Head Over Heels (4 page)

He gritted his teeth. “Fine. You're missing the point,
Veronica
. This bar is too busy for you to make your own hours and blow off your responsibilities. And in the immortal words of Rosetta: You don't pay me enough to do your job and mine, too.”

She smacked her hands against his chest, giving him a shove that was surprisingly strong for such a delicately built woman. Caught off balance, he stumbled back a step.

“You're an excellent storyteller, Blackstock. I mean, truly, that was very affecting. It contained all the elements: humor and pathos, the evil villainess, the courageous hero who unflinchingly does his part but is ready to put his big foot down to save the villainess's bar in spite of herself.” To Coop's surprise, she flashed him a smile filled with genuine admiration and humor. “There's only one teeny-tiny flaw. I'm not some neophyte who just waltzed in off the street; I grew up in this bar. And Wednesday is bowling league night in Fossil—it doesn't even
start
to get busy around here until well after nine-thirty. So I doubt you had to knock yourself out to handle”—she peered past him at the clientele scattered around the bar—“the seven, eight,
nine
customers in here tonight.” Then her smile dropped away and she looked him in the eye.
“And even if you had…well, I'd be sorry as could be about it, but I still had something more important to do this evening.”

“Yeah? You have a hot date with your manicurist or something?”

“No, Cooper, that would have been yesterday's important appointment. Today's was to talk to my niece's teacher and principal, and to bring Lizzy home and settle her back into her own room. She's been kicked around enough lately for an entire battalion of little girls, and I wasn't about to turn right around and leave her the minute we got her squared away. So I spent time with her. And when Mrs. Martelucchi arrived, I spent even more time making sure Lizzy felt comfortable with her, since she's the woman who's going to be taking care of her when I have to work.”

“Mrs. Martelucchi? The lady down the street with the
cats
?”

“Yes. She's not incompetent, you know, just because she has a houseful of cats. She's simply lonely. Her son died in Desert Storm and he was her last family member. Marissa suggested her, and she's right. She's kind, reliable as a Swiss clock, and she'll fuss over Lizzy. And frankly, Cooper, Lizzy could stand a bit of fussing. She could also stand to be fattened up a little, and Mrs. Martelucchi just happens to make the best chicken parmesan in the world.” She tucked back a tendril of hair that slid onto her cheek. “All of which brings me to my schedule.”

“Hey!” yelled a man at a table by the jukebox. “Can we get some friggin' service over here?”

Veronica grabbed her cash box, did a rapid count of the money inside, then slid it onto her tray, which she
picked up off the counter and braced against one hip. “We'll continue this later.” She eased around Coop, then rounded the end of the bar and headed across the room.

He watched the subtle sway of her hips as she threaded her way through mostly empty tables to the impatient man and his cronies. As she leaned over to gather up the empties and exchange the full ashtray in the middle of the table for a clean one from her tray, he admitted he didn't know what the hell to make of her. Just when he thought he had her neatly pigeonholed, she did or said something that upset his perception of her. He kept expecting her to be a replica of her sister, but she seemed to be her own woman instead.

Watching her interact with the guys in the corner reinforced that. From all accounts, Crystal had worked this bar with a sexy sort of come-on-and-get-me-boys attitude. Veronica's demeanor was more lay-a-hand-on-me-buster-and-you'll-be-pulling-back-a-nub.

Coop hoped she wasn't counting on her tips to make the rent.

And he'd sure like to know what the hell her game was. He'd almost believed in her concern for Lizzy. He probably would have bought into it entirely if she'd bothered to show up before yesterday. The woman was no doubt a salesman in her non-Fossil life.

He wasn't aware of the strength of his curiosity, however, until she came back to the bar with the order and he heard himself ask, “So, what is it that you do back in the world?”

She blinked but then said, “I'm a restoration specialist, which is more or less an interior decorator with a history degree.” A quick smile came and went. “I just
finished a castle in Scotland that'd been modernized to such a degree you could hardly recognize its origins. It had a thirteenth century exterior and a 1950s interior.”

“I take it you're not married, then?” Coop took a step back, his backbone snapping militarily erect. Where the hell had
that
come from?

She must have wondered the same thing, for her posture stiffened. “And you assume this because…?”

He shrugged. “It sounds like you have a job that takes you out of the country for long periods at a time.”

