“A hard life for a kid.”
“I didn’t know any different.”
She followed him inside. He set what he’d picked next to the sink and turned on the faucet. His sweatpants had fallen so low on his hips, she was glad his back was turned to her. “The first big city I ever visited was Norman,” he said. “I was sixteen, and I thought I’d walked into paradise. Once Dad died, I never looked back.”
She dropped her jacket over the back of a counter stool. “There must be something about rural life you miss, or you wouldn’t have created that amazing garden.”
“I like growing things. Always have.” He tossed some spinach into a stainless-steel colander. “I started out at Oklahoma State with a major in plant and soil science, but then I discovered I’d actually have to go to class. ‘Student athlete’-now there’s an oxymoron.” He splashed water on the spinach and shook the colander. “I love the pace of city life, and as much as I like animals, I didn’t like raising them. Especially pigs.” He cleaned a handful of herbs and laid them on a paper towel. “I can’t tell you how many times those bastards managed to get out of their pen and tear up my vegetable garden. Pigs are the only animal I hate.”
She thought of Oinky. “Pigs are sweet!”
“That’s right. You sleep with one.”
“I don’t sleep with-”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “See how sweet you’d think they are, city girl, if you’d been six years old and had those two-hundred-pound porkers charge you whenever you went into their pen. One slip, and you’re lunch. They’ll eat anything.”
“Well, we eat them, so…”
“I’m not saying there isn’t some kind of divine justice at work, but kids and pigs don’t belong together.” He pulled out a chef’s knife. “I still have nightmares about them.”
“Let me get this straight. You, Cooper Graham, five-time first team All-Pro, two-time NFL MVP, are afraid of pigs?”
“Yep.” The blade hit the cutting board.
She laughed, then remembered she wasn’t here to be entertained. “I went to see Dell this morning. Not a single bruise on him.”
“Are you back to this again?”
“Did you know your close pal Keith and his girlfriend Taylor moved out of their place without leaving a forwarding address?”
He pointed the tip of the knife in her general direction. “For the last time. It was a mugging, not some preplanned attack.”
“I’m sure you’d like to think so. Help me sort through it, will you, so I can stop obsessing about it?”
He scraped the back of his hand over the beard scruff on his jaw. “Keith’s a hothead, but the two of us already had it out.”
“That was before Taylor got fired, right?” She located the eggs.
“Staging an ambush isn’t his style.”
“You have more faith in your old pal than I do.” She rummaged for some cheese and found a chunk of imported cheddar.
“While you’re sorting things out…” He gazed across the counter at her. She wished he’d pull up his pants. Or zip his sweatshirt. Or go bald. Except he’d still look great.
“Aren’t you overlooking a couple of more obvious villains in your imaginary scenario?” He carried the leeks over to a chopping board. “Starting with that mysterious client who hired you to follow me?”
“If I had any doubts about my former client, don’t you think I would have acted on them?” She located a skillet and cheese grater. “I promise you, my mystery client isn’t a threat.”
“Exactly. Nobody is. It was a random crime. Some thug who was lurking in the alley looking for easy prey.”
She wasn’t getting any more out of him now, and she temporarily backed off. “How are things with Deidre coming along?”
“Slower than I’d like, but she’ll come through.”
“You’re sure about that.”
“She’d be crazy not to. I have a great concept and the right connections to carry it off.”
She didn’t miss the determined set of his jaw. In Coop’s mind, once he’d decided on something, it was as good as done.
After that, they worked together without saying much other than “Stop hogging the sink” and “Where’s the sriracha?” She sautéed the vegetables in a little olive oil, tossed in the eggs she’d beaten, and topped them with the herbs he’d chopped along with a generous handful of grated cheddar. He took plain white plates from the cupboard and extracted the bread he’d put in the toaster.
By the time everything was ready, the domesticity of the scene had started making her itchy. She wished she didn’t like him so much, but how could she not? Coop was the man she’d have wanted to be if she’d been male. Setting aside his money and fame, he was smart, he understood hard work, and, except for being stubborn and dictatorial, he was rock-bottom decent.
“Let’s eat outside,” she said as he poured them coffee. “But only if you zip your sweatshirt first.” She needed a good reason other than the real one. “Those bruises aren’t exactly appetizing.”
“Your sympathy for human suffering warms my heart.”
“I’m a giver, all right.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled.
Even on a chilly October morning, the nook he’d created in the corner of the garden was inviting. Its vine-covered latticework made a natural windbreak, and the purple canvas chair cushions were thick and comfortable. It had been a long time since she’d had anything as tasty as the fluffy omelet she’d made with the ingredients he’d gathered. She was almost… happy.
Coop watched her across the table. Pipe didn’t believe in picking at her food, and even though she took small bites, she managed to consume the omelet in record time. When she remembered to eat, she gave it all she had, the same way she did everything. How could someone so tough, so determined, and so ballsy be so intrinsically female?
It was too damp and overcast for comfortable outdoor dining, but he’d been so conscious of the inviting bed above their heads that he hadn’t protested moving out here. It was a good place to cool off. Except all he’d done so far was heat up.
Pipe set her fork on her plate. He’d noticed before how dainty her hands were and made a mental note never to use that word to her face.
Earlier, he’d seen her staring at his chest. He’d initially assumed she was checking out his bruises, but then he remembered her attraction for that particular part of his body and decided something more interesting was going on in her head. But leaving his sweatshirt open on purpose was one of the biggest cheeseball moves he’d ever made. Still, anything that gave him an edge was fair game.
“Annabelle Champion doesn’t seem to think you have any crazed ex-girlfriends lurking around,” she said.
“Now what were you doing talking to Annabelle?”
“Satisfying my curiosity.”
“Well, stop it. You quit, remember? And I’m not hiring you back.”
“Who else do you trust enough to investigate what happened? She also said there’d been a couple of crazies.”
“Most recently? A loony named Esmerelda Crocker.”
“Totally harmless.”
“Are you?” He leaned back in his chair and took her in. Her face was so full of life. Those bright eyes had a whole world going on behind them. And that wide mouth… So much he wanted to do with that mouth. So much he wanted that mouth to do to him.
She took too long to look away. He smiled to himself. She wasn’t as detached as she liked to pretend.
She reached for that ratty messenger bag she carried around and pulled out a notebook. “You’ve been in the public eye for years. You have to have gotten your fair share of hate mail.”
“The Stars office still screens my mail. If they’d gotten anything they thought was serious, they’d have let me know.”
“Who do I talk to there?”