his back. “I mean, obviously it’s not okay, but you have to let it go. Your mom was so kind. She’d hate seeing you this way.”
A dozen years’ grief and anger and heartache balled inside him, threatening to shatter. Why was Millie being nice? Why didn’t she yell or condemn him for staying away? Why didn’t she do anything other than give him the comfort he’d so desperately craved?
“Coop, look at me....” Her small hands tugged him around to face her, and when she used those hands to cup his cheeks while her gaze locked with his, he couldn’t for a second longer hold in his pain. What was he doing here? No matter what Peg said, he never should’ve come. “Honey, yes, what happened was awful, but it was an accident. Everyone knows that. No one blames you.”
A sarcastic laugh escaped him. “Have you met my father?”
“When your mom died, he was out of his mind with grief. He didn’t know what he was saying or doing. I’ll bet if you two talked now, then—”
“How are we going to do that? The man suffered a stroke.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t listen. At least give it a try. You owe yourself that much.”
How could she say that after what he’d done? The world—let alone his father—didn’t owe him shit. “Coming here—it was a mistake. I never should’ve—”
“You’re wrong, Cooper. Your dad may not admit it, but he needs you. I need you.” She stepped back to gesture to the dilapidated kitchen with its outdated appliances, faded wallpaper and torn linoleum floor. “This place needs you.”
He slammed the filter drawer shut on the ancient Mr. Coffee. “More than you could ever know, I appreciate your kind words, Mill, but seriously? What does anyone need with a guy who killed his own mother?”
Millie’s mind still reeled from the fact that her husband’s brother was even in the room, let alone the fact that he was here to stay awhile. His mere presence was a godsend. While she considered the tragedy that’d caused his mother’s death to be ancient history, for him it seemed time had stood still. Had he even begun to process the fact Jim was gone, too?
Before the coffee finished brewing, he pulled out the glass pot, replacing it with his mug. With it only half-full, he replaced the pot.
“Better?” she found the wherewithal to ask after he’d downed a good portion of the brew.
“Much.” His faint smile reminded her so much of her lost love that her heart skipped a beat. It’d been three years since she’d lost Jim, and while she thought of him often—would never forget him—in the time he’d been gone, more urgent matters occupied the space grief had once filled in her heart.
“Hungry?” she asked. “The kids got oatmeal, but if you want, I’ll cook you up something more substantial.” Busying her flighty hands, she rummaged through the fridge. “There’s a little bacon. We always have plenty of eggs. Pancakes? Do you still like them?”
“Coffee’s fine,” he said with a wag of his mug. He looked her up and down, then politely aimed his stare out the kitchen window. “Judging by your outfit, you haven’t done any of the outside chores?”
She reddened, clutching the robe close at her throat.
“I assume the routine hasn’t changed?”
“No, but you’re probably tired from your drive. Why don’t you nap for a bit, and after I check on your dad, I’ll head outside.”
“No need. Fresh air will do me good.”
“You do know you’re eventually going to have to see him.”
“Dad?”
“The Easter Bunny...”
He finished his coffee then put the mug in the sink. “Not if I can help it.” He nodded to the tan Carhartt hanging on a hook by the back door. “Mind if I borrow that?”
“Help yourself.” The duster-style coat had belonged to Jim. Sometimes when she felt particularly overwhelmed, she wore it to remind her of him. It used to smell of him—the trace of the tobacco he’d chewed. How many times had she scolded him to quit, afraid of losing him to cancer when instead he’d passed from a hunting accident?
“Was this my brother’s?”
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she nodded.
She wanted to rail on him for not having had the common decency—the respect—to attend Jim’s funeral, but she lacked the strength to argue.
“About that...”
“J-just go, Cooper.” She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, because no mere explanation would ever be good enough. No matter what, a man didn’t miss his own brother’s funeral. Just didn’t happen.
The set of his stubbled square jaw was grim, but then so was the inside of her battered heart. Peg might’ve told him what the past few years without her husband had been like for Millie, but he didn’t really know. Beyond the financial toll Jim’s death had taken, emotionally, she felt as if a spring twister had uprooted every aspect of her and her kids’ lives. And speaking of her kids, they’d never even had the pleasure of meeting their uncle Cooper.
“Okay...” he mumbled.
Never-ending seconds stretched between them. Her watering eyes refused to quit stinging, and her frayed nerves itched for a fight.
“Thanks for the coffee. Guess I’ll head outside.”
Only after he’d gone, leaving her with just the wall of brutal January air to prove he’d ever even been in the room, did Millie dare exhale.
From a workload standpoint, having Cooper back on the ranch might be a godsend, but would it be worth the emotional toll?
* * *
“HEY, GIRL...” COOPER approached Sassy, the sorrel mare he’d been given for his eighteenth birthday. At the time, working this ranch, finding a good woman, having kids, had been all he’d ever wanted from life. Strange how even though he’d accomplished and seen more than he ever could’ve dreamed, he still felt like that kid who’d been run off in shame. “Long time, no see, huh?”
He stroked her nose and was rewarded by a warm, breathy snort against his palm. For this weather, he should’ve worn gloves and a hat, but pride won over common sense when he’d scurried for the barn’s safety.
Regardless of where things stood with his father, Cooper knew damn well he’d done wrong by his brother and sweet Millie.
It’d been ages since he’d saddled a horse, and it took a while to get his bearings. Having followed the routine since he’d been a kid, he knew the drill, just had to reacquaint himself with where everything was stored. He found leather work gloves that’d seen better days and a hat that looked like a horse had stomped it to death before it’d wrestled with a tractor. Regardless, he slapped it on his head, thankful for the warmth, but wishing the simple work didn’t leave his
