The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) (7 page)

Once I was able to drag my gaze from the startling color of those eyes, I took in the face they were set upon. Rugged, masculine.

My eyes drifted over his broad shoulders and my head tipped back to take in his face because the guy was well over six feet tall. The hands that were still on my biceps, steadying me, were big, long fingered, and callused against my bare skin.

Despite the cold, I felt my body flush with the heat of awareness and I stepped out of the stranger’s hold.

“Sorry,” I said, slicking my wet hair back, grinning apologetically. “That rain came out of nowhere.”

All Cooper could see at first were the stranger’s gorgeous eyes. Big. Brown—
no
. Hazel. They were brown with flecks of light green and yellow in them. Thick lashes framed them.

Right now those gorgeous eyes held a mix of apology and
amusement. The mascara streaks running down her cheeks didn’t detract from how pretty those eyes were.

Warm eyes that moved from his face to travel over his body. His shirt was soaked through and clung to him, showing off the results of his early-morning workout and run along the beach. He gave a brief nod as he pushed his wet hair back from his forehead.

The stranger’s eyes widened a little and Cooper didn’t miss the feminine appreciation in them.

She wasn’t short, standing at about five seven, but he was tall so she was tilting her head back to look up at him. That was when he realized how close they were standing.

Cooper felt what was almost like a warning tingle on the back of his neck. And it wasn’t the cold.

He’d felt that tingle when he was walking home from school minutes before he got home to find out his dad had taken off. He’d felt the tingle the day his mom’s brother died, leaving the bar to her, only for his mom to turn around and give the bar straight to him. He’d felt the tingle the first day he stepped into the bar as the owner. He’d felt the tingle the day his mom died of cancer. And he’d felt that tingle driving to the bar one day. That tingle made him drive home to check on Dana. He had found her fucking his best friend.

Standing in front of this bedraggled stranger with the prettiest goddamn eyes he’d ever seen, Cooper had to wonder whether the tingle was a good thing or a bad thing in this case.

Good or bad, it was worth listening to, he thought as he opened the door to the bar. He’d only stepped out for a few minutes to drop off mail that should have been delivered to Emery’s next door. It was enough time to get soaked to the skin.

The woman now stood with her back to him, staring out at the rain. Her shoulders were hunched a little as if trying to protect herself from the dampness of her wet clothes. Cooper’s eyes dragged down her body. She had a tiny back, narrow shoulders, and a narrow waist, but that waist swept out into a curvy ass Cooper appreciated greatly. Especially since that ass was attached to long, slim
legs. She wore skinny jeans that showed off those fantastic legs of hers. The jeans were tucked into high-heeled boots.

Casual but sexy, he thought. It worked. At least it did for him.

He suddenly wasn’t so cold.

And he was going to listen to that tingle. “You can wait out there if you want. Or not.”

She swung around, staring at him with those big eyes. With her wet hair slicked back he got to see all of her.

All of it was good.

She wasn’t a striking beauty like his ex, but there was coldness to Dana’s beauty. There always had been. It used to intrigue him. Now he knew better.

Other than the wet clothes on her body, there wasn’t a hint of coldness in this stranger.

She did, however, look uncertain. She peered past him at the empty bar. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

He nodded.

The woman hesitated, obviously unsure about entering an empty bar with a strange man. She was definitely a tourist. And right now she looked like a teenager deciding whether or not to do the smart thing while oh so tempted by the stupid thing.

Amusement filled him.

As she nodded and strode past him, her perfume wafted over him. It was light, kind of flowery, nothing musky about it. She turned around, gazing at his bar in curiosity, and he took in the rest of her. Her black shirt clung to her, straining over full breasts. More than a handful. Fuck, but she had a body on her.

Then Cooper noticed that body was shivering.

Asshole. He needed to stop checking her out and get her warm.

“Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa?” he called out, heading toward the kitchen.

“Hot cocoa,” she called back.

He went to the linen closet in the hall first, where he kept dish
towels and towels for the staff bathroom. He grabbed one and took it out to her.

“Thanks,” she said, staring up at him, looking almost confused for some reason.

He nodded and got back into the kitchen to make them a warm drink as fast as possible.

When he returned to her with her mug of cocoa he noticed her hair was a little drier. There was a lot of it.

The mascara smears around her eyes were gone, too.

He glanced at the white towel he’d given her and grinned when he saw the black on it.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the mug of hot cocoa and whipped cream from him.

She was soft-spoken and, for whatever reason, his lower belly reacted with a tugging sensation to the sound of her voice.

