Tell Me When It Hurts (20 page)

Connor turned and looked at her.

“
What
are
you talking about, Archer? Maybe the little people also have some weird world vision, too?”

“
Well, don’t you have one moment that you . . . you know,
savor,
that you replay again and again in your head, and that when you’re down, it absolutely, one hundred percent, works every time without exception to pull you up?”

Connor thought about it for a few seconds, then shook his head.

“
Nope, I don’t.”

Now it was Archer who stared.
“None?”

“
Maybe I don’t get it, but there just is no one occasion I can think of that ever did that for me. If it’s important to you, though, I’ll get one.” He leaned over and kissed Archer’s neck. “So, what’s yours?”

She tilted her head and looked up at him. “McCall, my moment is so spectacular, I’ll need a whole dinner to describe it to you. So spectacular, in fact, I may need a dinner
and
dessert. It’s saved my life on more than a few occasions, and someday, when I have enough serenity and time to do it justice, I’ll tell you.”

Connor looked into her bright, spirited eyes. He reached over, pushed her hair back, and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “Well, if that’s the case,” he said softly, “I’ve got a lot to be grateful to your moment for. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

They finished their burgers, poked around in some of the boutiques, and walked around Beacon Hill, admiring the cobblestone streets, ornate wrought-iron gates, and elegant brick townhouses. They went to
Mama Mia
on Friday night and laughed uproariously when the cool Australian fell for the pudgy but aggressive friend of the main star, and they danced along with the rest of the audience in the encore.

* * *

On Saturday night, Gavin was to have dinner with Archer at the Impudent Oyster. He had mixed feelings about it. Archer had called him a week ago to say she would be in Boston with a friend—a man. He knew from the way she talked about him—Connor, his name was—that she was in love with him. Hearing her talk about him wounded Gavin in a way he had thought he was beyond. Even hearing her say his name, as though it was special, made him wince inside. He had always felt that someday he and Archer would end up together. She understood him—his pain, his heritage, his legacy. He had never wanted to rush her. But now she was bringing someone, a man,
here.
What could he say?

If Gavin had any doubts that this was something more than a friendship, those doubts vanished when he spotted them walking in. They had the look of new lovers: flushed, buoyant, touching, thoroughly smitten. As Connor helped Archer off with her coat, he stroked her cheek gently and actually seemed to savor the slip of its weight from her shoulders. They were still in that bubble, insulated from the rest of the world. Nothing could pierce it—at least for a while.

Gavin saw more. Soon Archer would leave them. She would reenter the world, start over. He saw it as surely as he saw that his chance was gone, and it made him inconsolably sad. But because he had loved her for more years than he cared to think about, he was happy for her. She had a chance at a redo. He had hoped it would be with him, but at least she was doing it with
someone.
Way to go, Archer,
he said to himself.
Way to go, baby.

* * *

As Archer and Connor approached the table, Gavin stood up and leaned forward to shake hands with Connor. “Well, hello. Gavin Kennelly.”

“
Connor McCall. Nice to meet you. Archer has told me so much about you—all of it good, of course!”

They shook hands, one watching his clear picture of the future now blurring and fading away, the other seeing a vague image of the future taking shape and sharpening. Archer looked at the two men—so different, each distinguished and determined in his own way, both in love with her. She felt not so much flattered as honored. They were two good men, true and honest, gentlemen in the best sense of the word.

The two men got along well, both self-effacing, each setting the stage for the other to shine, and, in the act, both shining. Archer felt something she had not felt in a long time: a sense of satisfaction at seeing two people who were dear to her joust, laugh, exchange stories, and tease her about her great taste in friends. The evening was a joy, a grand part of a weekend that came as close to perfection as this life allowed. Archer felt shamelessly greedy for more—more laughter, more love.

CHAPTER 21

When Connor and Archer returned from Boston, Connor moved most of what he had to Archer’s cabin—starting with Millie. Archer glowed when she saw him emerge from the woods, leading the black mare by her halter. Flinging open the back door, she ran to greet them, laughing, carrot in hand for Millie. Connor had left his tent up, but his base of operations had changed.

Meanwhile, Felix’s awkward but persistent entreaties to Connor to return to Three Chimneys had become more pointed since their return from Boston, though Connor responded by delegating more and more responsibility to his foreman. It was clear to all that he would not be getting back to the ranch before Christmas.

Calling to check in, Connor said, “Hey, Felix, you can arrange for the vetting in March, okay? And get Joe Ross in to fix the waterers. How are the lambs out in Jacob’s Field doing?”

“
They’re doing okay, Mac. But I already called Joe and he wants to hear from you. And I’m not sure we fertilized the west hundred enough—may have to do more this spring. You’ll need to check it out, Mac.”

“
Fine. We could do without that pasture this season if we had to. Let it rest, then hit it in the fall.”

Pause. “Mac?”

“
Yeah, Felix?”

Pause. “Nothing.”

“
Okay, Felix. I’ll ring you in a few days.”

For Archer and Connor, virtually no changes were necessary; they were compatible by natural inclination. Both were flushed with the incredulity that in the middle of nowhere, completely unexpectedly, they had somehow found each other. Archer seemed happy, but she seemed to give little thought to the future. Connor was happy, too, but he worried enough for both of them. He had to get back to Three Chimneys, and he was unsure if Archer would come. The matter needed more thought, but, like Scarlett O’Hara, he would think about it tomorrow.

And yet he couldn’t turn it off. He wanted—no, he craved—connection. He wanted someone to mourn his absence, to rejoice in his return. He wanted Lauren to know he cared for her more than his monthly check suggested.

