Cooper shrugged, glad to have her this close to him again. She’d showered after their romp in the tack room, and she smelled delicious. “No one will even notice a hickey,” he assured her.
She made a sound that made him think she wasn’t quite buying that, and her gaze met his. Finally, they were about to have the talk, the one they needed to have.
“It wasn’t just sex,” he blurted out before she could say anything. “And you really are my damn fantasy.”
In hindsight, he wished that last part hadn’t been coated with some anger and hurt, but damn it all to hell, he’d told her the truth. And he wanted to keep telling her the truth until she believed him.
Lila opened her mouth, closed it and repeated doing so as if she kept changing her mind about what to say. But she didn’t get a chance to say anything at all because he heard the vehicle pull into the driveway.
“This discussion isn’t over,” he snarled, knowing full well that it hadn’t even gotten started.
They went to the front door, opening it just as Crystal and Jeremy stepped onto the porch. It was just after 7:00 p.m. and still light out, so Cooper didn’t have any trouble seeing their faces or expressions. They looked exhausted...and Jeremy was sporting a hickey on his neck. Apparently, Lila and her sister had a knack for such displays of affection.
“Is that some kind of pasta dish in the front yard?” Crystal asked, motioning behind her.
Cooper had forgotten all about cleaning up the lasagna. “Long story,” he muttered. “So are the trampled flowers, but I’ll replace them.”
Jeremy stepped into the house, met his gaze, and then that gaze lowered to Cooper’s neck. Right to the hickey. Apparently, someone had noticed it after all.
“Noah’s in his room,” Cooper volunteered to shift his brother’s attention to something other than his love bite. “Leyton said if you’ve got any questions, you can call him. Sandy, too. She’s not mad but figured you’d want to speak to her.”
Jeremy nodded, gave a weary shake of his head. “Thanks. I appreciate everything Lila and you did.”
Cooper didn’t feel as if he deserved any thanks or appreciation, and considering the way Lila’s head dipped, neither did she. “I’m sorry about this,” Lila and he said at the same time.
Jeremy gave another nod and doled out some pats on their backs. It had a definite “you can leave now” vibe to it. Which was fine with Cooper. But that left Lila with a bit of a dilemma since she didn’t have her own place to go to in Lone Star Ridge.
But she did have his place.
“Give me a second,” Cooper told his brother, and he led Lila out onto the porch, where they’d have some privacy. “I’m ready to hear your apology for the hickey you gave me,” he said. “I think we should go to my house and discuss it.”
Her eyes narrowed a little, but there was no anger in them. “If we go to your house, we’ll have sex.”
“You say it like there’s a downside to that.” But he waved that off because he didn’t want to go down that path just yet. “Jeremy, Crystal and Noah need to talk. We need to talk. Better for us to do that in the air-conditioning. The heat might make my hickey itch.”
This time, she rolled her eyes. Then sighed. “Crystal, I’ll be at Cooper’s if you need me,” Lila called out to her sister.
Cooper didn’t dare smile or look even a little smug at getting his way. After all, Lila had chosen him over possible heatstroke or staying on the fringes of that family shitstorm. He’d won out pretty much by default.
Lila followed him home in her car, probably so she’d have a way to leave if things took a bad turn between them. Cooper very much wanted to make sure he took all the right turns with her. However, the moment he turned into his driveway, he knew that “right turns” were going to have to wait.
Hell.
Evelyn’s Mustang was parked in front of his house, and she got out the moment he pulled to a stop behind her. She flashed him a welcoming smile that dimmed considerably when she spotted Lila.
“Oh,” Evelyn muttered. “Word is that your brother and Crystal got back, so I figured you’d be coming home alone.”
Cooper dragged in a long breath since he figured he needed to clarify to Evelyn, again, that they weren’t getting back together. “I want Lila to stay the night with me. I’m not sure she will, but it’s what I want. Do you understand that, Evelyn? Lila’s what I want.”
