Lawfully Unwed

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  An old romance?

  That particular pairing hardly seemed likely, but what did Nell know?

  She’d at least stopped wondering about it by the time Vivian’s soirée finally broke up several hours later. Delia had disappeared shortly after Squire’s arrival and never returned. Vivian and Squire spent the whole time locking nonverbal horns, which had left Nell and Nick to keep the others’ interest on the intended topic of the evening.

  She was back in her office trying and failing not to recall what had happened there as she jotted her notes from the discussions she’d had with the guests, when Vivian found her.

  Not a hair was out of place on Vivian’s head, but her face looked tired and wan. “I don’t know how you succeeded in getting that man here.”

  Nell popped out of her chair like she’d grown springs. Even though she’d exchanged the tall heels from Delia with her own dull pumps, she still stood head and shoulders above her diminutive employer. “He’s a council member. You wanted the council here.”

  “Yes, but I still didn’t expect him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vivian waved her hand impatiently even though she seemed to sway a little as a result. “You did your job. Don’t apologize.”

  Nell pushed her chair around for Vivian. “Please.”

  Vivian’s lips thinned, but she sat. She crossed her ankles and pinned Nell with a baleful look. “Who told you? Delia? Archer? They told you about this thing squatting in my head.”

  Nell leaned back against the table, straightened, then realizing Vivian was watching her closely, made herself lean back again. “Archer,” she admitted.

  “It’s not the tumor that is making me feel old tonight,” Vivian said. “It’s history.” She brushed an invisible speck of lint from her palazzo pants. “The worst part of getting to my age is the pallet of regret I have to haul along with me. If it weren’t for my dear Arthur, that pallet would be a lot heavier. People nowadays say to live without regrets, but who actually does it? I say get rid of things that you regret while you’re still young,” she advised. “Life is a lot easier that way.”

  The edge of the table felt hard and unyielding behind Nell. But did she really regret what she’d done with Archer?

  “Where was Archer this evening?” Vivian asked, almost as if she’d divined the direction of Nell’s thoughts. “He knew I expected him here.”

  She willed away a blush. “He had to return to Colorado.”

  “Boy needs to settle down,” Vivian murmured and pushed herself wearily to her feet. “This is quite the little hole of an office you’ve made. You could have chosen any other space. Outfitted it however you like.” She picked up the crystal bowl full of pens. “Still can.”

  Nell really hoped that bowl wasn’t precious. “I don’t need a lot of space.” Her job was temporary. Once the library was a reality, it would be finished.

  “You’ll have time to think about it.” Vivian set the bowl down again. “How do you feel about your first week here?”

  Like it had been so, so much longer. “I think how you feel about it is a little more relevant.”

  Vivian smiled slightly. “You accomplished something no one else has.”

  Nell had to step away from the edge of the table again because it felt like it was burning into her butt.

  “Squire,” Vivian prompted.

  Nell nodded a little jerkily. “Right.”

  “I did his first wife a terrible wrong a very, very long time ago when I was married to my first husband. She was his half sister, you see. Illegitimate. Back in the day when those things mattered. Trivial, you know. You find that out when you get old.” Vivian pushed the chair up to the edge of the table. “If I can finally make that right, then maybe I can finally have some peace.”

  Nell frowned. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Now you sound like Archer. Don’t worry. I don’t plan to kick the bucket any sooner than the maker plans for me. I’m reducing my load of regret. Not increasing it.” She startled Nell when she patted her cheek. “Good night, dear.”

  Then she left Nell alone in her office.

  Alone to think about her own regrets. And to face the fact with absolute certainty that Archer wasn’t one of them.

  * * *

  “I need a favor.”

  Nell pushed up on her elbow to stare blearily at the screen of her cell phone, then she fell back against her pillow and put the phone back to her ear.

  “It’s two in the morning,” she told Archer. Her heart was jumping around all over the place and not entirely because it was his voice on the other end.

  It had been nearly three weeks since the cocktail party. Since she’d last seen him.

  But his absence hadn’t meant she’d been able to get him out of her thoughts. Or her fractured dreams.

  And it certainly hadn’t meant she hadn’t talked to him on the phone. Somehow, he’d developed the art of calling her at the most inconvenient of times.

  When she was stepping out of the shower in the morning.

  When she was in the middle of discussing site selections for the library now that the town council had finally green-lighted the project.

  When she was sound asleep in her bed while dreams of Archer danced in her head.

  He called to ask about the cat. He called to talk about the workshop they’d be conducting at the wellness event. He called to check on Vivian.

  “The phone rings at two o’clock in the morning and you answer it because you think something disastrous has happened,” she told him, not caring at all that she sounded cross. “Not because you think someone’s calling for a favor. I’m already feeding the danged bobcat every day for you.” An inconvenience that had tempted her more than once to give up her boycott of his guesthouse. Particularly since she still hadn’t found better lodgings than the Cozy Night, where she didn’t even have the engaging Gardner and her three boys next door anymore. They’d packed up earlier that week to head onward to whatever it was that had been calling them ever farther away from their Ohio origins. “What more do you want?”

