Lawfully Unwed
Author
Allison Leigh
Reads
17,8K
Chapters
13
Chapter One
“Delicious cake, Nell.”
“It’s going to be a great year, Nell.”
“Don’t look a day older, Nell.”
With a smile that felt wooden on her face, Nell Brewster returned hugs as the well-wishers departed The Wet Bar one after another.
Fortunately, there weren’t as many people at the pub as Nell’s best friend, Rosalind, had expected. She was the one who’d insisted on the party for Nell. Her reasoning was that Friday afternoon on a holiday weekend would be perfect. Prime time for their crowd to escape their offices for a little more R&R before the long weekend. The July Fourth holiday—on the coming Monday—meant no court proceedings until Tuesday.
“It’s not every day a girl turns thirty-six,” Ros had said on a laugh not even a month ago when she’d emailed the invitations.
Thank God for that, is what Nell had thought. At the time, she’d been thinking only about becoming another year older and feeling like she was spinning the same wheels she’d been spinning for years.
Now, as far as birthdays went, she couldn’t have imagined a worse one. If she could have skipped the celebration altogether, she would have.
Ros had—a fact that had earned more than a few comments.
Instead of telling the truth behind her absence, Nell had just let everyone assume that her friend was stuck on a case. Anyone who knew Ros knew that she wasn’t the type who would have escaped for an early holiday celebration if she still had work to do. She was too devoted to her career.
And why not? Rosalind Pastore was the heir apparent at her father’s law firm. She’d just been made a partner. Working was a reasonable excuse for her absence that afternoon, and a far more preferable one than the truth.
That was going to come out soon enough.
The legal community in Cheyenne—in the entire state of Wyoming for that matter—was a tight one.
Nell suffered through a final hug from Scott Muelhaupt—the newest associate at Pastore Legal—as he wished her a happy birthday for what felt like the tenth time. He hugged her longer than necessary, but she supposed he figured he had a right to, given the fact that they’d been casually dating for several weeks now.
“Sure I can’t take you out somewhere for dinner?” He smiled hopefully. He was a nice-looking guy. Decent. He smelled clean and he even took his mother out for dinner every Sunday afternoon.
He just didn’t make any real bells ring for Nell, much less any cymbals crash.
She wondered if he’d be as interested in her once word got out that she’d quit her job at Pastore Legal. Or if he, like Ros—with whom she’d been friends forever—would decide it was time to cut all ties. If he—again like Ros—would land on the other side of the line that had been drawn in the sand between Nell and Martin Pastore.
Martin. The founder of Pastore Legal. Champion of the people.
As long as the “people” weren’t an associate named Nell Brewster.
Quit or be fired.
Those had been her choices. She’d figured that out quickly enough even though she hadn’t been so quick to see everything else.
She hated knowing how oblivious she’d been. Hated knowing that she’d been such an easy pawn. Really, really hated facing the fact that for so long she’d put her trust where it didn’t belong.
At thirty-six, she was no smarter than she’d been at twenty-six. Or sixteen, for that matter.
“I’m sure.” She slid off the seat where she’d been tensely perched as those who had stopped by for birthday cake and adult beverages said their goodbyes, and kept the tall metal-backed stool between them. Casually dating a work associate was fine and dandy. Until it wasn’t. “Thanks, though.”
Scott shrugged, ever good-natured. “Next time.”
She kept her wooden smile in place as she waved toward the slab of cake that remained on the long table. “Take some cake. There’s plenty.”
It was sized for the crowd Ros had initially expected. The crowd that hadn’t panned out.
At another time, the two of them would have laughed about it, just figuring that left more cake and wine for them. Neither of which was ever a bad thing.
But it wasn’t another time.
Still, what was a copious amount of leftover cake when the rest of Nell’s life had landed in such an unexpected mess?
No job.
No best friend.
She stifled a sigh, then nearly jumped out of her skin when a tall man brushed against her as he took the barstool next to hers and greeted the bartender by name.
She automatically shifted aside with a murmured apology, but pressed her lips together when she realized who the man was.
