the two of them never discussed her quick exit from the fire hall. She headed straight to the attic, prepared lunch in hand, and he settled in for a full day of work. Tuesday had been pretty much the same, and so had Wednesday and Thursday. They were polite to each other, but that was about it.
Not sure why, but it bothered Cooper. Even tonight, he’d wandered up there before taking the dog out back, but she was busy scribbling away in the ledger and offered a small smile and a wave on her way out a few moments later.
He decided to put Morgan Campbell out of his thoughts because thinking about her distracted him. And just as he liked to tell anyone who’d listen—he had no time for distractions. Not when he was seriously behind schedule on his latest project.
Cooper pulled in behind his brother’s truck, and less than a minute later let himself inside Maverick and Charlie’s home. A quick sniff had his stomach rumbling. Steak and lobster on the menu was always a good thing.
It was close to five, and Rick poked his head out from the kitchen.
“Charlie got hung up at the shop. I’m back here with Ma.”
Cooper doffed his jacket and wandered back to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was unexpected—to say the least. His mother was elbow-deep in dishes, washing them by hand, while Charlie’s brother, Connor, stood beside her on a chair and dried them.
That garnered a second look. Since when did Isabel get her hands dirty?
Connor whispered something into her ear, and laughed. It was a full on body chuckle and the sound was an echo from the past. For a second, a sense of déjà vu washed over him. He gave his head a shake. Since when did Isabel like little kids?
He looked at Maverick, but his brother shrugged and offered him a beer. Taking the cold bottle from him, Cooper bent close to his mother and kissed her cheek.
Startled, she nearly dropped a dish—which elicited giggles from Connor—and shook her head. “I didn’t hear you walk in, Coop.”
“I can see that.”
“I swear you did that on purpose.” Her slow Southern drawl crept over him, and faded memories sharpened in his mind. Summers spent at the lake. Sweet tea and biscuits. The smell of lilac bushes. The cat his father brought home, that last summer. The one that had made their mother’s face light up like the sun.
“What was that cat’s name?” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Maverick gave him a weird look.
“Cat?” Rick’s eyebrows shot up.
Cooper nodded. “The little orange thing. The one Dad brought home from Aunt Virginia’s.”
“Spice.”
Both boys turned to Isabel. She leaned back against the sink, drying her hands on a towel. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun that tickled her neck, and she was makeup-free. Okay. Who the hell had stolen his mother? She was dressed in well-washed jeans and a simple white shirt—sure they boasted expensive labels, but still.
Isabel tossed the towel and ruffled Connor’s head. “She was named Spice because Cooper said she looked like the brown sugar Nanny used to make her apple pies.”
Son of a bitch. She was right.
Cooper let the memory settle, took a few moments to savor it, and then cranked his head to the side, eyes on Maverick. “Dishwasher out of order?”
His brother grunted. “Not great timing considering the big meal we’ve got planned for Sunday. And the only guy in town who can fix it is laid up in the hospital.”
“Why don’t you just buy a new one?” That was a no-brainer as far as Cooper was concerned.
“Well, that’s what I said. But according to Charlie, the damn thing is only a few years old, and no way is she spending her hard-earned cash on a new one when this can be fixed.”
“What about your hard-earned cash?” Cooper knew Rick could afford to buy ten dishwashers if he wanted to.
“My goodness, boys. A few dirty dishes and your world is turned upside down.” Isabel winked at Connor. “Do you know where the bibs are for the lobster?”
“In the cupboard!” Connor shouted.
The youngster scrambled from his chair, all lanky arms and legs and slipped his hand into Isabel’s. The two of them disappeared around the corner, and Cooper could only stare after them.
“What the hell, brother?” He looked at Maverick. “Is she high?”
Rick chuckled. “Nope. Exact opposite. She’s not touched a drop of alcohol. No gin. No wine. Not even the bourbon she