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I offered him a small smile, took a step back, my feet sliding over the hard-packed dirt. Then another. “I’ll…see ‘ya.”
As I walked out of the stable, I looked over my shoulder, saw him watching me, arms folded, his gaze dark. Silent.
* * *
SUTTON
* * *
“You just let her leave?” I asked the second after I stormed into Archer’s office.
He looked up from his desk which was littered with papers. He’d been staring at the computer, hand on the mouse before he glanced up at me.
The door had bounced off the wall when I opened it and he didn’t even blink. I’d been to the sheriff’s office before. Once when I was a teenager and been caught for underage drinking at a bonfire party and many times since Archer had taken his job. While he lived and worked in town, I stuck mostly to the ranch. Since the rodeo last summer and the weekend with Cricket, I’d barely left. To say I’d been a cranky asshole was probably an understatement and every one of my friends would call me something far worse. I’d had no interest in leaving, to do much of anything. I worked, I worked hard enough to fall into bed with my boots still on and pray I wouldn’t wake up with a nightmare.
“She wanted to go,” Archer countered.
“Why the fuck do you look so calm about this?” I asked, coming in and dropping down into the utilitarian chair in front of his desk.
Phones rang from outside of the office, a police scanner chirped from somewhere on Archer’s belt. He reached down and it was quickly silenced. Turning, he settled back in his seat, rested his elbows on the arm rests and steepled his fingers in front of him.
I was pissed. Really pissed. Cricket had gotten away from us once and it had pretty much ruined me. And now she’d left. Again. And Archer didn’t seem to give a shit.
“Why are you so bent out of shape?” he countered.
“Why—” I sighed, ran my hand over the back of my neck. “Why am I so bent out of shape? I thought we wanted Cricket.”
“Me, too.”
“Then why did you let her leave us?”
Archer’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
I stood, paced the small room. There was a framed generic western landscape photograph on the wall, a map of the western half of the state pinned beside a window that looked out over the parking lot. The white metal blinds were open to let in the sunshine. The building didn’t have air conditioning and I was sweating. Not that it was hot in here, but because I was losing my mind. It wasn’t a panic attack—I’d had a few of those since my deployment finished—and my body was out of control.
“Cricket wants it all.”
He was so fucking calm. I wanted to reach across the desk, grab him and shake some sense into him.
“She has it all. Three men who have made her the center of their world.”
“Two,” he countered.
I spun around, eyed him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Lee and I have made her the center of our world, definitely. She knows that. But you? You’re a part-time lover. Nothing more.”
“That’s not true,” I spat, pointing my finger at him.
He shrugged, went around the desk and shut the door. I knew I’d raised my voice, but I didn’t give a shit. It seemed he did.
Turning to face me, he put his hands on his hips. “Why the fuck do you leave at night?”
I closed my eyes, slumped my shoulders and let my head drop as if it weighed a ton.
“Is it because of your nightmares?”
I looked at Archer. He was still as cool as a fucking cucumber. He wasn’t passing judgment, didn’t give a shit that I was broken.
