Chapter Fourteen #2
They all nod, grinning identical Archer grins like this is a cult and I’m being drafted.
“Oh. Uh. Of course,” I murmur, carefully tearing off the tip of one of the sticks and squeezing it until a bead of golden syrup hits my tongue.
The taste is like summer and warmth and something else I can’t quite name. Something nostalgic.
My lips part around a surprised little hum. “Oh, wow! That’s really good!”
“Hella good, huh?” Colby chirps. “The strawberry ones are my favorite, though.”
She shoves another in my face, making me cackle.
“Colby Mildred Archer!” Bea hisses. “Watch your language!”
She ignores her mom and leans in closer to me as I suck on the second stick.
In a stage-whisper, she says, “Did you hear that? Not only did I get named after fruit, but I got the shitty middle name, too.”
My brows go high.
“It’s like she was trying to make sure I’d be a virgin forever.”
Before Bea can give her daughter what I’m sure is a well-versed lecture, someone calls out the girls' names from across the market. We all turn to find a robust woman with platinum-blonde hair waving wildly.
They groan.
“Ugh,” Colby mutters. “Mom, please tell me you didn’t sign us up for more face painting duty.”
“You said you wanted to make some money today,” Bea sing-songs, already nudging them off with a playful swat.
“Not with Lizzy Simmons!” Clementine throws her a look of pure betrayal. “You tricked us.”
“It’s called parenting,” Bea replies. “Now go make some little toddlers into tigers or butterflies or whatever their hearts are begging to be. Just don’t make them cry.”
The twins vanish in a flurry of eye-rolls and dramatic teen energy, leaving me alone with Bea Archer… who’s now giving me a look far too knowing for comfort.
My mind scrambles for an exit—some excuse to bolt before she can unravel me with one of those warm, well-meaning smiles that remind me all too much of what I desperately want.
But before I can say a word, she reaches up and gently twirls the end of one of my French braids.
“Your hair is stunning,” she says softly. “Especially in the sun. It's full of so many colors. And these curls?” She lets out a small, affectionate sigh. “I’m jealous. You don’t see hair like yours very often.”
Her fingers fall away, replaced by a motherly smile that curls like the honey she’s selling—warm and sweet in the sun.
“Is it a familial trait?”
The world around me disappears at her otherwise innocent question.
My heart skips a beat—then another. Bea’s voice fades, echoing through the hollow chamber of my chest.
Familial trait.
What if Bea knew my mom? What if she knows who my dad is? What if she knows why my mom was in West Virginia instead of here, with a family like hers?
I blink a few times, finding Bea giving me an almost knowing look that scares the hell out of me and makes me giddy all at once.
I’m still debating what to do when a new voice penetrates the long silence, distracting both of us.
“Hey, Mom. Ridge said one of the perimeter fences near the south pasture was down again this morning. Third time this month. He’s not sure if it's the weather, the cows, or something else, but he’s got a bad feeling and asked me to ride out with him.”
I glance up just as a woman about my age steps forward. She’s got the same dark Archer hair as the rest of them, a striped button-down tucked into worn jeans, boots that have clearly seen some shit, and a wide-brimmed hat that reminds me way too damn much of Kade’s.
The image of Kade Archer clutching his Stetson to his broad chest like a true Southern gentleman flickers through my mind—his deep voice all rumble and charm as he addressed the judge.
Of course, that charm never extends to me.
No, when Kade looks at me, all that polite, fake Southern-boy energy flies straight out the damn window, and for some ridiculous reason, I like it that way.
What’s that saying?
Cowboy in the streets, domineering, alpha daddy in the sheets?
No? Maybe I made it up. Actually, Abby probably said it.
I bite my lip, eyes flicking between the two women as they engage in a quiet, tense conversation. My fingers trail over the golden jars of honey in an attempt to give them privacy, but I catch the words Cooper Ridge is here , and stay away , before they drop their voices.
The honey really is beautiful, especially in the light. The label is modern, but rustic, just like their stand. I can tell every single aspect of Honey Bea farm was created with love and care. Did Kade help with any of this? The harvesting of honey or growing the dried herbs?
Bea said they have animals out on the farm. Does he know how to ride a horse, or are the cowboy boots just for show?
And with every single question, the reality that my interest in Kade Archer runs far too deep to simply be platonic. Every little detail I’ve found out about his life, whether from research, his family, or the man himself, has drawn me in a little bit deeper.
I’m attracted to him—that’s obvious, but damn, why the hell did I have to go and start caring about the moments that make up his days? Pretty sure the man can’t stand me, and I…
I don’t know what I feel.
“Hazel Ruth, meet Georgia,” Bea says, dragging me back to the present. “She’s new in town. Isn’t she just cute as a button?”
Hazel cocks a brow at her mom before slowly turning to face me. Her smile is friendly, but her body language is antsy, like she’s ready to run and hates chit-chat.
Same .
“Cute as a button, huh?” she says, eyeing me from my worn Chucks to my braids, then doubling back to my shirt. Her brows go high. “Stevie fan?” She clicks her tongue. “You must love tequila.”
A laugh slips free before I can stop it.
“I fail to see the correlation, but…” I shrug. “You’re not wrong.”
“Trust me, they’re related.” Hazel waves me off. “Stevie fans either cry to tequila or end up dancing on bars because of it. Sometimes both.”