Cooper took the seat across from her and sipped at his coffee, enjoying the chance to study her as she studied him. There was an air of easy confidence around her that he appreciated. That kind of confidence usually belonged to women who knew and liked themselves.

“Do you work here?” she said after a few minutes of comfortable silence had passed between them.

Cooper nodded.

“You’re a bartender here?”

“I own the place.”

He watched her study his bar, and he had to wonder what she thought of it. She had little diamonds in her ears and was wearing a nice watch, plus those sexy boots weren’t cheap, as far as he could tell, and he’d lived with Dana long enough to know a designer purse when he saw it. If he’d had to guess, he would have thought the tourist a cocktails-at-a-trendy-bar kind of woman. But just as he’d caught her appreciation of his body earlier, he saw a different kind in her eyes as she looked around at his place.

He felt a spike of pride. It used to be a dowdy little pub. Now it was a successful one. It was all him in that bar and it was nice that she liked what she saw.

“Nice place,” she said, confirming her appreciation. “What’s the bar called?”

“Cooper’s.”

She narrowed her big eyes on him. “Are you Cooper?”

“Are you a detective?” he teased.

“A doctor, actually.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Smart lady.”

“I’d hope so.” She grinned at him.

Silence fell between them again and Cooper found that he liked that she could sit quietly with him without growing uncomfortable. He liked the quiet. He liked that she wasn’t rushing to fill it with meaningless chitchat like most people did.

In the little time he’d spent with her he knew she was sexy, cute, smart, and nice to spend time with. All that meant Cooper wanted to know more. “You’re not from Hartwell.”

“No, I’m not.” She sidestepped his unspoken question.

Cooper almost laughed at her taciturnity. “What brings you to Hart’s Boardwalk, Doc?”

“At the moment the rain brought me
here
,” she said. “I’m kind of glad it did.”

Yeah, he was glad, too. He reached across the table, offering her his hand. “Cooper Lawson.”

She smiled at him and took his hand, hers small and soft in his. “Jessica Huntington.”

That tingle sprang to life down his neck again.

He tensed, his eyes sharp on Jessica Huntington. “Nice to meet you, Doc.”

“You, too. Thanks again for the cocoa.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat back, watching her sip the drink he’d made for her. A bit of cream stuck to the top lip of her pretty mouth. He eyed it, trying not to think about how much he wanted to lick
the cream off her. Forcing his eyes from her mouth to her eyes, he said, “What brings you to Hartwell?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“Why Hart’s?”

“I didn’t want to stray too far from work. I work in Wilmington.”

Wilmington. It wasn’t too far. A couple hours’ drive at most. “At one of the hospitals?”

“No, actually; at a women’s prison.”

Again, not what he expected. Being a doctor wasn’t exactly easy. Being a doctor in a prison was just adding challenge on top of challenge. Had to take a certain kind of person to want that kind of job. He just wasn’t sure what kind of person that made Jessica. “That’s different.”

She gave a huff of laughter. “I suppose it is.”

“So what makes someone want to work in a women’s prison?”

“What makes someone want to own a bar?” the doc countered.

It was his. It was his vision. His hard work. And the locals were his family. Not many people got to have a business they loved like he did. “This place is home.”

The doc tilted her head to the side, a lively humor in her hazel eyes. “Well, I can’t say the same.”

“So why a women’s prison?” he persisted. It had been a long time since he’d been this curious about someone.

She considered his question for a moment and when she spoke her voice got even softer. “Even people who make mistakes need someone watching over them. When I became a doctor I took the Hippocratic oath. I said I would help people and do no harm. That means helping someone no matter who they are or what they’ve done. I take that oath seriously.”

A flash of sadness, something deeply rooted . . . something personal . . . crossed her eyes and Cooper knew there was more to it than that. “There’s taking that oath seriously and then there’s working in a prison.”

“I believe everyone deserves compassion,” she said. “When I got offered the job I was concerned that if I didn’t take it then some other doctor might take it out of necessity rather than interest. There’s no guarantee such a doctor would have the right bedside manner for these women. I took the job because I can guarantee they feel safe coming to me for treatment.”

Cooper stilled at her words.

Was she for real?

He knew kindness existed. After his dad left, he’d grown up in a house full of it. But unfortunately, he’d also seen a lot of selfishness lately. A complete and total lack of compassion, too.

There was something about that compassion on a woman like Jessica Huntington that more than intrigued him. She was tallying up a list of positives that were hard to ignore.

“Is that a bartending trick?” she said suddenly, her cute little nose all wrinkled up in annoyance. “Getting people to talk to you?”

