Page 7 of A Texas Hero

“I guess this is going to work after all.” Time to go on a fishing expedition. “Where is your wife staying while you’re in town with me? It must be hard for her when you go away on these assignments.”

“What wife?” He shook his head, put up a palm. “No, I do not have a wife, so do not worry.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Zoey smiled.

“Good. I am not, either.”

He smiled back, and this time his eyes crinkled. It was almost as if he knew. Zoey hoped not to make it so obvious she was crushing hard on this man.

She’d work on that.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Archer stood like a sentry at the entrance to the shop. And, she realized, he was going to be great for business. Women had been coming in and out all day, mostly to browse, but they left with smiles on their faces.

“Oh, helloooo!” said Debbie, the head waitress at the Salty Dog Bar and Grill. “Are you new here?”

“Yes, I am.” Archer nodded. “Archer Rossi, at your service.”

The only thing lacking from the scenario was for him to bend at the waist and kiss her hand, but Debbie melted anyway.

“Hi, Debbie. Can I help you find something?” Zoey came around from behind the counter where she’d been counting receipts.

Debbie leaned over and whispered, “I had to come see for myself what all the fuss was about. I know you’re a wiz at marketing, but this is genius. How much did it set you back to hire a model?”

If Zoey had been drinking anything, she would have spewed it out of her mouth.

“He’s not a model.”

“Oh, an actor looking for employment? He looks like that guy who was in the Housemaid movie and he has an accent. Oh, swoon!” Debbie fanned herself.

“Calm down,” Zoey whispered. “And please, don’t tell anybody, but…he’s my bodyguard.”

Debbie’s eyes widened. “You have a bodyguard?”

“Unfortunately, yes. For now, anyway. You know my father?”

“That’s like asking if I know who the Dallas Cowboys are,” Debbie said. “Yes, I know Patch Lambert.”

“He thinks I need a bodyguard because of Scott, and of course he’s overreacting. But what can you do?”

Debbie took another scan of Archer and sighed. “Just grin and bear it, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

She and Debbie both turned at once and stared at Archer’s backside. He stood, ramrod straight, as if he was guarding the president of the United States. Zoey admired a man who didn’t think any job was too small to take seriously.

“Christmas came early,” Debbie said.

“Preach.” Zoey held out her fist to bump Debbie’s.

When it was time to close up shop, Archer walked Zoey to her sedan so he could follow her home. Her car was a royal blue BMW, a gift from her father, of course. If Archer was impressed, he didn’t say anything, which she appreciated.

From time to time Zoey felt embarrassed about all the nice things she owned because of her father. Throughout his football career, Patch had endured several concussions, back and shoulder surgery, knee surgery three times, and now had a permanently bad back. But he never complained, because in the process of wrecking his body he’d made millions in endorsement deals. As a proud Black man, he was far too aware that many men who looked like him weren’t as lucky. But he’d had a gift and love for the game from the time he was a kid and honed it with hours and years on the field. She was extremely proud of her father and his legacy.

But it wasn’t her legacy.

She wanted her own. Like her father, Zoey had used her attributes to the best of her ability and worked them. She’d been gifted with a tall, svelte body and flawless skin. Her hair was a mix of her mother’s thick waves and her father’s kinky curls. Zoey had dark brown ringlets everyone thought she paid to have. She’d accidentally fallen into modeling at sixteen when a fashion agent attended one of her father’s Super Bowl parties. It helped that, like her mother, she loved clothes. Before her mother got sick, she accompanied Zoey all over the world as she modeled for Donna Karan and others. They’d had some of the best times of their lives drinking espresso in Rome and eating pastries in Paris. Plenty of memories.