Cattail Ridge (7 page)

“Okay,” came the disappointed response from under the sink, where the little girl had perched to watch him work. “Archer, will you be here when we get back?”

“I should be.”

“Maybe you can read me a story?”

“Sydney!” Emma scolded. “We’re already imposing on him to fix the sink.”

A put-upon sigh sounded as she backed out of the cabinet and went to Amelia. “Or maybe not.”

The front door closed and Archer slid out from under the sink, smiling. “You know I’ll stay and read to her. I love doing that.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I know. But you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I like reading to her. She’s a fun kid. Let’s see if we can get this changed out before it causes a bigger problem.” He ducked back under the sink and Emma took the chance to study what she could see of him. Archer was tall, almost too tall to stretch out across her kitchen floor. The jeans he wore were old and worn and molded to his thighs in ways that did disturbing things to her insides. As he stretched to work on the fixture his shirt rode up, revealing a patch of skin covered with a light dusting of golden hair that thickened as it neared the waist of his jeans.

“Is the water turned off?”

The question snapped her attention back to the task at hand. Cheeks flushing, she confirmed that it was. “That was one thing I was able to do.”

“Then we’re ready to disconnect the old lines. I’ll have to take them off where they connect here at the bottom. Whoever installed this hosed it up at the top.” He moved out of the cabinet a little bit, then turned to gain access to the pipes. A few seconds later a string of curses sounded and before Emma could move, a stream of hot water hit her squarely across the thighs. She shrieked with surprise.

“Damn it. The shut-off valve doesn’t work.” His words were muffled by the sound of gushing water and some thuds. “Go shut the main off!”

For a few seconds Emma was torn as she tried to remember where the main shutoff was. “It’s in the garage. Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll be back.” She ran into the garage. Cursing under her breath, she moved the boxes out from in front of the panel where the main was housed. As soon as she had the water turned off, she dashed back inside.

Water was puddled in several spots across the kitchen floor. The cabinets on the far wall were dripping wet and the paper towels had taken a direct hit. But by far the worst of it was Archer. He had eased out of the cabinet to sit on the floor in front of the open door, soaked to the skin from the top of his head well past his waist. Horrified and terribly amused at the same time, all Emma could do was stare and struggle to not laugh, her eyes wide, as he used a hand to push his dripping hair off his face.

“Could I have a towel?”

“Mm-hmmm,” she managed, biting her lip as she turned and hurried from the kitchen to the utility room and the clean towels in the dryer. As soon as she cleared the door she burst out laughing.

“I heard that,” he called.

“I’m sorry,” she hollered back as she got the towels out in between snorting bouts of laughter. “I’m so sorry.”

The laughter died when she went back in the kitchen to find him standing and in the process of pulling his shirt over his head. “Oh.”

In all the years she’d known him, Emma had never seen Archer without his shirt. She knew the reasons why, that he wasn’t comfortable with people seeing his scars, but she’d wondered what kind of body was under his clothing. All her sisters, Zanny, and even Sarah, had speculated. The reality was beyond words. Compared to the man’s beauty, the scars were incidental.

He had the kind of muscles typically found on a male model, and the golden hair she’d glimpsed earlier widened as it went up his chest. There was just enough of it that a woman could have fun playing with it but not enough that she would feel like she was running her fingers through a carpet. Despite the fact that as far as she knew he never took his shirt off outside, he was golden all the way to his belt. That made her wonder if his skin was warm as honey all over.

When she realized she was staring, the towel clutched to her chest and her mouth agape, she felt her cheeks heat to almost painful levels. “Sorry! Here. Um, I’ll throw your shirt in the dryer.” She snatched the T-shirt from his hands before he could respond, then fled back to the utility room. She didn’t realize the shirt was too wet to put in the dryer until she was standing there with it in her hands. Shaking herself, she wrung it out over the laundry sink.

“You okay?” Archer asked from the doorway, his expression shuttered. He was still holding the towel to his chest with one hand, using the other end to press against his soaking-wet jeans.

