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 a trio of ladies dancing for all they were worth in one corner.
That wasn’t disappointment he felt.
Nope.
Just relief.
Keys in hand once more, he turned to go, waiting as a gaggle of kids who barely looked old enough to drive, much less drink, shuffled inside. While he stood there, a peal of high-pitched laughter rose above the jukebox and he glanced over his shoulder toward the source just in time to see a couple of the good ol’ boys helping the dancing ladies up onto the bar top.
Last time Archer remembered anyone dancing on a bar top, he’d been in college. Smiling ruefully because he suddenly felt like he’d gotten old, he reached for the door before it swung closed after the kids entered. Another edgy laugh rose above the general din and he glanced over at the dancers again.
And stood stock-still.
The loud voices and the louder music dimmed.
The swinging door knocked into his shoulder.
“Dude, mind if we—” The kid wanting to get past him broke off, his Adam’s apple bobbing when Archer’s attention slid from the woman dancing on the bar to him. “Sorry,” he muttered and turned the other direction.
Archer didn’t pay him any mind and entered the fray, pushing his way through the people crowded inside the pub, aiming for the bar. Maybe it was the fact that he stood several inches above six feet. Maybe it was the frown he could feel on his face. Whatever it was, people moved aside and he reached the bar in a matter of seconds.
He reached up and grabbed Nell’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was swallowed by the hoots and hollers that were rising in scale by the second, thanks to the gyrations of the women on the bar. One of them had even yanked off her T-shirt and was dancing in just her bra and a short denim skirt.
Fortunately, Nell wasn’t that far gone. Yeah, the shapeless jacket of her suit was nowhere to be seen, but at least her silky sleeveless blouse was still where it belonged.
Was it any wonder he hadn’t noticed her at first?
No jacket. No shoes. Her hair let out of that godforsaken knot she always sported and springing down beyond her shoulders.
She shook off his hand with an annoyed glare. “Go away!” She twirled again and the hem of her plain skirt slapped him in the face.
“Thatagirl,” someone hooted when the second woman tore off her shirt and swung it around her head.
Archer caught Cheri’s eye. “It’s just a matter of time before the cops come,” he said loudly, leaning toward her so she could hear.
The bartender shrugged helplessly. “Won’t be the first time,” she shouted back.
Archer grimaced. He tried to catch Nell’s hand again, but she wasn’t having any of that. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes wild.
He leaned toward Cheri again. “How much has she had?”
“I didn’t think it was enough for that.” She turned away to stick another glass under the taps.
Archer followed Nell as she danced her way along the bar. “Where’s Ros?”
He knew that Nell heard him because her eyes skated over his before she spun away again.
Only this time her bare foot slipped on a wet spot and she started to fall.
His heart shot up into his throat and he barely caught her before she toppled over the edge. He grunted when her elbow caught him on the nose and he muttered an apology to the stunned woman he nearly unseated when he caught Nell.
Nell, who wasn’t showing the least bit of gratitude that he’d prevented her from tumbling head over heels right onto the floor of The Wet Bar with what seemed like half the town’s population looking on.
“Leggoame,” she slurred, pushing ineffectually at his hands.
“You’re drunk.” He set her on her feet but grabbed her arms when her knees failed to do their job and she swayed wildly.
“Amnot.” Her head lolled against his arm when he slid it behind her back. She looked up at him, but her eyes—dark as chocolate drops—were unfocused. Her dark hair was a riot of curls clinging to her cheeks and the long column of her neck. “Jushavinfun.” Her eyes rolled slightly but she jerked herself upright. “Issmybirthday,” she announced as if it were news.
“Where’s Ros?” he asked again.
Nell’s forehead wrinkled. Her lips pinched together. Those chocolate-drop eyes suddenly gleamed wetly. “Snothere.”
“I can see that.” He renewed his grip around her shoulders and looked toward Cheri again. “Jacket? Purse?”
The bartender jerked her chin. “Behind here. Just give me a sec.”
“Why isn’t she here? You two never miss celebrating each other’s birthdays.”
“Haddafight.”
Surprise jerked at him. He knew he had plenty of fights with his stepsister—they hadn’t been able to agree on the time of day from the moment his father had married her mother.
Nell was sniffing hard as if she was trying not to cry.
“About what?”
Her lips moved and he almost thought she was going to tell him. But the days of her confiding in him were long gone, and instead, annoyance suddenly crossed her face again. She pushed against him. “Lemmego. I can stand.”
It was easy to evade her puny efforts. “Sure you can. I’ll let you go as soon as I pour you into a cab to go home.”
The tears came back and she looked even more miserable. Which was saying something.
“Toldyou. Haddafight. Can’t.” She shook her head.