Well, this was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it? Proof that she really was oblivious.
One portion of her pathetic mind heard the newcomer order a drink while the rest of her bristled with fresh awareness.
It was always that way when it came to Archer Templeton.
Bristling nerves. Bristling irritation. Bristling...whatever.
The last time she’d seen him had been almost a month ago, in a small courtroom several hours away from Cheyenne.
Now, before she could even ask what he was doing here, Archer turned to her, the squat glass Cheri the bartender had given him clasped in his long, square-tipped fingers and said, “Happy birthday, Cornelia.” His lips were curved slightly as he lifted the glass in a toast.
Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help feeling a secret thrill at the notion that he was there at The Wet Bar because of her. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a vague but inevitable cymbal crash. And it annoyed the daylights out of her. “Why are you here?”
The faint lines arrowing out from his vivid green eyes deepened with obvious amusement. “Ah, Nell.” He waved his whiskey glass slightly in the direction of the table and the leftover cake. “Is it too hard to believe I’m here to wish an old friend a happy birthday?”
She steeled herself against the charm that he’d no doubt been radiating since birth. He’d certainly had it ever since they met half her lifetime ago. But it was dangerous to be sucked into that charm. She’d had too many of her own court cases decimated because of Archer’s charm, which made it so easy to forget how fiercely brilliant he was.
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve heard, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s why you’re here.”
His tawny eyebrows rose a fraction. “Heard what? That you and Muelhaupt are a thing?” he goaded, his eyes glinting. “You always did go for the mousy type. What’s he in charge of again at Pastore Legal? Keeping the flowers fresh in the conference room?”
Her jaw tightened. Scott was a very competent tax lawyer and she knew the more she defended him to Archer, the more he’d make of it. And Archer never had anything good to say about her law firm and particularly the man who’d founded it. “Go away, Archer.”
He smiled and a dimple flashed in his lean cheek. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
She dragged her eyes away from the dimple and the cheek. Not without noticing it was smooth. Freshly shaven. Which meant he had probably been in court that day. Otherwise, he would have sported the unshaven look.
She’d seen him both ways so many times over the years and it was a toss-up which was more appealing.
And now, because of him, she felt too warm in her suit jacket. And she’d rather chew glass than let it show. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we’re old friends.” Her voice was flat. “You’re just Ros’s brother.” Stepbrother, technically.
Was it her imagination or had his smoothly charming smile become a fraction less smooth? He lifted his hand and tucked an escaped curl behind her ear. “Your understanding is as faulty as your allegiance to Martin Pastore,” he drawled, with the usual anti-Pastore edge in his voice.
Then his hand dropped away and he lifted his glass again in salute.
Only the salute wasn’t for her any more than the relaxed smile that crossed his face was. The aim was off entirely. Instead, both were directed toward a smashingly attractive blonde who was crossing toward Archer, a brilliant smile on her beautiful face.
Her name was Taylor Potts. Judge Taylor Potts.
Nell hid a grimace as the judge offered her cheek for Archer to kiss when he stood to greet her. She settled her palm on his chest with the familiarity of a lover. “Sorry I’m late,” she practically purred. “Got caught up on a new ethics case. Hope I was worth the wait.”
Nell practically choked. She slid back onto the barstool she’d nearly abandoned just minutes ago and caught the bartender’s eye as she turned her back on the couple. “I’ll take that champagne now,” she said, trying with all of her might to tune out Archer and his judge.
Of course he hadn’t come to The Wet Bar because of Nell.
The bartender held up the bottle that she hadn’t wanted earlier. The bottle that had been a gift from Ros.
She nodded and waved her hand in invitation to pour a glass. “That’s the one, Cheri. Open up that puppy,” she said with false brightness.
After all. It’s not every day a girl turns thirty-six.
“You sure I can’t talk you into coming with me?” Taylor angled her lovely head as she smiled up at Archer.
It had been several hours since they’d shared a drink at The Wet Bar. After they’d left, they’d had dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Cheyenne. There was nothing fast about the service at Clever Bacie’s and Archer would have preferred a steak dinner to the Asian fusion cuisine, but it was Taylor’s favorite place and the food was good.