Cooper grinned, liking the idea that the doc didn’t usually share so much. Maybe she was feeling it, too . . . some kind of connection between them. “I’m just easy to talk to.”

Jessica grinned back and he felt that hard tug of attraction deep in his gut. “Maybe so.”

The door opened and Cooper’s cook, Crosby, strolled in, distracting him from the ever-increasing tightness in his jeans.

Crosby saw Jessica but didn’t acknowledge her. “Morning, boss.”

“Morning,” Cooper said as his cook disappeared into the kitchen. Crosby wasn’t really the social type anymore. “My cook,” he explained when he saw Jess staring after his employee with curiosity in her big, gorgeous eyes.

Those eyes swung back to his and she suddenly stood up. “Well, I better let you get on. Thanks again for the shelter and the hot drink.”

He felt disappointment flood him and if it wasn’t for the fact that he had a bar to open in an hour he would have convinced the doc to stick around.

“Do you know of any bookstores nearby?” she said as she grabbed up her purse.

“Emery’s next door.”

“Great. Thanks.”

He stood up, too. He needed to know he was going to see her again. “You staying at the Paradise?”

She hesitated, as though she wasn’t sure she should tell him. Cooper didn’t like that so much. When she finally answered, “Hart’s Inn,” he smiled. Not only because he liked that she’d chosen Bailey’s homey place over the luxury of Vaughn’s hotel, but because he liked that she’d told him where she was staying.

Cooper hoped that meant she was single and looking to get to know him a bit better while she was visiting. “Nice choice. Bailey’s a good woman.”

“Yes, I’m getting that,” Jess said and walked around the table to him to hold out her hand. “It was nice talking to you.”

It was more than nice talking to her. His grip tightened on hers and he stepped in close, so she knew for sure he wanted to see her again. “You, too, Doc. You staying here long?”

“A few weeks.”

That was plenty of time. “Then I’ll be seeing you.”

Her cheeks flushed a little and her eyes grew round with surprise at the obvious intention behind his words. She tugged on her hand, making him laugh.

So damn cute.

“I guess so,” she said in that soft way of hers.

Cooper watched her leave, hoping that hint of vulnerability he saw behind her confidence didn’t mean he’d have to track her down to spend more time with her.

He wanted her to come to him.

He’d done a lot of chasing around, especially after Dana, and look where that had gotten him. Just as he’d been trying to tell Aydan in as diplomatic a way as possible, there hadn’t been anyone serious or special since Dana. The women he messed around with
always came to him. Cooper liked it like that. He wasn’t putting himself out there, chasing another woman around, only to get burned.

But as he stared at his now empty bar, he thought,
Fuck
, more than a little worried.

He knew that if Jessica didn’t come to him he wasn’t going to be able to sit on it. The doc was someone worth getting to know. He felt it in that damn tingle.

It was difficult to concentrate on anything but the attraction I’d felt to Cooper Lawson. I’d paused a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him where I was staying, but then I thought what the hell. I was here on vacation and there was no rule that said I couldn’t flirt with a rugged bar owner while I was here.

Still, it was the kind of intense attraction that threw me a little, so I had to admit stepping into Emery’s was a nice distraction.

To my left was a large counter and, behind it, coffee machines. To my right was the bookstore. Ahead and up a few steps was a seating area filled with cute little white tables and chairs. To the left of the table and chairs were comfortable armchairs and sofas situated near a lit open fireplace that crackled and snapped invitingly.

The place was empty, presumably because of the weather, but I couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t want to hang out here.

A door behind the counter opened and a woman stepped out. She gave me a shy smile. “I thought I heard the bell over the door.”

I smiled back and walked over to her. “It’s miserable out there.”

Her startling pale blue eyes took in my bedraggled state. “Would you like to get warm by the fire?” She asked it tentatively, almost as if she thought it was forward of her to offer me a kindness.

She was tall and willowy, with beautiful eyes and a heart-shaped
face. She wore her long white-blond hair in an intricate plait that rested over her right shoulder. Wisps of hair framed her lovely face.

I glanced around at the bookstore with its white-painted bookshelves and hodgepodge of comfortable seating. A few Tiffany lamps were set here and there, adding warmth and color. All the woodwork in the store was painted white and it contrasted beautifully with the rich teal blue of the walls.

The place seemed to fit the woman and I couldn’t even put my finger on why. I turned back to her. I’d had every intention of buying a book and heading back to the inn, but I suddenly liked the idea of getting warm here. “Yes, I think I will. Are you the owner?”

She nodded.

