Francesca peeked at the GPS and peered ahead at the winding road in front of her as it snaked around in a slithering curve. She was only marginally relieved that the curve in the road appeared to match the curve on the GPS screen. She should have used common sense and followed Cooper, but her mother had drilled in her that you never, ever go to someone’s home without bringing some sort of gift for the hostess. So Francesca detoured by an upscale grocery for a whimsical bouquet of pink and purple flowers for Bridget and Brittany and a marble cake Cooper and the girls could share. Now she was making her way up the mountain with only the screen for guidance.
The sun was still up but barely. The tall trees and thick foliage lining the winding mountain road blocked out much of the light, the result being a tunnel-like effect surrounding the narrow lane. Midcentury brick two- and three-story houses were sprinkled among older farmhouses and barns, many of which had quilt patterns painted on their sides. Horses grazed in the fields, stomping and snorting a bit in the rapidly cooling March air. The trees were bare of leaves but were sporting buds. Francesca could only imagine this countryside in the full, leafy bloom of summer.
Would she still be here to see it? Or would she have moved on by that time?
Francesca took another turn around a curve and then another. The GPS announced she had reached her destination on her left. All she could see from the road was a mailbox marked “Barstow” and a narrow gravel driveway beside it. She took the drive through a thick stand of trees that suddenly gave way to a gravel parking pad where Cooper’s Tahoe sat. Beyond the pad there was a smallish front yard that sloped up to a big, redbrick three-story built into the side of the mountain. The front door was on ground level. A wide deck spanned the width of the second floor and looked out over the sun setting on the valley below. Francesca suspected that the main living area was in fact on the second story of the house.
She pulled in next to the Tahoe and carried the flowers and cake to the front door. A delighted Bridget opened the door almost immediately. “Come in, come in. We’re so glad to have you tonight.”
Francesca wasn’t sure everybody involved was all that thrilled, but she was glad to be here anyway. “Thank you for having me.” She handed the flowers to Bridget. “Flowers for my hostesses.”
“Oh my goodness. Nobody ever brought me flowers before!” Bridget was practically squealing. “Oh, Miss Chessie, thank you. Thank you so much. Come on in. Let me take your jacket.”
Francesca stepped into a large foyer and handed Bridget her jacket, which the child promptly hung on the newel post. To one side behind an open double door was a large, informal music room, complete with a hammered dulcimer on a stand, an array of instrument cases in a specially designed built-in glass front cabinet and a baby grand piano gracing one corner. The double door on the other side of the foyer was closed. A wide staircase led up to the second floor. “Come on up. Daddy and Brittany are finishing up making supper.”
She scampered up the stairs, Francesca following at a more sedate pace. They passed through a casual, comfortable living room with dark leather furniture and a big-screen TV mounted over a wood-burning fireplace, into an informal kitchen-dining room with a big farmhouse table dominating the dining room side and a breakfast bar separating it from the kitchen. Brittany was busy putting together a big salad.
Cooper was dishing up the pot roast and vegetables, using his prosthetic pincers with the kind of skill that came from long years of practice. He had shed his outer shirt and was clad in a long-sleeved T-shirt that was snug enough to display his broad shoulders and strong chest but still leave room for the prosthetic’s faintly visible harness that stretched across his back and around his shoulders. The presence of the harness and the artificial arm did not diminish Cooper’s sex appeal one iota. Otherwise she wouldn’t be wondering what he looked like under the T-shirt and wishing she could find out.
Bridget proudly showed Cooper and Brittany the flowers. “Here’s a cake for all of you to share.” Francesca handed the box to Brittany.
“How lovely of you. Thank you so much.” Brittany set the cake box on the counter. “We didn’t have dessert. Now we do.”
Cooper looked down at Bridget, proudly clutching the bouquet. “The flowers are beautiful, aren’t they, Pixie? Thank you, Chessie.”