“And it didn't occur to you that I might have someone who'd understand how important my career is and support me in it?”

“Oh, hell, yeah—that was my first thought. Then I asked myself why Mr. Understanding wasn't here lending you a hand. And I considered the fact that you're not wearing any rings.”

She looked down at her bare hands, then back up at him. “Well, aren't you Mr. Observant. But I have to hand it to you—when you're right, you're right. I've yet to meet the man who'll make me exchange my freedom for the opportunity to wash his socks—although I'm sure you can imagine how very tempting the thought is.” She gave him a swift once-over. “How about you? Are you married?”

“
Hell
, no.”

A smile quirked the corner of her mouth as she picked up the tray he'd assembled. “That sounds definitive enough.”

You don't know the half of it, Princess
. As far as he could see, marriage was just one big heartache waiting to happen.

He watched Veronica carry her order over to the table. By rights, he shouldn't even care enough about Eddie to be looking for the proof to clear his half-brother's name. Because back when Coop was eight, his mother had divorced his dad to marry Eddie's father.

Mary Cooper Blackstock had been a dyed-in-the-wool snob, which was ironic considering her own beginnings. But perhaps that was the point—she'd dragged herself up from extremely humble roots and was determined to go even higher up the social ladder. Only once in her life had she stumbled on her climb to the prominence she felt she deserved, and that was when she'd married his pop in the heat of the moment. When that heat had burned itself out, she'd turned her efforts into changing a guy who'd been perfectly happy being a mason into her idea of a more suitable mate.

Coop was damned if he'd ever let that happen to him.

He would give his mother this, though: She'd actually stuck it out with them for several years before she'd become upwardly mobile again. But when she'd found Thomas Chapman, a man who'd fit much more precisely into her scheme of the universe, she'd walked away from Coop and his dad without a backward glance. A year after that, she'd given birth to Eddie, a golden child also more in keeping with her vision of perfection.

Coop probably never would have gotten to know his half-brother during his infrequent visits with their mother, except Eddie had been a sunny-natured little dude who'd constantly followed him around and
openly worshiped him. What the hell was a guy supposed to do in the face of that?

When Coop's father had died shortly after Coop's fifteenth birthday and he'd had to live with his mom, Eddie had been the
only
bright spot in his life. Aching with grief and belligerent with the knowledge of his failure to live up to his mother's expectations, he'd clashed with her constantly. So when the family moved to Fossil the summer after his high school graduation, he'd cut himself free from Mary's appearance-is-everything style of parenting and hit the road.

Veronica came back to the bar with an order from a new group that'd come in. She climbed onto a barstool while he assembled the order and sat silently for a moment. Chin propped in her hand, she watched him. “So, what about you, then—what did you do before you came to Fossil?”

Coop stiffened, then forced himself to relax. It didn't take a shrink to figure out that early indoctrination at his mother's knee had made him slightly paranoid about allowing people to form an opinion of him based on what he did for a living. So sue him—he had a thing about being accepted for who he was. “I've knocked around from here to there.”

“Uh-huh. And what does that mean, exactly? What, for instance, does one who knocks around
do
?”

Finishing the order, he set it aside and leaned across the bar to bracket her in with his forearms. “A little bit of everything, sugar.” There was something about her that got to him, and if crowding her struck him as a juvenile sort of retaliation for his unwilling fascination, he nevertheless liked seeing the slight flare of disquiet
in her eyes and the way she straightened when she found his face suddenly too close to hers.

She was nobody's pushover, however, for she faced him as coolly as you please. “So what you're saying is that, basically, you're a travel bum who can't keep a job?”

“Hey, I had a job that lasted more than a dozen years.”

“And what was that?”

“Drifter.” Courtesy of the U.S. Marines.

She looked at him in exasperation. “What qualifies you for
this
job?”

“The fact that I can mix drinks and keep drunks from getting disorderly.” He pushed back. “Why? Am I competing with someone else for the position?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what difference does it make where I worked before? The only thing that should matter is if I'm competent at the job you want me to do, when you want me to do it. And, honey, competent doesn't begin to even cover my abilities—I'm damn good at what
ever
I choose to do.” He resumed his position draped across the bar and reached out to trace the tip of his forefinger along the curve between her thumb and finger. “You don't have to take my word for it, though—you're welcome to test my proficiency yourself. Anytime. Anywhere.” He nuzzled his nose close to her temple and inhaled a whiff of that elusive scent that surrounded her. Then—miffed that it went straight to his head—he tucked her hair behind her ear and crooked his head to whisper suggestively into the exposed orifice. “On any
thing
.”

