Falling for His Next-Door Neighbor

by Liz Isaacson

  He needed this job, and not only because it was a job that would pay the bills. He needed it to start his career. He needed it to show his father he wasn’t going to bounce from temp job to temp job for the next twenty years. He needed it to boost his own confidence, which seemed to have fallen in the gutter last Christmas and made a permanent home there.

  The interview had gone great. Archer had practically floated toward the front of the administration lodge—until his gaze had landed on Emery. Everything inside him had revved up and then shut down, almost within the same breath. He’d learned from his father that sometimes saying nothing was more hurtful than yelling, so he’d strode out without a backward glance.

  “Better get a back-up plan, Arch,” he told himself. He pulled out his phone and navigated to the online job boards for Gold Valley. He’d have better luck securing a more long-term job in a bigger city, but he loved the town where he’d grown up. His parents still lived in the four-bedroom blue house in Monkeytown, and both of his brothers had left for their careers, leaving him with the responsibility of looking after the house and his parents as everything aged.

  Archer didn’t mind. He didn’t have a fancy computer science degree like Charlie; didn’t design the biggest video games on the market while sipping skinny mocha lattes and wearing hippie sandals around Bellevue, Washington. Archer also didn’t have a highfalutin engineering degree like Xan, who lived in Huntsville, Alabama and worked for NASA.

  Seriously, NASA? How was Archer supposed to compete with that?

  But compete his father expected. So when Archer had dropped out of college and moved into a townhome he could barely make the payment on, his father’s disappointment carried on the wind from his house across town.

  Archer had been looking for something he could do as a career and not have a degree for. He loved hiking, being outside with the fresh air and the scent of pines. He loved horses, and had thought for a couple of weeks there that he could make a career out of working with wayward boys and horses.

  That hadn’t worked out, but Archer had learned that he was supposed to be a cowboy. He just needed a ranch that was hiring. He’d checked the job boards every day for seventy-three days before a job came up at Horseshoe Home.

  He got to his feet and tossed his trash in the nearby can. And that blasted Emery Ender had honed in on his job, had dared to call and get an interview that very morning. He shook his head, wanting to be angry, but his emotions had been spent.

  Still unwilling to go home until he knew Emery would be at work, he went to McCall’s, the gas station that used to mark the edge of town, back before all the new housing developments closer to the falls and the mouth of the canyon had been built.

  “Afternoon, Arch,” Myron said from his perch on the counter-high stool just inside the convenience store. He sat in the window and watched all the comings and goings of Gold Valley. Archer had never seen the man wear anything but jean overalls with either a blue, a yellow, or a white shirt underneath. And Myron always chewed a piece of peppermint gum. “Keeps my breath minty,” he’d told Archer when he’d asked about it.

  “Afternoon.” Archer went over to the cooler and pulled out a sports drink. He paid and then sagged his weight against the counter, the indentation there from the countless people who’d come to the gas station for refills and refreshment and gotten it in more ways than one.

  “What’s eatin’ you?”

  “Nothing.” Archer took a swing from his bottle.

  “Right.” Myron cocked one eyebrow at him, and Archer whipped off his hat to mimic the action.

  Myron ducked his left and seemed to get his right all the way to his hairline. Archer smiled as he repeated the action. He wiggled one up and down while the other stayed still. Myron filled the convenience store with laughter and waved one hand. “You win.”

  “I always do.” He sobered when he realized how untrue the words really were. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve owned this station and store for a while, right?”

  “Forty-seven years. My daddy owned it before that.”

  Archer actually envied that kind of stability. The idea that Myron knew what his life would be and had embraced it. “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?”

  “I applied for a job today,” Archer said, not really sure where he was going with the conversation. “I really want it.”

  Myron simply waited, his eyes watching the gas pumps and his lips smacking as he chewed, chewed, chewed that gum.

  “So if you had a job you really wanted, what would you do to get it?” Archer asked.

  Myron took a long time to lift one of his beefy shoulders, today’s yellow shirt bunching where his arm met his body. He wore a dark gray cowboy hat—the same one Archer had seen dozens of times before.

  “Yeah, I don’t know either,” Archer said. He glanced around the old store, appreciating the vintage signs, the way the coolers kept on humming, the scent of nacho cheese and warming hot dogs on rollers.

  “Oh, I know,” Myron said just as the bell on the door chimed and a mother entered with her two preschool-age children.

  Archer glanced at them but focused quickly back on Myron when he said, “I’d fight for it. Do everything I could to get it.” He shrugged his other shoulder this time. “I mean, if it was what I wanted.”

  Nodding, Archer stepped out of the way so the woman could buy her gas and her children’s suckers.

  He couldn’t make Jace give him the job. Archer would get a phone call with a decision. How was he supposed to fight that?

  Emery was not expecting to see anyone sitting on her front porch when her headlights cut a swath of light across the front lawn she shared with Archer. She pulled all the way into her garage, her heart tip-tapping out an irregular beat.

  She kept Jenny running and the doors locked while she waited for the garage door to come down. Only then did she dare turn off the car and go into her house. Seconds later, someone knocked.

