Head Over Heels (22 page)

“I
THINK WE OUGHTTA GET MARRIED
.”

Unable to believe the words had come out of his own mouth, Coop simply stood by the stove for a moment, staring at Veronica. Finally, he blinked, turned the heat down under the chicken stock, and wondered if he looked half as shocked as she did. Considering the proposal had leaped fully formed from his subconscious to his lips, it wouldn't surprise him.

Yet it felt so right.

“What?”
Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. Setting down the paring knife she'd been using to chop vegetables for the soup pot, she stared at him as if he'd just spoken in tongues, her slender eyebrows gathered above her nose. The day was cloudy, but a ray of sunlight found its way through the kitchen win
dow to pick out blue highlights in her hair. Her pale complexion held the faintest hint of a flush along the high arc of her cheekbones.

He stepped forward, discovering an unprecedented need to persuade her. “It's a good idea, Princ—”

“It's a
crazy
idea!”

“Well, yeah, that, too—but only if you insist on being absolutely literal-minded.”

“Coop, we've known each other, what, a month?”

True. And it hadn't even been a full three days since he'd asked her to love him on personal merit alone.

Remembering
that
mindless little piece of neediness made him take a large step back, both literally and from the subject under discussion. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I talked to Rocket while you were at that parent/teacher thing,” he said stiffly. “And I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that Jacobson is officially off the hook. He's been cleared.”

Personally, he found the news depressing as hell. He'd been so certain Troy Jacobson was the man who'd killed Crystal, so sure that finally they'd caught a break in clearing Eddie's name.

But Rocket said no. And since Coop respected Rocket's thoroughness as an investigator, he now found himself in the position of not only having to search from scratch for another likely candidate for Crystal's murderer, but also of having to admit—if only to himself—that Ronnie's precious Troy was blameless as a nun.

That pinched.

And it was no doubt what had led to his rash proposal, or whatever it was he'd just done. He'd been
discouraged by Rocket's findings, but then Ronnie had waltzed into the house, pumped up from the conference with Lizzy's teacher, and had roped him into helping her cook dinner. Making soup together in a warm, steamy kitchen on a cold afternoon, while the little girl they were responsible for played up in her room, had taken a lot of the sting out of his disappointment. Somehow he would help his brother. It might not happen today, or even tomorrow, but one way or the other he
was
going to get to the bottom of it and see that justice was done.

Meanwhile, it didn't hurt that he had this. This warm and fuzzy, familylike sense of belonging that wrapped around his heart like a fleece blanket. Aside from his relationship with Eddie, it wasn't something with which he'd had much experience. He could sure get used to it, though.

He watched Veronica blink at his abrupt change of subject, but she didn't give him the load of grief that she could have over it. Instead, she walked over and touched gentle fingertips to his forearm. “I'm sorry,” she said, all earnest green eyes as she looked up at him. “I know you must be terribly disappointed Troy's innocent. And it's not so much that I was rooting for it
not
to be him, I just had a tough time reconciling the rendezvous at the Royal Hawaiian with the way he appears to feel about his wife. He treats her so deferentially, so
carefully,
which seem to me the traits of a man trying very hard to get back into a woman's good graces. It simply didn't seem compatible with sneaking off for a quickie with my sister.”

“Yeah, he's a goddamn prince.”

Her understanding smile and consoling little there-there pat on the arm made him want to snarl.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, “how did Rocket eliminate him?”

“He tracked Jacobson's movement from Fossil on the day Crystal left for Hawaii. It turns out,” he admitted glumly, “he was in Spokane talking to the people in charge of designing new labels for the apple juice and applesauce divisions of his enterprise.”

Her smile was so empathetic and on his side that Coop suddenly found himself back on the previous topic. “You know, it
isn't
such a crazy idea.”

She blinked in confusion. “Troy getting new labels?”

“No. Us getting married.” Her fingers fell away from his arm, and he reached for her hand. “It's not all
that
off the wall,” he insisted. “People who've known each other a damn sight shorter than you and I have get hitched all the time and make it work. And building a relationship slowly is sure as hell no guarantee. I once knew a Marine who was engaged to a woman for seven years—and they ended up in divorce court eight months after they finally got married.”

“Coop—”

He squeezed her fingers. “Do you love me, Ronnie?”

“You know I do.”

“And God knows I love you. We've lived together, more or less, for over a month now.”

“We've lived in the same
house
for over a month. We've been lovers for five minutes, cosmically speaking. It's a small distinction, I know—but telling.”

“Whatever. I'm trying to make a case here.”

“Oh, well, then, excuse me.” She gave an imperious wave. “Continue.”

“Thank you.” He took heart from the fact that her gaze was full of bright-eyed attention. “Although I know Eddie's name will ultimately be cleared and he'll reclaim Lizzy, I don't know when that will happen. If we got married, we could provide a stable home for her until that time comes.”
Okay, that's weak.
He waited for her to point out that they could do that without marriage—that they were, in fact, doing it now.

But she didn't. She simply laid her fingertips directly over his heart on his thermal-T-shirt-clad chest, looked up at him with those gray-green eyes, and said, “Tell me what you want to do with the rest of your life.”

“Live with you.”

“You know what I'm asking.”

Yeah, he did. He also knew this was the time to tell her about his writing. He could put her mind to rest once and for all, and if the soft expression on her face was any indication, his marriage proposal was in the bag.

But dammit, he needed his
own
mind put to rest, and well she knew it. “What difference does it make, Ronnie? If you care for me the way you say you do—”

Her hand dropped to her side. “Can you possibly
be
any more unfair?” she demanded hotly. “You want me to agree to marriage, which is a huge step, but I'm supposed to do it blind?”