She pushed to her feet. Her face was flushed and her eyes were flustered as she reached for the tray. But she gave him a frosty up-and-down appraisal and said, “Do me a favor. Hold your breath.” Then she walked away.

Coop watched her go and thought he oughtta feel a sense of accomplishment at how successfully he'd distracted her. So why did he have that old sick feeling in his gut instead, like the one he used to get when his mother looked at him as if he didn't quite measure up?

And he knew he'd done everything in his power to prove her right?

“A
UNT
R
ONNIE
? D
ID
YOU KNOW THERE
'
S
A MAN IN
our house?”

Veronica pried one eye open. Lizzy knelt at the side of the bed, her freshly scrubbed face so close to Veronica's own that it was slightly out of focus. “Hmm?” She was not a morning person, so it took a moment or two for the whispered words to sort themselves out in her sleep-muddled brain. “A man?” She squinted at her niece.

Lizzy nodded emphatically. “A
big
man. With stickuppy hair.”

Ah. Coop. “That's Mr. Blackstock. I told you about him, remember? He's the man Marissa—” It suddenly hit her that she
hadn't
divulged that information, and she pushed up onto her elbow, biting back the curse
that threatened to slip up her throat. “I'm sorry, Lizzy. I meant to tell you about him after we took Dessa and Riley home last night, but then we stopped for groceries, and Mrs. Martelucchi came, and then I had to get ready for work, and…” She shook her head at the futility of trying to explain the unexplainable, then shivered as a chill draft seeped under the covers.

At least she
was
covered. Her niece was without a robe, clad only in a lavender-print flannel nightgown, and Veronica lifted the blankets invitingly. “Want to climb in where it's nice and warm, while Aunt Ronnie tries to explain why she's such a forgetful idiot?”

Lizzy scrambled under the covers. “I shouldn't,” she said, but scooted deeper into the warmth anyhow. “I hafta get ready for school.”

Veronica peered past her at the bedside clock. “School starts at nine-ten, right?” She drew her niece to lie spoon fashion with Lizzy's back against her front and covered them both up, then hooked an arm around the little girl's waist. “Heck, that's more than an hour away. You can spare a couple of minutes for a quick cuddle.”

She was rewarded by the feel of her niece snuggling in.

“Now, about Mr. Blackstock,” she said. “Marissa hired him to manage the bar, and since you were living with her and there aren't a lot of places in Fossil that are available to rent, she rented him the attic rooms here.” Lizzy shifted, and the soles of her feet came into contact with Veronica's shins. Veronica jumped, and the air left her lungs in an explosive
hah!
“My God, your feet are like ice!”

“I'm sorry!” Lizzy scrambled to remove herself from range. “I'm sorry, Aunt Ronnie!”

Veronica tightened her arm around her. “Heyyy. Cold feet aren't anything you have to apologize for.”

“But I didn't mean to put them on you!”

Veronica laughed. “You're a female, hon. It's our God-given right to plant our cold feet on the nearest warm surface.”

Lizzy glanced over her shoulder, all big eyes. “You're not mad at me, then?”

“Of course I'm not mad at you.”
And damn you, Crystal, if you're the one who put this uncertainty in her, this willingness to accept blame for every little mishap
. “I was just startled. Don't you have any slippers, though?”

“I have some at my daddy's house.”

Veronica knew that sooner or later she'd have to talk to Lizzy about her parents, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do so now. “So, did you meet Mr. Blackstock?”

“Nuh-uh. When I saw him in the kitchen, I came up here.”

“Which is an extremely smart thing to do when you come across a strange man. When in doubt, fade away, I always say. But I'll introduce you, because you'll probably run into him again. The rooms he's renting don't have their own kitchen, so we have to share ours with him.” Which didn't thrill her any more than it did Lizzy.

The alarm clock on the nightstand went off, and Veronica reached across her niece to turn it off. “Rats. I suppose we'd better get up. Do you have a robe in your room?”

