Page 46

I remain silent. For years, Archer hurt me. Every time I walked by unnoticed, every time I saw him on a date, every time his eyes scanned the crowds at the Fall Festival and didn’t land on me, it hurt—even if he never meant to.

I’m not going to let it happen again, though. I refuse to be hung up on this cowboy for the next five years of my life.

I shift on the ground, wincing as my body starts to recognize the fall it suffered. “I think you’re right about the cut and sprain. Will you take me to the hospital?”

He looks as if he wants to linger, probably to see if I have any response to his words, but I don’t see the point. If he says I have nothing to prove, then I believe him. I won’t try to prove that I’m worth whatever war he needs to fight Dad to get to me because obviously, to Archer, I’m not worth it.

He helps me stand, then supports me as I hobble to his truck. I have a feeling he wants to carry me in his arms, but I’m glad he refrains. His earthy cologne and the smell of leather on his clothes is strong and appealing enough without being any closer.

When I’m settled on the seat, he makes a phone call as he returns to the stables, and I hear him asking whoever he’s talking with to groom and untack the horses we’ve just ridden.

It’s probably Sadie. I don’t feel jealousy anymore at the thought of her. She’s nice and obviously fits Archer better. I’ll be happy for them when they eventually end up together.

Archer returns a few minutes later with my sandals I’d forgotten about and a first-aid kit. He cleans out my cut, and I struggle not to flinch at the sharp pain sending stabbing prickles up and down my arm.

An awkward silence hovers between us, like the black specter decorations Dad insists on hanging from our front trees every year.

But just because Archer has chosen not to see me anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be civil with each other.

“You’ve done this before,” I state, motioning to my arm as he places a sterile bandage over it to prep for the upcoming ride to Burlington.

“I got used to it on the circuit. Sometimes ambulances weren’t at the ready in remote areas.”

“The circuit?”

“When I was rodeoing.”

Now the phrase sounds familiar. When I was an obsessed teen, I found YouTube videos and news articles of Archer when he was “on the circuit.” I’d watch and read them on repeat, marveling at his ability to ride so fearlessly, then I’d moon at him during the interviews afterwards.

He finishes looking after my arm, and while I’m grateful for his care, I’m ready to have a different nurse now—preferably one who’s old and smells of dryer sheets and antiseptic soap.

I replace the boots with my sandals as we drive in silence, country playing on the radio and filling the void between us. Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief as we arrive at the hospital thirty minutes later. Archer helps me into the waiting room and stays with me as I fill out the forms. He’s kind enough to hand the papers in for me so I don’t have to stand again, which is good because there’s now a heartbeat the size of Otter Creek in my ankle.

At least the blood is no longer sliding down my arm.

“How are you feeling?” The blue leather of the waiting chair creaks as Archer takes his seat next to me.

“Fine,” I reply honestly.

He stares straight ahead, his arms on the armrests and fingers holding his hat. He doesn’t have hat hair which isn’t fair. Especially considering the mop on my own head, which I’d seen in the reflection of Archer’s truck window. Sweaty and flat and unflattering. Archer’s is full of life, one strand flopping over his brow, the rest of it thick and voluptuous. There’s a slight, lower ring around part of his head that I can’t see unless I look closely, but it only adds an appealing level of unkemptness to his appearance.

I try to fluff up the top of my hair, but I can already tell it doesn’t do much.

“You don’t have to wait anymore with me,” I say. I’d prefer to be left alone to wallow in my unattractive state.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“I’ll just call my dad.”

He hesitates. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Sure.”

A man nearby stands as his name is called by a nurse in the interior doors. He walks past us before Archer continues. “I got to share some of my feelings before, about whether or not we should see each other again. But you didn’t get the chance to.”

Some of his feelings? What more does he have?

His voice softly rumbles as he continues. “Do you wanna see me again?”