He’d always enjoyed her company. She was smart. Funny. Attractive. And had been as disinterested in serious ties as he’d been.
Until lately.
He was thirty-nine years old. He recognized the signs.
“Sorry,” he said, and he actually was. Because he’d miss their easy, no-ties relationship. “I’ve got to be in Braden early in the morning.” It was the truth. His hometown was several hours away.
Even when she made a face, she did it beautifully. “Well, a rain check, then.”
He smiled noncommittally and opened her car door for her. “Drive careful.”
He heard her faint sigh, though the smile on her face didn’t fade as she sank into the driver’s seat of her luxury sedan. “Will I hear from you next week?”
“If I’m in town.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cheek.
“Gage Stanton needing you again in Colorado?”
“Gage isn’t the only one I do business with in Denver,” Archer reminded her, though it was true the real estate developer had paid the lion’s share of Archer’s billable hours over the last few years. Most recently because of a hotly contested property on Rambling Mountain near Weaver, also several hours north of Cheyenne. Braden and Weaver, situated about thirty miles apart, were both small towns. But together, they managed to meet the needs of the residents in their region and if Gage’s plan to develop a resort came to pass, it would change the tourism landscape altogether for both communities. “I do have a practice in Denver.”
“And a few others spread across Wyoming,” she said wryly. “I don’t remember you being so ambitious back in our law school days.”
He chuckled. “I don’t remember you aspiring to be a judge, either.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? Legal aid is satisfying but it’s hard to pay the bills on that sort of wage.” She pushed a button and her car started, the window rolled down, her seat automatically adjusted and a soft voice began reciting her schedule for the day.
“Particularly bills that come with cars like this.” He closed her door for her and backed away.
Her smile widened and with a light wave, she drove away.
He blew out a breath and started walking down the street to where his truck was parked outside The Wet Bar. When he reached it, though, he didn’t get in.
Instead, he stood there on the sidewalk, dithering like some damn fool.
“Be smart, Arch,” he muttered aloud, not caring that he earned a startled glance from an older couple walking past. Nell hadn’t appreciated his making an appearance for her birthday earlier. If she were still inside—and that was a pretty large if—she wouldn’t feel any differently now.
He was supposed to be in Braden early in the morning. Not because of the Rambling Mountain deal—that was currently on pause, tangled in the red tape that Gage Stanton was paying him to untangle—but because his sister Greer expected all hands to be on deck for her son Finn’s first birthday party.
Archer hadn’t been home in nearly a month. He didn’t have a problem helping out even though he knew there were plenty of other able-bodied and willing helpers Greer could count on.
He pivoted on his heel and pulled out his keys to unlock the truck.
He’d known Nell in law school, too. She and Ros had been just starting out when he and Taylor had been finishing. He’d known Nell even before that, though, thanks to her friendship with Ros. She’d accompanied his stepsister to Braden one summer during one of Ros’s forced visits with her mother.
Nell, whose mother had recently died, had seemed to enjoy the time more than Ros had. His stepsister hadn’t been there because she wanted to be. She’d been there only because she had to be. Ordinarily, Ros lived with her dad, Martin, in Cheyenne and wanted nothing to do with her mother or the family that Meredith had made with Archer’s dad in Braden.
Be smart, Arch.
He pocketed the keys, turned back around and crossed the sidewalk in long strides. He doubted Nell would still be there. Once he confirmed that, he’d go back to his place, grab his bag and drive on out to Braden tonight. There was always somewhere to sleep at his folks’ place, even though it might be on the couch if they were on grandparent duty watching one of his sisters’ kids.
And if, by chance, she were still inside—
He entered the pub, which was a lot more crowded now than it had been hours earlier. A lot more raucous, too, with classic Stones on the jukebox vying to be heard over voices and laughter.
But there was no sign of Nell; he couldn’t make out her tightly knotted dark hair or boxy gray suit among the crowd. The table where the cake and gift bags had been was now covered in beer bottles and surrounded by several good ol’ boys obviously out for a good time as they shouted encouragement to a trio of ladies dancing for all they were worth in one corner.
