Woman on the Run (new version) by Lisa Marie Rice
“Yeah, I was there. We’d been called in immediately. We had orders to wait for negotiations to pan out. We waited and we waited. When the little girl was—” Cooper looked away and his jaw muscles worked. “That’s when we decided to move.”
She remembered the men in black ski masks who had swarmed into the plane on the runway. Two of them had died, she remembered. “That’s what you got the medal for,” Julia said.
“Mmm-hmm.” Cooper looked around. “You about ready to go?”
“Yes, I think so.” Julia was still struggling with what he had told her. It was one thing to know a man who had been to war. It was quite another to have seen him on TV doing it. Of course, he had been wearing a ski mask at the time. And of course, she hadn’t known him then.
At the time, Julia suddenly remembered, she had been dating Henry Borsello, a history major. He had been charming, chatty, shallow and unreliable. All in all, very, very un-Cooperish. For a moment, Julia tried to imagine Henry in a ski mask, rappelling down a plane. Taking out terrorists with machine guns. Or even fixing her plumbing. She failed miserably.
“Let’s go have lunch then, Cooper,” she said. “It’s not every day a girl gets to have lunch with a real live hero.” She beamed at him. “My treat.”
Cooper looked shocked at the idea and frowned as he took her arm. “Absolutely not.”
Chapter Twelve
“Talk to me, Cooper,” Julia said before taking another bite of her cheeseburger. She thought of sighing with delight but didn’t, out of respect for Alice.
“Ahm…” Cooper signaled for another cup of coffee. Probably to gain time while he thought of something to say. Julia was going to have to work on that with him. His eyes lit when he thought of something. “You like it here?”
Julia put her cup down carefully and looked around The Brewery. It had stained hardwood floors. Against one wall was a working fireplace and the merrily burning logs added coziness and warmth. It was haphazardly—and charmingly—decorated with old copper pots as planters and a wagon wheel as a chandelier. Pewter serving dishes were arranged on a trestle table decorated with earthenware vases full of what were essentially weeds—Bishop’s Weed, vetch and water mint—but were also huge bouquets. A large wicker basket held dried pampas grass and bulrushes. The kitchen area was open, divided only by a huge old-fashioned marble-topped chest that served as a counter. She brought her attention back to Cooper.
“It’s great,” she said softly, watching him expectantly. “Your turn now.”
He nodded. His jaws worked as he mulled over something to say. “Er…nice day, isn’t it?”
They were sitting by the large window and had a good view of the deteriorating weather outside. Grey clouds were dimming the already weak late afternoon sun. A sudden gust of wind rattled the shutters loudly. Julia laughed and after a moment, Cooper did, too.
“I guess you’re not too good at this talking thing,” she said.
“Nope.” He leaned back so the waitress could clear the dirty dishes from the table. He drank the last of his coffee and eyed her warily.
“How come it’s so nice here?” Julia asked.
Cooper blinked. “Beg your pardon? Nice where?”
“Here. In Rupert.” Julia waved her arm, encompassing the warm café and the town outside. “This place is great. The food is wonderful. The decor is authentic. It’s a truly great little café. Bob’s Corner Bookstore was wonderful, too. It had a good selection and Bob was nice. It was a perfect small town bookstore. We walked down two perfect small town streets to get here and they were planted with larch and geraniums. The plants were well-tended and there wasn’t a pothole in sight. Rupert could be in a guidebook. Great Small Towns of the West.” She folded her hands under her chin. “So what went wrong with Simpson?”
Julia could almost see the wheels turning in Cooper’s head as he turned the question over in his mind. “Well…maybe towns are like people. Some are hardy and some aren’t. Some withstand hardship better than others. Horses are like that, too,” he added after a moment.
It was one way of looking at it. “So…when did Simpson start to…ah…” Julia tried to find a word that wouldn’t be too strong, or reek too much of must and decay, “decline?” she finished delicately.