Cooper found a vase in an overhead cabinet. Francesca offered to help. She and Bridget were put to work setting the table and making everyone a tall glass of iced tea. They were soon seated around the table with plates piled high. “Wow, this is delicious, Cooper,” Francesca enthused. Cooper murmured this thanks. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Daddy’s always cooked good,” Bridget said.
“No, he hasn’t. Grandma taught him after Mom moved out. You were little and don’t remember.” Brittany looked across the table at Francesca. “Mom and Dad divorced when Bridget was three. We’ve lived with Daddy ever since.”
“Mom’s gone all the time,” Bridget added. “She takes pictures all over the world.”
“You might have heard of her.” Brittany picked up the conversational thread. “She’s Eileen Farrell.”
“Yes, I think I’ve heard of her,” Francesca said. Boy, had she. Eileen Farrell had done a photoshoot of her with her parents just last year. Yet another potential land mine in the subterfuge she was trying to pull off. “Does your mom ever go to the club to hear you play?”
The girls looked at one another. “Damn seldom,” Cooper admitted. “She’s not a big fan of bluegrass.”
Then how had she ended up married to Cooper Barstow?
“Sometimes she and Daddy fight about it. Her being gone, I mean. He thinks she neglects us.” Bridget’s tone was matter-of-fact but Francesca could detect the child’s hurt.
“Well, she does, Bridget. But Daddy and Grandma more than make up for it,” Brittany said quickly. “He says it’s Mom’s loss.”
“You know what? After meeting you girls, I do believe he’s right.” Francesca had to wonder. How could a woman leave these lovely girls? As much touring as Isabel had done over the years, her mother always made lots of time for family.
Cooper shot her a grateful look across the table. “My girls are special, aren’t they?”
“Absolutely.”
Yes, his girls were special. But then so was he. Not only was he talented and sexy beyond belief, but he was a single parent rearing two of the most charming young women she’d met in a long time.
“Does your daddy cook?” Bridget asked.
“Yes, he does. My favorite dish of his is carne al piatto.”
“What kind of food is that?” Cooper asked.
Uh-oh. Had she just slipped up? Hopefully not. “It’s Italian. My grandmother’s family came from Italy. She taught him how to make them. He makes wonderful spaghetti sauce and his minestrone is to die for.”
When telling a lie, stick as close to the truth as you can.
“Does your mom cook?” Bridget asked.
“Mom can’t boil water.” That was the truth.
Quickly, before the topic of conversation lingered on her, Francesca threw out a question about where to get a good hamburger in Tri-Cities. Soon Cooper and the girls were engaged in a spirited discussion of where Francesca could land the best cheeseburger with all the trimmings. They finished dinner and cut the cake. The four of them made quick work of clearing the table. Cooper and Brittany shooed her and Bridget down to the music room while they finished in the kitchen. Bridget picked up a fiddle and started noodling. Francesca was looking at the instruments in the built-in cabinet, many of which she’d never seen before, when Cooper and Brittany came downstairs to join them. “Admiring my foolishness?” Cooper asked. “I swear I’m not going to buy any more instruments. Then I see something the girls might like and I whip out the plastic.”
“I wouldn’t call it foolishness.” Francesca thought of her mother and father’s extensive collection of violins and cellos, and her own weakness for a well-made instrument. “They’re an investment.” She pointed to a small triangular stringed instrument with a pick wedged in between the strings. Was she supposed to know what all these exotic instruments were? “Who plays that?”
“We all do, but it’s mine.” Cooper took the small instrument from the cabinet. “After I got my arm blown off in the war, I was convinced I’d never make music again. I wasn’t taking it too well, to say the least. My father brought me this lap harp. He sat me down and made me play it.” He picked a lively fiddle tune on the little harp. “Not that I’ve ever played it with the band, but he was making the point that it is possible to lose an arm and still play an instrument. The next thing you know, he’s packed up his own hammered dulcimer and brought it over. Pretty soon I was making music on that, too.”
“Show her, Daddy.” Bridget handed Cooper a dulcimer hammer.
Cooper stepped up to the instrument and played a song that Francesca didn’t recognize but thought was a reel of some kind. The sound wasn’t as full as he’d have had with two hammers going, but it was amazing what he’d learned to do with just the one. “Wow. That was something else.”
