Later that afternoon, Shelby stared at the blank notebook in front of her, then at the guitar still leaning in the corner of the living area, right where she’d set it on the first day she’d arrived. She’d been trying to push back the horrible memories of her mother since this morning, but hadn’t yet been successful.
“Hey, princess.” Cooper’s voice startled her as he knocked quietly on her open door. “You writing your next top-ten?”
“Absolutely.” She held up the blank paper. “It’s going well, as you can see.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. Sorry.” She motioned him inside, unsure how to even act around him right now. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been delivering her a hot cup of coffee on his couch before leaving to do some errands in town for Decker. It’d been twenty-four hours since then, and she was starting to think maybe she’d been a little overzealous with pouring her heart out all over his cabin porch. Had she totally scared him away?
“Where’s the pig?” He looked around his feet, like he was afraid he might step on her.
“Lexi took her again. I think Hayley picked the wrong babysitter.” She sighed. “So what’s going on?”
“Just checking in to see what you’re up to.”
She pointed at the pad. “Clearly, I’m very, very busy. Why? Did Kyla give you another assignment for me?”
“Seriously?” His eyebrows crowded together. “I don’t get assignments.”
“Let me rephrase. Has Kyla made any suggestions regarding what you should suggest I do this afternoon?”
“Maybe.”
“Ha.”
“But I don’t like her ideas. She suggested whitewater rafting, parasailing, or a trip into town to peruse the historical society exhibit on ancient rock paintings.”
“Is she trying to kill me?”
He laughed. “Only with the first two.”
“She really isn’t a fan of people relaxing in their cabins, is she?”
“Not when there are miles of Big Sky country to explore, no.” He shrugged. “But really, Kyla’s main goal in life is to make people fall as much in love with this place as she has. It’s a personal mission sort of thing. She fell hard a few years back, I guess.”
“For Whisper Creek? Or for Decker?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Apparently it’s a thing. First her, then Hayley, then Jess.”
“And Lexi, too? You people are going to run out of single cowboys, if you keep this up.”
“There’s a running joke about the water.” He pointed at her glass. “Just so you know.”
She put it down quickly, which made him laugh again.
“So.” He leaned casually on one of her kitchen chairs. “I’m totally game to try one of Kyla’s suggestions, if you’re up for the whole racing-rapids or making-like-a-bird thing, but I do have an alternate idea, if you’re interested.”
“I shouldn’t be scared, but I have to admit, I kind of am.” She crossed her arms, feeling defensive, but not even knowing why. There was something in his posture, his tone—something careful—that was setting off her internal alarms, and she hated that she half-feared what might come out of his mouth.
“Fear is a good motivator.” He nodded. “But don’t worry—I’m not a big proponent.”
“So what’s your idea?”
“We write a song.”
“We—wait—what?”
He paused, looking straight into her eyes. “We write a song.”
“I heard you.” She felt her arms tighten as her eyes darted nervously around the room. Then she pointed at the blank piece of paper she’d just been staring at. “But writing isn’t really—I don’t—um…”
“You’d rather jump off a cliff with fake wings attached?”
Possibly, yes.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure my tour insurance prohibits me from doing that. The rafting could be an option, though.”
“When’s the last time you wrote, Shelby?”
“I don’t—I’m not—the songs I do on tour aren’t really my own.”
“I know that. Anyone who’s ever met you would know you’d tear out your own fingernails before you’d create bubble-gum nonsense like that.”
“Um, thanks?” Shelby wanted to be insulted, but instead, his words made her laugh.
“You disagree?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“All right, then. How about we write a real song? One you wouldn’t hate to sing onstage? One you would write if you were the master of your own touring destiny, rather than a slave to an evil record company?”
She laughed again. “They aren’t that bad.”
“Sweetheart, I listened to you talk for hours. If they’re not that bad, then I’d never want to see what bad is.”
“I don’t think I can write, Cooper. It’s too soon.”
“I disagree.”
Shelby felt her eyebrows hike upward. “I’m not sure you get a vote, honestly.”
“Maybe. But let me ask you this—what, besides songwriting, would make you feel closer to your father right now?”
She sighed, closing her eyes. “Not fair.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Of course you’re not wrong. But seriously, Cooper. I’m just starting to find my legs again here. If I start trying to write, I risk losing all the progress I’ve made. It could send me down a deep, dark hole I won’t know my way out of.”
“All true.”
She felt her eyebrows furrow. “Then I don’t follow. Let’s go see the rock exhibit.”