Cooper paused to consider. “Guess maybe the death-knell was when the new interstate ran forty miles west of Simpson. That was back in ‘84.”
“You mean surveyors draw a line in the map for a road and a town goes down the drain—” Julia snapped her fingers, “—like that?” It was a novel concept, and she realized that her time in Simpson was the first time in her life she’d lived anywhere that wasn’t old and picturesque and in a guidebook. It was odd to think that she was living somewhere that might just drop off the map in a few years.
“Yeah. But then that’s how most towns in the West were founded anyway, so I suppose it’s poetic justice.”
“What do you mean?”
Cooper visibly relaxed. The history of the West was something he knew a lot about, judging from the history books she’d seen in his library.
Cooper leaned to one side as the waitress deposited two servings of dessert and two steaming cups of coffee in front of them.
“Most of the towns out here were founded on a whim—where a miner happened to pitch a tent, then another miner joined him—or where a settler was buried, or where there was groundwater. In Montana and Wyoming, it was even more arbitrary. The railway engineers just took a pencil and a compass and marked off fifty-mile lengths along the tracks for where the trains needed to load up with water and that’s where they founded the railway towns. Likely as not, the towns were named after the engineer’s mother or wife or daughter. Lotta towns named Clarissa and Lorraine out there. Not more than a shack or two sometimes. Some grew, some didn’t. Simpson was luckier than most—for a while, anyway. There’s a lot of underground water around Simpson and there’d been a vein of gold that ran out around 1920. Then for a while there was cattle, and that was profitable until the railway changed its route. Since then there’s been a slow decline. It’ll become a ghost town soon.”
“That’s so sad.” Julia thought of that. Of a whole town dying. Simpson, wiped off the map. If it had ever been on a map.
“You grew up near a ghost town yourself.”
“I did?” Julia was startled out of her thoughts.
“Shanako.” Cooper looked at her expectantly.
Julia blinked. “Shanawhat?”
Cooper cut into his cheesecake. “Shanako. Largest sheep exporter in the world until the Australian market opened up in the 1860s, then it just dropped off the map. Went from 40,000 people to zero in a year. Don’t tell me you’ve never been there. It can’t be more than seventy miles from Bend.”
She smiled politely, as if Cooper had suddenly, inexplicably lapsed into Urdu. Cooper frowned. “Didn’t Chuck say you came from Bend, Oregon?”
Where had she heard that name—Bend…Of course! Her cover. Julia had been so intent on talking with Cooper, finding him so intriguing and impenetrable all at the same time that there wasn’t room for anything else. Her brain stalled and cogs whirled emptily.
“Sally?” Cooper was looking at her strangely.
“Who?” she said. Then—“Oh!”
She shook herself and tried to replay in her head the last few minutes of conversation. “No, I–-I’ve never been to…Shanako. We moved to Bend when I was—” her mind raced, “in junior high then I went to college in–-” Where would an Oregonian go to college?
“Portland?” Cooper was watching her with his head tilted to one side.
“Right,” Julia said, relieved. “Portland.” The only Portland she’d ever been to was in Maine.
This was such a strain. Why hadn’t Herbert Davis issued her an Instruction Manual for Being Undercover? “So I guess I haven’t explored as much around Bend as I should have.” Cooper was watching her with a too-intent gaze. Those dark eyes had the ability to throw her into a tail
“Yeah.” Cooper finished off the bite on his fork and chewed slowly and swallowed. He lifted up another forkful of the fluffy cheesecake and nodded. “I’m probably eating another reason for Simpson’s decline.”
Julia sighed. “You mean Alice’s cooking?” She wasn’t surprised. Alice’s cooking was bad enough to cause the demise of a town, all by itself.
