Head Over Heels by Susan Andersen Page B

effort to be adult, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she took a seat and gestured at the newspaper spread out in front of him. “When did they start delivering the Fossil Tribune in the mornings?”
    â€œThey don’t,” he replied. He flipped up the top of the paper so she could see the banner, which read the New York Times .
    It caught her by surprise, and she merely stared for a moment. Then, collecting herself, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t see many of those in this little burg.”
    Coop shrugged. “I’ve got a subscription. For this and USAToday .”
    â€œMy, my. How very literate.” Then she waved a hand to erase the comment. “Sorry. That sounded as if you’re too blond to sound out the big words all by yourself, and I don’t usually tend to be so rude.” Her gaze got caught up in his pale hair. “Although, if the color fits…” She shook her head impatiently. “Gawd, where is this stuff coming from? I mean, it’s not like it counts anyway, when Miss Clairol is part of the equation.” For crying out loud, Ronnie. Shut up, shut up, shut up! She scowled at him. “This is your fault, you know.”
    His black eyebrows rose. “My fault, huh? For what—impaling myself on the sharp point of your little pink tongue?”
    A sudden surge of heat spread along her nerve endings, and she gave him the don’t-mess-with-me frown she generally reserved for craftsmen who failed to deliver on time. “Why do you have to turn everything into something suggestive?”
    â€œDo I do that?” Amusement tilted up the corner of his mouth.
    â€œYou know you do, and somehow you manage to push all my buttons.” But telling him as much probably wasn’t the brightest thing to admit, for he studied her with that openly sexual speculation that unnerved her so. It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat, and she raised her chin and blatantly changed the subject. “I need a key to the Tonk.”
    No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them. Damn. It really isn’t necessary to broadcast your every move to this man, you know . The smart money would’ve just called Marissa, who no doubt had the spare set.
    But it was too late now, for Coop was already nodding. “All right. I’ll get one made up for you while I’m out today.”
    â€œIt will have to be early today,” she said ungraciously. “I need it by eleven.”
    He slowly straightened from his indolent lounge. “Why? What’s going on at eleven?”
    She had no good reason to keep it from him, and as manager of the bar, he had a perfect right to know. Yetstill she heard herself say, “Something I need the key for, okay?”
    Then she flinched, for her reply had come out a lot more defensively than the situation merited. She’d used what she privately labeled her “Fossil kneejerk” tone, and that was much too reminiscent of a disposition she’d worked extremely hard to overcome.
    A disposition that seemed to rear its ugly head whenever Cooper Blackstock was near.
    For as long as she could remember, she’d hankered to see the world beyond Fossil. She’d longed to view beautiful things, to use her mind and make something of herself. But Daddy had teased her mercilessly for her dreams, and since she’d never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, she’d responded, more often than not, with a snappishness it made her wince to remember.
    But damned if she was falling back into that pit. She opened her mouth to apologize—which she seemed to be doing way too much of this morning—and to inform him of the reason she needed the key by eleven. Before so much as another “sorry” could pass her lips, however, Coop pushed his chair back from the table with a nerve-twanging screech and stood. On his feet, he took up even more space than he