“Hazel Ruth,” Bea chides. “Don’t scare the poor girl off.”
“She looks like she can handle it.” Hazel narrows her eyes at me. “Right, button ?”
I ignore the nickname and cock a brow. “Haven’t had a tequila cry in at least a month, so…”
“Good. Then you’re overdue.” She grins. “And lucky for you, we’ve got the perfect watering hole to remedy the issue.”
My head bobs, stomach flipping with excitement, nerves, and confusion.
I don't know what’s happening right now—it feels a little bit like all the Archers are individually recruiting me, finding my weaknesses, and exploiting them in the kindest way possible.
They’re like magnets, drawing me into their happy family circle as if I’m one of them, and that… that feeling … it’s something I’ve wanted for way too damn long.
I could easily let myself get sucked into everything that is the Archers, and for that exact reason, I can’t let myself get any closer—to any of them. Not when everyone I get close to eventually leaves, shattering my fragile heart in the process.
“I’m sure you do, but, uh,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder, “I’ve got errands and, um, life stuff. You know how it is.”
“Liar,” she murmurs, challenge in her eyes.
My mouth falls open and she scoffs.
“Georgia, there are exactly three things to do in this town for fun: ride a horse, get laid, or get drunk. Lot of us do all three at once.”
Next to her, Bea chokes on her water, but Hazel doesn’t skip a beat.
“So, unless you’re doing one of the above, you’re likely just going home to rot on your couch and wish for a tornado to pick you up and take you anywhere else.
” She levels me with a serious look. “So, are you one of us, or are you just another sad city girl waiting for your Amazon packages and praying your Wi-Fi holds?”
I blink. Once. Twice. Then burst out laughing. “Wow. That was… aggressive.”
“Motivational, actually.” Hazel shrugs, smug as hell, and points across the street to a big, barn-shaped building with string lights wrapped around the porch beams and a swinging saloon-style door painted red. A large wooden sign above reads The Twisted Saddle .
“Every Saturday night, I’m at the Saddle with my best friend and a few of the local cowgirls. You don’t have to drink. You don’t have to dance. But it’s an open invite. I’ll save you a seat and defend your city girl ways with violence if necessary.” She tips her hat. “You’re welcome.”
I stare after her long after she’s gone, Bea grinning wildly at my side, my heart in my throat, excitement thrumming through my veins.
Could I do it? Go and make some finds? Plant some roots of my own in Heart Springs?
“You know, she’s not wrong,” Bea murmurs, bumping my hip with hers. I swing my head, and she gives me a slow smirk. “Doing all three at once? One of the best nights I’ve ever had.” She waggles her brows. “That’s how the twins were made.”
A laugh bursts from me, and Bea turns to face me, grinning, but her head is cocked, eyes narrowed in that knowing way of hers.
My laugh dies, smile slipping.
“Are you usually free on weekends?” she asks, catching me off guard. “I assume you work a regular work week.”
I nod, brows furrowed. “I don’t really know many people here yet, so I’ve just been filling my time with exploring.”
“Are you crafty, Georgia?”
“Crafty, ma’am?”
She tuts at me, rolling her eyes as she idly organizes her display, like it’s all second nature at this point. “It’s Bea, dear. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”
“Sorry,” I giggle. “And, yeah, I guess. I know my way around a hot glue gun, and I’m pretty great with paint. Just don’t let me near the glitter.”
“You sound like Colby.” She laughs. “We’ve got this community event coming up at the farm.
The girls are all busy with their own stuff, and I can’t pull any of the ranch hands from their duties to help me get ready.
Besides, I’d love to spend time with you, dear.
Show you around the farm. It really is lovely. ”
“I’m sure it is.” I swallow, biting my lip. “And that’s so kind of you.”
Just like with Hazel, I’m overcome with the kindness these people are offering me. Their sincerity, and inclusion. I can’t remember a single time in my life when anyone’s ever gone out of their way to bring me into their fold—especially not strangers.
And the fact that Bea wants to spend time with me…
Maybe I could use it as a way to get to know her, and if I do that, maybe eventually I'll be brave enough to voice the questions I fear she might be able to answer.
“So, you want me to come to the farm,” I say slowly, heart racing. “To help you set up for…?”
“The Honey Bea Bash,” she fills in, nodding and smiling adorably. “It’s one of my favorite events. It kicks off the summer in Heart Springs. All the kids and families come. I’ve done it for years, but now that we don’t have as much staff, because—”
Her smile fades, and the look that replaces it is so sad I want to hug her. Bea blinks a few times, then waves a hand through the air.
“The why’s not important, but I can’t quite do as much as I used to, especially not alone.” Reaching over the table, she grabs my hand. “You’d really be doing me a favor.”
Spending time with the Archers is dangerous—not professionally, not really. I’m not in Heart Springs anymore. Technically, I’m not breaking any rules, and the gray area is exactly that.
But that’s not why this family scares me.
It’s because every single one of them has found a way to rope me in, and my heart—my aching, yearning soul, has never wanted anything more than this.
Community, friends, people who see me as I am—and accept me anyway.
“When did you need me?” I croak.
Bea grins, tugging me into a warm hug that steals my breath and heals a tiny part of me all at once.
Fuck.
First Kade, now his entire family’s roped me in.
The Archers truly are a cult.