Chapter 3
Juliet
I don’t want to make Archer feel worse than he already does for not knowing me, but his reactions satiate my earlier insecurities.
“We have met?” He reveals straight, white teeth as he winces.
Who knew an embarrassed cringe could look so good?
“A few times, actually,” I say.
We’re still standing at the back of his truck, the road empty apart from us.
Miss Sunfire has officially stopped smoking now.
I’ll be paying for a tow truck to pick her up and deposit her for good in the junkyard, but I don’t care.
Thanks to that beautiful little lemon, I now get to live out my teenage fantasy of having Archer Kade talk to me—heck, notice me—for the first time in my life.
“I’m never going to live this down,” he says, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
I grin. His Texas twang is exactly how I remember it.
I was obviously disappointed when he didn’t recognize me, but I pulled out of that quick enough. Why would he know me? Not only is there more than a five-year age gap between us, but I’ve been away for basically three years.
“What’s your last name?” he asks. “That’ll help me place you.”
I hesitate. That’s one thing I won’t be telling him.
Dad’s overprotectiveness of me is well-known throughout Autumn Ridge. In high school, dances and dates were a drag because none of the boys would ever be themselves around me. They were all too afraid of being on the receiving end of Sheriff Monroe’s disappointment.
Luke Walker was the exception, but that was because the Walkers could do no wrong in Dad’s eyes. But I never seriously dated Luke or his older brothers—they were too much like family.
It was only when I moved away to college that guys were finally themselves around me.
Of course, in regard to Blake, that had turned out for the worst. If Dad knew what kind of guy my ex was, well, let’s just say Blake would be nursing more than the bloodied nose I gave him when things ended between us.
As soon as Archer finds out I’m the daughter of the sheriff-turned-mayor, I’ll be saying goodbye to the cowboy for good. No guy wants the pressure of being under Dad’s scrutiny.
“What if we play twenty questions on the way to town?” I ask, not ready to end this fantasy. “That way, you can guess who I am.”
Something between intrigue and pleasure crosses his features. “You got it.”
Pleasure tugs at my belly as his eyes linger on me. After years of being unnoticed, who would have ever thought that I—little, cowboy-obsessed Juliet Monroe—would finally earn his interest?
Not that I’ll keep it for good or anything. It just feels nice to be seen by the guy I pined after from afar for all of junior and senior year.
He opens the passenger side of the truck for me, and I clamber my way in before he can offer his help. He closes the door softly as soon as I’m tucked safely inside. I buckle, chewing my bottom lip as I attempt to stop my undying smile and wildly flapping heart.
He opens his door, and I lean back in the seat with what I hope is the most relaxed vibe in the world.
I struggle not to watch his movements as he buckles, then shifts the truck into drive, checking his blind spot, and pulling onto the empty highway.
He places his ringless left hand on the top of the wheel and leans his right elbow on the armrest between us.
My head starts to spin, and I realize I’m not breathing.
Is this real life? Am I really sitting in a truck next to Archer Kade?
The same Archer I used to spot in town and stand taller just to see if he’d find me across Main Street?
The same Archer I would laugh loudly around, hoping he’d hear me in the white church, turn around, and fall in love with me at first sight?
I draw a few breaths, settling my spinning head. Teenage Juliet was a bit of a hopeless romantic. Adult Juliet is far more mature.
“So where exactly am I headed?” Archer asks.
“Main Street. That counts as your first question, by the way.”
He casts me an amused glance. “Is that how this is gonna be?”
“That’s question two.”
“Hold up, what?”
“Question three.”
He pauses. “I’m gonna have to watch my step around you.”
I give him a mischievous smile, and he chuckles.
I’m flirting with Archer, and I’m totally chill about it. I’m just going to ignore my pitching stomach.
“I suppose you ought to take a question before I lose all mine,” he says.
I think for a minute. “Are you married?”
He lifts his left hand. “I already saw you ring-check.”
My cheeks threaten to overheat, but I don’t try to stop them. Dad told me when I was a little girl I had a flattering blush.
“Only your cheeks grow rosy,” he’d say. “You got that from your mama. Unlike your daddy. My whole face goes beet red.”
“I’m not known for my subtlety,” I reply. “Did you ring check me?”
His easygoing, half-grin shoots straight to my heart. “Can’t say I didn’t.”
We round the bend in the road, light flickering through the thick leaves above and speckling his thin, blue-plaid, button-up shirt.