“Yeah. Not Alice specifically, but the fact is there isn’t any place decent in town to eat. Carly was a lousy cook, too, but people went there, anyway. Just like I used to buy my feed from Erroll Newton even though he used to charge me about 5 cents more per pound. I was really glad when Erroll closed down in ‘94. Everyone used to make an effort to shop locally. But the younger generation doesn’t seem to have that kind of loyalty. It doesn’t help that the high school closed down and the kids have to be bussed to Dead Horse. Kids who grow up in Simpson now just take it for granted that they’ll go away when they grow up. No one wants to take over family businesses anymore.”
“Mmm.” Julia sipped her coffee and wasn’t surprised to find that it was one of the best cups of coffee she’d ever had. The Brewery was truly a fantastic café. Poor Alice. “Lee Kellogg isn’t going to take over Glenn’s hardware store. He wants to be a history teacher, instead. Glenn is thinking of selling in a few years. Particularly since Maisie isn’t interested in helping out in the store.”
Cooper gaped. “Where do you get this stuff?”
“I talk to people, Cooper. Amazing what you learn when you do that.” Julia finished her carrot cake. “Actually, what Maisie would really like to do is be a cook. But who could hire a cook in Simpson?”
“Not Alice.” Cooper signaled the waitress for the check. “She’s barely keeping her head above water. Like the other businesses in Simpson.”
“The Broken Window theory,” Julia said thoughtfully.
“The what?”
“Broken Window theory. I read about it in a magazine.” In another life, she thought.
She remembered clearly where she’d been when she’d read the article. Sipping coffee in a café as charming as The Brewery, clucking her head over the troubles of the world. Little realizing that the world would soon come crashing down around her ears.
“They did this study on slums and housing projects. Some are kept up by the residents and some become a wasteland and the researchers wanted to find out why some escaped desolation and others didn’t. And they discovered that everyone who lives in a place has to care about it. All it takes in a housing project is one broken window for the place to degenerate. It’s like a symbol that no one cares. A license for everyone to trash the place.”
“Yeah.” Cooper nodded thoughtfully. “I guess Simpson’s a bit like that. No one has done anything up in a long time. Shops have been closing for ten years and no one’s investing in the place. Town’s not going to last long if someone doesn’t do something. Places need attention, just like people.”
Places need attention, Julia thought with a sudden pang. Cooper’s words echoed in her head. She was guilty of neglect, herself. She had lived for a whole month now in her little house and she hadn’t done anything to make it nicer or more comfortable. It was unheard of for a Devaux. She was in Simpson under duress, it was true. Yet her mom had been in Riyadh under duress. And their house there had been her mother’s decorating triumph.
I haven’t done anything at all to make my new life into something better, she thought. Her mother would have been ashamed of her.
“Cooper, do you think you could—” She broke off.
“Do I think I could what?”
“No—” Julia waved a hand. He’d done her too many favors already. “Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“Forget it, Cooper.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Just a silly thought.”
Cooper was watching her steadily, dark eyes deep and impenetrable. The waitress came bustling up with the check, and Cooper waved her away. Then, to Julia’s surprise, Cooper leaned back and crossed his arms. “We’re not leaving until you finish that sentence.”
Julia bit her lip and looked at Cooper. His face was set and he looked as hard as iron. She could almost feel the force of his willpower from across the table and gave up.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Cooper, is there a decorating store around here?”
“A…decorating store?” he said carefully, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward.
“Yes, you know. Paint, wallpaper, stencils, fabrics. Well, the usual—a decorating store.”
“Paint, wallpaper, fabric…” Cooper thought it over. “I guess Schwab’s would be a good place.”
Julia felt so guilty. He was fixing up her house. He’d accompanied her to Rupert, the bookstore and now to lunch, on him. “Do you have time to stop in a store, Cooper? Or do you have a lot of things to do today?”
He signaled the waitress again. She brought the check and Cooper paid. When she left, he leaned forward across the table. “I’m not too sure you have the situation straight here, Sally,” he said, his deep voice low and soft. “There isn’t anything you can’t ask me. I’d do anything for you, anything at all.” His dark eyes stared straight into hers. “I’d kill for you. Stopping by a store doesn’t really count.”