* * *

Christmas was just two weeks away. For the first time in six years, Archer felt like celebrating, maybe putting up stockings on the hearth—and shopping. Driving to the Farmington Mall, she remembered the fun of finding just the right present, the anticipation, the look of surprise, then glee. She pulled into one the few remaining parking spaces, slipped her shoulder bag strap over her head, and entered Lord & Taylor. The whiff of clove and evergreen hit her, and she smiled.

At the top of the escalator, she found a directory and traced a route to Abercrombie’s, the place Sharon had suggested for Julie’s gift. The interior was dim but lively, with crowds of preteens hovering over tables filled with shirts and jeans. Loud rock music she didn’t recognize blared from unseen speakers as she browsed through racks jammed with sweaters, shirts, and pants, darting occasional glances at what the other girls were buying.

The clothes were tiny. Some had tears in them. Was this what girls were wearing these days? Torn, grubby-looking jeans? Tops that looked as though they wouldn’t fit a toddler? Archer looked at the mannequins, and sure enough, wrinkled shirttails were hanging out over small dirty-looking denim skirts, all topped by a tiny sweater that covered precious little.
Hm-m.
She nodded to herself.
So that really is the look .
. .

Archer selected a pretty blue sweater with “STAR” in sparkles on the front, and a black denim skirt that several girls around her had also selected.

From there, she went down an arm of the mall to Williams-Sonoma, for a copper soup pot for Sharon, and on to Brooks Brothers for a sweater for Ted.

Finally, she found Sam Goody’s on the directory and hurried there to get the CDs Sharon had suggested for David. She quickly found the three on Sharon’s list, then sauntered up to the checkout counter, pleased with her purchases.

As she stood waiting for assistance, the speakers started punching out the old Temptations song “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.” Archer looked at the cashier. She had piercings in each eyebrow, and hair that bordered on neon blue. The girl was singing along and doing a dance step behind the counter. It made Archer laugh to herself. Annie, too, had loved Motown—no surprise, since Archer and Adam had played it endlessly when she was young. It was from before their time, but it didn’t matter—they were addicted. “Berry Gordy is, and always will be, the king in this house,” Adam would declare as he cranked up the record player to throbbing levels and pulled her to her feet for a dance around the kitchen.

Annie and her best friend, Sophie, would giggle, then lip-synch the parts, making Archer and Adam weak with laughter. The girls would strut, bend, arch, and howl the high falsetto notes, sometimes enlisting Archer to be the third in a Supremes number. Archer would groan but still got up holding a cucumber or Coke bottle as a makeshift microphone, swooning like Diana Ross or Mary Wilson, and Adam was sometimes persuaded to be their fourth in the Four Tops numbers. The girls had their favorite, the Isley Brothers’ “This Old Heart of Mine,” down pat.

Archer smiled at the memory. The song ended, and she pushed her credit card toward the girl at the counter.

“
Great song,” the girl chirped with a shake of blue dreadlocks.

“
Yes, it is. Somewhat before your time, though, wasn’t it?” asked Archer, signing the credit slip.

“
Yeah, but the really great ones are timeless, you know. That one was a
really
great one. Classic, you know,” she advised with a nod.

“
True enough,” Archer said, smiling and collecting her bag. “Thanks.” And she headed back out into the mall.

What to get for Connor? She paused. He hardly ever bought anything for himself and was always in blue jeans. He wore no jewelry. A book? A new winter jacket? She had to get him something unforgettable, something that would make him swoon.

CHAPTER 22

It started to snow lightly on Christmas Eve morning. Archer got up first, started the coffee, and opened the back door to let Hadley and Alice out for their morning run. She peered out the kitchen window, then began to assemble the ingredients to make three kinds of Christmas cookies.

“
Hey, Sleeping Beauty, I need butter if we’re going to have more than four cookies. And judging by the snow, you might want to get out now while you still can,” Archer called over her shoulder toward the bedroom.

Connor emerged pulling a faded green sweatshirt over his head, rubbing his eyes. Coming up behind Archer, who was leaning over the sink, he put his arms around her and nuzzled her shoulder. She turned to him, laughing, and threw her arms around his neck. In her bare feet, she was tiny next to him.

“
Hmmm, maybe we don’t need butter all that badly,” she purred, feeling light-headed in his warm embrace.

“
Ha, too late! I’m holding you to that offer later, though—hey, look at old Millie out there, rolling in the snow!” He chuckled, pointing outside.

The mare had all four legs in the air, rolling to one side, then the other, not quite managing to get all the way over. After several rolls, she righted herself, shook off, and ran to the front of the house, bucking and crow-hopping.

“
We should just put some lights on Millie, and she’ll be our holiday decoration,” Connor said. “I’ll just give her some hay, hop in the shower, and get that butter.”

“
That didn’t even make sense, McCall!” Archer laughed, opening the back door to let the dogs back in.

“
Well, look at you, Haddie,” she said to the snow-covered Lab who waddled in. Alice followed right behind, looking like a giant, frosted Rastafarian Scottie.

* * *

Connor got back from the store two hours later with butter and some big bayberry candles.

“
Have to put one of these in an east window tonight, for good fortune in the New Year,” he said.

“
I never heard that one, but I’ll try anything once. That reminds me, did you ever see that bumper sticker—you know, the one that says, ‘I’ll try anything once except anal sex and square dancing’?”

“
No, Archer,” he laughed, “it seems I’ve led a sheltered life—but the sentiment is well expressed.”

“
How were the roads?” Archer asked.

“
Not bad,” he said, “if you’re used to Wyoming weather. A couple of spinouts on the side roads, but no real trouble.”

Archer began the cookies, and by lunchtime she had made pinwheels, linzer tortes, and her specialty, Hungarian nut rolls. The recipe for the nut rolls was a closely kept family secret from her grandmother, the two secret ingredients being a little grated orange peel mixed into the walnuts, and sour cream whipped into the crust mixture. Sharon had the only other copy.