Chapter Eighteen
Archer surveyed the calm blue water in Zoey’s pool.
With the mild autumn temperatures, he’d be lying to say it didn’t look inviting.
He hadn’t been swimming with the new foot, but he should be able to, according to the doctors.
There were many things he hadn’t tried yet, and swimming was only one of them.
He felt lighter now that Zoey would soon know the truth straight from her father’s mouth.
While he commiserated with the man, he’d never believed that withholding the truth would deliver a desired outcome.
But he didn’t have a daughter. His poor father had four, and Archer swore the man started graying when Archer’s oldest sister turned fourteen.
The sense of protection ran deep in Rossi men.
“Whatever you do, do not have daughters, figlio,” he’d said, shaking his head, clasping his hands together in prayer. “You will live longer.”
As if Archer had any control over that. From watching his own family dynamics, he understood that the relationship between fathers and daughters could be a difficult balance.
He wondered how Patch Lambert handled his fiery and fiercely independent daughter, because he wouldn’t get away with telling her anything but the truth.
When he walked back inside, Zoey was bent by the fireplace moving the pile of decorative pumpkins and gourds over to the side.
“I decided that I want to roast marshmallows,” she said, turning to him.
“It’s seventy degrees outside.” Still, he joined in helping her move her display.
“That’s why I turned up the air conditioner,” she said, and Archer thought maybe he’d heard wrong.
“You’re supposed to wait until it’s cold enough to make a fire.”
“That’s not how Texas works. I need a little pick-me-up, and I want something to make me feel like it’s truly autumn, and I’m tired of waiting for the rain.”
“All these pumpkins, orange lights and leaves aren’t doing it? What about the pumpkin spice you put in everything?”
She made a face. “That’s a good start, but fires are cozy. I’m indulging in a little self-care today, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” he said, putting up his palms in an “I give up” gesture. “You had to forgo the party, I get it. You deserve to get what you want. I’ll take care of this.”
“I’ve got the fire logs,” she said, going to the closet nearby and pulling one out with a smile.
“Don’t you want a real fire? A roaring fire?”
“Yes, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I can use the wood you have piled outside,” he offered.
“The decorations, you mean?”
“Don’t tell me they’re not real.”
“Oh, no, they are. They give the house a woodsy feel, but I never thought of actually burning them.”
“Well, I could hack down your furniture, but I don’t think we need to go that far.” He hooked a thumb to the decorated porch in front. “I’ll go get the wood.”
Zoey helped, and together they carried several logs inside. If she was worried about her father, he assumed she might not share that with him. The fewer questions she asked him, the better. At least the real danger was faraway and would never come close to touching Zoey.
The fire—nutty though the idea was—could be a good distraction, and he’d indulge her.
“Fortunately for you, I grew up in Connecticut,” Archer said. “I’m going to need some kindling and some paper. And a match.”
“Absolutely!” She turned to him with a big smile. “Now, what is kindling?”
Archer laughed. “I’ll see what I can find.”
He went into the back garden and gathered a few twigs by the oak tree that would work. Zoey’s face brightened when he walked inside. She held a box of matches and some paper.
“I bet fall is lovely in Connecticut.”
“Sure is, but I prefer Texas weather myself.”
“You say that because you didn’t grow up here. Texas is great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t have many chances to wear my sweaters and boots except when I visit Amarillo in February.”
This gave new meaning to fashion: going somewhere where the weather suited your clothes. No doubt about it, Zoey made him smile. He’d never seen anyone so enthusiastic about a season.
“If sweater and boot weather is what you’d like, I’ll have to take you with me to Connecticut. Preferably in winter. But you’re also going to need a parka.”
Damn, that had just slipped out. He hadn’t mean to make such assumptions. When this job was over, he’d likely never see Zoey again.
“I’d like that.”
As usual, Zoey was being kind, especially since he was about to make her dreams come true.
“You say that now, but wait until you’re housebound for days because it’s below zero and we’re expecting a nor’easter.”
“I imagine people can find fun things to do while indoors, too.” She nudged him playfully.
“You would be right about that. Nine months later, there are plenty of bambinos born.”
Archer angled logs of wood strategically and placed crunched up pieces of paper between them, then struck the match.
The flame immediately caught but didn’t spread, so he blew air on it to get it going.
Within a couple of minutes, they had their roaring fire.
Of course, this meant that they were both feeling a little too warm, even with the air conditioner on.
He took a step back from the wall of heat.
Zoey did, too, but their timing was off so they bumped into each other, both chuckling.
“Too hot for you?” he said, hand on her waist to steady her.
“No comment,” she said with a smile. “But I love the aesthetic.”
