They sealed their agreement with a handshake and got down to the real business of eating. Neither man noticed when Suzie gave Becca a discreet wink and a grin.
On the way home, Archer played the whole dinner over in his mind, trying to determine what had happened. He liked Jim. The man was ridiculously wealthy but down-to-earth and not a bit pretentious. However, he drove a hard bargain, and before Becca and Jim’s wife had come back, Archer wasn’t sure that he was going to move his investment portfolio to Hayes. With three words from his wife, suddenly, Jim was on board.
Correction. He glanced at Becca, who was dozing in the seat beside him. With encouragement from his wife, who knew nothing about investments. He was grateful to her, of course, but what was going on? Had she taken a crash course in financial management this weekend, too?
He’d invited her to dinner, expecting Becca to flounder like a fish out of water, and that was mean-spirited and petty of him. He’d just wanted to show her that she could look the part of a society wife, but it wasn’t who she was. Instead, she’d netted him his biggest client in the last five years.
He was starting to ask himself if he’d been doing Becca a disservice since marrying her. Archer rubbed his forehead. He’d been so concerned about her fitting his needs as a wife that he hadn’t really considered her as a person. He’d kept her tucked away for the last couple of months, spending long nights at the office and even working weekends. She hadn’t complained, just waited for him to toss her a crumb of attention occasionally. Sure, he’d taken her home to visit her family, but what else had he really done for her?
Instead, she was the giving one. Waking up early to see him off, when there was no need to. Always staying up late. Listening to him complain about his day. Being available whenever he wanted to make love.
Archer was finally starting to face the facts. Dr. Lachele was right. He was a dummy. The woman he loved was a ruby beyond price.
And now, he thought, glancing again at his sleeping wife, Becca was going even further. She’d changed her entire self just to fit the mold of what she imagined his wife should be like.
Nine
Becca was sleeping so deeply, she didn’t even realize they were home until Archer opened the passenger-side door. “Ssh . . .” he murmured gently, scooping her up in his arms as if she didn’t weigh anything at all, carefully extricating her from the tiny car.
He carried her up the steps and maneuvered the door open while she was still trying to clear the last wisps of sleep from her brain. Instead of setting her down, he nudged the door behind him closed with one foot and continued up the stairs.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested, wriggling a little. “I can walk.”
“I never carried my bride over the threshold,” Archer said soberly. “I should probably carry you everywhere for the next two months to make up for it.”
He finally set her down on their bed. Of course he’d want to make love, she thought. They’d hardly missed a night since their first time together. But she was so incredibly exhausted, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and go back to sleep.
Archer switched on the bedside lamp and went into the other room. He came back with a nightgown. Then, he started to undress her like a child. “Relax,” he laughed quietly, correctly reading her expression. “You’re tired. I just want you comfortable.”
She blushed, still embarrassed to be naked in front of him even after all the time they’d spent exploring each other in this very same bed, but he just pulled her nightgown over her head. It was one of her old ones. A soft flannel, almost worn through in some places, with a high-neck and ruffles at the too-short hem. It probably looked pretty silly with her posh new hairdo and the makeup that she hadn’t washed off her face yet, but she was too tired to care.
“Can I get you something to drink or anything?”
“No, thank you.” Becca was perplexed. “Why are you acting so strange? I mean— I didn’t mean—”
“You were right. It probably is time for some changes around here.”
She was still thinking about his words as she cuddled sleepily under the covers. What did he mean about changing? She liked him just as he was.
The next morning, Becca woke with the sun shining in her face.
Crud. She’d wanted to be awake before he left. It was Monday morning, and there was no way Archer would still be home. She sniffed the air, smelling coffee . . . and cinnamon rolls? She rolled out of bed. Jackie must be at work already. She grabbed her robe from the chair and belted it around her.
Then, she looked down. It was her favorite one. Archer must’ve left it for her, because she knew she’d tucked it in the back of the wardrobe in her room. What was up with him? He’d acted so strangely the night before.