Cooper kept waiting for Sally to turn to him and say, “Talk to me,” on the ride back. And when she did, he would. He already had a few opening gambits which he practiced silently. He was ready. All she had to do was ask.
But she wasn’t asking. Actually, she wasn’t doing much of anything on the other side of the truck’s cab, besides looking out the window lost in thought.
Silence was Cooper’s constant companion, something he was familiar with, something he could handle. But somehow silence and Sally Andersen were two things that didn’t go together at all. He found himself craving her attention. He missed her turning to him, big turquoise eyes wide and focused on him, telling him to talk to her, then drinking in his every word. He wanted her to stop looking out that damned window at nothing and look at him.
It was crazy. He felt like a twelve-year-old wanting to do handstands to impress the pretty new girl in school.
Cooper realized just how far gone he was when he caught himself craving her smile. When she smiled at him as if he were the most fascinating man on earth, he felt something in his chest loosen, something that had been tightly wound for a long, long time. All his life, in fact.
He had to think hard about that one. About what she meant to him and about how he was treating her.
Sally Andersen was undoubtedly the most important women in his life, ever, and here he’d been fucking her like there was no tomorrow. Like she was there only for his personal sexual release, after a very long dry spell.
He winced when he thought about it. After driving Rafael home in the late afternoons, he headed straight back to Sally’s house. Two minutes after she opened the door to him, he had her naked and on her back. The first time he fucked her was always frantic. The second and third times, too, for that matter. There never seemed to be time for anything but that.
He was still frantic for her, still gripping her hips tightly, still fucking her hard, in the early morning hours, when it was time to go.
He’d given her nothing. Not sweet words, not gentle caresses. Not even foreplay.
When he made it back to the Double C at dawn every day, he was immediately taken up with backed up chores, most of them outdoors with all his men around. He found it impossible even to call her. So basically, he fucked her all night, then disappeared at dawn. There was a name for men like that.
Today’s lunch at The Brewery was the first time he was even able to offer Sally anything. Just beer and a cheeseburger instead of a nice dinner out, and here she’d wanted to pay for i
Sally deserved expensive, elegant restaurants. Not that there were any in Simpson, but he could have offered to take her to Boise. He didn’t have the time, but maybe he should make the effort. Melissa had insisted on several expensive evenings out a month while they were married and wanted to go out all the time when they were engaged.
Hell, he’d treated Melissa better than Sally, and Melissa was a bitch.
When you found a woman who meant a lot to you—and who was beautiful and warmhearted to boot—you courted her. You treated her…well, like the lady she was. You brought her nice presents—deadbolts and window alarm systems didn’t count—and you took her out in the evening to nice places.
You didn’t fuck her near to death, then disappear in the morning. Over and over and over again.
It was a real pity that sex got in the way. He desired her so much it took his breath away. When he walked into her little house, it was like a wind picked him up and blew him away. Lust blasted his mind and all he could think about was putting his cock in her as soon as it was humanly possible. And staying there for as long as he could. And since he was so behind on sex, he stayed in her until he had to leave in the morning.
This was not good, Cooper thought, as he turned onto Sally’s street.
Tonight was going to be different. He was going to be gentle. It was going to be making love, not fucking like there was no tomorrow.
Cooper had to leave really early in the morning for Boise airport. He had three connecting flights to make it to Lexington, Kentucky by evening, the opening of the annual meeting of the Horse Breeder’s Association, which was when he did his buying of six-month-old colts, and networked like crazy. This annual trip was the backbone of his business and he usually enjoyed it.
He wouldn’t enjoy it this year, though. He would be gone at least four days, maybe five. He had to let Sally know that he wasn’t disappearing from her life. That they would pick up as soon as he got back.
He had to let her know that he would miss her, though “miss” was too tame a word for that wrenching ache in his chest when she wasn’t around. The thought of a Sally-less week filled him with a scary, empty feeling.