That wasn’t disappointment he felt.
Nope.
Just relief.
Keys in hand once more, he turned to go, waiting as a gaggle of kids who barely looked old enough to drive, much less drink, shuffled inside. While he stood there, a peal of high-pitched laughter rose above the jukebox and he glanced over his shoulder toward the source just in time to see a couple of the good ol’ boys helping the dancing ladies up onto the bar top.
Last time Archer remembered anyone dancing on a bar top, he’d been in college. Smiling ruefully because he suddenly felt like he’d gotten old, he reached for the door before it swung closed after the kids entered. Another edgy laugh rose above the general din and he glanced over at the dancers again.
And stood stock-still.
The loud voices and the louder music dimmed.
The swinging door knocked into his shoulder.
“Dude, mind if we—” The kid wanting to get past him broke off, his Adam’s apple bobbing when Archer’s attention slid from the woman dancing on the bar to him. “Sorry,” he muttered and turned the other direction.
Archer didn’t pay him any mind and entered the fray, pushing his way through the people crowded inside the pub, aiming for the bar. Maybe it was the fact that he stood several inches above six feet. Maybe it was the frown he could feel on his face. Whatever it was, people moved aside and he reached the bar in a matter of seconds.
He reached up and grabbed Nell’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was swallowed by the hoots and hollers that were rising in scale by the second, thanks to the gyrations of the women on the bar. One of them had even yanked off her T-shirt and was dancing in just her bra and a short denim skirt.
Fortunately, Nell wasn’t that far gone. Yeah, the shapeless jacket of her suit was nowhere to be seen, but at least her silky sleeveless blouse was still where it belonged.
Was it any wonder he hadn’t noticed her at first?
No jacket. No shoes. Her hair let out of that godforsaken knot she always sported and springing down beyond her shoulders.
She shook off his hand with an annoyed glare. “Go away!” She twirled again and the hem of her plain skirt slapped him in the face.
“Thatagirl,” someone hooted when the second woman tore off her shirt and swung it around her head.
Archer caught Cheri’s eye. “It’s just a matter of time before the cops come,” he said loudly, leaning toward her so she could hear.
The bartender shrugged helplessly. “Won’t be the first time,” she shouted back.
Archer grimaced. He tried to catch Nell’s hand again, but she wasn’t having any of that. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes wild.
He leaned toward Cheri again. “How much has she had?”
“I didn’t think it was enough for that.” She turned away to stick another glass under the taps.
Archer followed Nell as she danced her way along the bar. “Where’s Ros?”
He knew that Nell heard him because her eyes skated over his before she spun away again.
Only this time her bare foot slipped on a wet spot and she started to fall.
His heart shot up into his throat and he barely caught her before she toppled over the edge. He grunted when her elbow caught him on the nose and he muttered an apology to the stunned woman he nearly unseated when he caught Nell.
Nell, who wasn’t showing the least bit of gratitude that he’d prevented her from tumbling head over heels right onto the floor of The Wet Bar with what seemed like half the town’s population looking on.
“Leggoame,” she slurred, pushing ineffectually at his hands.
“You’re drunk.” He set her on her feet but grabbed her arms when her knees failed to do their job and she swayed wildly.
“Amnot.” Her head lolled against his arm when he slid it behind her back. She looked up at him, but her eyes—dark as chocolate drops—were unfocused. Her dark hair was a riot of curls clinging to her cheeks and the long column of her neck. “Jushavinfun.” Her eyes rolled slightly but she jerked herself upright. “Issmybirthday,” she announced as if it were news.
“Where’s Ros?” he asked again.
Nell’s forehead wrinkled. Her lips pinched together. Those chocolate-drop eyes suddenly gleamed wetly. “Snothere.”
“I can see that.” He renewed his grip around her shoulders and looked toward Cheri again. “Jacket? Purse?”
The bartender jerked her chin. “Behind here. Just give me a sec.”
