A Cowboy to Call Daddy (The Boones of Texas 4)

“You’re probably right. You could come with me? Help with diaper duty and bath time?”

Archer’s eyebrow arched sharply.

“Oh, come on Archer, if you could pretend your nephews were horses, you might actually like them—”

“I like them,” Archer interrupted.

“I know.” Renata pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You love us all, even if we drive you crazy.” She waved at Eden. “Nice to meet you, Eden.”

“You, too,” she answered.

Archer stayed where he was, his gaze sweeping the room. “Progress?”

“I think so.” She patted the four stacks she’d made, color-tabbed and neatly clipped, with accounting tapes affixed to the front.

“It’s almost eight.” He glanced at her.

“It is?” She looked around. No clock. “I had no idea.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“The Lodge.” She met his gaze. “Since there is no time to waste, it made sense to stay close.”

“I can drive you.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement. Considering she had no way to get there, there was no point in arguing with him. Even if something deep inside her chest protested.

“Thank you,” she said, collecting her things—sliding his file between two packets—and tucking it all back into her briefcase.

He nodded, his expression rigid, and studied her. And while his gaze made her feel wobbly and unsteady, she had no idea how to read Dr. Archer Boone.

* * *

ARCHER HELD THE door open for her. She was limping as she stepped out onto the front porch. “You hurt?”

“Didn’t have the best hiking shoes.” S

he stopped at the edge of the porch, gripped the porch rail and took a deep breath. “It’s cool. I hadn’t expected that.”

Her hair was slipping from the clip on the back of her head; one long strand blew in the breeze. He cleared his throat, that peculiar tightening pressing in on him again. “Where is home for you?” He knew nothing about this woman except he was paying her very well for her time and expertise. And that he seemed to be allergic to her—perhaps it was her perfume? Whatever it was, his throat seemed to tighten whenever he was close to her.

“Houston,” she said. “Crisp evenings are a rarity.”

“Clear night,” he said, looking up. With the sun almost gone, the navy and black bled into the pale horizon. Overhead, the sky was already sparkling. Among the chirp of the crickets, the who-who of an owl rang out. “Hear that?” he asked.

She looked at him, eyebrow cocked in question.

“An owl.” He nodded into the dark but watched her.

She closed her eyes, perfectly still. She was listening, a line forming between her brows and her lips parting.

Eden Caraway was...odd. In his experience, women talked. Too much. But Eden didn’t volunteer information or reveal what she was thinking. She was reserved in a way that unnerved him. Her features were controlled, her voice neutral, yet she didn’t shy away from eye contact. But now, the slight flicker, some hint of an unchecked response, piqued his interest.

Her smile was disconcerting. It grew, erasing the furrow from her brow and bringing her to life. When her eyes opened, met his, his throat grew tight and his lungs empty.

“I hear it.” She stared out into the dark, leaning forward on the rail. When she looked up, she gasped. “So many stars.” Her whisper was so faint he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. She brushed past him, descending the stairs to stand and stare up at the night sky overhead.

He frowned, forcing his attention elsewhere. It was late and he was tired. His curiosity was solely because she was new—nothing more. The fact that she was here to help ensure his success most likely played a part in it, as well. He didn’t like relying on others. His motto, If You Want Something Done Right, Do It Yourself, served him well in life. But he had to put some trust in this unusual woman. Perhaps the fact that she was so attractive was the problem.

He cleared his throat.