As far as Archer could tell, that just made her sway even more dizzily. He caught her around the waist, trying not to remember the last time he’d held her so closely. That had also been a long time ago. Too long ago to still be so vivid in his mind. She was thinner now. Not a lot, because she’d always been slender. But—
“Here’s her stuff.” Cheri interrupted his thoughts, pushing a bundle of dull gray fabric and an oversize purse into his other arm. “No idea about her shoes.”
“Thasmapurse,” Nell observed.
Cheri gave Archer a dry look. “Better get moving,” she warned, cocking her head to one side. “Think I hear the siren.”
Archer wasn’t particularly concerned about the police. But he knew Nell would regret getting caught up in the fray once she was sober. Her fall from the bar hadn’t stopped the other two women from dancing, and a dozen people had begun pounding their fists on the bar in tempo with the drums.
He decided her missing shoes weren’t worth the time it would take to find them and he hitched her up once more around the waist as he headed toward the door. It wasn’t all that easy when she seemed determined to g
o the other way, but he prevailed, finally pushing through the doorway and getting her out onto the sidewalk, where the police siren was close enough to be deafening. Blue-and-red lights danced over the vehicles parked at the curb.
Including his own truck.
The sound of the siren at least seemed to quell Nell’s efforts to escape and she didn’t fight him when Archer lifted her up into the truck. “If you don’t want to go back to the condo, where do you want to go?” He braced himself to hear Muelhaupt’s name, but she didn’t say anything.
She just shook her head again, looking sad and pale and pathetic.
He didn’t need Nell Brewster tugging at his heartstrings. Those days were supposed to be long gone, too.
“Fine,” he muttered, and yanked the seat belt around her, clicking it into place. There was no point in calling his stepsister on Nell’s behalf. Ros always took her sweet-ass time returning his calls. Which was one of the reasons why he generally went with the in-person route with her, despite the fact that it annoyed her no end. “Hotel it is.”
Nell didn’t react. Her eyes were closed.
When he closed the door, she leaned heavily against it, and her cheek smashed inelegantly against the window.
If he weren’t so concerned, he would have been amused. Would have considered snapping a shot of her on his cell phone just for the pleasure of tormenting her with the image some day off in the future.
But Nell had never been one to tie one on.
She’d always been too uptight for that.
He quickly rounded the truck and sketched a wave at the police officers who were now leaving their vehicle and heading quickly toward The Wet Bar.
“Hey, Arch.” The senior partner—a woman named Donna Rhodes—greeted him with a resigned look. “You coming from in there?”
“Yeah. Probably over occupancy, but nobody’s naked and nobody’s fighting.”
“Yet.” That came from the younger partner—a guy named Marcus Welby. He was so young that Archer couldn’t help but wonder if his parents were aware they’d named him after an iconic television character from decades past. “Place is dull as ditchwater on weekdays but come the weekends?”
The two officers entered the bar as a second patrol car pulled up with its lights also flashing.
Archer didn’t hang around to see what would happen next. He got in the truck and left the scene before it had a chance to actually become a scene.
When he was a couple of blocks away where the sirens weren’t as loud, he pulled over again at the side of the road and nudged Nell’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Hey. You conscious over there?”
Her answer was a resounding snore.
He sat back and exhaled. “Well, hell, Arch. Now what are you going to do?”
Chapter Two
Her mouth tasted like a rabbit had taken up residence inside, and maybe even decided to die there, too. Her eyes felt gritty—too gritty to dare trying to open. Her dry lips matched the dire condition inside her mouth. And her head...oh, the pain in her head was something to behold.
Nell groaned, grimaced and gingerly rolled onto her side. At least the pillow was smooth and wonderfully cool against her cheek as she hugged it close and tried to block out all of the wholly unpleasant sensations involved with waking.
For a brief moment she had a vague thought she might have the flu. But memory surfaced quickly enough. She didn’t have a virus. She wasn’t sick.
She was paying the price for drowning her miseries the night before in a veritable vat of alcohol.
She snuggled her face deeper into the cool, squishy pillow, seeking comfort and escape from the hideous hangover.
How long had it been since she’d suffered even a fraction of this misery? Five years? Ten? There’d been a lot of cocktails at Ros’s thirty-fifth birthday the year before, but—
Ros.
Nell rolled onto her back and sighed, though it came out more like a groan. She and Ros just needed to clear the air. They’d been friends for so long that Nell couldn’t imagine her life without Ros in it. She was the only “family” that Nell even had. Her and Martin.
Her head pounded anew at the thought. He’d been a father figure to her, whether he’d ever intended to be or not. He had certainly been her mentor when it came to the law. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d have never even gotten into law school. Instead, she’d probably still be working at a used-book store.