  A man, judging by the heavy fistfalls.

  Emery knew who it was. And she knew Archer wouldn’t go away. She’d really hoped to avoid this confrontation. She’d been relieved when she’d returned home from her interview to find his place silent, dormant. And at nine-thirty-five PM, after her shift at Silver Creek, she honestly hadn’t expected he’d want to do this tonight.

  “C’mon, Emery,” he called through the door. “I know you’re in there.”

  She deposited her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and went to the door, yanking it open right when he was about to beat on it again.

  He lowered his fist and then stuck it in his pocket. He wore jeans that hugged his thighs in all the right ways, that delicious cowboy hat, and a shirt the color of apricots. She wanted to laugh at him about the shirt, but he made the soft peachy color look sexy, and all she could do was lick her lips and wait for him to chew her out.

  She deserved it. She shouldn’t have looked up his job and applied for it. Regret had been lancing through her all afternoon, especially when Dr. Richards had given a lesson on integrity to all the girls right before their riding lesson. Apparently, he’d been having a problem with theft at Silver Creek, and he wanted the girls to know that integrity was about more than just being honest.

  Before Archer could say anything, Emery said, “I’m sorry, Archie. I shouldn’t have gone up there this morning.”

  He blinked at her, his strong jaw muscle twitching as his teeth ground together. She sighed and stepped back, a clear invitation for him to enter her house. He didn’t, and she was glad he didn’t. She’d never invited him inside before, and she didn’t know why she’d thought now would be a good idea.

  “I can’t even do that job,” she said. “Jace asked me about lifting a hay bale, and wrestling with a full-grown cow to give medication.” She gave a mirthless laugh to go with this miserable day. “And there’s no way I can set a fence post by myself. He said cowhands often do that kind of stuff.
” Sure, she had some experience from her childhood, but she simply wasn’t as strong as a man.

  Archer just stood there, and she wondered how long he’d been waiting on her porch, and why he wouldn’t say something.

  She finally asked, “What do you want?”

  “Why do you need this job so badly?” he asked.

  “I have bills to pay.” She folded her arms across her chest, as if that would somehow keep the truth inside.

  He shook his head slowly, everything about him a shadow from his raven hair, those dark diamond eyes, and his black cowboy hat. “There has to be more than that going on here.”

  “Why’s that?” She cleared her throat when her voice strayed into an upper octave.

  “You just admitted that you’ve applied for a job you can’t do. Why don’t you go, oh, I don’t know. Waitress or work at the elementary school or be a checker at the grocery store?”

  She settled her weight onto her back foot, the fight in her rearing to the front of her skull. “Oh, and leave the real work to the men, is that it?”

  “No.”

  “You do realize there are male waiters, right? And teachers too, shockingly.”

  “Of course. I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  “No, you don’t,” he argued. “I meant that—just—why apply for a job you can’t do when there are tons you can?”

  The dull ache behind her eyes she’d been fighting for hours started to throb. She needed to eat and take some painkiller and get to bed. She couldn’t stand here in her doorway for much longer, breathing in the woodsy quality of Archer’s skin or the fresh waterfall scent of his clothes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll call up to the ranch in the morning and tell Belle I can’t do it, that they shouldn’t consider me.”

  “They?” Archer asked.

  “Yeah, Belle came into my interview too.” She frowned and leaned forward to peer at him. He seemed genuinely confused. “She wasn’t at yours?”

  “No.” He clipped out the word like a bullet, and she had the distinct feeling he really disliked her. That’s good, she told herself even though she wanted the opposite. So maybe she’d dreamt of him banging on her door in the dead of night—but for an entirely different reason.

  She shook her head to clear it. Having fantasies about her sexy next-door neighbor wouldn’t make sure Glenna’s heat stayed on this winter.

  “She was already in Jace’s office when I got back there,” she said. “I assumed she’d helped him with all the interviews.”

  Archer glared at her. He must practice for an hour every morning with how he’d perfected the narrow squint of his eyes and the extreme distaste pouring from every pore of his skin.

  “Whatever,” he finally said. “I just wanted you to know that I think you did a lousy thing today.”

  Her heart flopped like a fish on dry land. “I know I did, Archie. I’m sorry.”

  “Sometimes sorry—” He cut off as his phone sounded in tandem with hers. Her simple, factory-chosen chime didn’t mesh with his custom twill-a-will! that echoed through the night sky after it finally finished.

  He glanced at his phone; she at hers. Anything for a distraction.

  This is Jace Lovell. Can you come for a second interview tomorrow at nine o’clock?

  Her pulse catapulted around various points of her body, finally landing back in its rightful place in her chest. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she glanced up at Archer, who wore a grin so delightful she wondered what it felt like to be that happy.

  “I have a second interview tomorrow,” he said.

  “Me too.” She twisted her phone so he could see the message from Jace.

  His smile vanished, replaced by a scowl and then a frown of confusion. “Mine’s at nine too. That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe it’s a group interview?” she guessed.

  He wandered around the partition separating their front doors, his attention on his phone. He went inside without saying anything, almost like he’d forgotten Emery even stood there. With the final click of his door, she pushed hers closed too, her headache now pounding through her whole body.