“Hey, Shelby?” He took her arm—gently, like he was afraid he might break her—and tipped up her chin with his finger. “I’d never let you get lost, okay?”
Her breath was shaky as she looked into his eyes. “You can’t know that. You hardly know me. You have no idea how deep and dark that hole is.”
“I think I do, sweetheart. I’ve been digging out of my own for quite a while now.” He backed up and opened the porch door, reaching around it and coming back in with his guitar. “Come on. Let’s do this.”
“Cooper—”
“No one even has to know we tried. If it’s a dismal failure, then we never do it again.” He put one foot up on a chair, tuning his guitar without looking at her. “But it could be magic, Shelby. It could really be magic.”
His voice was soft, deep, magnetic, and though parts of her were screaming not to fall into his words, stronger parts—or weaker—just wanted to do whatever she could to keep him here, keep him looking at her, keep him touching her.
And that meant opening her heart—a yawning, lonely place she was scared to remove the lock on.
“Trust me, Shelby. I’m not your manager, I’m not your assistant, I’m not your record company. I’m just…a guy.”
“Just a guy?” She swallowed, and she saw his eyes skate downward to her throat, back up to her eyes, then down to her lips, where they stayed until he blinked and shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want anything from you, Shelby. Nothing except for you to be free to be yourself. Your real self, not the one the record company created.”
“What if I don’t even know who that is anymore?”
“Then we figure it out together.” He leaned toward her, touching his lips to hers—just the faintest, hummingbird-wing shadow of a kiss.
“Trust me. Just…trust me.”
Cooper saw the layers of fear in Shelby’s eyes, and he almost regretted his stupid let’s-write-a-song plan. Who was he to decide what she was or wasn’t ready for, anyway? Who was he to play armchair psychologist and tell her he thought writing would be good for her?
Maybe it would be the worst possible thing for her to do right now. Maybe it would destroy the fragile peace she’d started to attain here. Maybe it would send her exactly where she feared—a deep, dark hole she couldn’t claw her way out of, despite his assurances he’d help her.
But as he’d listened to her just two nights ago into the wee hours, he’d seen her eyes light up when she’d talked about sitting on that bus for endless hours with her dad, composing music he went on to record and perform. That had been the magic of her childhood—he knew it from the way her voice went quiet and reflective—and in some insane moment this morning, he’d decided he wanted to help her recapture it.
It was the least he could do for her, if he was going to get called back to Boston any day now to testify in his own damn trial.
Again.
But maybe he was just being an idiot. It had certainly happened before, God knew.
“We don’t have to, Shelby.” He put up his hands, afraid he’d pushed too far. “Maybe we could just play a little. I happen to know your dad’s entire catalog.”
A small smile sneaked out from the corners of her mouth, and he felt his shoulders drop in relief that she wasn’t completely shutting him down.
“You can’t possibly.”
“Why not? I played some of them with you the other night.” He patted his guitar. “This baby was made only for country.”
“I know.” She smiled, reaching out to touch it gently. “It has a beautiful sound.”
“So what do you say? Do you know any of your dad’s songs?”
“Funny.”
He smiled, ducking. “Tell you what. Jasper’s trying to talk me into playing one of his open mic nights downtown. He’s recently resorted to bribery—a free week’s worth of coffee if I’ll come down and play.”
“So are you taking the bribe?”
“I don’t know yet. Haven’t really ever played in front of anyone.”
“Really?” She paused, studying him. “I love that.”
“Why?”
She smiled, and he loved the quiet, peaceful feeling that smile gave him. “I don’t know. I just love that you’re okay with playing for nobody but yourself.”
“I’m really just too chicken to play in front of anybody else.”
She laughed. “The big, strong cowboy-slash-cop reveals a hidden fear?”
“Hey—we all have them. I’m just comfortable enough with myself to admit mine.”
“Of course. So what other fears do you have?”
“Snakes.”
She laughed again, pointing at herself. “Spiders for me. What else?”
“Dark alleys. You?”
“Rabid fans. Not always fun.”
He nodded. “Armed felons. Those are overrated, as well.”
“I can’t even imagine.” She shivered, then paused, searching his face. “Is that why you really left that job behind? Too many criminals, not enough time?”
He was silent for a long moment, not sure what to say. “Not exactly.”
“Why did you leave, Cooper? What happened back there?”
Cooper’s stomach did the familiar twist at her question. “A lot of stuff you probably wouldn’t believe.”
