Of course he hadn’t come to The Wet Bar because of Nell.
The bartender held up the bottle that she hadn’t wanted earlier. The bottle that had been a gift from Ros.
She nodded and waved her hand in invitation to pour a glass. “That’s the one, Cheri. Open up that puppy,” she said with false brightness.
After all. It’s not every day a girl turns thirty-six.
“You sure I can’t talk you into coming with me?” Taylor angled her lovely head as she smiled up at Archer.
It had been several hours since they’d shared a drink at The Wet Bar. After they’d left, they’d had dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Cheyenne. There was nothing fast about the service at Clever Bacie’s and Archer would have preferred a steak dinner to the Asian fusion cuisine, but it was Taylor’s favorite place and the food was good.
He’d always enjoyed her company. She was smart. Funny. Attractive. And had been as disinterested in serious ties as he’d been.
Until lately.
He was thirty-nine years old. He recognized the signs.
“Sorry,” he said, and he actually was. Because he’d miss their easy, no-ties relationship. “I’ve got to be in Braden early in the morning.” It was the truth. His hometown was several hours away.
Even when she made a face, she did it beautifully. “Well, a rain check, then.”
He smiled noncommittally and opened her car door for her. “Drive careful.”
He heard her faint sigh, though the smile on her face didn’t fade as she sank into the driver’s seat of her luxury sedan. “Will I hear from you next week?”
“If I’m in town.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cheek.
“Gage Stanton needing you again in Colorado?”
“Gage isn’t the only one I do business with in Denver,” Archer reminded her, though it was true the real estate developer had paid the lion’s share of Archer’s billable hours over the last few years. Most recently because of a hotly contested property on Rambling Mountain near Weaver, also several hours north of Cheyenne. Braden and Weaver, situated about thirty miles apart, were both small towns. But together, they managed to meet the needs of the residents in their region and if Gage’s plan to develop a resort came to pass, it would change the tourism landscape altogether for both communities. “I do have a practice in Denver.”
“And a few others spread across Wyoming,” she said wryly. “I don’t remember you being so ambitious back in our law school days.”
He chuckled. “I don’t remember you aspiring to be a judge, either.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? Legal aid is satisfying but it’s hard to pay the bills on that sort of wage.” She pushed a button and her car started, the window rolled down, her seat automatically adjusted and a soft voice began reciting her schedule for the day.
“Particularly bills that come with cars like this.” He closed her door for her and backed away.
Her smile widened and with a light wave, she drove away.
He blew out a breath and started walking down the street to where his truck was parked outside The Wet Bar. When he reached it, though, he didn’t get in.
Instead, he stood there on the sidewalk, dithering like some damn fool.
“Be smart, Arch,” he muttered aloud, not caring that he earned a startled glance from an older couple walking past. Nell hadn’t appreciated his making an appearance for her birthday earlier. If she were still inside—and that was a pretty large if—she wouldn’t feel any differently now.
He was supposed to be in Braden early in the morning. Not because of the Rambling Mountain deal—that was currently on pause, tangled in the red tape that Gage Stanton was paying him to untangle—but because his sister Greer expected all hands to be on deck for her son Finn’s first birthday party.
Archer hadn’t been home in nearly a month. He didn’t have a problem helping out even though he knew there were plenty of other able-bodied and willing helpers Greer could count on.
He pivoted on his heel and pulled out his keys to unlock the truck.
He’d known Nell in law school, too. She and Ros had been just starting out when he and Taylor had been finishing. He’d known Nell even before that, though, thanks to her friendship with Ros. She’d accompanied his stepsister to Braden one summer during one of Ros’s forced visits with her mother.
Nell, whose mother had recently died, had seemed to enjoy the time more than Ros had. His stepsister hadn’t been there because she wanted to be. She’d been there only because she had to be. Ordinarily, Ros lived with her dad, Martin, in Cheyenne and wanted nothing to do with her mother or the family that Meredith had made with Archer’s dad in Braden.
Be smart, Arch.
He pocketed the keys, turned back around and crossed the sidewalk in long strides. He doubted Nell would still be there. Once he confirmed that, he’d go back to his place, grab his bag and drive on out to Braden tonight. There was always somewhere to sleep at his folks’ place, even though it might be on the couch if they were on grandparent duty watching one of his sisters’ kids.
And if, by chance, she were still inside—
He entered the pub, which was a lot more crowded now than it had been hours earlier. A lot more raucous, too, with classic Stones on the jukebox vying to be heard over voices and laughter.
But there was no sign of Nell; he couldn’t make out her tightly knotted dark hair or boxy gray suit among the crowd. The table where the cake and gift bags had been was now covered in beer bottles and surrounded by several good ol’ boys obviously out for a good time as they shouted encouragement to
