He shifted again, broad shoulder once more pushing against her while he reached into his pocket, this time extracting something. He held it out to her.
“What’s that?” Though it was perfectly obvious what it was: an ivory-colored business card containing a single telephone number and nothing else.
“That’s my grandmother’s number. Vivian Archer Templeton. She lives in Weaver.”
Nell eyed him, not sure where he was going with this. Weaver was as far away as his hometown of Braden. And both municipalities put together were still smaller than a quarter of Cheyenne. “So?”
He nudged the card toward her again. “She’s looking for someone to head up her latest pet project.”
“I don’t need your pity any more than I needed your so-called offer to work for you.”
He let out a short laugh. “Trust me. You wouldn’t have gotten it working for me and you definitely won’t get it working for Vivian. She’s rich and eccentric. Which makes her a force that can only be understood through experience. My cousin Delia would attest to that. She’s Vivian’s personal assistant when she’s not off gallivanting around doing something else like she is right now.”
Nell still didn’t take the card but she couldn’t keep herself from being curious. “What’s the project?”
“She wants to get a new public library built in Weaver. Raising money, finding the property, getting it through the red tape. All of it.”
She’d been there numerous times because of the Lambert estate. It had never even crossed her mind to think it would be a great place to live. “I’d have to go to Weaver.”
He gave her a look. “And that’s a negative? What’ve you got going here that’s better?”
“I’d have to find a place to live there, too.”
“Vivian’s got a big house. If she takes a shine to you, she’s got space for you to stay right there. And if that’s too close for comfort for you, you can use the guesthouse out at my place,” he added, sounding casual. “I’m never there and you can feed my cat.”
“You don’t have a cat.” Then she frowned at him. “Do you?”
His lips twitched. “What do you think?”
She exhaled and rolled her eyes again.
“Look, I don’t care where you live. I’m just saying there are options for you.”
She wasn’t really going to consider it, was she? She slowly slid the card from his fingers, carefully avoiding touching him. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. Vivian’s not a young woman. She needs help on the project sooner rather than later. If you don’t step up, someone else will. If you were working for her, it’d give you time to regroup. Figure out what it is you really want to do.”
“I’m a lawyer. That’s what I really want to do.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that look for?”
He spread his hands innocently. “What look? You going to call her or not?”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“Right.” He suddenly stretched out his legs and stood, then picked up the twine-wrapped package. “Let me know if you need me.”
“I won’t need you,” she replied by rote.
“I know.” He lightly knuckled her head as if she were a little kid, then went into the kitchen. She could hear him whistling softly as he left.
Nell picked up the yellow pad and looked at her Stay/Go list.
On the Go side, she penciled in one word.
Archer.
Then she sighed faintly and tossed aside the pad.
Chapter Four
Vivian Templeton turned out to be a diminutive woman well into her eighties. She had perfectly coiffed silver hair and diamond rings on every finger, and lived in a mansion—an honest-to-goodness mansion—located on the edge of Weaver.
Thanks to all of the work that Nell had done on the Lambert estate and the Rambling Mountain matter, she was fairly well versed with the Weaver demographics. In a region populated by more cows than people, as a general rule, mansions weren’t the norm. As often as not, a person’s barn was bigger than their abode.
She’d been hard-pressed not to stand there with her mouth hanging open when she’d arrived for the meeting that she’d arranged with Archer’s grandmother. She’d been met at the door by a bald guy wearing an ivory ascot and formal black suit who’d introduced himself as Montrose before leading her through to a two-story atrium.
Vivian’s office was on the second floor. It had windows that overlooked the rear of her property and Rambling Mountain loomed violet and gray in the distance.
Nell had never stepped foot on the mountain—it had been privately owned land until Otis Lambert died. She wondered if Archer had.
She pushed the thought of him out of her mind and focused harder on the petite woman across from her.
“The biggest challenge,” Vivian was saying now, “is the town council. One of the members in particular who is unreasonably opposed to anything I try to accomplish in this town.” Her lips thinned. “But not even people like Squire Clay can stop progress when it’s warranted, and a library properly sized and outfitted for a growing community is certainly warranted.” She looked over the top edge of her reading glasses at Nell. “Do you read, my dear?”
Feeling bemused, Nell nodded. “My mother owned a small bookstore, actually.”
“A businesswoman.” Vivian nodded approvingly. “Has she given it up?”
Nell shook her head. “She died when I was fourteen. My father sold the business shortly after.”
That earned another look over the edge of the glasses. “I’m sorry.”
Nell assumed Vivian was sorry about her mother versus the business, but she wasn’t entirely certain. “Thank you,” she said, which seemed to cover her bases either way.
Vivian was giving Nell a close look as she toyed with the heavy strands of pearls hanging around her fragile-looking neck. Her demeanor told Nell she was already moving on. “Archer speaks highly of you.”
She was grateful that her cheeks didn’t get too hot. “I’m not sure why,” she admitted. “More often than not we’ve been on opposing sides in the courtroom.”
“Respecting a worthy opponent