Lizzy shook her head but gave Veronica a shy smile. “It's warmer downstairs, though.”

“Okay. Grab a pair of my socks out of the top drawer for now, and after school we'll go get you some slippers and a robe. I want you to think about what color you'd like to paint your room, too. That white is sort of boring, don't you think?”

Lizzy's big brown eyes showed a spark of interest. “We're gonna paint my room?”

“I think we should. Jazz it up a little, you know?” God knew the entire house needed help if she hoped to sell it so she and Lizzy could get back to civilization anytime soon. And Lizzy's room was the perfect place to start—it would give her niece a lift while they lived here. “Are you ready to make a run for the kitchen?” Lizzy nodded and Veronica said, “Okay, on the count of three, then, here we go. One, two, three!” She tossed back the blankets, and they scrambled off the bed. Lizzy got herself a pair of woolen socks while Veronica gathered together the clothing she'd need for the day. Their teeth chattered.

“Man, oh, man!” Veronica shivered. “I'd forgotten how cold it gets up here. I've got to use the bathroom real quick, but you go ahead downstairs and get warm.”

Lizzy shot her an apprehensive look. “What if Mr. Blackstock's still down there?”

“Oh, sweetie, he won't hurt you. He's a nice man.” May lightning not strike her dead for such a bald-faced lie, but Cooper Blackstock exuded much too much sexuality for her to seriously believe it was
little
girls he posed a threat to, and she wouldn't have Lizzy scared.

“Couldn't I just stay here and wait for you?”

“Well, sure, if it'll make you feel more comfortable. Put those socks on, though, before you freeze your tootsies off. I'll be as quick as I can.”

She didn't bother to dress, just did her business, washed her hands in cold water because she knew it would take forever for hot to make its way up through the old pipes, and brushed her teeth. She was out again in record time. “Okay, kiddo, let's go warm up!”

They raced down the stairs, and Lizzy was actually giggling when they burst into the kitchen. At the sight of Coop reading a paper at the table, however, her laughter died in her throat. She skidded to a halt, drawing back against her aunt.

Veronica curled her hands over her shoulders and looked at Coop over Lizzy's head. He'd looked up at their arrival, and a smile that was surprisingly sweet curved his lips as his gaze settled on Lizzy. His dark eyes softened. “Hey, Little Bit.”

Arrested by an expression she never in a gajillion years would've expected to see on that rabble-rouser face, Veronica had to shake herself free of its spell. “Um, Lizzy, this is Mr. Blackstock, the man I was telling you about. Coop, this is my niece, Lizzy Davis.”

Something tightened his face for an instant, but the expression came and went before she could analyze it. “Pleased to meet you, Lizzy Davis,” was all he said. “Call me Coop.”

“'Kay,” Lizzy murmured, but remained firmly pressed against Veronica's midriff.

Veronica's own nerves were doing an inexplicable little swing dance. “I'm surprised to see you up so early,” she said to Coop. It had been nearly noon be
fore they'd run into each other in the kitchen yesterday, and she, for one, would still be sleeping if not for her responsibility to Lizzy.

The shoulder he hitched indifferently looked half a yard wide. “I've got things to do.” He leaned back in his chair, looking right at home with his paper and his coffee, comfortably clad in an old pair of jeans and a faded black T-shirt, with a camel, burgundy, and black plaid shirt worn open over it.

It bothered her that she found it difficult to look away, and she bent her head to her niece. “You were right, Lizzy; it's much warmer down here. And once we fuel you up, you'll be even warmer yet. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Cereal.”

“Is that all? Wouldn't you rather have something warm? A nice, hot bowl of oatmeal, maybe?”

Lizzy made a face and Coop laughed. “I'm with you, Lizzy. That stuff's nasty.”

Veronica gave him a look. “It's good for her, though. It'll stick to her ribs until lunchtime.”

“Not if she rolfs it up because she can't stand the taste.”

Lizzy eased out of Veronica's hold and inched over to Coop. “I don't like the feel of it in my mouth,” she informed him shyly. “It's mooshy.” Staring at his hair, she raised a hand as if to touch it, but snatched it back to her side without doing so. Her solemn gaze didn't stop assessing it, though. “How come your hair sticks up like that?”

