It's In His Heart (A Red River Valley Novel) (6 page)

He swiped at the perspiration on his face again and tossed the damp shirt onto the table. The shirt tumbled across two of the placemats and sent the mats and napkins sliding askew. He smiled.
Better.

An awful bellowing sound that was an apparent attempt at singing came from the kitchen. He recognized the lyrics, but the tune was so far off-key it didn’t resemble a real song. Coop peeked over the bar.

Oh, this was just too good to pass up. He walked around the bar into the kitchen and leaned against the cabinet. Arms folded over his bare chest, he crossed his legs at the ankles and watched Cinder-Ella cleaning under the kitchen sink. On all fours. Wearing cutoff denim shorts. With an iPod and earbuds blocking out the real world, she howled a Blake Shelton tune.

Now that wasn’t something Coop saw every day. Or heard. Thank God.

Coop wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to listen to his favorite country singer again. The sound of Ella’s unpleasant voice could have scarred a man for life and caused PTSD by the end of the song.

She bawled out the chorus, and Coop’s head jerked back. Atlas whimpered.

Her butt wiggled in rhythm to the music only she could hear, and a tiny swatch of her blue silk panties made an appearance from under her shorts. Coop’s mouth went dry. His head involuntarily angled toward his shoulder, and he took in the view.

Yep. Too good to pass up.

With the toe of his running shoe, he nudged her foot and recrossed his ankles. Ella glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes turned to saucers. She jerked up, her head connecting with the plumbing.

“Hells freaking bells!” she yelled. Really loud. Grabbing her head, she scooted backward out of the cabinet and collapsed onto the floor. A tank top that rode up just above her belly button revealed a flat stomach, heaving in pain. Legs pulled up, an elbow rested on each knee, yellow rubber-gloved hands clutched at the top of her head.

She looked up and glared at him, a sexy shade of pink seeping into her cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said. Except for the knot she was going to have on her head, he really wasn’t all that sorry, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

“What?!” she yelled with earbuds still in.

One corner of Coop’s mouth slipped up, and he pointed to his ear.

“Oh!” she yelled and pulled the earbuds out. Her voice returned to its normal volume, her eyes darted away from him. “Um, you scared me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”
Not really
. “What, no pepper spray this time?”

The pink in her face deepened, a stark contrast to the black smudges of grime streaking her cheeks. And Coop had a sudden urge to take his thumb and wipe her creamy skin clean. Softly and gently with the pads of his fingers.

He coughed.

“I’m considering a holster for my Taser.” She tried to get up, but her bare foot slipped on the damp floor that she’d apparently just mopped, and she slid back onto her bottom. “So don’t sneak up on me like that again.”

Coop pushed himself off the counter and held out a hand. “Let me help. And I didn’t sneak up on you.”

She studied his hand for a second, then took it with a reluctant expression. He pulled her to her feet, grasping her rubber-gloved hand.

“Do I want to know what’s on that glove?” he asked and released her hand.

Ella looked at both palms. “I don’t think
I
want to know. Have you ever had this place cleaned? I mean really deep cleaned?” She looked up at him; a few messy strands of hair escaped her ponytail and hung across her eyes. She swiped at them with her forearm, but missed because of the cumbersome gloves. Then she blew at them, but they settled back into the same spot.

Coop shrugged. “A few times. Maybe.”

Ella’s silky brow arched.

“Okay, once.”

Her brow went higher.

“I think.”

Coop’s gaze anchored to the stray locks that dangled over her face. He reached out and grasped one before he could stop himself and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyes went soft. And dropped to his lips. Then those green emeralds slid lower and took a nice long tour over his bare chest. He found himself holding his breath.

“You’re . . .” She swallowed. “You’re all . . . sweaty.” Something flared in her eyes. Something akin to . . . physical attraction? Yeah. He’d been with enough women to recognize that look. But seeing it in Ella’s eyes shocked him. And seemed to shock her even more, because she took a step back. Her eyes still roamed his chest, though.

“I’m busy, did you need something?” Her tone gone hard, she turned away from him and snapped off the gloves.

“Nope.” He went to the pantry. Every item was lined up in perfect order. “What’d you do to my stuff?”

“Organized it.” She sprayed the already-spotless counter and wiped it down.

“I can’t even make toast because I can’t find the bread,” he huffed.

“It’s in the section labeled
B
.”

He turned a frown on her.

“Just kidding.” She marched over to the pantry and gave him a miniscule push to move him out of the way. “And you say I need to loosen up.” She lifted some sort of wood contraption with a small roller door and shoved the bread at his chest.

“What is
that
, and where did it come from?”

“It’s a bread box that keeps our bread fresher. I got it at the market when Cal and I shopped for groceries. I picked up a few other things to brighten the cabin up, too. This place could use it.”