I held out my hand. “I’m Jessica Huntington.”

She glanced at my hand a little unsurely and I was relieved when she lifted a long-fingered hand covered in silver rings and placed it in mine. The silver bracelets on her wrists tinkled together as we shook. “Emery Saunders.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” She dropped my hand quickly, along with her gaze. “Would you like a hot drink?”

I frowned, wondering how someone so timid could like working with the public all the time. “I’ll have a latte, please. I’m just going to peruse the books.”

She nodded and turned away, busying herself with making my coffee.

I realized I was curious about her—and also wondered why this place had me so damn curious about everything and everyone.

Especially a certain bar owner.

A few minutes later I put down two books on the counter and pulled out my wallet to pay for them and the coffee.

“That’s a good one,” Emery offered quietly, touching the book on top.

It was a crime novel. I had a thing about crime novels.

“You read thrillers?” She didn’t seem like the thriller type. She seemed like the magic and fairy-tale princes type.

“I read everything,” she replied softly and put my books through the register.

I paid and grabbed my books and coffee, heading toward the fireplace.

“Happy reading,” she said, just loud enough for me to hear.

I grinned back at her in thanks and got myself comfortable in an armchair with a footstool, right by the fire.

Heat suffused me and I soon lost myself in my book, my clothes drying without my even realizing it until much later.

Over the next couple of hours I was vaguely aware of a few people coming in and out of the store, but I was left to enjoy the fire alone. When a shadow fell on me I was surprised to find Emery standing over me.

She wore a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a white shirt with sleeves that were fitted from shoulder to elbow, where the fabric loosened out into long bells, like the style of a medieval maiden’s dress. Short biker boots completed the look.

“Would you like something to eat?” she offered. “I have sandwiches.”

It was only then I felt the growl of my empty stomach. “Sure, thank you.”

“Another latte?”

“That, too.” I grinned at her.

Not too long later she came back with both and laid them down on the reading table beside me.

“What else do you like to read?” I said, before she could escape me.

Emery seemed surprised by the question. “Oh . . . I like everything.”

“Okay. Who is your favorite author?”

She wrinkled her nose and I saw a glimmer of a smile on her lips. “That’s like asking which I prefer: oxygen or food.”

I laughed. “Well, tell me
one
of your favorite authors.”

Her lids lowered over her eyes, and I saw that her lashes, darkened with mascara, were enviously long.

For some reason I was charmed by this shy bookstore owner.

I was finding myself charmed by many people in Hartwell so far.

“J. D. Salinger,” she offered suddenly.

I loved that answer. “
Catcher in the Rye
fan. Me, too.”

She smiled at me and I felt triumphant that I’d won a grin from her.

There was something about her, something in the back of her eyes, that made me sad, and I liked that I’d made her smile.

I glanced down through the store to the front window to see the rain had started coming down in sheets again. “I doubt you’re going to be busy anytime soon. Why don’t you grab a book and sit by the fire?”

Emery followed my gaze to the windows and I watched her chew on her lip as she thought about it. “I probably shouldn’t,” she muttered.

“If someone comes in, you just put the book down and go help them.”

It took her longer than it should have to consider it, almost like she was afraid to do the wrong thing. Finally, she gave me a small smile. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm.”

“Not at all,” I said encouragingly.

A few minutes later she was curled up on the sofa across from me and I watched with fascination as she seemed to get sucked into her book from the moment she opened it. In the time it would take me to snap my fingers Emery was immersed in the world of the story in her hands.

It took me at least a chapter before I became oblivious to everything around me.

But not Emery.

I had the fanciful thought that she was escaping, and that she’d
escaped into pages and words so many times in her life that falling down the rabbit hole was like second nature to her. I wondered what she was escaping from.

This curiosity of mine was getting out of hand, I grumbled to myself as I bit into the ham and cheese sandwich Emery had brought me. In a way my curiosity had brought me to Hartwell. I didn’t need to get wrapped up in the mystery behind the shy sadness of Emery Saunders. And maybe there was no mystery! Maybe Sarah’s story had me imagining that everyone here had a tragedy hiding behind them.

Maybe even Cooper Lawson.

Don’t think about him!

I had no time for his kind of temptation.

On that thought, I stared down at the pages of my book and willed myself to get caught up in fiction.

After dinner at the inn that night I sat by the fireplace in the front room with a glass of wine in my hand. I was hoping to catch Bailey before I went to bed and was waiting on the diners to clear out so I could talk to her.

Staring into the flames, sipping my wine, I realized that I’d spent the most relaxing, peaceful day I could remember having in a very, very long time.