Cooper shrugged. “Not really. My father wasn’t all that impressed, or he pretended not to be. So the next thing I knew he brought over a bowed psaltery.”
A what?
Cooper reached back in the cabinet and withdrew a medium-sized triangular instrument strung in a pattern that resembled a piano keyboard. Gripping the psaltery with his prosthesis, he balanced the instrument out straight in front of him. Brittany handed him a curved bow. With his right hand flying, he played one of the fiddle tunes in The Barstows’ repertoire, one she’d learned just last week. It sounded different from most bowed instruments. It took Francesca a few bars to realize that the overtones were dissonant, which gave the music an otherworldly, almost celestial ring.
Inspired, Francesca motioned for Bridget to hand her the tuned fiddle. When he started on the chorus, Francesca joined in. Cooper looked up in surprise but didn’t miss a beat, and when it came time to go through it a third time, he dropped down and played a beautiful harmony line to go with the melody. Then they switched places and Francesca wove a harmony line for his melody. They ended with a flourish and bowed to the clapping girls.
“Miss Chessie, you and Daddy sound wonderful together.” Bridget’s eyes shone. “Better than he and I ever have.”
“I doubt that.” Francesca shook her head.
“No, she’s right. You and Daddy sound like you’ve played together forever,” Brittany said.
“So who do you play with down at the club?” Francesca asked Cooper.
“The girls, when I do play. I don’t perform with the psaltery very often.”
“Why not? You play it wonderfully. You should be sharing it on a regular basis.”
“I doubt anybody would want to hear it on a regular basis. A lot of people think a psaltery sounds like a yowling cat.”
“A lot of others love it. Tell you what. Why don’t we work up a few to do together some evening when you need some filler music? Try a number or two out on your audience. Depending on how many tomatoes are thrown, you’ll know whether it has enough audience appeal to include on a regular basis.”
“I don’t think—”
“Aw, come on Daddy. Puh-leeze? You and Miss Chessie sound so pretty,” Bridget wheedled.
“Daddy, I’ll bet it will go over nicely,” Brittany added.
Cooper looked at the girls and then at Francesca. “It’s pretty hard to say ‘no’ to three pretty ladies. Okay, Chessie. Pick out two or three and we’ll test-drive them next Tuesday between bands.”
“I’ll do that. So, besides singing and playing three instruments, do you have any other talents in your repertoire?”
“Daddy can clog dance, too,” Bridget said proudly. “He took over coaching the clog dancing when a whole bunch of kids wanted dulcimer lessons and Aunt Kylie couldn’t do both. Show her, Daddy.”
Cooper obligingly danced a few steps. “I’m a much better coach than I am dancer. I haven’t danced much for years.”
“Surely the arm isn’t a problem, is it?” Francesca asked.
“Hours in the day are the problem. It takes time, and a lot of it, to come up with the routines and practice them.” Cooper’s eyes danced with amusement. Amusement that faded when their eyes met and held. Something passed between them, a mutual awareness of one another that was more than physical. Francesca was conscious of a piercing perusal on his part, brief but thorough as he, perhaps unconsciously, telegraphed his appreciation of her as a woman. Flustered, Francesca held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary then quickly turned away lest the girls become aware of what was happening between her and their father. To hide her confusion, she took a quick look at her watch.
“Wow. Time does fly when you’re having fun. I think we better call it an evening.”
“Miss Chessie, you just got here,” Bridget protested.
“Actually, it’s after ten. You both have to get up for school in the morning,” Cooper said. “Thank you for coming, Chessie. The evening was lovely.”
“No, thank you and your daughters. The meal and the company were both wonderful.”
Brittany wished her a warm good-bye. Bridget threw her arms around Francesca’s waist for a hug. “Thanks for coming, Miss Chessie. I had a great time.”
“So did I,” Francesca assured the child.
“I’ll see you out.”