“Evasive answers for five hundred, Alex—as someone once said.” Her eyebrows went upward. “Pretty sure I spilled most of my guts to you the other night. It would only be fair for you to do the same.”
Cooper sat down on her couch, pulling out his guitar. “I got sucked into a bad investigation. Ended up being accused of things I would never dream of doing, and had to dig my way back. But by the time I was cleared and the real bad guys were convicted, my name had been sullied pretty much beyond recovery.”
“Oh, my God, Cooper. That’s the kind of stuff you see in movies.”
“Not just in movies, unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms, like the thought of him being unjustly treated actually hurt her, and a flood of warmth hit his insides, right where the ice picks had resided for oh, so long. “Who were the real bad guys?”
“Other officers in my department.” He sighed, leaving out the part about being related to the worst of them. “Former officers, now.”
Just applying the title to them, even in the past tense, still killed him. They’d never deserved to wear a badge, let alone the same one he wore—the same one he’d turned in…twice.
“What did they do?” Her voice was small, like she feared the answer, and he looked at her carefully, not sure he wanted to say. Crime scene pictures crept into his brain, just like they did during the nightmares that had plagued him for months.
But she could easily look up Boston headlines and find the information herself. He just didn’t know which articles she’d come across first, and right now, he decided he’d rather be the one to steer the story so that she got the right version—the truth.
“They took advantage of a very vulnerable population. Operated a prostitution ring with runaways.”
Shelby’s hand flew to her mouth. “No.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “They got away with it for a good, long time, too.”
“What happened? How’d they get caught?”
“I was looking at some unsolved cases. I started connecting dots, and those dots started pointing in some incriminating directions. The guys involved got wind of the investigation heating up, and they decided to strike first. Planted evidence, got me accused, and did their best to cover their tracks before anyone could figure it all out.”
“Thank God they didn’t succeed.”
Cooper’s stomach sunk. Based on Lionel’s call, he guessed he didn’t know yet whether they actually had, damn it all.
“Well, they succeeded enough. I was suspended for three months, and every paper and website in the city had me convicted. I couldn’t leave my apartment without a camera crew following, or—just…other things.”
Other things, like the death threats.
Cooper felt his heart rate speed up, remembering those horrible, dark, endless days…remembering the night he’d finally packed all he cared about into the trunk of his car and rolled out of his underground garage with the lights off.
Remembering how it had felt to think maybe taking a psycho sniper’s bullet would actually be better than living the way he was living.
“Oh, my God, Cooper.” She reached out and touched his arm, like she wasn’t sure she should, and it had been so damn long since someone had touched him with tenderness that he had to hold himself back from just hauling her into his arms and kissing the breath out of her.
She seemed to feel it—seemed to debate herself for a long, long moment…and then she took a shaky breath. Her fingers on his arm turned from a light, sensitive caress to a fierce grip, in the span of a millisecond. And then she pulled herself down to the couch beside him, against his body—tight, hard, hungry—and slid her hands up to pull his head downward as he let the guitar slide to the floor.
When his lips met hers, he almost pulled back as sparking, zapping energy arced between them. He’d always been in the driver’s seat. Always. But having Shelby take control of the moment—of his lips, of his body…of his mind—was a head rush like none he’d ever experienced.
But then, as suddenly as she’d come toward him, she pulled back, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head like she had no idea what had just happened. “I didn’t—I’m not—oh, God. This isn’t me.”
He smiled, but kept his hands at his side. It killed him, but he somehow knew better than to reach for her.
She pulled back on the couch, blood rushing to her cheeks as she twisted her hands together.
“I can’t believe—I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I really don’t go around mauling innocent men. Usually.”
He looked at her hands, where one thumbnail looked like it was trying to scrape off the other one. He needed to let her off the hook, and now.
“It’s the cowboy thing.”
“Huh?”
“It is.” He shrugged. “The guys talk about it, and I didn’t want to believe it, but Jesus, you women are powerless against the Stetson. What is it about this thing?”
He pulled off his hat, staring at it like he was looking for the magnets, and she crossed her arms, setting her jaw in a half-amused, half-pissed position.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “It’s the hat.” Then she rolled her eyes, giving it a flick with her fingers. “Are you going to ask for a reassignment now that I’ve tried to take advantage of you?”
In her eyes he saw challenge, but also fear, and he didn’t quite know how to balance the two with his answer.
“Do you want me to?”
She laughed, almost bitterly. “Do I want you—one of about four people I’ve felt comfortable confiding in in ten freaking years—to quit? Um, no.”
“Who are the other three?”
“My father, his manager, and my assistant.”
