Meant to Be (Whisper Creek #5)(4)

"Why do I need a cover story?"

Kyla giggled at whatever pained expression he was apparently making. "Because I don't want her to know you're her hired buddy-slash-pseudo-bodyguard. For the next month, you're just an average guy staying here at Whisper Creek."

"In a honeymoon cabin? All by myself?"

"This is why we need a cover story."

Cooper closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't think I like any part of this plan."

"But you'll do it?"

"Are you actually giving me a choice?"

"Not really. But I hate telling people what to do." She smiled, raising her eyebrows in warning. "Don't even grace that with a response, please."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't speak.

"Thatta boy."

He looked at her. "I'm taking my chair. If you're moving me to some girlie hearts-and-flowers cabin, you can at least let me take my chair." 

"That chair on the bunkhouse porch?" She cringed. "With the ratty arms and stuffing coming out the back?"

"Yep."

"No."

"Then no deal. I'm not moving into that honeymoon cabin without my chair." He crossed his arms, knowing he looked like a four-year-old. But seriously, she had to give him something here.

He just wished he'd had time to think of something with a little more gravity than a stupid chair.

"Cooper." She grimaced. "There's a sweet little porch swing for two already on that porch."

"Yep, and I'm not sitting in it." He raised his eyebrows. "Chair or not? How much do you want me to take this job?"

"Dammit." She sighed, picking up her clipboard and adding a checkbox to the bottom. "But I'm putting one of Ma's quilts over it. That thing is hideous with a capital H."

Cooper sighed as Kyla headed out the door. He liked what he already did at Whisper Creek-the trail rides, the guest lessons, the quiet afternoons when he could ride for hours without seeing another human. His head had been spinning when he'd arrived, and the horses and skies had helped heal him, but he still had a hell of a long road ahead.

And sitting on his ass waiting for Miss Hollywood to need something was exactly the wrong medicine.

A couple of minutes later, Decker walked in, loaded down with two saddles. "Mornin', Coop."

"Decker."

Cooper hadn't meant for his voice to sound so clipped, but seriously? The guy had approved his wife's crazy-ass plan, even though he'd apparently argued first, and there was nothing Cooper could do about it.

Decker laughed. "I gather Kyla's been by?"

"Just left."

"And you said yes to watching over our VIP guest?"

"Actually, I said no. She has terrible hearing."

"I'm familiar with that problem." Decker rolled his eyes. "You okay with it?"

"Yep."

Hell, no.

"You can say no to her, you know."

"Right. Have you tried that lately?"

Decker laughed. "I didn't say I could do it, but you could." His face grew serious. "I mean it. Don't let my tiny wife with her big ideas bully you into playing buddy tag if the thought of it has you itching to take off on Bandit and never come back. There are other guys here we could tap for the job."

Cooper swallowed, considering it. But no. Kyla and Decker had been nothing but good to him since he'd arrived at their ranch. He owed it to them to do what they needed him to. This VIP guest-and the money she brought with her-wasn't something they could do without, he was sure. And honestly? Now that he knew about the celeb, he'd be watching her like a hawk anyway, not trusting any of the other ranch hands to keep her safe.

"I'll give it a shot. If it totally sucks, I'll cry uncle and turn Miss Hollywood over to you."

"No, thank you. We'll give her to Cole."

Cooper laughed as Decker threw his own brother under the bus. "That works."

"Bet you never thought a dart in a map would have you prepping to hang out with some celebrity on the lam, huh?"

"No. Can't say as I did."

Cooper thought back to the night in Dunleavey's Tavern-the one after he'd come from his childhood home, where the door had slammed in his face. Dunleavey kept a U.S. map on the wall, sometimes to settle arguments, but usually to test how drunk his regulars were before they left.



       
         
       
        

"Name ten state capitals and I'll give you your keys," he'd say.

That night, with Cooper on his fourth shot, Dunleavey had handed him a dart. "Here. Before you're drunk enough to put out somebody's eye with the thing, take a shot at the map. Wherever it lands, go. Take a year. Get your shit together."