“Why isn’t she here? You two never miss celebrating each other’s birthdays.”
“Haddafight.”
Surprise jerked at him. He knew he had plenty of fights with his stepsister—they hadn’t been able to agree on the time of day from the moment his father had married her mother.
Nell was sniffing hard as if she was trying not to cry.
“About what?”
Her lips moved and he almost thought she was going to tell him. But the days of her confiding in him were long gone, and instead, annoyance suddenly crossed her face again. She pushed against him. “Lemmego. I can stand.”
It was easy to evade her puny efforts. “Sure you can. I’ll let you go as soon as I pour you into a cab to go home.”
The tears came back and she looked even more miserable. Which was saying something.
“Toldyou. Haddafight. Can’t.” She shook her head.
As far as Archer could tell, that just made her sway even more dizzily. He caught her around the waist, trying not to remember the last time he’d held her so closely. That had also been a long time ago. Too long ago to still be so vivid in his mind. She was thinner now. Not a lot, because she’d always been slender. But—
“Here’s her stuff.” Cheri interrupted his thoughts, pushing a bundle of dull gray fabric and an oversize purse into his other arm. “No idea about her shoes.”
“Thasmapurse,” Nell observed.
Cheri gave Archer a dry look. “Better get moving,” she warned, cocking her head to one side. “Think I hear the siren.”
Archer wasn’t particularly concerned about the police. But he knew Nell would regret getting caught up in the fray once she was sober. Her fall from the bar hadn’t stopped the other two women from dancing, and a dozen people had begun pounding their fists on the bar in tempo with the drums.
He decided her missing shoes weren’t worth the time it would take to find them and he hitched her up once more around the waist as he headed toward the door. It wasn’t all that easy when she seemed determined to go the other way, but he prevailed, finally pushing through the doorway and getting her out onto the sidewalk, where the police siren was close enough to be deafening. Blue-and-red lights danced over the vehicles parked at the curb.
Including his own truck.
The sound of the siren at least seemed to quell Nell’s efforts to escape and she didn’t fight him when Archer lifted her up into the truck. “If you don’t want to go back to the condo, where do you want to go?” He braced himself to hear Muelhaupt’s name, but she didn’t say anything.
She just shook her head again, looking sad and pale and pathetic.
He didn’t need Nell Brewster tugging at his heartstrings. Those days were supposed to be long gone, too.
“Fine,” he muttered, and yanked the seat belt around her, clicking it into place. There was no point in calling his stepsister on Nell’s behalf. Ros always took her sweet-ass time returning his calls. Which was one of the reasons why he generally went with the in-person route with her, despite the fact that it annoyed her no end. “Hotel it is.”
Nell didn’t react. Her eyes were closed.
When he closed the door, she leaned heavily against it, and her cheek smashed inelegantly against the window.
If he weren’t so concerned, he would have been amused. Would have considered snapping a shot of her on his cell phone just for the pleasure of tormenting her with the image some day off in the future.
But Nell had never been one to tie one on.
She’d always been too uptight for that.
He quickly rounded the truck and sketched a wave at the police officers who were now leaving their vehicle and heading quickly toward The Wet Bar.
“Hey, Arch.” The senior partner—a woman named Donna Rhodes—greeted him with a resigned look. “You coming from in there?”
“Yeah. Probably over occupancy, but nobody’s naked and nobody’s fighting.”
“Yet.” That came from the younger partner—a guy named Marcus Welby. He was so young that Archer couldn’t help but wonder if his parents were aware they’d named him after an iconic television character from decades past. “Place is dull as ditchwater on weekdays but come the weekends?”
The two officers entered the bar as a second patrol car pulled up with its lights also flashing.
Archer didn’t hang around to see what would happen next. He got in the truck and left the scene before it had a chance to actually become a scene.
When he was a couple of blocks away where the sirens weren’t as loud, he pulled over again at the side of the road and nudged Nell’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Hey. You conscious over there?”
Her answer was a resounding snore.
He sat back and exhaled. “Well, hell, Arch. Now what are you going to do?”
