the pipes steady while I turn the wrench, that should do it.”
“Pipes?” A tingle of trepidation skimmed up Rachel’s spine as she headed down the short hallway. “Cooper, all I asked you to do was . . .”
She broke off as she stood in the doorway, staring down at the long booted legs. Cooper was lying on his back, his head and shoulders inside the new vanity Cal had installed yesterday.
“What on earth?”
“I replaced the washer, like you suggested,” he explained. “But then it started dripping even worse. So, I decided that the problem is in this joint right here, but the damn thing’s stuck.”
He hit the handle of the pipe wrench with the palm of his hand.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
“Damn!”
Without warning, a flood of water burst out of the pipe like a miniature Niagara Falls, drenching him. Sitting up too quickly, he slammed his head against the bottom of the cast-iron sink. The water kept coming. While he shouted a string of curses, Rachel raced outside and turned off the water at the source.
He was struggling to his feet when she returned to the restroom. “Who the hell turned the water back on?” he asked, accepting the towel she handed him without a word of thanks.
His hair was plastered down, water trailed down his scowling face, and his clothes clung wetly to his body.
“I’m afraid that was me,” she admitted.
“You?” Cooper stared at her unbelievingly. “You knew I was working in here, Rachel.”
“Yes. Well, you see, I thought everyone had gone, and I wanted to make a pot of decaf, so I had to turn the water back on, and—”
“Wait.” Cooper up his hand. “You forgot I was here?”
“Not exactly. I mean, if I’d thought about it, I would’ve realized that I hadn’t said goodnight to you when the others left. But I got busy, and well, you just sort of slipped my mind.”
Cooper stared at her. “I slipped your mind?”
From the stunned expression on his handsome face, Rachel had the feeling that were she to glance down at the floor, she’d see Cooper’s male ego lying in water-soaked tatters.
“That’s not what I meant to say,” she hastened to assure him. Walking handyman disaster or not, he’d given up his evenings to help her. Surely that deserved some special handling. “What I intended to say was, that after the others left, I got lost in work, and—”
“Forgot all about me,” he put in glumly.
Rachel was feeling more and more like the Wicked Witch of the West. “Not exactly,” she mumbled, twisting her fingers together in front of her.
Cooper’s wet chest rose and fell as he exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “No. That’s exactly what you meant, Rachel. You forgot all about me.”
“Oh, Cooper.” She took the towel from his hands and looped it around his neck. “You couldn’t be any more wrong.”
Looking slightly appeased, Cooper put his hands on her hips. “You did forget me.”
“If that’s the case, and I’m not saying it is,” she said, “it’s partly your fault.”
“My fault?” He arched a brow and drew her closer. Rachel could feel a low ache spreading through her body.
“You’ve seemed distant.”
“Distant.”
“Like perhaps you changed your mind about wanting me.”
“I can’t freaking believe this.” He lifted his gaze to the new ceiling awaiting a fresh coat of paint. “Are you telling me that after I’ve spent all these damn evenings trying to prove to you that I’m interested in more than getting yo
u into bed, you’re pissed off because I haven’t been trying to drag you down onto the sawdust covered floor every chance I get?”
“I’m not pissed off.”
“Hurt.”
“No. Not hurt, either.” Not really. At least that’s what she’d been trying to tell herself.
“How about disappointed?”
“Perhaps.” She pressed a hand to his chest. “Just a bit.”
It was all the encouragement Cooper needed. He pulled her tight against him, letting her feel the heat of his erection through his wet jeans. When he began rubbing his hips in a slow, primitive rhythm, Rachel wouldn’t have been surprised to find them surrounded by clouds of steam.
“I have wanted you,” he insisted against her mouth.
Rachel thrust her fingers through his hair, pressing even closer against his rock hard body. “Really?”
“Really. You’ve had me feeling like I was back in high school, forced to hold my books in front of a perpetual boner. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve fantasized ravishing you on top of that pile of Sheetrock?”
The thought of Cooper ravishing her anywhere was vastly appealing. “Sheetrock is awfully hard.”
His tongue flicked into her ear, then retreated. “I have a difficult time believing we’d even notice.”
He was probably right. “Still,” Rachel said, even as her knees weakened, “if we’re going to make love, Cooper, I think a bed would be preferable.”
His hands had been cupping her butt; his lips had been playing at the all-too sensitive skin behind her ear. At her words, Cooper suddenly went very still.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Rachel felt as if she were teetering on a very high cliff over a rushing river. Taking a deep breath that should have calmed, but didn’t, she dove into the storm tossed waters below.
“Mrs. MacGregor isn’t expecting me home for another hour.”
“Well then,” he said, punctuating his words with kisses, “why are we wasting time standing around here?”
24
The night was clear and chilly, tinged with a promise of the winter soon to come. By the time Rachel walked up to the front door of Cooper’s log home, situated on the river, the crisp air had cleared her head, forcing her to view her behavior free of the sensual cloud that had been fogging her mind.
Oh, she wanted him. There’d been too many late nights over the past weeks that she’d tossed and turned in her lonely bed, fantasizing making love to him.
She was a normal, healthy woman, approaching her sexual peak. And Cooper was an impossibly sexy man. These feelings she’d been having toward him were entirely natural. In fact, she’d probably have something to worry about if she didn’t want him.
But want was an uncomplicated emotion, easily felt and just as easily satiated. What worried Rachel was that her feelings were more complicated than mere lust. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite shake the misgiving that when she did go to bed with him, she’d risk too much.
What she had no way of knowing was that it was coming as a shock to Cooper how, in such a brief time, Rachel had managed to infiltrate every corner of his mind. She was never out of his thoughts: he envisioned making love to her in front of a crackling fire, under a canopy of stars, in the hand-milled bed where three generations of Murphy brides had spent their wedding nights.
He wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession. But having been in love before, he realized that something else besides lust might be happening between Rachel and him. Something they’d both have to explore further.
Later.
When they entered the living room, Hummer lifted his head, eyed Rachel with interest, and thumped his tail once on the wooden floor.
“This must be Hummer,” she guessed.
“It is. He’d get up and greet you properly, but he’s never been one to move when he doesn’t have to. I think your son wore him out playing fetch the police baton this afternoon.”
“Poor Hummer.” Rachel bent down to pat the enormous head. The dog rolled over and groaned in canine ecstasy as she obligingly rubbed his stomach. “I hope Scott isn’t proving too much of a nuisance,” she said, looking up at Cooper.
“Not at all. In fact, I should probably pay you for having him exercise Hummer every day.”
“That’s not necessary. If you want to get technical, I should be paying you for baby-sitting services.”
They’d been over this before. Each time Rachel had brought it up, Cooper had steadfastly refused. “Why don’t we just call it even,” he suggested easily. “For now.”
Rachel nodded as she straightened. “For now.”
A slightly uncomfortable silence settled between them. That she was nervous was all too obvious. She was twisting her hands together as her eyes darted around the room like nervous birds, never lighting anywhere.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked, scooping some newspapers off the leather sofa and tossing them onto a nearby chair.
“Thank you.” She perched on the edge of the cushion as if on the verge of running away at any moment. Not an encouraging sign.
“How about a drink while I go change?” Seducing a woman while you were soaking wet might work in some cases, especially if she was, too, but it wasn’t how Cooper wanted to start out.
Her smile was forced. “I don’t think so. But thank you.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be right back.”
Well, this was going well. As he changed in the bedroom where he’d hoped to end up, Cooper was coming to the conclusion that he should have just gone ahead and made love to Rachel on that Sheetrock. Because the mood was rapidly slipping away.
“So, since I can’t get you a drink, how about we just talk for a while,” he said as he returned to the living room where she looked, if possible, even more tense than when he’d left.
She looked up at him with surprise. “Talk?”
“Yeah. You know, as in having a conversation. That’s where you say something, then I respond, then the ball’s back in your court. I’m told some people manage to go on like that for several minutes. Sometimes even hours.”
She appeared not to have even considered that idea. What, had she expected him to rip off her clothes the minute they walked in, then take her standing up against the wall? Not that the idea wasn’t one of the scenarios he’d imagined. It just wasn’t the way he wanted their first time to play out.
“What would we talk about?” she asked.
“Anything you’d like,” he said as he sat down beside her. “The New Chance—”
“Just for one hour, I’d like to forget that place even exists,” she muttered.
“Done. We could talk about the weather.”
She latched onto that one. “Hal Potter says that according to his Farmer’s Almanac, we’re in for a long, cold winter.”
The thought of making love to Rachel in front of his fireplace while snow fell outside flashed yet again through his mind. “Hal’s an electrician. Not a farmer. I’m not sure he qualifies as an expert on the weather.”
“Ah, but how does that explain the caterpillar?”
“What caterpillar?”
“The one Fred gave Scott.”
“Fred Wiley gave Scott a caterpillar?”
“A fat, furry, orange and black one. According to Fred, something about the stripes—I forget exactly what—forecast a long winter.”
“Well, that settles it,” Cooper said. “You just can’t argue with a caterpillar. Sure you don’t want something to drink?”
For a moment, Rachel appeared to have begun to relax and enjoy herself. At the mention of the drink, she seemed to remember her reason for being here.
“I’d better not. After the day I’ve put in, I’d probably be out like a light.”
This time her attempt at a smile faltered badly. When she dragged her left hand nervously through her hair, Cooper noted the unmistakable glint of gold and wondered exactly how emotionally ready Rachel
was to move on. Eighteen months was a long time. Yet, he knew firsthand that there was no universal time period for mourning.
“I really am attracted to you,” she said.
He caught her hand in his. “That’s encouraging. It might become a little awkward if this were totally one sided.” He brushed his fingers over her knuckles. When he began toying with her slim gold wedding band, he could feel her tremor.
Dragging her eyes from his gaze, she stared down at the wooden floor. Hummer, who apparently thought she was looking at him, thumped his tail encouragingly. She didn’t appear to notice.
“I thought I was ready.” A small, regretful sigh escaped before she could prevent it. A sigh that told him more than words ever could. “But I don’t think I’m in a place yet where I can enter into a new relationship.”
“I’m getting that.”
It took a herculean effort, but Cooper kept his tone from revealing exactly how much he wanted to fling Rachel over his shoulder, caveman style, and carry her into his bedroom, where he’d toss her onto his Grandmother Murphy’s wedding-ring quilt, strip off her clothes and spend the rest of the night making mad, passionate love to her, with her, until they were both too exhausted to move.
Cooper hadn’t been living the life of a saint. There’d been a time when his body, dormant for months after Ellen’s death, eventually had begun to stir to life. Rather than expose himself to River’s Bend’s spotlight, he’d driven across the mountains to various Rogue River Valley towns where he’d indulged in short-lived relationships with women who weren’t looking to get emotionally involved any more than he’d been.
Okay. They hadn’t even been relationships. Or even affairs. What they’d been were hookups, pure and simple. A solution that had worked for both parties in the beginning. But after a few months, sex without an emotional connection became depressing, so he’d locked his once lusty libido away.
Until Rachel Hathaway had arrived in town and blown the lockbox to smithereens.
“I know how much you loved your husband,” he said.