  She could only hope and pray he’d forgive her, just like she’d been hoping and praying he’d finally wake up and see her standing right where she’d always been—next door.

  Chapter 3

  Emery waited until she’d be late to leave the house, and still Archer hadn’t left his. With a jolt of understanding, she realized he was probably waiting for her to leave first. So she hit her garage door opener and situated herself behind the wheel of Jenny. Movement in her rearview mirror showed Archer and his gray truck backing out, confirming her theory.

  Hundreds of tiny feet clawed through her stomach. She shouldn’t even be going up to the ranch. If she didn’t show up, she wouldn’t be considered for the job. Easy. Done. Her mistake in encroaching on Archer’s job would be over. Forgiven.

  And yet, she couldn’t help herself from going. It was a job. And in four short days, she’d need a new one.

  So she got herself and Jenny up the canyon and into a parking spot on the packed dirt road housing the ranch’s main buildings. There seemed to be a lot more vehicles here than yesterday, and her anxiety skyrocketed. How big was this group interview going to be anyway?

  Noise assaulted her as soon as she stepped into the administration lodge. So did the scent of cinnamon and frosting, with a hint of something fruity. As soon as she spotted a cowboy with a clear plastic cup of orange juice, the smell of citrus hit her square in the face.

  There seemed to be some sort of continental breakfast set up on a long table just outside the kitchen. No one sat at the reception desk, and Emery had no idea where to go or what to do.

  A man caught her eye and waved for her to come on back. Somehow she got her feet moving in the right direction, and a tall cowboy with a jovial smile told her to get some breakfast and they’d be meeting in the kitchen in a few minutes.

  Emery took a cinnamon roll—which looked homemade—and a cup of orange juice. She wondered who on earth even made cinnamon rolls from scratch anymore as she sipped her juice in the pretense of eating.

  “Let’s go,” a man bellowed, and every cowboy in the building snapped to attention, flowing into the kitchen like God himself had spoken.

  And He sort of had, because Jace Lovell stood at the front of the room, his sharp eyes missing nothing and no one.

  “Quiet down, quiet down.” Jace picked up a piece of paper from the table beside him. “I need my new recruits up here, front and center.”

  In that moment, Emery was extremely glad she had chosen to forego eating the cinnamon roll. She certainly couldn’t be known as the woman who hurled because she had to stand in front of a room of men.

  As she joined four other men—one of which was Archer—she in fact realized she was the only woman in the room. Her legs trembled but she couldn’t lock them for fear of fainting.

  “So we’ve got Bentley, Clyde, Lars, Archer, and Emersyn.” Jace glanced at each of them in turn when he said their names. He turned back toward the cowboys who already had jobs. “They’re going to be your competition this fall.”

  A whoop rose into the air, something Emery didn’t understand. She glanced down the row of men she stood beside, and they didn’t seem to know either.

  “I need to hire one of these fine people,” Jace said, pacing in front of them. “And we’ve gotten lazy around the ranch. So, starting today, everyone gets their chores from the board. You’ll work with a different partner every day, and for the first week, we’ll be training. Myself, Tom, and Ty will come around and check work and award stars.” He nodded as two men—Tom and Ty, assumedly—came up to the front of the room. Jace then held up a sheet of gold stars, which made some of the men practically salivate.

  Emery felt so far out of her league. No way she was winning a star over any of these cowboys. Some of them looked like they ate women
her size for breakfast.

  “Belle made us a nice sticker chart and everything.” One of the important men who would decide everything pulled a sheet off the wall to reveal a very professional-looking chart, a column for every cowhand on the ranch.

  “I’m competing this year too,” Jace said, and the twittering in the crowd quieted.

  “You are?” one of the cowboys asked.

  Jace turned back to his staff. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out there, doing what you guys do. Sometimes a man forgets, and I don’t want to be the boss who doesn’t know what his cowboys have to put up with.” He shrugged, but Emery could tell this was a big deal to him.

  “So let this year’s annual contest begin!”

  Archer couldn’t believe his good fortune. No, he didn’t have a steady job. But as he filled out his tax paperwork and handed over his driver’s license to Belle so she could make a copy, his chest filled with hope.

  He was going to work at Horseshoe Home for the next four months. Honest, paid work. The contest ran through Christmas, at which time the temporary cowhand with the most stars would be hired.

  Hired.

  Archer had never wanted something so badly.

  He caught Emery with her head bent close to Jace’s. They had a conversation that didn’t look like it ended well for her, but she filled out all the papers too. His stomach soured every time he caught a whiff of her raspberry and brown sugar scent, wondering where it came from. Her shampoo or her perfume? A body wash maybe? Or maybe she stirred some sort of fancy-schmancy brown sugar into her morning coffee.

  No matter what, Emery took up way too much mental space inside Archer’s mind. He really needed to change that if he was going to win this contest, win this job, win this career.

  He got paired with a man named Elliott who looked to be about five or six years older than Archer’s twenty-five. While they waited for Jace and Ty to fill out the assignment boards, Archer learned that Elliott lived right here on the ranch—that all the cowboys did.