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Five
Archer
I was supposed to begin the drive back tomorrow. The earlier, the better. Yet I’d waited a full day to seek Delaney out.
The realization, followed by the resignation and betrayal, of what had brought me to North Dakota refused to leave my memory. The anger that had brightened her eyes and flushed her face wouldn’t either.
Thinking back, I’d seen hints of her temper. Nothing of the magnitude to make me stop and think she had much of one. Depending on the situation, usually around Wilson and Briony, I had written off Delaney’s flush as embarrassment. Maybe she was a little chagrined. But there’d been a spark in those brilliant blue eyes. A flash I’d anticipated but which had never amounted to anything.
She’d been hurt and pissed. And she’d tried to hide it.
Delaney had never gotten mad at me. She would always give me a big smile, and I had believed everything she said. Was it the state of my sex-deprived brain that made it all crystal clear now? I’d been steeped in all things petite and blonde and was so trusting of my wife I hadn’t questioned a thing, including her identity, her past, her family, or how she truly felt.
I hadn’t asked because she might’ve asked reciprocal questions. And what would I have said?
If she had showed me her true self, would I have fallen so hard for her? Her looks were one thing, but had they been everything? She’d followed my business talk. I had thought I was boring her. Being a land broker wasn’t exciting to someone out of the loop.
Wilson would say it was the dollar signs behind the shoptalk that held Delaney’s interest. But she hadn’t been lost. She knew about land. Its resources. Acres and how they related to farmers and ranchers. She’d followed every damn word.
Why had Delaney thought I would need a simpering, vapid woman at my side?
I turned off the highway and onto a gravel road.
I’d thought I was done with gravel. Hearing it kick up under the tires should have made me cringe. The car might get chips in the paint or the windshield or a flat tire from screws and nails hidden by all the rocks. Gravel roads were shitty on a vehicle, and my car wasn’t just functional. It was a status symbol. I didn’t kid myself about that. Clients who were trusting me to help them buy millions of dollars of property didn’t want to see me in a beater.
What was this car’s status in Coal Haven? Was it diminished to economical, a vehicle that got better gas mileage than the larger pickups that had to haul cattle supplies, trailers, and tools? The answer was all around me.
Cattle dotted the pastures. Simmental and Red Angus. I was pretty sure this was Delaney’s family’s land, and I wanted to see it all. Curiosity about my wife wasn’t the only motivator. I dealt in land. Lived and breathed it. Whether my family had it or not had dictated everything in my life. I didn’t own one square foot of land, but I bought and sold it for others.
As I crested a hill, I spotted a stock pond. Due to the drought, the waterline was down several feet, but thanks to the rain, the edges were a sloppy, suctiony mess. A little brown calf floundered, struggling to free itself while its equally muddy mother lowed from the edges. She must’ve been getting a drink and the little guy tried to follow her in.
The calf’s attempts were weakening even as I slowed. It would die without help. I would’ve stopped anyway, but the way I grew up, I couldn’t not stop.
I pulled the car to the edge of the road, parked, and tossed my phone and my wallet onto the seat. I would never leave my car and belongings like this in Texas, but the only people driving these roads were Delaney’s family—or mine. On that odd thought, I ran down into the ditch. Broom grass brushed against my pants. I held down the top line of barbed wire and leaped over the fence.
I sprinted through the pasture, trying to remain upright on the uneven ground in my leather-soled dress shoes and keep from twisting an ankle in a gopher hole. The land sloped down from the fence, then up and down toward the stock pond. I stayed in shape. My condo had a gym, but I hadn’t run on anything but a treadmill or a paved path in years. There was nothing in a gym that simulated barbed wire.
As I neared, the mama cow mooed, but she was more focused on her baby than on me.
The ground was soft before I hit the mud and life became instant slow motion. Mud sucked my feet deeper, and dammit, I lost one shoe and then the other. I probably didn’t want either one back, but that would be hundreds of dollars lost to the earth.
I high-kneed through the muck until I reached the calf. It was tipped over, its face pushed into the mud, as it continued to attempt to free itself. Its struggles had only worked it deeper. Little bleats left it as I reached under its belly, ignoring the warm mud that was probably more than just dirt and water, and wrapped my arms around it. With one arm around its chest and the other around its behind, I lifted.
Two hundred–plus pounds came free. I gritted my teeth as Mama Cow’s calls grew more frantic. At least with the mud, I didn’t have to worry about being charged.
This would’ve been a hell of a lot easier on a horse, though. Like the time Ansen and I had roped two calves that had gotten caught in a mini mudslide.
God, it’d been years since I’d recalled that day. We’d been so damn proud of our scrawny selves. Dad too.
What would’ve made me prouder was if we had owned the ranch I’d grown up on instead of merely managing it. But the animals didn’t care who owned it, and they were the most important part of the business.
I waded out and set the calf down as soon as I reached stable ground. On shaky legs, the animal wobbled toward the mama. I staggered away from them just in case Mama Cow thought I was a threat. Adrenaline pumped through my body. I couldn’t outrun her with all the mud around my legs. I’d be sorer tomorrow than I had been from any workout in the last twelve years.
I glanced around. Cows stared at me, their tails swishing. I nodded at them and turned.
A woman on a horse gawked at me. “Archer?”
My wife wore jeans and a blue sleeveless shirt. Her worn cowboy boots were shoved into the stirrups, and she loosely held the reins. She looked comfortable in the saddle, more at ease than I’d ever seen her outside of bed.