Cooper retrieved her jacket from the newel post and helped her into it, his pincers holding the left side as she slipped it over her arms. He opened the front door and ushered her outside, his good hand resting lightly on her waist. Even though his touch was light and impersonal, Francesca felt the imprint like a brand through the thin lining of her jacket. This close, she could feel the warmth of his body. The woodsy fragrance of his soap and shampoo mingled with the essence of Cooper to tantalize her senses. They walked to her car, the silence heavy until Francesca broke it. “Your daughters are lovely. You’ve done a remarkable job rearing them. I hear that being a single parent is a lonely job.”
“It’s about to get lonelier. Eileen informed me this morning that she’s taking a yearlong assignment in Ecuador. She doesn’t plan to come back until the year is up, not even for Brittany’s graduation. The girls don’t know. She plans to tell them this weekend.”
Francesca whistled under her breath. “That’s a long time to go without seeing them.”
“As she said, they’ll survive.”
“But it still ticks you off.”
“Big-time. But enough about her.” He turned her around to face him. “I’m standing out under the stars with the most beautiful young woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’d rather think about her. In fact, I do believe I’d rather be kissing her.” He cradled her head with his good hand and lowered his lips to hers.
It was inevitable, with the sparks that had been flying, that they would end up in each other’s arms. Francesca met Cooper’s lips with her own. At first it was just the meeting of their lips as they melted together, but as Cooper’s tongue gently probed, Francesca opened her lips, her tongue caressing his as he boldly sought entrance. As their mouths became more intimately entwined, their bodies gradually drew together also, Francesca’s breasts peaking into stiff points of desire as she slipped her arms around Cooper and pulled him close, so close that her breasts were flattened against his hard, warm chest. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his T-shirt as they eagerly explored the muscles of his back and waist. Groaning a bit, Cooper slid his good hand down her back to her waist and pressed her even closer, so close that she could feel the strength of his desire for her. They clung together for long moments, touching and tasting and savoring each other as two starving people might a feast.
It was Cooper who pulled back first. He stared down at Francesca, his expression one of desire mingling with dismay as he stared down into her upturned face. “Lord, Chessie, that was good. But I shouldn’t have done it.”
Francesca shook off the sensual haze enveloping her. “I do believe there were two participants in that kiss.”
Cooper smiled gently and ran his hand down the side of her face. “Yes, there were. But it was a mistake on both our parts.”
Damn, it hurt that he felt that way. “I guess it was.” Francesca smiled faintly in the dark of the night. “But it was still lovely.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Good night, Cooper.”
She drove away, leaving Cooper staring after her. Yes, it probably had been a mistake, if for no other reason than she was living a lie at the moment and her time in Tennessee was finite. They had given in to the attraction and the awareness and acted on it. Now it would be between them with every interaction they had in the future. But maybe it was better this way. Francesca cautiously made her way down the winding mountain road. They had acknowledged their attraction, they had acted on it just this once, and now they would both have their guards up to keep it from ever happening again.
*****
Good lord, what had he been thinking, kissing Chessie Hope like that?
Cooper turned over in the bed and punched his pillow. He’d lain awake for two hours with a raging hard-on. Even after he gave up and provided himself release, he couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. The touch of her lips on his had ignited a wanting he could taste. He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her with everything he had inside of him. He wanted to make her gasp with delight and scream with pleasure. He wanted to make her come, and come, and come yet again.
If that was all that he’d wanted, he’d have done it. He would have had screaming hot-monkey sex with her already.
But he wanted more than the sex. That was the problem. He didn’t just want to make love to her. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to take her out for a meal and talk with her. He wanted more evenings with her like the one they’d just spent together. He wanted to make music with her, to sing with her and play his psaltery while she played her fiddle.
That wasn’t good. Chessie was just a girl. He was forty years old, and an old forty at that. Chessie deserved a young, vital man of her generation, to do all those things with her. She deserved so much better than a cranky, middle-aged curmudgeon with a child almost as old as she was.
Wasn’t that the pits?