She gingerly rubbed her aching forehead, knuckled her eyes, then after a quick, bracing breath, shoved back the covers and swung her bare feet off the bed.
Instead of feeling the warmth of soft sculptured carpet under her toes, though, she encountered a solid surface. A cold, smooth, solid surface.
Her eyes flew open despite the grittiness and she squinted against the light streaming through the mullioned windows next to the bed.
Her bedroom had carpeted floors. And it definitely did not have mullioned windows.
Horror was congealing inside her stomach and she breathed carefully, very afraid that she was going to be sick.
Where was she?
There wasn’t one single thing about the bedroom that was familiar. Not the floor—a deep brown wood, she saw through her slitted eyes—or the navy blue sheets and pillowcases on the bed. The nightstand next to the wide, wide bed—hers was the same full-size thing she’d owned since college—was also wood. Good, solid, maybe even an antique. It didn’t quite match the massive dresser across the room from the bed, but it coordinated well. Nothing sat on the top of the nightstand except an angular Tiffany-style lamp.
Her stomach roiling, she cautiously slid from the bed, tugging the hem of her silky tank into place. She was still wearing her blouse from last night, as well as her skirt. Surely that was a good sign.
It was bad enough to wake up in a place she didn’t recognize. But at least she wasn’t naked to boot. That would bring on a whole new height of alarm.
And she already felt like she was perched on the platform of a high dive.
She took a cautious step on the wood floor, freezing in place when it emitted a soft creak.
She listened intently for a sound in response from beyond the closed bedroom door, but couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe because her head was already filled with the sound of her heart. It was pounding so hard it seemed to reverberate through her chest as well as her aching head.
She realized she was holding her breath when she started to feel dizzy, and she exhaled shakily, which also sounded excessively loud. She took another step. This one was unaccompanied by a creaking floorboard. Then another. And another until she reached the dresser and the silver-framed photo next to a jumble of coins and a half-empty pack of chewing gum.
Her hand was shaking as she carefully reached for the photo to angle it so she could see what it was, but despite all the care she took, she still managed to fumble with the frame and it slid into the change, knocking several pennies and quarters off the side of the dresser. She swore under her breath, hearing the ping as the coins hit the floor and bounced and rolled. She grabbed the picture with both hands, holding it down on the dresser as if the thing were in danger of taking flight.
Considering her clumsiness, maybe it was.
Still, there was no noise from beyond the bedroom door. Feeling weak with relief, alarm and outright disgust with herself, she rested her elbows on the dresser and sucked in unsteady breaths as she studied the photo. It was an old one. She was making that judgment based on the style of clothing the pretty blonde woman wore. She was holding a baby who could have been a boy or a girl—the yellow blanket it was wrapped in gave no clue.
Nell propped her aching head in her hand and closed her eyes again.
Should she just straighten her spine and leave the room to find out where on earth she was? Or should she snoop some more and gird herself with more knowledge before she o
pened the door?
Snooping was sort of in her nature.
She was a lawyer, after all.
Her fingers toyed with the pull on the dresser drawer. She tugged lightly and the drawer slid open an inch. Another inch. All she gained was a glimpse of white before she heard a thump outside the door that had her hastily closing the drawer.
She whirled so that her back was to the dresser, hiding her shaking hands behind her, and watched the door while her heart hammered and her stomach skittered around uneasily.
She flinched as though she’d been struck when there was a soft knock on the door. One, two, three of them in a quick little row.
Knock-knock-knock.
She chewed the inside of her lip, her breath building and building against the dam inside her chest.
“Nell?” The voice as well as the knock was still soft.
It was also distinctively male.
She clenched her teeth and frowned. The voice was male. Scott’s? She was embarrassed even more that she couldn’t tell for sure. She’d never been to his place, but if this was his home, maybe she wouldn’t have to feel quite so annoyed with herself.
They were dating. More or less. She hadn’t slept with him, though he’d made it plain he was interested.
Her gaze slid guiltily to the bed. The bedding was tumbled. The pillows askew.
Had she slept with him? The state of the bed didn’t give any clue at all.
She rubbed her forehead. Scott had left the bar the night before, though. She didn’t remember him returning. But then again, she didn’t remember a lot of—
“Nell?” The deep voice and the knock were a little louder this time. “You awake yet?”
Scott’s voice wasn’t that deep. Was it?
She shook her head, wishing this was a really bad and really realistic dream. She could feel the ridges of the well-preserved wood beneath her feet, for goodness’ sake!
She stared at the door handle, her mind dancing fatalistically among the nonsensical thoughts, when the voice caused a spark.
Lawfully Unwed (Return To The Double C Book 17) Page 2