“Why not? It seems to me that none of this would even be an issue if you loved me as much as you say
you do.” He thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. “So, what will it take to make me acceptable in your eyes? What if I told you I make six figures? Would you marry me then?”

“My reservations have nothing to do with money!”

“No?” he demanded cynically. “That's sure as hell what it sounds like to me.”

“Damn you, Coop, it's about a lot of things—your insecurities, my insecurities, the way we were raised, and the knee-jerk manner with which we both still seem to react to that. It's about my need not to be my mother, and your need for me not to be
your
mother. God!” she shoved her hair back off her face, drew a deep breath, and blew it out. “Money is
not
the issue. I can support myself. But I need to know you possess some kind of ambition. I
need
that.” Staring at him, she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead as if to contain a headache trying to pound its way out. “More than that, though, I need you to trust me.”

“Funny. That's what I need, too.”

Her gaze went abruptly shuttered. “No, what you want is complete compliance. I'm supposed to take a blind leap of faith, while you keep your fistful of secrets clutched to your chest. God forbid you should make any sacrifices of your own.”

She had a valid point, and all he needed to do was meet her halfway. A good marriage, he imagined, was based largely on compromise. He opened his mouth to tell her how he'd made his living the past five years.

And heard himself say instead, “So. Do you wanna get married, or what?”

Betrayal flashed in her eyes, but was gone almost before the pain of causing it registered in his gut. “Or
what,” she said with flat distaste and took a huge step back as if to distance herself. “I can't do this anymore,” she said. “To hell with the sale of the Tonk and the house—I don't have to actually, physically be here for either of them. And I refuse to keep going around in circles with you about this.”

Her chin rose, and the look in her eyes caused Coop's stomach to do a slow, greasy slide. “I give up,” she said. “I'm packing up Lizzy and going back to Seattle.”

 

Veronica closed the bedroom door behind her a few moments later and stumbled over to her bed. Sinking down to sit on its edge, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent at the waist, rocking mindlessly. Oh, God, oh, God, she hurt. She hadn't known such pain existed.

How was it possible to have fallen so fast and so utterly for a man she barely knew? She'd always thought that if she fell in love, it would be with a career man—someone smooth and diplomatic who shared her interests. A tough-as-nails ex-Marine lacking all capacity to trust never once entered into the picture. And a big, physical man who made her feel all hot and jittery and out of control sexually had sure never been part of the plan, either.

A light knock sounded at her door, and Veronica straightened, hating herself for the hope that sprang to life in her breast. “Yes?”

“Aunt Ronnie? Can I come in?”

She slumped. “Yes, of course.” Then, not wanting her niece to suspect the adult in charge of her was an
emotional wreck, she pulled herself together and plastered a smile on her lips.

The door opened and Lizzy poked her head into the room. “Can I watch TV until dinner? My homework is done.”

Veronica nodded. “Sure. But come in for a minute first.”

Her niece stepped into the room, but gave her a wary look. “Are you okay? You look kinda…funny.”

She nodded, unable to give actual voice to the lie, then patted the bed and waited until Lizzy settled herself next to her. “Honey, listen. I know you don't want to leave here, but we're going to have to.”

“No!” Lizzy stiffened and made a move to climb to her feet, but Veronica reached out and grasped her hand. She stroked her free hand down the smooth fall of Lizzy's shiny brown hair, taking comfort in its warm, silky texture.

“I know you're worried that your daddy won't be able to find you, but your Uncle, um…James”—pain splintered through her—“will still be right here in town to let him know where you are. And even if he weren't,” she said more strongly, “your father knows where I live.” Lizzy didn't need to know that Eddie had better not show his face at her door without a full pardon in his hand.

“But—”

“I'm sorry, honey, I know it's difficult to start a new school midterm, but I have a business that's going to fall apart if I don't give it some attention.”

“‘Gotta put food on the table for my little daisy blossom,'” Lizzy said glumly.

“What?”

“That's what my daddy useta say when I didn't want him to go away on a business trip.” Her childish voice deepened. “‘I have to, sweetheart. I gotta put food on the table for my little daisy blossom.'” Then her expression lightened. “Maybe Uncle Coop can come with us.”

Veronica's dry swallow felt as if she'd swallowed ground glass. “No, he needs to stay here to take care of the Tonk until it sells. But you can come back and stay with him on some of the weekends, if you want.” She forced her lips into another smile that she could only hope didn't look as false as it felt. “Wouldn't that be nice?”

It broke her heart all over again when Lizzy's shoulders sagged in defeat.

“I guess,” her niece said morosely.

 

“Déjà vu,” Coop muttered cynically when, having closed down the Tonk for the night, he found himself outside Veronica's bedroom door. “Haven't you played out this scene before, bubba?”

Yet still he stood there in the dark hallway, one hand pressed against the panels as if he could feel Ronnie's warm heart beating on the other side of the cold wood. Half of him wanted to ease open the door, let himself in, and find a way to resolve this awful distance between them.

The other half was pissed as hell to once again be in a position where he had to beg for the scraps of someone's affection.

The soup that he and Ronnie'd had so much fun
making together this afternoon might as well have been fish paste. It had taken everything he had to sit there at the kitchen table with her and Lizzy and act as if nothing were wrong. Swallowing had been beyond him, and he had the feeling Veronica hadn't fared much better.

And come to think of it, Little Bit hadn't appeared all that perky herself. She'd pushed her spoon around her bowl with about as much enthusiasm as the adults had shown. Not one of them had managed to swallow more than a bite or two.

He reached for the doorknob. Dammit, this was crazy. He was going in there and waking Ronnie up to hash this out once and for all.

And say what, exactly?
His hand dropped to his side. Because the plain truth was, he wasn't willing to budge from his position and neither was Veronica. So what the fuck was there left to talk about? Coop turned away from the door.