Archer’s blue eyes were glacial.
“Bets?” Eden asked, watching their interaction with interest. “What sort of bets?”
Renata glanced back and forth between them, smiling. “How long it’ll be before he chases you off.”
Archer continued to stare down his sister. “Is it too much to ask for a little professionalism, Renata?”
It was easy to empathize with him. His sister had come in and shared far too much information with her—a complete stranger. It was hard working with family. Even harder if one of them gets all chummy with the new employee, undermining authority. She knew exactly how that felt. Her brother, Greg, had tirelessly pursued Loretta, her first assistant. And once they’d gotten close, it hadn’t been pleasant.
She took in the pinched look around Archer’s blue eyes, the tightness bracketing his mouth, the posture that was anything but relaxed. Something about his stance resonated with her—a defensiveness, a vulnerability.
“Try?” One word, an order—and a plea. When he wasn’t being rude, he had a very nice voice.
Eden slid her reading glasses on, using them to shield her inspection of the man. The man on paper was so different from the man in front of her. The man on paper was well-researched fact, and countless achievements. An academic with years of fieldwork and expertise. The man in front of her was broad and thick. Muscled yet lean, appearing more inclined to do the labor than study or research. Clearly he was capable of both. Which was something new. The men in her life were more likely to pick up a phone and call a repairman instead of picking up a hammer and making the repair themselves.
“Fine.” Renata laughed. “I admit it, I heard about Fester and my curiosity was piqued.”
Archer’s blue eyes slammed into hers. He had piercing eyes that were...unnerving.
Hopefully he’d missed her thorough head-to-toe inspection. “What?” Her voice was tight and wary.
Archer shook his head, once.
“He didn’t even try to bite you?” Renata was watching her just as closely.
Eden glanced back and forth between them. “He followed me.” She shrugged. “And when I stopped, he’d push me forward with his nose.” Whether or not that was relevant, she didn’t know. Fester had seemed interested in her well-being. And after the initial fear had subsided, she’d appreciated his companionship.
“That’s all?” Renata asked.
“He...he clicked his teeth at me,” she mumbled.
Archer ran a hand over his face. “Clicked his teeth?”
“He did?” Renata’s surprise was obvious.
She nodded. Clearly it meant something. “Is that bad?”
Archer crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. The silence, and Archer’s unflinching gaze, had her shifting in her chair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. I lied. Well, not where the horse was concerned, so why did she feel guilty?
“What did you do?” Archer’s voice was surprisingly soft. “When he clicked at you.”
“I...I talked to him.” She stared at the yellow invoice on the table.
“Talked to him?”
She glanced up at him. He seemed lost, working through some foreign concept or equation. When his gaze met hers again, his hostility was gone. But there was something equally unnerving in its place. Something warm and vibrant and heavy. She stared blindly at the papers in front of her.
Renata laughed. “I told you he’s a woman’s horse, Archer.”
“No,” Archer argued. “You’re a woman. He bit you.”
“Then maybe Fester has a crush.” Renata tapped the table. “Which means you, Miss Caraway, just got yourself a horse.”
Eden looked up then, startled. “Me?” That was the last thing she needed—more responsibility. Between her work, her family and her kids, she was shouldering enough. “No, thank you.”
“She’s teasing, Miss Caraway.” Archer was using that soothing tone again, and it was having an odd effect on her.
“I am. You’ll get used to it,” Renata agreed. “But now I have to run. Fisher and Kylee are finally going on a date and Tandy and I have twin duty. Can’t be late. Knowing Fisher, he’ll use it as an excuse to cancel—again. I know our brother so well.”
Eden saw Archer’s eye-roll, heard his mumbled, “It might help that you’re his twin.” She smiled before she could stop herself.
“You’re probably right. You could come with me? Help with diaper duty and bath time?”
Archer’s eyebrow arched sharply.
“Oh, come on Archer, if you could pretend your nephews were horses, you might actually like them—”
“I like them,” Archer interrupted.
“I know.” Renata pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You love us all, even if we drive you crazy.” She waved at Eden. “Nice to meet you, Eden.”
“You, too,” she answered.
Archer stayed where he was, his gaze sweeping the room. “Progress?”
“I think so.” She patted the four stacks she’d made, color-tabbed and neatly clipped, with accounting tapes affixed to the front.
“It’s almost eight.” He glanced at her.
“It is?” She looked around. No clock. “I had no idea.”
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“The Lodge.” She met his gaze. “Since there is no time to waste, it made sense to stay close.”
“I can drive you.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement. Considering she had no way to get there, there was no point in arguing with him. Even if something deep inside her chest protested.
“Thank you,” she said, collecting her things—sliding his file between two packets—and tucking it all back into her briefcase.
He nodded, his expression rigid, and studied her. And while his gaze made her feel wobbly and unsteady, she had no idea how to read Dr. Archer Boone.
* * *
ARCHER HELD THE door open for her. She was limping as she stepped out onto the front porch. “You hurt?”
“Didn’t have the best hiking shoes.” She stopped at the edge of the porch, gripped the porch rail and took a deep breath. “It’s cool. I hadn’t expected that.”
Her hair was slipping from the clip on the back of her head; one long strand blew in the breeze. He cleared his throat, that peculiar tightening pressing in on him again. “Where is home for you?” He knew nothing about this woman except he was paying her very well for her time and expertise. And that he seemed to be allergic to her—perhaps it was her perfume? Whatever it was, his throat seemed to tighten whenever he was close to her.
“Houston,” she said. “Crisp evenings are a rarity.”
“Clear night,” he said, looking up. With the sun almost gone, the navy and black bled into the pale horizon. Overhead, the sky was already sparkling. Among the chirp of the crickets, the who-who of an owl rang out. “Hear that?” he asked.
She looked at him, eyebrow cocked in question.
“An owl.” He nodded into the dark but watched her.
She closed her eyes, perfectly still. She was listening, a line forming between her brows and her lips parting.