He hadn’t been sure Lila had heard what he said until she made a little sound. Maybe of surprise. Heck, maybe it was just a hiccup.
“I see,” Evelyn said. Her gaze zoomed to Lila, who stepped up to Cooper’s side. “Can we talk, woman to woman?”
“No,” Cooper answered for her. “You’re not going to get the chance to bully her again.”
Evelyn flinched as if he’d slapped her, and then she squared her shoulders, steeling herself up. “I know I was mean to you, and I’m sorry,” she told Lila. “But don’t do this. Don’t punish me by using Cooper.”
This time the sound Lila made was definitely surprise. Cooper recognized it because a similar sound came from his mouth, followed by a “huh?”
Evelyn turned back to him and folded her arms over her chest. “Lila doesn’t want you. She wants the idea of you.”
“The idea of me?” he repeated.
“You know, hot and popular. You’re this unattainable—”
“He’s my fantasy,” Lila interrupted.
Cooper looked at her to make sure she wasn’t about to cave to Evelyn’s BS. She wasn’t. Lila pointed to Cooper’s neck. “I gave him that, and there are others.”
He wasn’t sure how that fit with what Evelyn was spewing out, but it made him smile. “Lila’s my fantasy, too,” he said, not even sparing Evelyn a glance.
Evelyn huffed. “Opposites might attract, but birds of a feather flock together. Cooper, you and I are of the same flock.”
“I’m betting you don’t have any stats to back that up,” Lila argued.
Because there was a little smile on Lila’s mouth, Cooper didn’t want to take his eyes off her. So he didn’t. He leaned in and kissed that smiling mouth, and while it didn’t mean everything was hunky-dory between them, it was a good start.
“Goodbye, Evelyn,” he said, and hooking his arm around Lila, he led her into his house.
“Screw you, Cooper,” Evelyn shouted, and a moment later, he heard her peel out of his drive.
Good riddance. Maybe the woman would move on to someone else she could flock and feather.
He kissed Lila again when they stepped inside, and he led her to the sofa. “Wait here while I do something.”
Cooper hurried to take out his phone so he could look up some things. Too bad he didn’t have Sophia here to help him with this, but he finally worked his way through what he needed to find.
“The average person has six relationships before they find the one,” Cooper said, sitting down next to her.
Her smile faded. “I’ve only had three.”
“I’ve had enough to make the averages work in our favor.” Not to be deterred, he continued, “The average couple has three dates before sex and a dozen dates before considering themselves a couple.” He looked up from his phone. “I clearly owe you a dozen dates.”
Her mouth quivered a little. Then it quivered a lot in a different kind of way when he leaned in and kissed her again. He kept it soft and sweet.
“The average couple has over twenty dates before falling in love,” he went on. “I owe you twenty dates.”
The next kiss he gave her wasn’t soft or sweet. He knew how to make it dirty enough to heat her up, and the hitch in her breath told him he’d succeeded in doing just that.
“You want to fall in love with me?” she asked, her voice and face all dreamy. And hot. Mercy, she had his number.
“Already done that. The trick wi
ll be to get you to fall in love with me. Think that’ll happen after twenty dates?”
She shook her head, causing his heart to stop until she said, “Much sooner than that.”
That was damn good news, and it brought on another kiss. Lila could do dirty, too, and when he eased back after a half hour or so, he was the one with a hitch in his breath.
“How many dates before deciding we don’t want to live without each other?” she asked.
Cooper smiled and went for even dirtier with his next kiss. “Let’s find out.”
* * *
When the terms of a will force Millie Parkman Dayton and Joe McCann back into each other’s lives, they soon discover that the only way to overcome their difficult history might just be by sharing an unexpected journey towards healing...
Read on for a sneak preview of Spring at Saddle Run by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.
Spring at Saddle Run
by Delores Fossen
Chapter One
Millie Parkman Dayton muttered a single word of profanity when she looked at the name on the sliver of paper that she’d just drawn from the bowl.
A really bad word.
