His father’s brows went higher. “Why’d you let her go?”
“I didn’t let her go. I told her to go.” He ran a hand over his face.
“She had a lot to sort out, Dad,” Renata interrupted. “Who knows, she might be back. She’s looking for a job now. I know that much.”
“She is, is she?” his father asked.
Archer stared at his sister. “What are you not telling me?”
Renata shook her head. “You wouldn’t listen to her, but you’re willing to listen to me?”
Archer blew out a deep breath, staring at the hardwood planks beneath his feet. “She lied—”
“She lied, but she regretted it. Did you give her a chance to explain?” his father yelled.
Archer remembered her words all too well. She regretted more than lying. “She wasn’t here to help the refuge.”
“Not in the beginning,” his father agreed. “In the beginning, she came here to win her daddy’s love. In the end, she wanted yours.”
Archer stared at his father. “Doesn’t matter now.” He didn’t want to think about Eden right now. His father was home; his family was coming together. That would keep him preoccupied—for now.
“You remember Dylan Quaid, Dad?” Renata asked.
Archer did. The man had been his personal hero, teaching Archer all about horses. He’d had a gift few men had—the ability to calm a horse, to understand them, befriend them. For five years he’d followed the man around, watching, asking questions, taking notes. When Quaid disappeared in the middle of the night, Archer had missed the man’s quiet ways. “What about him?”
“He’s Eden’s father,” Renata said, her blue gaze fixed on him.
“What?” he asked, stunned.
“Her mom’s letters?” his father asked.
Renata nodded. “Funny thing is, I think she was relieved.”
Archer paced the great room, then stopped. “She okay?”
Renata smiled.
“Is she?” he repeated, trying to imagine how she was feeling. Alone. No, damn it, she wasn’t alone. He ran a hand over his face, pacing the floor. She had him—if she wanted him. He didn’t know what she wanted or how she felt; he’d cut her off before she’d had a chance to clear that up. About damn time he found out.
“She’s strong,” Renata said. “Hard to tell.”
Because she knew how to keep it together. She’d had years of practice. The time had come for her to let someone else take care of her. To let someone who loved her help shoulder her burdens and lighten her load. Archer glanced at the suite door, then back at his father. “Dad, I gotta go.”
Teddy nodded. “Bring her home, Archer.”
Archer nodded, all but running from the Lodge to his truck. He spent forty minutes trying to get a flight to Houston. But no matter how they tried, the layovers would mean he’d arrive sometime late tomorrow. And he didn’t want to wait.
It took three hours to get to Houston, putting him there around ten. Late, but hopefully not too late.
He spent the time flipping radio stations, anything to keep his nerves at bay. He’d been stupid to get too stuck in his head. She’d asked him to listen, but he wouldn’t. If he had, what would she have said?
And her father? Had she been alone when she’d learned the truth?
He punched the steering wheel.
“Stubborn son of a bitch,” he ground out.
By the time the Houston skyline and latticework of highways sprang up, Archer’s patience was slipping. Every car and truck, motorcycle and minivan, seemed intent on slowing him down. He cussed, his boot hovering over the brake as he wove among traffic.