Emery hadn’t said much as we whiled the day away reading by her fireplace, but I didn’t need her to. As much as there was something sad about her, there was also something incredibly soothing about her company. I thought it funny that I’d experienced the same comfortable silence with Cooper on the same day, when I’d never experienced that feeling with anyone before.

I left Emery late that afternoon, vowing to return before my vacation was over. That sadness I saw in the back of her eyes seemed to grow as she was saying good-bye to me.

And there it was. Despite myself, I was intrigued by Emery Saunders and I couldn’t make myself not be.

And that intrigue only reminded me of Sarah’s letters, which had brought me to Hartwell in the first place.

I’d decided to ask Bailey about her after all.

As the last customers were leaving the inn, Bailey trailed behind them wishing them a warm good night. The bell over the door rang as they left and a few seconds later Bailey flopped down on the sofa beside me.

She looked exhausted.

I handed her my glass of wine and she accepted it with a grateful but very tired smile. She took a sip and handed the glass back to me. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Please tell me you don’t work these ridiculously long hours every day. “

Bailey shook her head. “No. Like I said, I had a deputy manager and we worked around one another. I used to have a day or two off, if you can believe it.”

“You need your own vacation.”

“Yes, yes, I do.” She grinned at me. “The rain didn’t frighten you away today?”

I smirked. “No. Actually I got caught in it outside of Cooper’s. The man himself let me into his bar to dry off until it calmed enough for me to venture back outside.”

Sitting up straighter, Bailey eyed me with a mischievous smile. “What did you think of Cooper?”

I could spot a matchmaker a mile off and so I avoided her gaze. “He didn’t say much.” I sipped at my wine, pretending disinterest.

“That’s because he’s a good listener.”

“You know him well?”

“I’ve known him my whole life. He’s single, you know.” She nudged me with another cheeky grin. “Divorced.”

I laughed. “You are so not subtle.”

“What’s the point in subtlety?” Bailey studied me. “Are you single?”

I opened my mouth to say no and then sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll take that as you’re single.”

“How so?”

“If you were really certain of this guy, whoever he is, your answer would have been a straightforward no.”

I guessed that was true enough.

It was time for a subject change. “You know how I asked about George Beckwith this morning . . .”

“Yeah.”

“There was a reason.” I turned on the sofa to face her. “I actually don’t know George. The reason I know
of
him is because I found letters in a book at the prison. They were addressed to George in 1976.”

Bailey’s mouth parted in surprise. “Sarah Randall,” she said breathlessly.

At the sound of her name, that now familiar ache in my chest hitched. “You know the story?”

“Everyone knows the story.” Bailey’s green eyes darkened with sadness. “She and George were sweethearts. They fell in love on the boardwalk when they were sophomores in high school. Everyone thought they’d get married. But the summer they graduated from high school Sarah married—”

“A man named Ron.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Ron Peters. How . . . ?”

“It’s in her letters to George.”

I could see the blaze of curiosity in Bailey’s eyes, but she continued recounting their history for me. “No one knew what made Sarah marry him. Most people suspected he had something on her, but she wouldn’t say what. George was devastated. He started sleeping around and he knocked up Sarah’s best friend, Annabelle. He married her. And then a few years later Sarah Randall shot Ron in the chest and she went to prison. And she died there.”

My eyes stung with unshed tears.

Bailey reached for my hand. “You okay?”

I tried to smile reassuringly. “Sarah died of cancer. Before she could mail these letters to George. Letters that explained everything. She had a reason for what she did, Bailey.”

She squeezed my hand. “That’s so sad. Is that why you came here?”

I shrugged. “My vacation with my best friend got canceled . . . Sarah and George were on my mind so I decided to come here instead.”

Bailey considered me. “You came to Hartwell to give George Sarah’s letters?”

“Yes.”

“I knew I freaking liked you.”

I gave a huff of surprised laughter. “Thanks. I like you, too.”

“Of course you do; I’m hilarious,” she teased.

I laughed.

But Bailey sobered. “You know Sarah was Cooper’s mom’s cousin?”

I tensed. “Really?”

“His mom, Laura, passed almost ten years back, but she and Sarah were really close before Sarah went to prison. Coop was close to his mom and he knew how much what Sarah did broke Laura’s heart. Maybe it would be nice for him to know the truth.”

Uncertainty moved through me. “I don’t know. Those letters were only meant for George’s eyes.”

“You don’t have to give Coop the letters, but Sarah was his family. If there was a genuine reason for what she did, he deserves to know.”