One that would have gotten her mouth washed out with soap had she still been a kid. Since it’d been a while since anyone had crammed a bar of Dial Antibacterial into her mouth, Millie steeled herself up for a mouth-washing of a whole different kind.
Sitting on the front row in the town hall of Last Ride, Texas, Millie’s mother, Laurie Jean Parkman, gasped and then lost nearly every drop of color in her face. No easy feat, considering she was wearing her usual full coverage makeup. After the color drained, her mom pulled out the mountain-size emotional guns.
Tears watered her eyes.
Narrowed eyes that had also gotten the full makeup treatment, and Laurie Jean’s now hot baby blues warned Millie she’d better think fast and figure out a way to erase everyone’s memory of what she’d just said.
Making waves brings shame—that was Laurie Jean’s motto. It wasn’t exactly needlepointed on pillows around the Parkman house, but it’d been served up verbally and often enough with morning oatmeal and the occasional mouthful of Dial Antibacterial.
Shocked chatter rippled through the town hall. There’d be gossip. Then, pity and forgiveness. Millie knew the folks of her hometown of Last Ride would cut her enough slack to overlook the f-bomb. More slack than she would ever deserve.
Because she was a twenty-nine year old widow.
And because everyone in the room knew why she’d cursed. With the name she’d just drawn, life had just given Millie a big f-bomb poke in the eye.
Twenty Minutes Earlier
The glass bowls filled with names sat like giant judging eyeballs on the table in front of the Last Ride town hall. Someone on the Last Ride Society Committee—obviously, someone with an inappropriate sense of humor—had put labels on them.
“Bowl o’ Names” on the left.
Not to be confused with bag o’ salad or Bowl o’ Tombstones on the judgy glass “eyeball” on the right.
Millie’s stomach fluttered because she knew her name was in the left bowl, a place it’d been for eight and a half years since her twenty-first birthday. She was in good, and also bad, company since the name of every living adult Parkman relative in Last Ride was in that mix with her.
At last count, there were about 380, and names were added as her cousins, nieces, nephews, Parkman spouses, etc. came of age. Names were subtracted when cousins, nieces, nephews, Parkman spouses, etc. passed.
The right bowl was jammed with folded slivers of paper of names as well. No more coming of age for these folks though. These were names taken from the tombstones in all the local cemeteries. Millie didn’t find it comforting that the Bowl o’ Tombstones was stuffed to the brim.
And that her husband’s name was in there.
It had been for twenty-two months and six days since Royce had been killed, and his name had been crammed in the mix shortly thereafter. Millie hoped it stayed there until she was part of the whole ashes to ashes/dust to dust deal. Then, some unlucky Parkman kin could have a go at doing their duty and do the research that would almost certainly stir up more gossip than it already had.
The memories came. Of Royce’s fatal car wreck. Of the fact that Millie could no longer remember his taste. His scent. Or the last time Royce had told her he loved her. But there was something she could recall in perfect detail.
That what she’d had with Royce had been a big fat lie.
Millie felt the memories and the lies roll into a hot ball, one that would surely spiral her into a panic attack if she didn’t stop it. She needed fresh air, but bolting now would cause every eye in the eye-filled room to turn and look at her.
To pity her.
To whisper about her behind her back.
Millie didn’t want the pity any more than the gossip or the memories so she started silently repeating the mantra that she’d latched onto shortly after the panic attacks had started.
Beyond this place, there be dragons.
It was something she’d seen written on an antique map, a way to warn travelers of dangers ahead. A beautiful map of golden land and teal green waters. The image of it soothed her and sometimes—sometimes—it reminded her not to go beyond the gold and teal. That if she crossed over into the dragon pit of grief, she might never come back.
Beyond this place, there be dragons.
The backdoor opened, bringing in yet more heat and a spear of the April sun that would swelter up things even more before it set in a couple of hours. The trio of overhead fans whirled, scattering the heat, some dust motes and the clashing scents of perfumes that the majority of attendees had slathered on.