  He laughed softly. “Dangerous question, Cornelia.”

  She covered her eyes with her arm. She still couldn’t blot out the image of him, sweating and breathless, moving against her.

  It had been the main feature of the dream her ringing phone had interrupted, and her insides still felt shaky and hollow.

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Judge Fernandez called for a status meeting for tomorrow morning for a client of mine. I’m still here in Denver. Have court all day and I’m not going to be able to make it. Need you to stand in for me. Should only take a few minutes.”

  Judge Fernandez was the judge who’d handled the Lambert estate.

  Nell dropped her arm and stared up at the dark ceiling. Regrets, she thought.

  Ever since the night of the cocktail party, the memory of Vivian talking about dragging around her pile of regrets had been haunting her.

  “What time?” she asked resignedly.

  “Nine o’clock in the judge’s chambers.”

  “Client?”

  “Matt Rasmussen. Drunk and Disorderly ninety days ago. Third one. He’s been attending cessation meetings twice a week. Walking the good walk. He’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

  “Fine.” She waited a beat. “Anything else? Any briefs you need me to write for you, too?”

  His laugh was soft in her ear. “Good night, Cornelia.”

  She muttered a cranky good-night back to him and swiped her phone silent. But she still could feel the smile tugging at her lips as she buried her face in her pillow once more, and she wondered if he’d be calling again in a few more hours, catching her naked and wet from her shower.

  But her phone stayed silent.

  And at 9:00 a.m. the nex
t morning, she walked into Judge Fernandez’s chambers alongside Archer’s middle-aged client.

  A few minutes later, after having reported on his progress in the last month, Matt Rasmussen walked out again.

  But Nell stayed.

  She reported everything that had occurred with the Lambert estate. She didn’t spare one word, not even her own culpability for failing to report everything the moment she’d discovered it at the beginning of the summer—a cause for censure in and of itself.

  It took hours. It took Judge Fernandez calling in a court reporter to get everything on record, and conferencing in members of the Professional Responsibility Board to figure out exactly how to proceed with Nell’s complaints against Martin Pastore.

  When Nell walked out again, she didn’t know if she’d ever practice law again, but she did know that even if she didn’t—even if Martin were able to wiggle out of this and succeeded in putting all the blame on Nell’s shoulders the way he’d planned—she’d done the right thing.

  It wasn’t a cast-iron skillet upside his head.

  But it was close enough, and her only regret about anything was that Ros might once again be hurt in the fallout.

  She might have been drawn into Archer’s whole succession plan business, but that didn’t necessarily mean she agreed with it. Ros should have had the opportunity to know just how hard her mother had fought to keep her.

  But Meredith’s secrets weren’t Nell’s to tell, either.

  She could deal only with her own, and she was glad to have all of it off her chest once and for all.

  Those particular chips would fall as they may.

  The courthouse was near Ruby’s, and even though it was nearing closing time for the diner, Nell went inside and slipped onto one of the round stools at the empty counter and returned Tina’s wave. She was suddenly famished in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  She was halfway through her meat loaf sandwich and hot fudge sundae chaser when Delia appeared. She had a Classic Charms shopping bag over her arm and she dumped it on the counter as she took the stool next to her. “Montrose told me you took the day off.”

  Nell dabbed her cheek with her napkin and it came away with a smudge of sticky chocolate. “Was handling some court business. What’d you buy today?” Since Delia’s return to Vivian’s, Nell had gotten used to the younger woman’s penchant for shopping.

  Delia reached in the bag and pulled out a navy blue sundress patterned with bright yellow polka dots. “I got it to wear to Meredith’s wellness event. Cute, huh?” She didn’t wait for Nell’s nod before dropping the dress back into the bag. “He’s afraid you’re looking for another job.”

  “Who?”

  “Montrose.”

  Nell stared. “He hates me.”

  “He hates everyone. But he is still afraid you’re planning to leave.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Oh, God no. But I can still tell.”

  Nell smiled wryly. “How? The same way you can tell what dress size someone takes?”

  “Hey, don’t knock my one skill.”

  “You’ve got more than one skill,” Nell chided.

  “Not according to some people.” Delia folded her arms atop the counter, not looking unduly concerned by that declaration. She pinched one of the French fries from Nell’s plate and gave her a sidelong look. “Heard from Archer lately?”

  Nell’s nerves gave a reflexive little twitch. She wasn’t likely to forget that Delia had nearly caught Nell and Archer together. “This morning. Part of the court business.”

  “The two of you go way back, don’t you?”

  Nell hesitated. “Sort of. We’ve known each other a long time. More than twenty years when it comes right down to it. Why?”

  “Was it always?” Delia waggled her hand in the air. “You know. Like that with him?”

  Nell polished off the rest of her sandwich, eyeing Delia more closely. She swallowed and wiped her lips with the napkin again. “Like what?”

  Delia huffed. She rolled her eyes. “Were you always hot for each other?”