“Yes,” she answered too brightly. “I’m sorry. I’ll have this dry in a jiffy. If you want to take the jeans off, too…” When she realized that would leave him close to naked she gave a little whimper and tore her gaze from his chest.

The glance he sent her was puzzled. “I’m fine. Thanks, though. We should be able to pull the old faucet out now and replace it. The shut-off valve is bad but the pipes are still good. You’ll need to get it replaced at some point but it should be okay for now.” He turned and went back into the kitchen, and Emma unashamedly watched him go.

“Definitely almost as good going as he is coming,” she muttered under her breath. With a shaky sigh she turned and emptied the dryer so she could dry his shirt. “Get a hold of yourself, Emma. He’s going to think you’re an idiot.”

With the shirt drying, she girded herself to go back in the kitchen. He was so tempting she wanted to drool, and she felt like every hormone in her body had suddenly clamored to life. If Amelia didn’t get back soon with Sydney, Archer might find himself fighting for his virtue on the kitchen floor.

Chapter Eight

A
rcher hid his bitter disappointment as he finished removing the old faucet. His chest wasn’t hideous but the ten-inch scar that bisected it from where they’d had to crack open his sternum during surgery wasn’t pretty. Even though Emma hadn’t recoiled in horror, her stunned reaction and the way her eyes kept coming back to the scar spoke volumes.

The front door opened and footsteps pounded up the stairs. A door slammed overhead and a second later, Amelia appeared in the doorway.

“She had to potty. What in the world happened here? Oh, my God. You’re naked. Damn, Archer.” He heard the smile in her voice before he saw it and when he turned to face her fully, her smile widened into a lascivious grin. She whistled and waved her hand in front of her face. “Emma, there’s a naked man in your kitchen!”

“I’m not naked, thank you very much,” he protested.

“Close enough. Geez, if I’d known all those muscles were under your shirts maybe I would have made a play for you.”

Emma came out from the utility room then. “I started a load of towels. Your shirt should be dry soon.”

“Forget the towels, Em. Look at the view.” She gave an exaggerated wink and leered at him with waggling eyebrows. Archer laughed helplessly in response.

“Amelia, you’re embarrassing him. I’m sorry, Archer. You’d think she’d never seen a man without his shirt before.” If the rosy pink flush on her cheeks was any indication, Archer figured that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable. A plaintive “Mommy” sounded from overhead before he could respond.

“Uh-oh. That’s not good. Excuse me.”

Amelia stood to the side of the door. “I’ve not seen
this
man without his shirt,” she called after her sister. “I’m the virgin here, but the two of you are acting all prim and proper. What’s with that?”

“Pip, you’re incorrigible,” came the response.

She waited until Emma made it upstairs before edging into the kitchen. “I wanted to shake things up between the two of you, but dang. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Em blush so hard. What did you say to her?” she asked in a low voice.

“I didn’t say anything. All I did was take my shirt off. I didn’t think. I guess the scars bother her.” He tried to shrug it off.

A cocked eyebrow told him he hadn’t come close to convincing her he wasn’t upset. “Oh, I doubt very seriously the scar is what’s bothering her. Does it still hurt?” She boldly came over to get a closer look. Archer let her examine him.

“No. It gets a little tight sometimes but it doesn’t really hurt.” When she reached out to touch him he caught her hand and whirled her around, putting her in a loose headlock. If he didn’t stop her, she’d be probing the scar. As close as he was to Amelia, that wasn’t something he’d be comfortable with. “Behave.”

Emma and Sydney came back in then, and Sydney’s eyes grew huge as she took in the wet kitchen. Hands on her hips, she walked over and stomped in one of the puddles, making a little splash with her bare feet. “Did Archer take a bath in the kitchen?”

“Something like that. Emma, where’s the new faucet?” He grunted as Amelia goosed him in the ribs.

“I’ll get it.” Amelia broke free and headed for the garage. “And I’ll get the mop and bucket after I make a pit stop. All this water is making me need to go.”

“And thank you for sharing,” Emma called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom next to the utility room.