“This place is fine.” Coop popped some bread into the toaster and got out eggs and bacon. “Want some breakfast?” He’d never had a problem with the cabin, why should she?

Ella bent and started replacing cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink in precision rows. “No thanks. I already ate cereal.” She stood just as Coop turned to put something in the sink and they bumped into each other.

“You’re in my way,” she ground out.

“I was here first. Remember?”

“That’s real grown-up, Coop. Are you going to stick your tongue out at me, too?”

Maybe.
He inhaled. “Look, I just need to fix something to eat before I go to Cal’s summer school parent-teacher conference.” Maybe he should ask her to make a schedule for taking turns in the kitchen. Although why she’d need to spend much time in the kitchen was beyond him, because coffee and a bowl of cereal seemed to be the extent of her culinary skills.

Her expression went blank. “You go to Cal’s conferences?”

Coop stepped around her and got out two frying pans for the bacon and eggs. “Of course. I helped Dad raise him since Cal’s mom didn’t stick around.” Coop tossed two slices of bacon in the pan and cracked some eggs into a small bowl. Since he was so much older than Cal, he’d stood in the gap where a mother was glaringly absent.

He looked up to find Ella staring at him.

“That’s . . . really nice.”

Coop shrugged. “Don’t most parents do the same thing?”

She snorted. “No. Actually, they don’t. I’m a teacher, Coop. Trust me, I know.”

He scrambled the eggs with a fork. “It’s not the same as having a mom to orchestrate a birthday party, or participate in the PTA, or show up at his Little League games with homemade cookies decorated to look like baseballs.” He poured the eggs into the pan and turned on the burner. “But I try.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.” Ella tucked the mop and bucket inside the pantry all nice and neat.

Coop’s jaw hardened because it was none of Ella’s business that his mother hadn’t been around.

“I could get cleaned up and come with you. Since I’m a teacher, I might be able to offer some insight into Cal’s learning disability. It might be a good idea for his summer school teacher and I to collaborate since I’m tutoring him.” She snatched her phone off the counter and thumbed at the screen. “I’ll have to rearrange a few things on my schedule, but it’s no problem to do that for Cal.”

Oh, no. There wasn’t much he could do to stop her from invading his space in the cabin. She owned half the place, after all. But he wasn’t going to let her take over his responsibilities with Cal, even if she was trying to help. She could stick to tutoring his little brother. Coop and his father could handle the rest.

“You have to rearrange your schedule?”

She glanced at her phone. “Well, yes. Today is cleaning. Tomorrow is laundry. The next day is—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
A schedule
? In Red River?

She crossed her arms over her bare midsection, and the tank top pulled taut over her bustline. Coop’s tongue darted out to lick his lip and he bit down on it.
Ow.
That kinda hurt. But he had to stay focused.

“You know what? It’s probably not a good idea for me to go with you. The point is to focus on Cal.”

Fine by Coop. Mission accomplished. He didn’t want her at the conference.

“I’ll just let Butch and Cal know that I can meet with his teacher on my own, if it would help.”

Wait.
But before he could inform her that there was no need for her to meet with Cal’s teacher, she stomped down the hall, into the bathroom, and slammed the door. The shower turned on.

The toast popped up, and the smell of burnt eggs chaffed his nose. He snatched the pan off the burner. He stared at the empty hallway, then back at his browned eggs. With a deep exhale, he tossed the pan in the sink. Now she was even hogging the bathroom. Maybe one of her silly schedules
would
come in handy so he could actually have some time in the shower when he needed it.

C
hapte
r
S
ix

Finally, the road dried out enough for Ella to drive her car into town. She tooled down Highway 578 through Carson National Forest with the sunroof open, enjoying the clear blue sky and crisp mountain air.

She’d made good use of the five days she was homebound by cleaning and organizing the cabin. Butch called a few times to check on her and ask if she needed anything.

So far, sharing a cabin with Coop hadn’t been the hurricane-force disaster she’d expected. Since he gave her a wide berth like he would a skunk on a country road, she’d had the place pretty much to herself, but it was time to get out and explore a little.

She slowed her speed. With summer vacation season in full swing, the souvenir shops lining Main Street brimmed with tourists. Vacationers in comfortable tennis shoes, sun hats, and T-shirts from every university in Texas and Oklahoma ambled along the worn sidewalks and crossed at every intersection.

Texans and Okies loved Red River. It served as a year-round playground where they could escape the harsh summer climates of their home states and enjoy the winter wonderland of the southern Rockies from November to March. There were probably more Texans in Red River than there were in Texas, and it kind of reminded her of home.