“Wait a little while and you’ll have embers for your roasted marshmallows.” Somehow, he now had his arm low on her back with no desire to move it.
Then she turned to him and reached up to ruffle his hair. “You’re a regular Boy Scout. Thank you for the fire.”
“Though I question your methods, you have a point. It probably never gets cold enough in this part of Texas. I suppose sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”
He lowered his arm from her waist, then reached to loosen his tie.
As a rule, for work, he always wore slacks, a button-down and tie.
But more often than not, he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.
At the moment, rolled-up sleeves weren’t enough for this heat and he wanted to rip his shirt off.
But he wouldn’t breach decorum with Zoey nearby.
He squatted on his haunches near the fire. “You talk to your father?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting cross-legged beside him.
“He finally told me the truth, and suddenly everything makes sense. Another unhinged football fan. It’s something we’ve been through before as a family.
I remember those days clearly, being chauffeured to and from school, a bodyguard always on standby. ”
“That must be especially tough for a child.”
“It’s no way to live but I got used to it. Like I said, after a while they were like family.”
“And your father. You’re not worried about him?”
“Of course I am, but I know he’s well protected. It’s something he needs to learn, apparently. How not to worry about me.”
“Yeah, not sure a parent ever does that. Least of all the father of a daughter. My father had four, so I’ve seen it firsthand.”
Zoey studied him through narrowed eyes. “Riiight. You’re the one who got away with everything while they were probably interrogated about every move they made.”
“Maybe not every move, but close.” Archer winced. “I admit there’s a double standard with my father’s generation.”
“I understand not wanting to know what I do in my personal life,” Zoey said. “Like me. I definitely don’t want to know about any of the women he dates. There’s no shortage of women interested in my father, both young and old.”
“I can imagine.”
“A few months ago, there was a woman.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t like her much but I decided I might be being unfair. It’s not like me to dislike someone. It was the last time I went up to see him. We don’t talk about her. I don’t want to know what they do together in my mother’s house.”
Archer heard the sharpness in that sentence, which didn’t sound like the Zoey he’d come to know. Apparently, there was at least one person who wasn’t the recipient of her kindness, but he could understand why not.
“It’s got to be hard, seeing him move on.”
“Oh, he never will. The women come and go. My mother will always be his true love, his number one. Forever and ever.”
Archer chose his words carefully. “And…you think that’s fair to him?”
“Maybe not, but you can’t change the truth. No woman will ever match up to my mother, mark my words.”
“I don’t doubt it, but maybe he could find someone who would make him really happy.”
Zoey gave him an “Are you for real?” look, swiveling her neck and chuckling.
“It’s a thought.” He shrugged. “Don’t you want your father to be happy and find love again…someday?”
“Looks like the fire’s died down. Time for marshmallows!” Zoey exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Great way to avoid answering the question, he’d give her that. She ran into the kitchen and came back with a bag of marshmallows and what looked like shish kebab skewers. He took a couple and started spearing marshmallows. There was a trick to this and he had it down to a science.
Zoey, on the other hand, like a true-blue Texan, put the marshmallow so close to the fire it burst into flames.
“What did I do wrong?”
“Haven’t you done this before?”
“Well…a long time ago. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you that we didn’t do much real camping as a family.”
“Don’t tell me the bodyguards did it for you.”
“Ha, ha. But you and I are actually christening this fireplace. It’s my first time in the new house.”
“I’m honored. Let me show you how this is done.”
He demonstrated with his own skewer, not getting too close to the embers, turning it when one side got brown, then the other.
“Here,” he said, handing one to her. “It’s all about timing, and patience.”
“Oh, my gosh, you’re so good at this!” She bit into the toasty and melting marshmallow, licking her fingers. “I’m going to keep you, or at least send for you every autumn.”
Then, as if she realized what she’d said, she smiled but lowered her head. She didn’t take it back, but he hadn’t taken back his statement of bringing her home to Connecticut, either.
“Sounds good to me.” He bit into his own treat, and the sugary sweetness reminded him of easier times.
He’d loved camping trips with his large family in the woods of Connecticut and upstate New York.
The Finger Lakes region was a favorite area of the family.
He should get home soon, Archer decided, and let his family see with their own eyes that he wasn’t an invalid.
They claimed to understand, but on every phone call home he heard the sadness in his mother’s voice, as if what he’d lost, he would never get back.
She meant well, but she worried about him so much that all he’d wanted to do as a young man was leave.
But he supposed mothers and sons had their own issues.
Zoey reached for Archer’s chin with a sweet smile. “You have something…right there.”
A jolt of pure heat slashed through Archer that had nothing to do with the fire.