Sydney hopped from one puddle to the other until she was standing at Archer’s feet. He picked her up with a grin and sat her on the edge of the counter on one of the dry spots.

“You’d better stay up here for now and out of trouble.”

A small hand reached out and traced the scar lightly, then patted his chest. “Is this where you got hurt?”

“It is.”

“That took a lot of Band-Aids,” she commented matter-of-factly.

“A few, yes.”

“You got any other scars?”

Emma groaned. “Sydney!”

“What, Mommy? I just wanna know.”

Archer smiled. He knew from experience there would be no quelling the little girl’s curiosity. “I have a couple on my back.”

“Lemme see?”

He obliged her, turning so that she could examine him. Emma stepped into the kitchen. She was shaking her head, and her cheeks were still red, he saw.

“You let her get away with too much.”

“Nah. She’s just a kid. Curiosity is part of growing up.”

That startled a laugh from Emma. “Then she’s approaching thirty if that’s the case.” She bit the tip of her finger and studied him, head tilted to the side. “You know, you’ve been quite the object of speculation through the years. We all figured you had some awful tattoo you were ashamed of or something.”

“Mommy, look. He has a circle on his back.”

Emma edged closer. Archer held his breath as she let Sydney show her the exit hole from one of the gunshot wounds. “I see that. And no tattoos.”

He shook his head. “No tattoos. I don’t like needles, never have.”

When Amelia came in with the faucet and mop Archer didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. From the flustered way Emma was acting, he was starting to think it
wasn’t
the scars she’d been reacting to. He unpacked the new faucet as Emma took the mop from her sister.“Pip, do you mind taking Sydney next door to see if she can play while we clean this up? The Deatons should be finished with dinner by now.”

“Sure. I’ll be back.”

With just the two of them in the kitchen, Archer decided to push the envelope just a bit to see how Emma would react. When she came to the sink to empty the bucket, he moved so that he had to reach around her to get a wrench.

“Sorry.”

“Um. No problem.”

“Don’t tell me you’re flustered to have a shirtless man wandering around your kitchen,” he teased as he ducked back under the sink to tighten up the new faucet. Because of where she was standing, he had to brush against her legs. They were silky smooth, and the sensation was electrifying. Just that glancing touch raised gooseflesh all over his body.

“Most of the shirtless men I see these days are either my brothers, men I think of as brothers, or old Mr. Hurley from down the street when he mows his grass.”

“What, you don’t think of me as your brother? I’m hurt.” A glance up showed him an excellent view of her legs and rear as she mopped.

“You’re family, but you’re definitely not one of my brothers. How does the new faucet fit?”

“Nice and tight.” Like his jeans were starting to, he thought. If he didn’t focus his mind somewhere else he was going to have a noticeable bulge soon and no shirt to cover it up with. “Shit.”

“Problem?”

“No, wrench just slipped.”

The rest of the repair went quickly. Amelia returned, and some of the electricity in the kitchen faded. With three pairs of helping hands the cleanup didn’t take long. Emma got his shirt from the dryer and with an exaggerated sigh of reluctance handed it back to him.

“If you must put it on, it’s dry.” She gave him a soft smile and winked.

Archer made a production of putting the shirt back on, stretching much taller than was strictly necessary to get it over his head. When his head cleared the top he grinned at the women, who were watching unabashedly.

“I think the kitchen sink at the farm is going to have to start leaking,” Amelia mused as though he weren’t standing there in front of them. “Definitely. I just have to figure out how to rig it so that Archer’s the one who fixes it.”

Emma laughed. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll get Daddy’s cooperation on that.”

Amelia sighed and glanced at her watch. “Probably not, damn it. And I can’t stage it at the trailer, because that would be too obvious. Maybe Rachel will volunteer her place. Okay, I should go. Thanks for dinner, and for the entertainment.” She hugged them both. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Em, bright and early.”

“Crack of dawn. Thanks, Pip.”