She quickly used the bathroom and washed her face free of the makeup from the previous day. She ran a brush through her hair, too, pleased when it fell back into place without too much work.
Becca headed down the stairs, but instead of Jackie in the kitchen, her husband was at the oven, an apron wrapped around his lean waist, taking a steaming pan that smelled delicious out of the oven.
He set them on top of the six-burner gas range as she just gaped at him. Concussion? Oh, goodness . . . brain tumor? What else could explain Archer baking of all things? He turned around to take off the oven mitts he wore and saw Becca standing in the doorway. “Good morning, beautiful.” He grinned.
“Archer Hayes, what is wrong with you? Why aren’t you at work?”
He shrugged, looking like a kid who’d skipped school and was perfectly unashamed.
“I’ll go in in a little while. I wanted to have breakfast with you. Want some coffee?” He gestured to the French press on the counter.
It smelled so good. “Maybe just a half-cup,” Becca said. She’d have to ask Jackie to pick up some decaf next time she went to the store. She just couldn’t get by in the morning without her coffee.
“Sit down,” Archer ordered her. “I’ll bring it to you.”
Becca did as she was told. She was too surprised not to. Her stomach growled as Archer drizzled some icing from a little bowl on the counter on top of the hot rolls. He scooped two onto a small plate and fixed her coffee with cream and lots of sugar, just the way she liked it.
“Are these Jackie’s cinnamon rolls?” she asked tentatively when he sat down across the table from her.
“Kind of sexist of you to imply that I don’t belong in a kitchen just because I’m a man,” he teased, forking up a bite of the roll.
“I didn’t mean that—”
Archer held up a hand. “I’m joking. It’s no wonder you don’t know I’ve always liked to bake. It’s not like we’ve had a whole lot of time to really get to know each other. And they kind of are Jackie’s rolls. Who do you think taught me to make them? My mother?”
Becca felt like she must be dreaming. It was the perfect morning. Her husband had played hooky from work to bake and was sitting across from her, his hair still tousled from bed, his cheeks dark with scruff, wearing an apron that said, “Kiss the Cook” over a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. If she wasn’t sure she was in love before, she most definitely was now.
And then she realized something.
Now was the perfect time to tell him about the baby.
Becca opened her mouth to do just that, when she heard the clatter of high heels on tile floor, coming down the hall. Her dream had just morphed into a nightmare.
It was her smother-in-law.
“Archer Rutherford Hayes. Why in the world aren’t you at work?”
“Mother.” Archer stood.
But Lavinia wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Becca, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You. I should have known. Archer, give us a moment.”
“I don’t think so.” Archer stayed where he was and took a calm sip of his coffee.
“What do you mean, you don’t think so?” Lavinia’s chest rose beneath her mint-green sweater set. An ex
plosion was imminent.
“Also, you should probably start knocking. Better yet, call if you’d like to visit. This is my house, after all.”
Lavinia’s coral-lipsticked mouth gaped open. It was not a good look for her.
“But, while you’re here,” he went on casually. “I think I should tell you. I’m probably going to quit as CEO of Hayes.”
Lavinia was wearing pearls, and she clutched them. It was all Becca could do not to giggle. Her mother-in-law was literally clutching her pearls. “You can’t!”
Becca looked at Archer, shocked to her core. He really did have something wrong with him. “No! Why?”
He just shrugged again, watching her carefully. Gauging her reaction to his pronouncement. “Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not!” Archer’s mother’s shrill voice rang out. “Because this backwoods little hillbilly . . . slut . . . has her hooks in you. Let me tell you something before you go and throw your whole life away over her.”
“Hold on a minute.” Archer shot to his feet. “You’ve gone too far. Don’t speak of my wife with that kind of disrespect.”
Becca hated confrontations, and this one was making her stomach suddenly churn.
