“Thank goodness for that.” Nell’s eyes burned. “So what happened? I assume your dad used the threat of exposing the photos as leverage against Martin.”
“Let’s just say they came to an agreement.”
“Martin had to keep Ros in the state where Meredith would have reasonable visitation,” Nell concluded.
“He also had to get the assault charges dropped. And if he ever laid a hand on Ros the way he did Meredith—” He shook his head. “I think my dad would have ended up in jail for attempted murder.”
“But once Martin was over the barrel, why not push for regaining custody altogether?”
“Because even when he’s over a barrel, he has an angle. Meredith and Dad weren’t the only ones who could go public. Martin could, too. Those photos were a double-edged sword. As much proof of their affair—remember, they’d been taken a few years earlier, even—as they were proof of Martin’s abuse.”
“Of course he had an angle,” she said huskily. He’d had one with her, and she was chopped liver in the scheme of things.
“Meredith didn’t care about her reputation, but she did care about Dad’s. He had a new insurance business where reputations did matter. She didn’t want any of her children exposed to Martin’s vitriol. You know him. He would’ve made sure the scandal never died. And my dad didn’t want Meredith to be humiliated that way, either. The scandal of it all had taken a toll on her. She’d already spent weeks in jail. He was worried about her health. About her pregnancy. So they took what they could get.
“I believe they intended to push for more at some point, but it never came to pass. Meredith never wanted Ros to know how treacherous her father had been.”
Nell turned even more toward him, pulling one knee up beneath her. “But they told you.”
“My father told me,” he corrected. “Not until Meredith agreed to it first, but he was the one to tell me. And only so I could make sure Ros would always be protected where Martin was concerned in case something ever happened to them. Just because Martin never mistreated her once all the dust had settled after the divorce, it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t change his stripes again if he had the chance. Ros idolizes him. Always has. Does even now when she’s a grown woman who should know better. But if she were to get on the wrong side of him?”
“How long have you known all this?”
“Since I passed the bar. Dad calls me up. Invites me out for a beer. Figured he was going to congratulate me. You know. All that.” He shifted in his seat again, the only evidence that the subject was more disturbing than his steadily delivered explanation hinted at. “And he did congratulate me. But then he pulls out an envelope containing a half-dozen old photographs and—” He made a rough sound. “It’s bad enough seeing something like that when it’s a client. When it’s the woman who has loved and raised you for most of your life—”
Nell turned her hand until her fingers slid through his. The glowing dials on the dashboard blurred. “Why are you telling me all of this? Ros is the one who needs to know the truth.”
“Like she accepted whatever truth it was that had you moving away from Cheyenne?”
Nell’s chest squeezed. Her situation with Martin was a water droplet in comparison with what he’d done to Meredith and Ros.
“As smart as she is, Ros is not reasonable when it comes to Martin. She’s been drinking that Kool-Aid for too long now. Which leaves it up to someone else to keep a watch out for her interests even if she never knows it’s happening.”
“Yes, well, if she did, she’d be furious.”
“Yes, well, chances are she won’t ever know. Won’t ever need to know.” His fingers curled tighter around hers. “But Dad had his plan of succession by telling me. I have my plan by telling you.”
She felt a sudden knot in her throat. “Archer—”
“—And I trust you enough to know you’ll never breathe a word of it unless it’s to protect my stepsister.”
She blinked hard and looked away, but a tear still leaked from the corner of her eye, feeling just as hot crawling down her cheek as his palm felt against hers. “I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was husky.
“You don’t have to say anything. You just have to believe what I’ve told you.”
“You wouldn’t lie about something like this.” That was Martin’s way. He’d twist words, twist situations. Always calculating. Always manipulating.
She stared at the console. At her hand clasped with Archer’s. “Did you really want to go into practice together?” she asked suddenly. “You know. Back then. Or was it because we’d—” she swallowed and reminded herself that she was a grown woman “—because we’d slept together?”
“Yes.”
She absorbed that. Then she frowned. “Yes, you wanted the partnership? Or yes, you wanted it because we’d slept together?”
“Yes,” he repeated with exaggerated patience, leaving his answer still wholly unclarified.
Her breath escaped slowly. Noisily. “Obviously,” she said, “you’re just trying to annoy me.” After taking the time to confide something so extremely personal, too. “Why?”
She realized their hands were still clasped when he rubbed his thumb across her palm. “Some habits are easier to break than others.”
Then he let go of her and slowed the truck as he turned the steering wheel. A moment later she recognized the stone pillars beneath the wash of headlights.
Her nerves shot into another gear. She moistened her lips. “What are we doing here?” She was afraid of jumping to conclusions. Particularly when