*****
Francesca left her sopping wet umbrella on the Formica counter in the break room and carried her fiddle into the instrument room, where she found Cooper plucking the strings of his psaltery and making minute adjustments with a small Allen wrench. “I haven’t tuned this thing in forever,” he said by way of a greeting. “Is it still raining?”
“Cats and dogs. Don’t knock it. That’s why this part of the country is so pretty and green.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a brief smile and returned to his task.
Francesca got out her fiddle and clipped on a tuner. So that was the way it was going to be again today. Brisk and impersonal, as though they’d never kissed under the springtime stars. They had seen one another almost every day since their passionate embrace nearly a week ago, and every day Cooper’s behavior had been cordial but impersonal. Did he even remember their embrace? Or had it made such a small impression on him?
It didn’t seem fair. Francesca could not get the touch of his lips on hers or the feel of his hand on her waist out of her mind. She was even kissing him in her dreams.
She finished tuning her four strings and waited not too patiently for Cooper to finish his thirty or more. After doing a little research into the kind of music that sounded good on a psaltery, she had emailed him a short list of slower, more soulful tunes, several of them Celtic or Irish, she’d found on the Internet, as well as a couple of hymns she remembered from going to church with her Kansas grandparents, beautiful old melodies that would be enhanced by the psaltery’s haunting tones.
Cooper stopped his tuning long enough to hand her his bow. “Here, rosin this for me, will you? That’s one of the things I still have trouble with.”
Francesca stroked rosin on the curved bow while Cooper tuned the last few strings. “Let’s start with ‘Southwind,’” he suggested when she handed him back the bow. She had to think a minute—she’d only learned this one yesterday afternoon—but she jumped in after his short intro and soon they were weaving together an intricate rendition of the old Irish tune. One by one, they went through Francesca’s list, discarding about a third after a couple of playings, choosing three to work up that afternoon and tabling the rest to work up later. Francesca marveled at how seamlessly they played together, especially when Cooper sang along with the instruments, his strong, mellow baritone sending chills up her spine. It was as though they had been making music with one another for years.
They had worked up the third one to their satisfaction and were in the process of moving to practice on the main stage in the dining room when Bradley and his father Joe came in the back door. As always, there was a distance between father and son that Francesca didn’t understand, unless Joe somehow blamed Bradley for his brother’s murder. Joe as always looked old and tired, and even though she hadn’t known him before, Francesca could tell that he was taking his younger son’s death hard.
Bradley too looked less than happy with the world. “Am I still on banjo?” he asked Cooper as they stepped up on the main stage. “I hate stumbling around on the effing thing.”
“Do you see Timberlynn?” Cooper snapped.
Bradley gave Cooper a go-to-hell look. “If she’s not back in a week or two, you need to hire a banjo player and let me go back to guitar.”
“No, that will send a message to Timberlynn that we don’t need her anymore.” Kylie and Danny carried in their instrument cases. “Danny and Ren can fill in for a while longer. Cooper, Bridget said you and Chessie were working up some duets. Go get your psaltery and lay one on us before we get started.”
Cooper retrieved his psaltery. They were just finishing up their arrangement of “Southwind” when a young woman carrying a banjo case slipped in unnoticed through the swinging doors in the back. She stopped just inside, standing in the shadowy recesses of the dimly lit dining area, and stared at Francesca with a piercing intensity that made her uneasy. Had the woman recognized her? Had the woman, whoever she was, realized it was Francesca under the blonde hair and jeans?
They finished their duet to applause and murmurs of admiration. “Sounds great,” Bradley said, clapping Cooper on the back. “You ought to play that thing more often.”
“Hear, hear. He should.” Danny turned his head toward the woman and nudged Kylie. “Mom, look. Timberlynn’s back.”
Kylie inhaled sharply and rushed across the room. She enveloped the young woman in a fierce hug. “I’m so glad to see you, Timberlynn. We’ve missed you so much.”
So this was the much-missed banjo player. No wonder she’d stared so intensely at Francesca. It would be hard to look at your late husband’s successor and not stare. At least there had been no hostility in her gaze.