“Before you go siding with your wife,” Lavinia sneered, giving Becca a malicious look. “Let me just tell you a thing or two. Harper Woodham, that sweet girl I wanted you to marry? She told me all about your little gold-digging wife. Apparently, those two have cozied up together, and Becca confided all kinds of things. How she specifically asked that matchmaker for a rich man, and you fit the bill just perfectly.”
Becca gasped. “Harper would never have said such a thing!”
But she had told Harper that her granny had requested a rich guy for Becca. She felt the blood drain from her face when she thought of it. Would Harper really have told Lavinia that? Harper must’ve known it was a joke. Had she taken it the wrong way? Would Archer take that the wrong way?
“Is it true?” Archer watched a variety of expressions chase across Becca’s face. Disbelief, hurt . . . and guilt. The hope, the excitement that he’d woken up with this morning—the feeling that his life and his marriage could be whatever he and Becca wanted to make of it—drained away.
Becca saw the look on his face, and fear drilled into her heart. “It’s not. I mean, my granny told Dr. Lachele that when she came to interview me—”
“It’s not too late, Archer,” Lavinia broke in, her pale blue eyes glittering with satisfaction. “You can still get an annulment.” She set her voluminous Prada purse down on the counter and dug around inside. Triumphantly, she came up with a manila envelope. “I’ve got the paperwork right here. Harper isn’t suitable anymore, of course, but I already have a few more candidates lined up . . .”
Looking devastated, Archer reached for the envelope.
“Archer, no, you can’t!” Becca shot to her feet.
“Why not?” he asked her coldly. “I can sue Dr. Lachele for breach of contract. I asked her for someone who wouldn’t marry me for my money. And someone strong enough to stand up for herself with my mother. Instead, I got a greedy, weak wife who only wanted a rich husband to take care of her. You went away for the weekend and came back as your real self. The haircut, the clothes . . . you got everything you wanted, didn’t you?”
Becca’s heart shattered. How could he think that? Believe that? Blindly, she reached out for him, knocking her coffee cup off the table. It hit the ground at Lavinia’s feet, spraying sticky sweet coffee all over her mother-in-law’s soft leather shoes. Lavinia shrieked.
Archer ignored his mother, watching Becca dispassionately.
“You can’t annul this marriage,” she cried out, her voice broken. “I’m pregnant.”
Becca wheeled around, pushed past Lavinia, who looked surprised, and ran from the room. She missed the stricken look on Archer’s face.
“Archer,” Lavinia said tentatively, finally really looking at her son for the first time and seeing the pain that wracked him and the shock that his wife’s outburst had caused him.
Archer sank down into his chair, his head in his hands. In front of him, the abandoned cinnamon rolls sat, cold now, their icing congealing thickly on the plate. He hadn’t baked in so long, Lavinia realized. Archer’s father had always called it a girly skill.
“Just go, Mother. I’m late for work.”
Lavinia backed out of the kitchen, leaving the envelope on the table next to him. She’d gotten what she’d wanted. An unfamiliar feeling stirred in her as she looked up the stairs to the second floor. She could hear Becca’s brokenhearted sobbing from the main floor.
Archer would drop that little fortune hunter, finally. But at what cost?
What had she done?
Becca lay on the pretty little red and white bed in “her” room. Her face felt swollen, her eyes itchy from crying. She’d heard the front door close earlier and a car pulling away. Lavinia leaving. A little while later, she’d made out the sounds of Archer moving around in the room next door. The front door slammed again after that, as she imagined him heading off to work.
She stood up, shaky and weak after her emotional episode. Feeling achy and tired, like an old woman, she went to the wardrobe. She took out her brother’s old high school sweatshirt and put it on with a pair of jeans. Regular, comfortable old Levis. Not the ripped up, skintight ones she and Dr. Lachele had bought.
She packed her suitcase. Into it went the pitifully few remaining things she’d brought with her. The new clothes stayed put. The cosmetics, most still in their boxes, she left in the bathroom.
