Cooper (The Family Simon #6) - Juliana Stone Page 0,1
with Charlie ever since he’d arrived. “I told you I don’t need anyone poking around my business.”
“Who said anything about poking around?” Something crashed in his ear. “Hold on, Coop.” A pause. “Connor. Please put that dog in its crate, or I won’t be held responsible for what I will do to it.”
“You still training that puppy?” Cooper grinned for the first time. A Bernese Mountain Dog, the thing was growing crazily by the day.
“Puppy? It’s a freaking giant. I can’t believe Rick came home with it.”
“Kind of like I can’t believe you gave my keys to a perfect stranger.”
“Cooper, she’s not…she…” Charlie swore under her breath, and Cooper paused near the front door.
“Morgan’s not a stranger, and besides, you need someone out there. It’s not healthy to be on your own for days on end, eating crap food and living in filth.”
Okay. That was going a little too far. So he didn’t clean his damn toilet every day. At least he lifted the lid. That was saying something.
“You’ll like her. I promise.”
No way was this happening.
“Charlie, no.”
“Morgan can help out with whatever you need. Laundry. Errands.”
“No.” His voice was firm.
“You said you were thinking of hiring someone to go through all the stuff in the attic and organize it.”
“No.”
“She’d be real good at that. Organizing and cleaning and…well, whatever stuff you need done.”
“No.” Charlotte Simon had to be the stubbornest woman he’d ever met.
“Why not?” He heard the frustration in her voice. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ve already hired her, so…”
Cooper swore a blue streak. “What do you mean you hired her?” All he wanted was peace and quiet. The ability to walk around his house in his boxers—hell, naked if he felt like it—and scratch his ass without anyone seeing him.
He needed to work, and no way could he get anything done with some woman underfoot. And he sure as hell didn’t need some sweet little old lady who’d want nothing more than to set him up with a granddaughter or daughter or cousin or…
“Coop?”
“You hired her, you can fire her.”
Silence greeted his words. “I can’t. I won’t. Tell me that you don’t need someone to get your groceries and organize your meals. Clean the dust bunnies and your clothes and maybe organize that huge attic? I thought you wanted your work space up there? Thought you said you didn’t like working in the shop?”
Damn but his head hurt. With a curse, he rubbed his temples.
“And she’s not a stranger, Cooper. You met her last week at the church social.”
Great. The social. It wasn’t his usual gig, and the only reason he’d gone was because the night before the social, he’d lost at poker and Maverick insisted if he had to go, then Cooper did as well.
Charlie was still jabbering in his ear. “Campbell’s Home Services is a well-established business and—”
“Campbell?” Well, that rang a bell.
Blonde hair, green eyes, a nice rack, and legs that went on for miles is what he remembered. Suddenly interested, Cooper perked up.
“Do you remember?”
Hell yeah, he remembered. The woman ran her mouth a lot, going on about things he had no interest in, but her lips were soft and full, and he could think of more than a few things that could shut up that luscious mouth. Newly separated, she’d made it more than clear she was available, and he’d filed her away as a possible diversion.
What the hell was her name? “Sara?”
“Sara was there, but no, I’m talking about her sister, Morgan Campbell.”
He frowned. “She a blonde?”
“No. Brunette.” Charlie yelled at her young brother Connor once more and then sighed into the phone. “She was there, Cooper. Pretty sure you met her.”
He thought back to the Saturday before. “Wait a minute. Are you talking about the middle-aged woman who stood in the corner all night? The one in the green sweater?” The only reason he remembered her was because her cardigan was the ugliest puke green he’d ever seen. It was big, bulky, and covered her from neck to mid-thigh.
“She’s not middle-aged. She’s twenty-seven.”
“Well, she’s the oldest-looking twenty-seven-year-old I’ve ever seen.”
“Really, Cooper?” Charlie wasn’t impressed.
He swore and rubbed at the hair on his chin. He knew he sounded like an asshole but couldn’t seem to help himself. His head ached, he was frustrated beyond belief, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to argue.
“Look, Charlie. I don’t care if she’s twenty-seven or seventy-two. Hell, she could look like Angelina Jolie and it wouldn’t matter. I don’t want her