Flipping the blinker, she sat at the four-way stop that ran down the side of Joe’s, where Butch offered to meet her for lunch. A two-story building with a red barn facade, it sported a neon sign that flashed its name and several brands of beer. A family wearing University of Texas paraphernalia moseyed through the crosswalk, giving her a friendly wave. She waved back, and they stepped onto the sidewalk, then she eased into the gravel parking lot behind the building.

She got out of the car, and the fresh air filled her lungs, the atmosphere so crisp it almost crackled. She walked around to the front of the building and ascended the wooden staircase that bent to the right. Reaching the top, she stomped a little mud off her hiking boots against the planked, covered porch that lined the front of the restaurant.

Ella walked into the darkened entryway. A waitress scurried by. “You can sit anywhere,” she said.

Ella blinked, trying to bring the interior into focus. The cavernous room tripled as a restaurant, bar, and dance hall. A few hours past lunch, only a dozen or so diners filled the red-checkered tables and booths. She picked out an empty booth in the back corner and headed for it. Peanut shells crunched against the old wood flooring with every step.

As she walked toward the back, she passed two ladies sharing a booth, their heads together, bodies leaning in to whisper. Each held a book. One of the books was closed, and the title
Southwest Sizzle
glared up at her, the author’s name, Violet Vixen, emblazoned across the bottom in scarlet letters.

The late-twenties woman sported perfectly coiffed black hair cut into a chic angled bob. She caressed the cover with French-manicured nails.

Her midforties companion swished a shoulder-length perm around in agitation. Her copy open, she pointed to a section of text.

“See. I tried this with Hank last night, and he got angry. I mean, really. We’ve been married twenty-five years, and we need to spice things up. I’m not dead yet, ya know.”

Ella altered her course and slid into the booth just behind them. If curiosity killed the cat, then Ella was about to die a horrible death, because she just
had
to hear what local readers were saying about the books.

“He got angry? What did he say?” asked the younger woman in a loud whisper.

“He said our sex life has been fine for a quarter century, and he wasn’t about to lock me to the bed with a pair of fuzzy red handcuffs. Then he went and slept on the couch.” The older woman harrumphed loudly.

Ella’s cheeks burned hot. Grabbing a menu, she pretended to browse the selections.

Honestly, she couldn’t blame this Hank guy. Ella and Bradley had never done any such thing. Their sex life had been loving and affectionate; it had seemed spicy enough without handcuffs or blindfolds. So when she sat down next to Bradley’s bed and started writing a romance story to fill the empty spaces of time during his long stretches of medicated sleep, she had shocked herself with what flowed onto the page.

A very hot, sexy story, using the pen name Violet Vixen, burgeoned into a full-length novel about a librarian and her fantasies. Fantasies that Ella imagined living out with Bradley.
Living
being the operative word. That’s why she kept writing, outlining a second and third book. Her imagination ran wild with what she wished she would have done, still could have done, with Bradley if not for his rapidly declining mind and body.

“Andy loved the handcuffs.” The younger woman’s voice dropped low, and Ella leaned back to hear. “And he wants to try more.”

Turning her head slightly for a better angle, Ella snatched peripheral glimpses of her unknowing subjects while analyzing the menu.

The familiar crunching of peanut shells sounded, and the server approached.

“Hi, I’m Miranda. What can I get you?”

“Oh, I’m waiting for someone,” Ella whispered.

The waitress smiled, a dimple appearing at each corner of her mouth. “Okay. Can I bring you something to drink while you wait?”

“Um, how about a Coke.”

“Will do.” Putting the order pad and pen back in her apron, she stepped to the next table.

“You two ladies need anything else? A male blow-up doll? A whip?”

“Oh, bite us,” the older erotica reader admonished. “You’ve read it, too, Miranda.”

The server gave them a slinky laugh. “Yep, and I can’t wait for the third book to come out next month.” Her voice turned a little frustrated. “I can’t believe the first book left us hanging with their breakup. After all the great sex, what woman in her right mind would walk away from that?”

The younger woman’s hands flew to her ears. “Don’t tell me! I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” She began to hum, her hands still clamped over both ears.

Miranda huffed and scurried away.

“I can’t believe she just gave away the ending,” one of them complained. “They better get back together for more hot sex in the next book, or the readers might riot.”

Ella giggled. Her hand shot to her mouth, but it was too late. The two ladies in the next booth went quiet. Crap.

Ella turned to see two pairs of eyes peering at her over the booth. “Hi,” she said, unsuccessful at squelching the guilt in her voice. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Have you read them?” The fortyish woman held up the book.

“Um, yes. I’m familiar with it.” Ella tried evasive tactics so she wouldn’t have to lie.

“I’m Donna.” She pointed a finger at her companion. “This is Brianna.” Brianna waved. “You new in town?”

“My name’s Ella Dennings. Nice to meet you both.”

Ella didn’t miss the quick look that passed between the two women.