  Nell was glad she’d swallowed or she would have choked. “Not when I was fourteen,” she assured. “My mother had just died.”

  Delia frowned, quick sympathy entering her eyes. “How awful.”

  “It was. But I had my best friend. And a summer with your aunt Meredith. It helped.” She reached over the counter to grab a clean spoon, then nudged her partially finished sundae toward Delia. She handed her the spoon. “Want to tell me what’s really on your mind?”

  Delia took the spoon and jabbed it into the melting ice cream. “Archer tell you I’m the screwup of the Templeton clan?”

  “Of course not!”

  Delia slowly sucked the ice cream off her spoon. “My brother’s an honest-to-goodness air force hero. My sister is a doctor. Only thing I can do is guess other women’s dress and shoe sizes.”

  “You’ve been Vivian’s personal assistant for the last few years.”

  “You know Vivvie well enough by now to know she doesn’t need a personal assistant. She figures out little tasks to keep me busy so I can earn a paycheck from her, which—despite the source—makes my dad happy. Which, in turn makes her feel better about the crappy childhood he had.”

  “I think you’re underestimating yourself.” Nell sucked on her own spoonful of ice cream. “So who’s the guy?”

  Delia grimaced. She dropped her spoon on the counter with a little clatter. “Nick.”

  “Nick?” Nell was a little slow. “You mean Nick Ventura? Isn’t he—”

  “Younger than me?” Delia nodded. “Four years.”

  “That’s not the end of the world. What’s four years?”

  “He already has a master’s degree.” She propped her chin on her hand. “I’m a thirty-year-old with a high school degree.” She twirled a finger in the air. “Whoopee.”

  “If you want more, go back to school.”

  “I don’t want more,” Delia said. “That’s the problem. The idea of going back to school?” She shuddered dramatically.

  “What about him? Does he know you’re interested in him?”

  Delia’s lips twisted. “Unless he’s been living under a rock. Which he has not.” She suddenly twirled around on her stool, pressing her back to the counter and stretching out her legs. She was wearing shorts and a clinging T-shirt and could have easily passed for someone much younger than Nick Ventura. “So how serious is it with you and Arch?”

  Nell automatically shook her head. “Archer’s never serious about anyone.”

  “That’s not exactly what I asked.”

  “It’s not serious.”

  Delia didn’t look convinced, but at least she dropped it and picked up her spoon again, and together, the two of them polished off the rest of the hot fudge and ice cream.

  When they left the diner, they went their separate ways. Delia presumably headed back to Vivian’s, where she occupied two rooms in what she lightly referred to as the West Wing.

  Nell, though, headed out to look at another house for rent that had shown up the day before on the bulletin board at Ruby’s. After having looked at more than a dozen potential places in the past three weeks, she wasn’t holding out much hope.

  Perhaps her lack of hope was the missing ingredient, though, because the small bungalow located not far from the Cozy Night was very nearly perfect. Oh, it needed a good scouring inside and out and the kitchen was ancient. But that still wasn’t a deterrent for Nell. It wasn’t as if she’d been gaining any new kitchen skills staying at the Cozy Night for the past month. The rental had two bedrooms, one bathroom that was slightly less ancient than the kitchen and an overgrown yard.

  And it meant she could finally get the rest of her belongings out of the storage unit in Cheyenne.

  She wrote a check co
vering the deposit and the first month’s rent right there on the spot. She called around to the contacts that she’d been making since coming to town until she had a landscaper who could come and clear the yard the following afternoon and a cleaning crew who could be there even sooner.

  She felt so energized by her progress that she went back to the motel and told the kid at the front desk—they were ever changing so Nell had never managed to learn any of their names—that she’d be checking out in the morning.

  Then she filled the tank in her car with gas and, armed with an enormous cup of hot coffee in her console, she set off for the storage rental place in Cheyenne. By the time she rolled into town several hours later, her stomach was growling again and she stopped at a fast-food place for some dinner not far from Archer’s house.

  It had been only a couple of months since she’d woken up in his guest room bed there, but it felt like it was so much longer.

  With both her stomach and her coffee mug refilled and knowing he was in Denver anyway, she turned down his block and trolled down his neat and tidy street. It was such a wildly different setting than his house outside Weaver and she wondered how much more different his apartment in Denver would be.

  She’d never before considered that she might actually want to see it one day.

  It was still light enough outside not to need the streetlights but inside houses up and down the street, lamps were beginning to come on in front windows and porch lights were beginning to come on by front doors. His house was no different. Golden light gleamed from the fixtures on either side of his front door, spilling down over the brick steps, and she smiled slightly because it was such a homey, charming sight.

  When she saw a shadow move across one of the mullioned windows, she thought she’d imagined it. But when it happened again, she pulled right over to the curb and parked. She grabbed her cell phone and swiped the screen. Pressing the listing for her most recent calls, she heard clicks and a faint whir before it rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

  His deep voice answered, and her stomach dipped, but it was just his voice mail message. “This is Archer Templeton, attorney at law. Leave a message. If it’s an emergency, contact my office at—”