The woman wrapped her arms around Kylie. Tears ran down her cheeks as she hugged her bandmate. “I missed y’all, too.”
Bradley approached them and put his hand on Timberlynn’s shoulder. “Are you going to be all right playing with us today?”
“I-I think so. I want to try.”
Bradley gave her a quick hug as did Cooper and Danny. Joe nodded in her direction but said nothing, earning himself a blistering glare from Kylie. Timberlynn got out her banjo, Bradley swapped his banjo for a guitar, and Danny, who was no longer needed this afternoon, disappeared into the break room to do his homework.
Kylie motioned Francesca forward. Up close, Francesca could tell that Timberlynn was probably about her age, certainly no older. She could see dark circles under Timberlynn’s somber azure eyes. The lively caramel curls framing her sad, unsmiling face seemed woefully out of place. Under other circumstances, Timberlynn might have been considered sexy, even pretty, but grief had taken a visible toll on her and robbed her of her sparkle. Francesca’s heart went out to the grieving woman, losing her husband and her unborn child in one fell swoop. “Timberlynn, this is Chessie Hope. She’s playing fiddle for us. Chessie, this is Timberlynn Barstow, our banjo picker.”
Francesca took Timberlynn’s outstretched hand. “I’m glad to meet you. I’ve heard some wonderful things about your banjo playing.”
Timberlynn smiled sadly. “I’ve heard some wonderful things about your fiddling. I’m glad you’re good. I wouldn’t want somebody botching Jake’s part.”
Ouch. “I’m trying very hard not to.”
They all finished tuning or retuning their instruments. Cooper called the first number, and it didn’t take Francesca long to understand why they were all so glad to have Timberlynn back. In her hands the banjo came alive. The parts that Bradley struggled through were a piece of cake for the unusually talented girl. As the rehearsal progressed, Timberlynn slowly came alive, color replacing the pallor in her cheeks and a bit of sparkle returning to her eyes. It had been good for her to come back. In Francesca’s experience, music was one of the best medicines out there. It was hard to be unhappy with your instrument in your hands.
Cooper had called the last number. They were ironing out a couple of rough spots when Ren and Sawyer Ellison slipped into the dining room, standing in the shadows as Timberlynn had done earlier. Francesca figured Sawyer was probably here to check on her. He’d promised her and her parents that he would pop in every so often and see how things were going. The two men listened as they played through the song twice more and slipped back out of the room when Cooper declared the rehearsal over.
Francesca packed up her fiddle. Correctly assuming they would be in Ren’s office, she found Ren and Sawyer enjoying tall glasses of iced tea. Two more sweating glasses waited on a serving tray. She picked up one and drank deeply. “I needed that.”
Sawyer looked at her with unsmiling eyes. “So how’s it going? Ren says you’ve managed to fool everybody so far.”
“That appears to be the case. Cooper was suspicious at first, but I think we’re okay now.”
Sawyer smiled grimly. “Ah, yes. Good old Cooper.” He turned to Ren. “He ever get over his beef with you?”
“Probably not,” Ren said cheerfully. His smile faded. “He sure hasn’t gotten over his beef with you.”
“Hence my desire to get in and out of here without causing a ruckus.” He turned to Francesca. “Any possible land mines you’ve come across?”
“One definite and one potential. Cooper’s younger daughter is a huge Francesca fan. So far she hasn’t recognized me.”
“Let’s keep it that way. Stay away from her. Avoid her whenever possible.”
“Not possible at all. I had dinner with them last night and I promised I’d work with her and her sister. Chessie would be expected to do that.”
Sawyer muttered a swear word under his breath. “Then for crying out loud, stay in character and don’t play anything in front of her that would give you away.”
“Do I look that stupid?” She gave him a go-to-hell look.
“So what’s the other potential problem?” Ren asked quickly.
“The girls’ mother, Eileen Farrell. She did a photoshoot of me and Mom and Dad last year. She might very well recognize me.”
“I doubt we need to worry about her,” Ren said. “I’ve never even met her and I’ve been here for months.”