And Lexi, she almost added.
Cooper tipped his head. “Seriously? What about your friends?” Had she any friends?
“The people who surround me are on my payroll, Cooper. I’ve been on the road for twelve years as Tara Gibson, and I spent the sixteen years before that in my father’s bus. I never went to school, I never lived in a dorm, I never had a first job where you go out to lunch on Fridays to complain about the boss.
“Until I was old enough to know better, I thought all of those people around me were my friends. Imagine my surprise when I found out their job was to keep me happy, keep me dressed, keep me hydrated, keep me toned.”
“I’m…sorry.” He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remotely relate. He might have been put through the meat grinder back in Boston, but he did have guys who had his back. They just weren’t on the force. They hadn’t been able to do much besides buy him beers and serve as character references, but they’d been there.
“It’s just the way it is. A different kind of life.”
“So if I asked you right now who your best friend is, what would you say?”
“I’d say I don’t have one.” She shrugged. “I don’t really know what it feels like to be able to answer that question.”
“And you don’t feel—I don’t know—sad about that?”
“Are you kidding?” Her eyes went wide. “Of course I do. What twenty-eight-year-old doesn’t have friends? It’s pathetic.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, Cooper, it is. But guess what? For my entire life, I’ve been surrounded by the possibility that if I let somebody get too close, my last shreds of privacy could be shattered in an instant. Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell the difference between someone who honestly gives a hoot about you and somebody who wants a good story? Or a free vacation? Or sex with a pop star?” She shivered, making a face. “Sorry. No, of course you wouldn’t know.”
He sat back against the cushions, feigning a relaxation he didn’t feel. “I might know more than a little about the posers of the universe. I almost married one.”
Her head swung around. “There really was a fiancée?”
“Not quite, but almost. She’d picked out a ring, sometime along.” He rolled his eyes.
“Did you love her?”
“I thought I did. Thought I’d hit the jackpot, you know? Here she was, all hot model on the outside and sweet, shy girl on the inside.”
“Cooper?” Shelby grimaced. “I just kissed you. Maybe we keep the physical descriptions to a minimum?”
“Sorry. Anyway.” He took a deep breath. “She turned out to be as shallow as a tide pool, and as soon as the news broke about the investigation, off she went.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious. She said she couldn’t risk her professional reputation being sullied by a relationship with a crooked cop.”
He winced as the words came out of his mouth, hearing them blurting out of hers as she’d packed that night.
Shelby leaned back against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms as she studied him. Then she nodded slowly as if an idea had just come to her.
“You have terrible taste in women.”
“Noted. Agreed.” Mostly.
“I could help you with that.”
He felt his eyebrows come together. “What does that mean?”
“I may not have friends, but I do have eyes, and I’ve spent a lot of years people-watching. Makes for good songwriting. I could teach you a few things.”
“About…songwriting?” He knew that’s not what she meant.
“About women.”
“No offense, Shelby, but I’m not sure I need that sort of help. Or would admit it, if I did.”
And just checking here, but did I imagine the heat we just sparked? But now you’re offering to help me with…women?
She put her hands on her hips. “Seriously? You’re turning town free female advice from the waning queen of the pop charts? I know all the things. They’re right there in my lyrics.”
“Lord help me.” He laughed carefully. “If those teen lyrics are your advice, then I might just ask Kyla for that reassignment. Now.”
“Too bad. I’ll pitch a fit, and she’ll have to keep you here so her celebrity VIP is happy.” She leaned down to put his guitar back in its case. “We can write another time. Let’s go downtown and people-watch.”
Cooper looked at her—at the shaky hands and the pink, embarrassed spots on her cheeks—and he realized that he hadn’t imagined their heat. No way. She’d felt it just as hard as he had, but she didn’t know what to do with it.
So instead of dealing with it, she was trying for an exit.
But at least she wasn’t trying to leave without him. For now, he could be okay with that. He could follow her downtown, and he could pretend to take in her advice…and he could be patient. He could definitely be patient.
But he could still pretend to be doing it under duress.
She grabbed his hand and headed for the door, laughing when she looked at his face. “Stop looking pained. I’m not that bad to spend time with.”
He took a deep breath and let her pull him outside, briefly stopping to wonder if he should mention she’d forgotten her big hat…then figuring if she wasn’t thinking about it, he wasn’t going to remind her.
And as they headed down the hill toward the main lodge and parking lot, he allowed himself a small smile of victory.
Not only had he gotten her out of her cabin and her own head…she’d actually led the way.