“I’m here for the summer, actually,” Ella said.

“We’re driving into Santa Fe when the next book is released. It’ll take a while for any of the stores up here to carry it,” Brianna said. “You could come with us, if you want.”

Ella shook her head. “I switched to an e-reader when my husband got sick. I didn’t have much time to browse the bookstores.”

The front door opened, and Butch’s voice rang out a greeting. “Hello, ladies.”

He trudged through the peanut debris, followed by two other men. Ella stood, and Butch gave her a fatherly hug. “I see you’ve met Donna, Red River’s postmaster, and Brianna, the owner of Shear Elegance two doors down from here.” He greeted both of them.

Butch hooked a thumb at the two men behind him. “I picked these two stragglers up. Anybody know them?” he said playfully.

Donna pointed to one of the men. He was about her age, lean and tanned from working outdoors, and he wore a straw cowboy hat, well-starched Wrangler jeans, and brown Roper boots. “That one there is mine. Hank’s his name. I’m the better half.”

He took off his hat and nodded at Ella. “Ma’am.” Hank and Donna’s accents gave away the fact that they were transplants from the Lone Star State.

“I’m Ross.” A tall, burly guy stepped from behind Butch and offered his hand. “I don’t have a better half yet,” he drawled.

“Nice to meet you, Ross. I know how you feel.”

“Why don’t we get a bigger table, and y’all can join us,” Donna offered.

Ella’s hand fluttered to her hair, which she smoothed back with a palm. Starting over, meeting new people—people that probably knew Bradley because of the time he’d spent in Red River with the Wells family—pulled her way out of her comfort zone. Catapulted, actually.

Ella let out a deep sigh. Would she ever be able to let go of Bradley and function on her own again?

She doubted it, but she was here in Red River to at least try.

Coop entered Joe’s using the side door. He pushed through the swinging door and joined Dylan McCoy behind the bar.

“Hey, man.” Coop hitched up his chin.

“Hey,” Dylan said. His dark brown hair hung in waves to his shoulders, and a small diamond earring glinted from his left earlobe. “You’re here early.” Dylan dried another glass and placed it on a shelf with a hundred other identical glasses.

Bartending at the busiest establishment in Red River had been a great distraction for Coop. With his legal bills gradually draining his savings and whittling away the sizeable profits from the sale of his condo, the extra cash to cover his spending money didn’t hurt, either.

“You’re dad’s here.” Dylan waved his dish towel toward the table across the room. “Who’s the redhead with him?”

Wariness deep in his gut, Coop’s eyes trekked across the room. Butch waved him over, then leaned over and said something to Ella, whose back was to Coop. She glanced over her shoulder and frowned.

Without looking away from Ella’s flowing locks of fire, Coop said, “She’s my cabinmate from hell.”

“Dude, must be tough. She’s hot.”

Coop stabbed him with a glare.

“Just sayin’.” Dylan shrugged and dried another glass.

Coop turned his attention back to the chattering table of familiar customers. Now would be as good a time as any for Ella to find out he worked here. Unless, of course, his dad or Cal had already informed her, being so chummy with her and all. He walked toward them, a sense of dread lodging somewhere inside his rib cage in the form of a lump. Or heartburn.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” Donna teased as he approached.

“Hey.” Coop looked around the table, nodding a generic greeting.

He stood at the end of the table where Donna and Brianna sat, each with a book. He glanced at the opposite end, where Ella devoured a large plate of chili cheese fries.

“Pull up a chair,” Hank offered.

“Thanks, but my shift is about to start, and I’m working a double tonight.”

Ella’s head shot up. So, she hadn’t heard that he worked here.

“That’s right. Tonight’s a big night at Joe’s, with the dance and all,” said Ross. “Ella, you coming?”

“Um,” she looked uncertain, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. Amazing how she could eat like a man and make it look dainty.

“Come on, now,” encouraged Donna. “Everybody will be here. It’s the annual firefighters’ dance to raise money for the fire department.”

Butch agreed, cutting into his chicken-fried steak. “It’ll be another good chance to meet more of the locals.”

“Sure, alright.” She agreed with a reluctant nod. “It’s been a long time since I went dancing.”

“Honey, if you can two-step, then this is where you should be tonight. A pretty girl like you won’t sit down the whole night,” Donna said.

Coop’s jaw twitched.

Ella downed another fry and wiped her fingers clean. “You don’t grow up in East Texas without learning to two-step.”

He’d watched her and Bradley dance once. Growing up in a strict religious home, Bradley had been uncomfortable, his movements stiff and unsure. But Ella, she moved across the dance floor with graceful, fluid motion. He had been envious that night because Bradley had such a great dance partner and Coop . . . didn’t.

“Good. It’s settled, then,” Brianna said. “Wear cowboys boots, if you have some.”