Meant to Be (Whisper Creek #5)(9)

The capped smile, the rosy lips, the perfect mascara, the face that always looked slimmer on paper than it did in the mirror-it was all a mirage, and she wasn't sure when she'd quite lost track of which parts were real.

Or whether she'd ever find them.





Chapter 3


Hours later, long after she'd heard guests depart from the main lodge and disperse to their cabins, Shelby ventured out to her front porch, where the double-sized Adirondack chair with its deep cushions begged for someone to sit down. As she did, she felt a chill creep up her spine, but this time it was because she was cold, not because the icy fingers of anxiety were taking hold. She wrapped the quilted throw from the couch more tightly around her shoulders as she let her eyes adjust to the inky darkness beyond her steps.

She could hear tree frogs off to her left, and the muted sounds of horses settling down for the night came from the two stables just down the hill from the main lodge. Someone had country music on in the other honeymoon cabin, and she could hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter through the open windows of the lodge.

She took a deep breath of the mountain air, and could almost taste the firs in the gentle breeze. She'd left a light on in her cottage, but the porch itself was dark. The combination of warm quilt and oversized chair made for a cozy cocoon in the darkness, and she was grateful for the way her cabin overlooked the ranch, with nothing behind it.

She'd spent so many years watching her back that she'd taken a deep breath earlier this evening when she'd looked out the rear windows of the cottage to see only grass, flowers, and trees. If she followed Nicola's orders and kept to herself, there wasn't any reason anyone here would even see her, as far as she could tell.

A few seconds later, a movement on the porch of the other honeymoon cabin caught her eye, and although she didn't want to be nosy, she couldn't help but look. And then swallow.

Hard.

The man who'd just emerged was in shadows, lit only by the glow coming from within his cabin, but even in the dark, it was impossible to miss the confident posture, the sculpted body under his T-shirt, the watchful stance he took as he scanned slowly from right to left.

Shelby pulled the quilt closer, hoping he wouldn't see her out here. But as she watched, he stepped casually down the three stairs of his porch, then walked down the pathway toward hers. 

Automatically, she looked over her left shoulder, where usually, a security guy stood just far enough away to be unobtrusive. But not here. Not now.

She was alone. Really, really alone.

She swallowed, looking quickly around her, but the porch was dismally short on self-defense objects.

"Hey." The guy stopped ten feet away, his voice soft and friendly.

Like Ted Bundy.

"Hi," she replied, trying to pretend she wasn't having a mini – heart attack over a perfectly innocent-probably-stranger talking to her. Funny how fame and fear-of-other-humans went hand in hand after losing all semblance of privacy for most of her life.

Or not funny at all.

He pointed to his chest. "I'm Cooper. You settling in okay?"

"Yes." She nodded slowly. "Thanks."

"Okay." He paused like he'd intended to say more, but then thought better of it. Instead, he jerked a thumb toward his cabin. "I'm right next door if you need anything."

She wondered at his use of the singular I, since he must have a wife stowed in that honeymoon cabin, but she didn't see any movement in the windows as she glanced behind him. Also, what was he doing out here at eleven o'clock at night talking to her if he had a brand-new bride waiting for him inside?

"Thank you," she finally said, but figured her suspicious nod was probably a dead giveaway that she'd come asking a newlywed stranger for help just about as soon as she'd go out rattlesnake-catching.

With a casual wave, he turned and walked away. She watched him go, scanning him from head to toe, despite trying not to. He had the body of a TV cop-strong shoulders under his T-shirt, biceps straining the fabric, even in the dark. His waist was trim, and his jeans hid what she was pretty sure was a tight, perfect ass.

Damn.

She'd spent the last decade surrounded by other headliners, tour dancers, and the entourages that surrounded everyone in the business, and she swore she'd lost sight of what a real, honest-to-goodness man looked like. She was so used to the costumes and the makeup and the glitter and glitz that she'd forgotten just what a good pair of Wranglers could do for a guy.

She shook her head. What was she even thinking? He'd spoken all of maybe fourteen words to her, and she knew absolutely nothing about him. But … the timbre of his voice had hit her somewhere way down low, and the way he'd kept his distance-as if he'd sensed she needed him to-made her feel … safe.