Sawyer asked them a few more questions. He was packing up his laptop when someone knocked on the door. “Come in, Kylie,” Ren called out.
The door flew open. “It’s not Kylie, but—” Timberlynn froze in the doorway. Her face drained of color and she stared at Sawyer in shock. She pointed a shaking finger in Sawyer’s direction. “What the hell is that son of a bitch doing here?”
Sawyer stared at her, grim-faced. “I came to see Ren.”
A furious Timberlynn turned to Ren. “I can’t believe it. After what he did, you still let him in here? What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s between me and Ren is our business,” Sawyer said tightly. “You don’t have any reason to be angry with him. Be mad at me if you want.”
“Be mad at you? I hate you. It’s your fault Jake’s dead. It’s your fault I lost his child. You murdered him, the same as if you pulled the trigger.”
“I wasn’t the one dealing drugs, Timberlynn,” he said very softly. “He was.”
Timberlynn shrieked in fury. “Damn you, Sawyer Ellison. He was doing what he had to do. You bastard. You cold-hearted, shitty bastard!” She hurled a string of curse words at Sawyer that would have done a sailor proud.
The door flew open wider and Cooper stepped in. “She’s right, you know. It is your fault that Jake was killed that night. It’s a pleasure to finally get to tell you to your face just what a shit-bag I think you are. Drug dealer or no, you didn’t have to stand there while Meacham shot him in cold blood. You’re not worth the dog droppings on Jake’s tennis shoes. Now get out of my club.”
Sawyer glanced at Ren. Ren looked coolly at Cooper. “I believe this is my club too. This is sure as hell my office. Cooper, you’re out of line. He’s here to see me, and as far as I’m concerned he’s welcome.”
“No, he is not. Get the hell out, Ellison.” Kylie stepped in the door and Cooper turned to her. “Tell him, Kylie. Tell him to get out.”
“I’m not going to do that. He’s here to see Ren. It’s nothing to do with you.”
Francesca winced at the look on Cooper’s face as he looked at his sister. “What kind of a mealy-mouthed fool have you turned into? That man let your cousin die. Is Ren that smokin’ hot in your bed that you jump to take his side against your own family?”
Ren glared at Cooper. “Watch your mouth. That’s my fiancée you’re talking to.”
“That’s my sister you’re fucking every night. Maybe I don’t like that.” He looked from Ren to Kylie. “Fine. You and Ren want this bastard hanging around, you can have him. Count me out.”
Cooper stormed out of the office. A minute later the back door slammed. Timberlynn looked at Ren and Kylie. “I thought coming back today was the right thing to do. Obviously I was wrong. Find yourselves another banjo picker.” The back door slammed for the second time.
“Shit.” Sawyer sat back down and ran his hand down the side of his face. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“She could have done without that crack about Jake dealing drugs,” Ren said acidly.
“She can blame me all she wants, but her husband has to bear some of the responsibility for his death whether she likes it or not.”
“She doesn’t like it and she’s not going to,” Kylie said tartly. “Maybe if you told them the whole story—”
“Not gonna happen,” Sawyer said quickly. “I’d rather have them hate me.”
Francesca looked around at the grim faces staring at each other. She felt terrible. It was because of her coming here that Cooper was now at odds with Ren and Kylie. She wasn’t that worried about Cooper’s beef with Sawyer, since some of it seemed to be justified. But he was now crossways with Ren and Kylie, and they had to work together on a daily basis. “God, I am so sorry. I had no idea my coming here would cause this kind of a problem.” Francesca looked at the three of them one at a time. “Do I need to leave?”
“Do you want to leave?” Kylie asked.
“Lose my safe haven? That’s the last thing I want to do. I haven’t felt this secure since Tristan was murdered.”
“Then stay.” Kylie put a gentle hand over Francesca’s. “Stay and be safe. Cooper and Timberlynn will cool down. We’ll all kiss and make up. It’ll all work out.”
Francesca sure hoped so. For her own sake, and for Cooper’s.