Amelia was filling in for Zanny as manager of the photography studio while the family was in Georgia. Archer knew she was enjoying the job, but she was itching to get back to her regular schedule of writing. And he also knew she didn’t really have to be there at the crack of dawn.

After the door closed behind her, Archer and Emma stood on opposite sides of the kitchen and watched each other. He was the first to look away, down at his still-wet jeans.

“I should go, too.”

“Thank you for coming up here, doing this. And I’m sorry it turned out the way it did with the unexpected shower.” Her arms were crossed over her chest in a loose hug. “I’ll owe you one.”

Remembering a conversation he’d had with Logan earlier in the summer, about taking a chance when the opportunity presented itself because you never knew when that would get taken away, Archer acted. He crossed the space between them and braced his hands on the counter on either side of Emma’s hips, caging her in loosely. Startled, her arms unwound and came to rest on his chest, hands flat. Without waiting for her to protest he leaned in and kissed her.

The heat was instant and burning hot. Archer didn’t push too hard, didn’t take the kiss too deep, but still he felt like he was awake for the first time in years. Her lips were soft, and she tasted so sweet he couldn’t believe it. When Emma’s hands started to curl into his shirt he smiled against her mouth, satisfied.

“I think we’re even. Call if you need me.” He went back for another soft kiss then headed for the door. “If I don’t see Sydney, will you give her a hug for me? And tell her I’ll come back and read to her first chance I get. Maybe this weekend.”

Emma, still standing against the counter, nodded. “I will.”

Walking out the door was hard, but he did it. He looked around for Sydney but didn’t see her. As he drove home he kept replaying the kiss in his mind. If he had thought Emma was ready for more he would have pushed, but he knew she wasn’t.

When he’d gotten the call that Logan had been injured, he’d been devastated to think he might not get to see his brother again. He’d spent two weeks with him at the Army hospital in Virginia, until the doctors were sure Logan was on the road to recovery. That near miss had caused Archer to think, and his brother had seen the struggle on his face.

“Where are you? I can tell you aren’t fully here,” Logan commented near the end of their visit as Archer paced his hospital room. “Is it Emma and Sydney?”

“Yeah. I keep thinking that I’m a coward.”

Logan shifted in the recliner to get into a more comfortable position. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Archer easily recognized Logan’s expression as the one he’d wore when he knew the answer to something but was waiting for Archer to figure it out. As kids growing up, it had driven Archer nuts. It wasn’t quite so annoying now that they were adults.

“I wasn’t ready before. I am now. I still don’t think I’m in her class but I’m close enough.”

“But you still haven’t acted.”

“No.”

Logan nodded. “You’re a chicken. A justifiably wary chicken, but still…” A rare smile spread across his face at Archer’s surprise. “Does she think you’re good enough for her?”

Archer considered the question. “I don’t think she believes I’m not good enough for her, but I’m not sure how she feels about me. Amelia insists the potential is there. And Pip is usually right. She’s a Cupid, you know. Seriously. The girl has a gift.”

Silence fell between them. After a few minutes Logan spoke up. “You want to know what I think you should do?”

“Yes. Please?”

“I think you should go back there and make a move. See what happens. You’ve been brave enough to learn to read, to go back to school even if it didn’t turn out to be your thing. Hell, ask her out. If you don’t, someone else will at some point. You know that. If you want her you’re going to have to work for her. Very little that’s worth having in this world comes easily.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then you know.”

So Archer had been working his nerve up to ask her out, but he hadn’t quite managed to do it yet. When Amelia had called earlier it had been like a sign. And now there was the kiss.

God, he could have devoured her. Those shorts fit like a second skin, and were so worn and frayed they looked like they would come apart at any moment. They weren’t indecent but they were most definitely enticing. His hands burned with the need to touch her again and as he pulled into his driveway, he saw that he even had a slight tremor.

He’d wait and see how Emma reacted before making his next move. See if she talked to Amelia about the kiss and what she’d thought, though Pip wouldn’t tell him much. As much as he wanted to jump in with both feet, he knew the cautious approach was the best. So for now he’d wait. Even if waiting burned him alive in the meantime.