“I don't know, baby. It just grows that way.” He rubbed a big-knuckled hand over his spiky 'do and flashed her a rueful smile. “Maybe it's because I wear
it so short. It might lie down better if I grew it out a little, but this length is easy to take care of.” He bent his head toward her. “You wanna feel it?”

Lizzy inched even closer and ran her hand back and forth over the thick brush-cut. Her lips curled up at the corners at the feel of his hair beneath her fingers, and Veronica found her own palms itching as she speculated about its texture.

Coop returned Lizzy's smile with a grin of his own. “
Your
hair sure is pretty. It's very shiny.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly. “Like Aunt Ronnie's.”

Coop's gaze rested on Veronica for a moment, and she could just imagine what she looked like. Pulling a comb through her hair hadn't been high on her to-do list this morning. “Yeah,” he finally agreed lazily, and turned his attention back to Lizzy. “Like Aunt Ronnie's, in a lighter color sorta way.”

Veronica poured herself a cup of coffee and nearly scalded her tongue seeking that first jolt of caffeine. Then she opened a cupboard and grabbed down a bowl and a glass. She turned to her niece. “What time does the bus come, Lizagator? Does it still stop at the end of the block?”

“Yep.” Lizzy glanced at the clock on the stove and gave a start. “Oh, no! I hafta get dressed!” She raced up the back stairs.

Coop returned his attention to the newspaper, but paused in the midst of turning a page to spare a glance for Veronica. “You sure know how to clear a room.”

Veronica shrugged and said with studied casualness, “I don't have the hang of her schedule yet.” But his comment stung, for it forced her to acknowledge
the twinge of jealousy his easy way with Lizzy had given her. It was seeing the effortless way he'd won her niece over that had prompted her to ask about the bus, and she cringed inside that she could be so petty. She certainly didn't want Lizzy to fear him, but apparently she didn't want her niece to
like
him, either. What did that say about her?

After setting her dishes on the counter, she pulled a box of cereal off the shelf and reached into the fridge for the milk. She carried everything over to the table, set her load down across from Coop, and went back for her coffee. In an effort to be adult, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she took a seat and gestured at the newspaper spread out in front of him. “When did they start delivering the
Fossil Tribune
in the mornings?”

“They don't,” he replied. He flipped up the top of the paper so she could see the banner, which read the
New York Times
.

It caught her by surprise, and she merely stared for a moment. Then, collecting herself, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Don't see many of those in this little burg.”

Coop shrugged. “I've got a subscription. For this and
USAToday
.”

“My, my. How very literate.” Then she waved a hand to erase the comment. “Sorry. That sounded as if you're too blond to sound out the big words all by yourself, and I don't usually tend to be so rude.” Her gaze got caught up in his pale hair. “Although, if the color fits…” She shook her head impatiently. “Gawd, where is this stuff coming from? I mean, it's not like it counts anyway, when Miss Clairol is part of the equa
tion.”
For crying out loud, Ronnie. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
She scowled at him. “This is
your
fault, you know.”

His black eyebrows rose. “My fault, huh? For what—impaling myself on the sharp point of your little pink tongue?”

A sudden surge of heat spread along her nerve endings, and she gave him the don't-mess-with-me frown she generally reserved for craftsmen who failed to deliver on time. “Why do you have to turn everything into something suggestive?”

“Do I do that?” Amusement tilted up the corner of his mouth.

“You know you do, and somehow you manage to push all my buttons.” But telling him as much probably wasn't the brightest thing to admit, for he studied her with that openly sexual speculation that unnerved her so. It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat, and she raised her chin and blatantly changed the subject. “I need a key to the Tonk.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them. Damn.
It really isn't necessary to broadcast your every move to this man, you know
. The smart money would've just called Marissa, who no doubt had the spare set.

But it was too late now, for Coop was already nodding. “All right. I'll get one made up for you while I'm out today.”

“It will have to be early today,” she said ungraciously. “I need it by eleven.”

He slowly straightened from his indolent lounge. “Why? What's going on at eleven?”

She had no good reason to keep it from him, and as manager of the bar, he had a perfect right to know. Yet
still she heard herself say, “Something I need the key for, okay?”

Then she flinched, for her reply had come out a lot more defensively than the situation merited. She'd used what she privately labeled her “Fossil kneejerk” tone, and that was much too reminiscent of a disposition she'd worked extremely hard to overcome.