Page 46 of Ruthless Wars

Chapter Twenty-Six

Margot

Big Sur, California

From the airport, the drive up the narrow, winding turns along the seaside cliffs of Highway 1 is equal parts nerve-racking and delightful in the classic convertible Coop had waiting for us on the tarmac.

With my hair pulled back in a ponytail, I draw in deep breaths filled with fresh sea air, enjoying the drive with the top down. Traveling is second nature for me, but the coastline of California is new for me and is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Wine hasn’t been my interest. Europe's my usual stomping ground, where I can hopscotch across half a dozen countries on a whim. But the crisp kaleidoscope of sun-kissed colors makes this different. Gorgeous. Paradise.

The sun’s soft brightness turns the sky bluer and all the other colors deeper. The tiny two-lane road we’re driving may be a far departure from the everything’s bigger in Texas experience I grew up with, but every mile of the coastal drive overlooking the tranquil sparkling waters of the Pacific Ocean is breathtaking.

I nudge the passenger side mirror just a hair, adjusting it to get a better look at the two people in the equally pristine classic convertible behind us.

When was the last time Evie laughed that hard? Or smiled, for that matter? The closer she is to walking down the aisle, the sadder she seems to be.

As I check the driver, it’s clear that Coop’s cousin Austin is having just as good a time. “I can’t believe you got your cousin to chauffeur Evie.”

“He wanted to. We all love the idea of the California lifestyle. Convertibles along the coast. Flip-flops. The beach. Freedom,” Coop says enthusiastically to the sky.

“How did your family end up coming here for vacations?” I ask, enjoying his easygoing handling of the vintage Mercedes. One hand rests on the wheel while his other elbow hangs over the open window frame.

“It was our escape,” he says with a wry smile that seems sad at the same time. “My parents had times when the fighting got bad.”

I smooth a hand over his thigh, removing any suggestiveness from my touch, soothing him as I quietly listen.

Coop’s straight lips turn to a slight smile as he notices my touch. “Mom would load us all up in a van—me, Aiden, and Avery—and somehow we landed here. We’d usually stay a week or two, or sometimes longer,” he says, his smile fading.

“And you were the oldest,” I say, somehow feeling the truth of it.

Unusually bashful, he shrugs. “Do I have that look about me?”

“Takes one to know one.”

“You’re the oldest?” he asks, surprise ringing in his tone.

“Mm-hmm.” I uncap my water bottle for a sip. “Jaclyn and I are only a few years apart, but even early on, I could see the ambition brewing behind her eyes. It was something I’d never have, and I didn’t want to compete with her. After her mother passed—”

Coop rubs my hand. “Margot, I'm sorry. I had no idea your mother passed.”

“No,” I say quickly, realizing my faux pas in assuming everyone already knows. “Jaclyn's mother passed, not mine. Jaclyn, Wyatt, and I all share the same father, but each have a different mother. And people say the only thing my dad's interested in is money,” I say with a laugh, but Coop doesn't return it. A strange expression flashes across his face, but he turns away before I can study it more.

I go back to what I was saying. “I just wanted to be there for Jaclyn. Sometimes like a sister, sometimes like a mom. So, I looked after her and my brother, Wyatt. But not like you.”

“How do you mean?” Coop lifts a brow.

“If your mom was whisking you away from a rough situation, you’d have to grow up fast. Be more protective. Like you are with Alli.”

He chuckles. “Alli’s the easy one. Sweet. Hard-working. Pushes herself way harder than she needs to. She gets that from her mom.”

“And her uncle.”

“Maybe a little,” Coop says proudly. “Aiden and Avery were Mom’s little angels and pure hell for me. Avery would dare Aiden into doing something stupid, like flip-kicking a skateboard down the stairs. Next time, Aiden would dare Avery to slip a can of beer under her coat at the gas station. Between emergency rooms and posting bail, it was always something with them. You?”

“Wyatt laid pretty low, hiding himself away in the world of art and architecture. My challenge was finding inventive ways to coax him out. Lure him away from his tendency to lose himself in a painting or book.”

“How’d you get him to spend time with you?”

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