The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(72)

“I know. Then she went around the bend. And Grandpa stroked out.”

Exactly correct, Spencer thought. His father had been eighty-six, his mother seventy-nine when they passed. Not bad, considering Bridget hadn’t even made it to forty.

After talking about it with Austin, Spencer mentioned it to Cooper, in case Austin ever brought it up with him. And he had said to Cooper at the time, “Let’s not get all emotional about it—I expected it a year ago. I’m relieved. Another chapter of suffering closed.”

Cooper, who many consider a little hard-edged, said, “But, man, buddy, you’ve had a real load this year. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

He hadn’t thought about it much after that. He was relieved.

He hadn’t cried about it. He wasn’t the crying type anyway. He’d let it all go and embraced his new life, his new town, his team—God, what a team! And there had been that woman, Devon. Despite all adversity, what a fighter she was! She was so alive and, man, had he needed all that life. Especially in the ashes of his buried grief.

And then she’d said, “If something should happen to me...”

Devon thought it was the request that he be responsible for Mercy that had thrown him, but that wasn’t even close. The minute Devon had said that, something roared to life inside him—probably all that grief he hadn’t let see the light of day. And like an arrow through the heart he thought, I can’t do it again! I can’t bury one more person I love! I don’t have any more in me! Jesus, if he were a country-and-western song all he’d need is a broken-down pickup and a dead dog and he’d get an award.

Cooper came outside a couple of times, sat with him a minute, talked about his new house a little, though it was still just cement and dirt. Cooper asked him what was wrong and needing him to go away, he said, “Could be flu. It’s been running through the school. I’m achy and my head is pounding.”

He sat there, licking his wounds and feeling sorry for himself for at least a couple of hours when he saw her walking across the beach. She held something in her hands and she was almost to the base of the stairs before he could see it was a covered pot that she held. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at him, then began the climb. When she got to the top she sat down, put the pot in the middle of the table and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Plugged up,” he said. It wasn’t a complete lie, since he was starting to understand that he was emotionally plugged up. Devon had scared him and he had freaked out.

“Have you taken anything?”

“Advil,” he lied. “I probably need a decongestant. What’s that?”

“I made you chicken soup. By now I’m sure it’s not hot, but Rawley will be glad to warm it up for you. Spencer, I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath. He leaned forward. “No, I’m sorry. Your question—it took me by surprise, but the real surprise was in my head. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I want to say two things, two important things. First, whether we’re a couple or not, I will take responsibility for Mercy. I will be sure she’s safe and cared for and loved, no matter what. I promise. I give you my word, and my word is good. And the second thing—when you asked me that, it really hit me just how serious our relationship is and how fast it became serious. Devon, I love you, I can’t help it. But I just buried my wife last spring. I buried my parents last summer. I need a few days to think about things, to be sure I’m not just desperate for some stability, for an answer to some of the aches and pains the past couple of years have given me. I don’t want to rush into anything. I don’t want to rush you. I just want to think about this. For a split second, I felt ambushed.”

She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “But I tried to discourage you!”

“You did. I didn’t realize I might be moving too fast. My feelings haven’t changed. Give me a little time.”

She tapped the pot. “This isn’t going to cure what you’ve got.”

“I know.”

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” she said. “I’m going home. Don’t call me unless you think you know what you want. Because I’m doing this exactly one time.” Then she stood, ran down the stairs and across the beach.

He watched her go and asked himself if he was just some kind of fool or a man being smart. It was reasonable, wasn’t it? They’d met in June. It was September. A few months. When she was out of sight, he sighed and turned his head.

Cooper stood in the doorway from the bar. His arms were crossed over his chest and his heavy eyebrows were furrowed. “What the f**k was that?” he asked.

“If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least pay attention,” Spencer said.

“I was paying attention! You brought your grumpy self out here, claiming to have the start of the flu, but what you were having was idiocy. You’ve been sniffing after that pretty little thing for months! Did you really just cut her loose and tell her you needed space?”

“Cooper, I’m warning you—stay out of this. We’ll sort it out in a couple of days....”

“When men say they need to think, that they need space, women know what they mean. When I was a teenager or idiot guy in my twenties, I thought I was getting one over on them, but they always knew—it was an excuse because I couldn’t make a commitment. You’re such a jackass.”