“Are you still running Horseshoe Holler?” I ask for my third question.
“I am. And there you go again, proving just how well you know me.”
I blush a little harder this time. “Your turn.”
“How long you been away from town?”
“Three years since I’ve lived here, though I’ve come back for visits during Christmas and random weekends.”
“Have I seen you on any of those visits?”
I shrug. “I’ve seen you.”
“How could I not have noticed you?” he mumbles.
He scrubs a hand along his jawline covered with short hair. He was always clean shaven before, but I can’t find one thing to complain about with this new, lumberjack version of the cowboy.
“When did you stop shaving?” I ask.
He smooths his scruff again. “The last six months or so.” He glances at me. “Do you prefer me with or without it?”
His whiskers are a shade darker than his brown hair, giving him an unkempt, easygoing vibe—like the Archer I’ve always thought him to be.
Truth be told, I don’t know much about him as a person, other than he’s a heartthrob, has horses, and runs the local stables near his aunt’s property, Carver Maple Farm.
Right now, that’s enough for me.
“Definitely with the scruff,” I reply.
He sits a little taller in the truck seat.
“Have you added any more horses to your stables in the last few years?” I ask next.
“A few ponies and surefooted geldings for trail rides.”
“Have you ridden any bucking broncs or bulls lately?”
Oh, he was also a pro-rodeo star. But that’s all I know, I swear.
“All right, you’re killing me,” he says with a shake of his head. “How do you know all this?”
I laugh. “I told you, everyone knows everything about you in Autumn Ridge.”
He narrows his eyes. “I guess.”
I stare straight ahead at the black, curved road. I don’t know if what I said is true. Everyone might know all these things about him. I just don’t want him to think I was his teenage stalker—even if I was.
Was, being the keyword. My dormant crush might be having a bit of a revival, but I’m much older now and much more experienced in the ways of romance and boyfriends and attractive men.
Even if Archer is still the hottest guy I’ve ever known.
We’re closer to town now. The small white houses tucked away in the green fields become more prevalent between the groves of trees. I’m not as anxious to get home as I was before.
“All right,” I say. “I can tell you’re bursting. Go on.”
“Have you ridden at Horseshoe Holler?” Archer asks.
“A time or two.”
“And we’ve talked before?”
“Yup.”
He ran his fingers through his hair with another shake of his head. “I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten you.”
He gives me an apologetic look, but I wave my hand in a passive gesture. “It’s fine. Remember, I’m forgettable.”
“That’s not the word I’d use to describe the last fifteen minutes with you.”
My body threatens to float to the roof of his truck like Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins.
I ask two more questions—how his stables are faring and how his Aunt May is doing—which produce another flabbergasted shake of his head until it’s his turn again. “Where have you been the last few years?”
“College.”
“What college?”
“Questrom School of Business at Boston University.”
“Ah, very prestigious.”
“Only the best for the—” I pause, about to say mayor’s daughter. “For me.”
He watches me carefully. “What are you majoring in?”
“Business Administration.”
“And you’re set to graduate...”
I hesitate. I started my first semester three years ago...until I lost more steam than Old Faithful. In the last year, I dropped out of college, dated and broke up with a deadbeat, and was fired from Shoes-For-Less for my “lack of enthusiasm.”
Whatever that means.
But Dad doesn’t know about any of that yet. That’s why I came home—to surprise him for his fiftieth, butter him up with my presence, and gently let him know I’m not taking just a break from school by hanging out in Autumn Ridge for the fall festivities we’re known for.
I’m coming back to stay.
He should probably know about all of that before some cowboy.
“The plan has always been to graduate next year,” I respond diplomatically.
We pass by a road that leads to a hillside covered in green maple trees.
Archer points to the turnoff. “That road—”
“Leads to Horseshoe Holler,” I finish. “And Carver Maple Farm.” I give him a knowing look. “Do you believe I know you yet?”
He pulls his lips into a thin line. “I was actually going to say something else, Miss Smarty-Pants. That counts as number nine.”
“Go on, then. What were you going to say?”
“Ten,” he teases with a wink, and I think I’m dying. “I was gonna tell you that the road leads to my place, not Horseshoe Holler. But sure, go on knowing everything.”
I laugh again.
It’s my turn for more questions, but as we draw closer to Main Street, the town hall at the end of it, my stomach flips with excess nerves.