“I volunteer as tribute,” the newcomer called out.
The newcomer, Frankie McCann, was decked out in a full Hunger Games/Katniss Everdeen costume, the cool leather one from the scenes in the last movie. She’d even braided her hair, but unlike Katniss, Frankie’s locks were a blend of pink, peach and canary yellow.
Frankie’s announcement caused a few giggles, including a hoot, holler and a knee slap from Alma Parkman, the president of the Last Ride Society. There were also some scowls as the “eyes” turned toward the back of the hall. Millie tried to poker up her face and show nothing. Because pretty much any kind of reaction from her would spur more of that pity and gossip. Millie also kept that blank face when Frankie sank down beside her.
Even if Frankie hadn’t come decked out as Katniss, her presence would have stirred up talk, but Frankie had a right to be here. Seven years earlier, when Frankie had been barely twenty-one, she’d married Tanner Parkman, Millie’s brother, and even though they’d divorced barely a year later, Frankie had given birth to Tanner Junior. Or Little T as people called him. Since there hadn’t been a provision in the Last Ride Society to remove divorcees or those who’d given birth to Parkmans, Frankie had remained in the Bowl o’ Names. Much to the disapproval of those, well, who disapproved of a lot of things.
“Hey, this is a good turnout,” Frankie remarked. Her voice was like a perky dose of sunshine. Not the kind to give you a heatstroke but the extra sunny kind that felt good after a long winter.
“It is,” Millie agreed. Though it was the usual turnout as far as she could tell.
There were about eighty people who fell into one of three categories. Those who truly wanted to honor their founder and ancestor, Hezzie Parkman. Those with too much time on their hands who came for Alma’s homemade snickerdoodles and any gossip they might have missed. And the final group was those who made time and came only out of a sense of duty.
Millie was in that last batch.
She’d come every year since her twenty-first birthday to represent her father and brother who always had an excuse not to be here. Like tonight, her mother was always on the front row, in the
aisle seat. Doing her duty while looking perfect. Laurie Jean wouldn’t be having a snickerdoodle, and she’d been one of the scowlers when Frankie had come in and announced herself as tribute.
As for Frankie, she was all about honoring the founder, eating the snickerdoodles and apparently having fun while doing it. Then again, having fun pretty much defined Frankie’s attitude about life.
Millie envied that attitude. That warm sunshine voice. Heck, she envied Frankie. But admitting that would only put her and her mom and dad under more scrutiny. Her folks didn’t need any scrutiny—as Laurie Jean so often told her.
Plenty of times her mom’s dressings down had been aimed at Tanner. And Frankie. That’s because Tanner had a habit of doing whatever the heck pleased him and no longer feared Dial Antibacterial threats. Frankie owned a costume, party supply shop and also did tats and piercings on the side. While she was good at her chosen profession, it wasn’t a professor that met with Laurie Jean’s approval. Also, Frankie wasn’t a Parkman, or a Dayton like Royce, so DNA and career choices counted against her. In Laurie Jean’s mind, a lot of things counted against a lot of people.
“Heard about what happened at the gallery,” Frankie muttered to Millie.
Millie suspected—no, she knew—everyone in Last Ride had heard about what had gone on at Once Upon a Time, the antiques and art gallery that Millie’s grandmother had left her.
“What a mess, huh?” Frankie remarked.
“Yes,” Millie agreed. “Mess is definitely the right word for it.”
Two very large macaws, Dorothy and Toto, had escaped from the pet store and had flown into Once Upon a Time when someone opened the door. Along with spilling Millie’s mega-slurp of coffee and scattering her stash of cherry Jolly Ranchers on the floor, the birds had toppled tables, knocked down paintings from easels and pooped on a Victorian silver nut spoon before being caught.
All the while babbling Ding Dong the witch is dead.
After the pet store owner had finally gotten them out, it’d taken Millie and her two employees hours to right everything and get rid of the stench.
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