She wanted to say goodbye to Jackie, and Harper, even though she didn’t understand why her shy friend had betrayed her, but the need to go home—back to Wolf Creek—was too strong. She needed her parents. She needed Granny Jones.
Leaving her credit card on the counter and taking only her car keys, she went out to the Mini Cooper. Tossing her small bag in the back, she slid into the driver’s seat. Tears rushed to her eyes again as she smelled Archer’s familiar cologne.
She didn’t look up at the house as she pulled away. Becca would go home and have her brothers return the car. She couldn’t think beyond that or she’d shatter into a million pieces.
Archer buried himself in work for the next few days, trying to forget his pain. He didn’t even go home at night. He had a mostly comfortable couch in his office, and he slept there. He had Jessica, his secretary, go out and buy him a couple of things. Fresh shirts, ties. She started to tease him about eccentric rich guys that liked to pretend they were homeless, but after she got a good look at his haggard face, she changed her mind.
Archer didn’t want to go home. Either his wife would be there waiting for him or she wouldn’t, and he didn’t know which one would be worse.
She had to be lying about being pregnant. He’d seen the guilt written all over her face when she admitted her grandma had arranged with Dr. Lachele for Becca to marry a rich man. She didn’t love him. She’d loved his money, just like everyone else in his life.
Lavinia twice came to see him, but he had Jessica turn her away.
Thursday, he had a meeting with Jim Jakowski. His big, congenial new client took one look at him and whistled. “Hoo, boy. You’re not lookin’ so good.”
Archer tried to smile but failed. “Yeah, not a great week.”
Jim nodded sympathetically. “I understand. My wife had the same problems with all of her pregnancies, and sometimes I felt like I’d be sick with her, just out of sympathy. It’ll pass by the end of the first trimester, usually.”
Archer looked up at Jim, his bleary eyes suddenly intent. “What?”
Jim laughed. “My wife and I have no secrets. When Suzie and I were driving home after dinner the other night, she confessed that Becca hadn’t really been selling her on your company that whole time they were gone. Boy, she was too busy being sicker than three dogs. Suzie just made that up because she liked Becca and you and figured she’d be able to see Becca someti
mes if we were working together.”
Archer rubbed his forehead, where a headache had suddenly bloomed. “Jim, I’m sorry. I think I’m going to have to reschedule our meeting.”
“No problem at all. Just have your secretary call mine and set something up. You should go home and get some rest. You look like you’ve been flattened right out.”
Archer had been flattened. Jim’s revelation had knocked the stuffing right out of him. His wife really was pregnant. If she’d only married him for his money, why would she let herself get pregnant? Why hadn’t she been on birth control?
Instead of going home, Archer went someplace he’d never been. The Woodham residence. He’d had to Google the address and drive all the way across town to get there. Then, he’d had to convince the guard at the gated community of who he was and why he was there. Thankfully, the man had let him through.
An English-looking butler answered the door of the impressive mansion, dressed in severe black and white. He raised an eyebrow at Archer’s loosened tie and stubble-scruffed cheeks.
“May I help you?” His stiff tone implied that he’d rather not.
“I’m here to see Harper. Can you tell her Archer Hayes is here?”
At the mention of the name Hayes, the butler quickly thawed and led him into a sitting area before going to fetch Harper.
The petite blond smiled shyly when she came into the room. She was dressed in tennis whites, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look about fifteen years old. “H-how are y-you, A-Archer?”
Had he realized before that Harper stuttered? Surprised, he discovered that this was the first time he’d really ever heard her speak. “I’m sorry to bother you at home,” he started, but she interrupted him.
“N-no, I’m g-glad you came. I w-wanted to apologize for the w-way I acted with your m-mother. It’s j-just that I c-consider Becca a very dear f-friend, and I didn’t l-like the accusations she was m-making. Normally, I don’t t-talk back to anyone, b-but I got a little carried a-away with Lavinia.” She grinned, and a dimple winked in one cheek. “She was so mad. I’m n-not that sorry, though. It was o-overdue.”
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