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Twelve
Laney
I pushed the shopping cart through the store. It was late evening, and we were grabbing supplies for our camping trip. Archer wandered next to me, garnering attention from everyone we passed. It was partly because of who he was, but also because he was hot. His shirt hugged his defined chest, and he’d bought a distressed denim–colored ball cap.
When he’d showed up wearing that thing, I’d nearly dragged him into the barn and mounted him. I wouldn’t have cared where the straw had gotten. But I had refrained.
He looked approachable, doable. The way the cap revealed the definition of his face was just unfair. And he looked more like a Barron than ever.
I couldn’t believe I’d suggested it. A weekend of camping.
The longer Archer was away from his life in Dallas, the harder I was falling for him. Did I think camping was some larger test? Like, if he lost his shit dealing with nothing but me and a horse in the heat, I’d finally know the last couple of weeks had been fake?
Would that be better or worse?
“Why lemonade and brownies?” I asked. There was a burn ban in the state with the drought. We couldn’t have a campfire, so all our food had to be cooler-friendly and eaten cold.
He selected some bananas. “Mama used to bring them out to me and Ansen when we tried to camp in the yard.”
“Tried?” Had he been camping family vacation–style? We were struggling ranchers, but Papa had still planned excursions. We’d taken the horses to Medora for a couple of nights. We’d dragged tents to Lake Tschida and Lake Sakakawea, each about an hour away. One year, Papa had even bought a used RV and gotten it running well enough to drive three and a half hours to Devils Lake. The Lake Region was a fertile area, thanks to the state’s largest natural lake. We’d been so miserable being eaten by mosquitos he’d sold the RV as soon as we returned.No point in fishing there again if I lose half my blood.“Is this your first camping trip? Like real camping trip?”
He nodded and studied the apples.
“Okay, lemonade and brownies. What else?” Food wasn’t the only thing I planned. I wanted to make this fun for Archer. The reverent way he’d asked for lemonade and brownies told me a lot. The memories were important, and I couldn’t taint them with a shitty camping trip.
“Sandwiches?”
“Anything but bologna and white bread.”
We loaded up on lunch meat, whole grain bread I probably wouldn’t like better than Ma’s stuff, Pop-Tarts—I’d never thought I’d see the day Mr. Personal Chef selected strawberry Pop-Tarts—and juice and water.
He adjusted his cap. “Think that’s good for the weekend?”
“It’ll be fine. There’s a gas station and a few restaurants there.”
We turned out of the beverage aisle. I stopped the cart before I mowed down Holden. Stetson was with him, holding a package of chicken.
“Archer.” Stetson’s gaze went from him to what was in the cart. “Jesus, Laney, what the hell you feeding him?”
Holden’s expression was just as aghast. “You do realize what all those cattle you raise are for?”
“Ha ha,” I said sarcastically. “I’m taking him camping this weekend.”
“Hazen Bay?” Stetson asked. This was the most he’d talked directly to me in my life.
“Medora,” Archer answered, his arm coming around me in a move that was natural, closer to how we usually interacted in public. “With horses.”
“Been forever since I’ve done that,” Holden said, his expression wistful. “What are you two doing tonight?”
“Packing.” Most of that would be done in the morning. I had found the tent and loaded the feed pails, a square bale, and tack for the horses already.
“We’ll grab another pack,” Stetson said, lifting the pack of chicken. “Come on over to Holden’s. He’s grilling.”
I blinked at the two men. Archer waited for me to answer. He would’ve said no if he had a strong instinct to, but he’d told me their reactions to Cameron. Archer could go just to get to know them better. I was a different story. These two didn’t seem hostile toward me, but if any of their parents were around…
“It would be just us four,” Holden said. Had the trepidation been written across our faces? “You bring a side dish. Then Stetson won’t bitch about how I make nothing but meat.”
Stetson rolled his eyes. “You don’t.”
