“Things weren’t being accurately reported. Money was being...misused.”
“So you came out here to prove it? You came to help him?” His heart seemed to stop.
“Arc
her, I know it sounds bad—”
“Lying about who you were helped with that,” he cut her off. “I’d have been less obliging to hand over my finances to you in the state they were in. Not to hide anything.”
“I know.” She stepped forward. “The refuge—”
“Why keep lying then, Eden?” Her name stuck in his throat. “Looking for other ways to gain your dad’s favor? Humiliating me, maybe? Making me think...” He broke off. No way he was going to admit what he’d planned tonight. He was a damn fool, so caught up in soft skin and big, guileless eyes that he never thought what he was feeling wasn’t real. Wasn’t true. “Did you find anything?” His voice rose slightly, anger kicking in. “Is your daddy going to be proud?”
“You know I didn’t,” she said softly. “Archer, if I could go back, I would. I hate myself for lying. I should never have let things get so far. Never. This is all wrong.”
He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure what was worse: that she’d lied or that she would go back and change things. Her words gutted him, cutting his heart loose and leaving him to bleed out.
“You need to leave...” He stared at the ceiling, searching for something to ease the roar in his ears. He hurt, a ripping, crushing pain that he hated. “I don’t need your money, Eden Monroe.” He glanced at her. “I don’t want it. All I want is for you to go.” He crossed the room, grabbed his keys and offered them to her. “Go.”
“Archer, please listen to me.” Her voice wavered.
“No point now. Hard to take much stock in a liar’s word.” He opened the door, ushering her out. “Tonight was goodbye, anyway.”
She stood still, staring at him. “I don’t... I’m not a liar.”
“Really?” He shook his head, his temper threatening his control. “Eden. Go.” The words were razor sharp, slicing through him, jolting her into movement. “I’m asking nicely. Just go.”
She walked to the door, taking the keys from him. Her fingers brushed his, stirring all the things he needed to forget. He jerked away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Leave the keys at the front desk,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Tell the girls...” He broke off, hating the burn in his eyes and the fresh pain that sliced through him. It wasn’t just Eden he’d loved. And lost. “I’m sure you’ll think of something to tell them.”
She hesitated on the porch, but he shut the door. Once the truck started, the sound of crunching gravel faded, he rested his forehead against the thick wood surface. It didn’t matter that he ached to go after her, to hold her, to love her. What he wanted was a lie. She was a lie. What had he expected? A person didn’t fall in love over a matter of days.
Love was an illusion. He’d just let himself forget that fact for a while.
Chapter Sixteen
Eden sat in the truck cab until she was cried out. Her head throbbed and her heart felt like it had been kicked around, but that would fade in time. No one had ever died from a broken heart. Besides, Eden had two amazing reasons to keep going. Right now, she hoped they were both having sweet dreams so she could finish off a bottle of wine and sleep until sunrise. And tomorrow, she and the girls would fly back to Houston so Eden could go over her findings with the board.
Whether or not Archer still wanted her support, he—the refuge—had it.
She slid from the truck and climbed the stairs, going around to the back of the Lodge.
Clark sat in one of the large wooden chairs, reading papers.
“The girls asleep?” she asked.
Clark jumped, dropping the paper and standing. “You scared me.”
“I got that,” she said, stooping to collect the paper he’d dropped. But the paper wasn’t what she expected. “Why are you reading my mother’s letters, Clark?”
“You okay, Eden?” He frowned. “You look a little shaken up.”
She glanced at the letter in her hands, the words blurring as the evening’s events flashed through her mind. Considering how much she’d cried, her eyes were probably bloodshot and her makeup was a wreck. She blinked, wiping fresh tears from her eyes and staring at the letter she held. Her mother’s handwriting.
How many notes had she tucked into Eden’s lunch box? Or phone messages had she taken, clipping them to the front of the refrigerator door. She used large, feminine loops and flowing lines... Eden skimmed over the letter. One she hadn’t read...
She stopped, blinking again.