Just for Show (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #5) Read Online Tawna Fenske

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies Series by Tawna Fenske
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Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75773 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
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Only in my world does the family screwup have a rap sheet and three Oscars. And only a screwup like me would be nuts enough to fall for a cop.

Not just any cop. Amy’s our police chief in this tiny town that doubles as my family’s social experiment and reality show. That’s some serious conflict of interest, so why can’t I stay away?
It shouldn’t matter, since Amy slams the cell door shut anytime we’re close. I’ve heard rumblings of a brother behind bars, so she hardly needs my baggage. Thing is, I’ve changed. Forget how my family hovers like I’m poised to flop face-first off the wagon. I’m doing great, and I plan to prove it to Amy.
But while my goofy jokes make her smile, I can’t convince her I’ve got more to offer than belly laughs and chemistry so hot it might be illegal. The harder I try to show I’m a new man, the surer I am Chief Lovelin locked up my heart and chucked the key.

Full Book:

Chapter 1

CONFESSIONAL 961

Judson, Cooper (Family fuckup: Juniper Ridge)

We all have our role to play.

I don’t mean that in a Hollywood sense. I lost count of those roles years ago, mostly because I spent my acting career baked out of my gourd.

Nah, I mean family. Dean’s been the man in charge since he sat in his highchair haggling for mashed peas instead of squash. Mari’s hardwired for head shrinking, and Lana’s whole sunshiny schtick—not an act, by the way—makes her perfect for PR. Gabe and Lauren have their place on the other side of the camera, but me?

[adopts hoity Hollywood affectation] Turn around, Cooper. Smile for the camera, Coop. Hey, Cooper—keep smiling. Smile bigger. Smile like your life depends on it.

[returns to normal voice] It does.

Did.

Can I get some water over here?

There’s a cow in my yard.

A calf, specifically.

In a past life I’d wonder if it’s a weird hallucination, but I’ve been sober for years. Also, there’s a ranch three hundred yards from here, so it’s not so odd to have a baby cow peering in my bedroom window.

I blink a few times to be sure it’s really there. The calf stares back, head tipping to one side.

“Meh-eh-eh-eh.”

It doesn’t moo like a cow’s supposed to, maybe because it’s a calf. The longer it stares, the more judged I feel. Swinging my legs out of bed, I address my guest through the window.

“I’m up, okay?” Glancing at the clock, I grumble some more. “It’s six thirty. My LA friends are falling into bed right now.”

The calf looks unimpressed. Or maybe hungry. Or bored or accusing or sad or… Why am I diagnosing cow moods? I’m not equipped for that.

But I’m equipped to help get this big-eyed baby safely back home, so I throw on sweatpants with a T-shirt and drag a hand through my hair. Shoving my feet into flip-flops, I step out the sliding door and onto my back deck.

Breathing deep, I take a sec to appreciate where I’ve landed. The sun’s coming up on the horizon, all pink and orange and glowy. Pine trees shimmy in the breeze, and the prettiest cliffs I’ve ever seen march the property line like they’re coming to greet me. It’s worlds away from where I was before. I slide out my phone to snap a pic, then dial my friend’s ranch.

“Hey, Tia.” It’s her voicemail, but only because she’s out mucking stalls or weaving hay or whatever ranchers do this early in the morning. “I think I have one of your pals. Big eyes and a skinny, twitchy tail. Red and white fur.” Wait. “Do cows have fur or fleece or just a coat? It’s a calf, actually. Call me.”

I hang up and approach my visitor, half expecting it to bolt. I hold out a hand, moving slow and easy and calm. The calf bleats again, then stretches out to sniff me.

“Hey there.” Its nose feels like velvet, and I take my time stroking the warm slope of its neck. “We’ll get you back to your mom, okay?”

Its eyes are so trusting my chest hurts. Since when am I the guy someone’s counting on?

Lifting my phone again, I tap the other number. The one I shouldn’t call, but that doesn’t stop me from dialing. I tell myself I’m calling because she’s chief of police and knows about reuniting lost animals with their owners. I watched her last week, using ham from her lunch to lure an escaped dog. She crouched in the dirt, blond hair brushing her face as she murmured words that made my heart sit up and beg.

“Cooper.” She answers on the first ring, and my heart does its begging thing again. “Are you okay?”

I ignore that she probably thinks I’ve fallen off the wagon. She’s hardly the first to assume that.

“Hey, Amy.” I clear my throat when I hear it’s rusty and sleep worn. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”


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