Page 45 of A Texas Hero

Once they were back at her house, Archer listened as Zoey quizzed him on how the injury happened, when it happened, what kind of care he’d received, and for how long. She was acting like a modern Florence Nightingale, trying to ease his suffering. The tables had turned. She wanted to take care of him, and this time it went beyond the desire to make him feel at home by cooking for him. It was pity, pure and simple.

That wasn’t going to work. He had a job to do here, which involved protecting her, and he would do it. His feelings and his disability had nothing to do with this. If nothing else, Archer was skilled at compartmentalizing.

“What kind of treatment did you have?” Zoey asked.

“The best there is.”

They were in the kitchen and he was seated on one of the stools, trying to get comfortable with all the rapid-fire questions. Part of him wanted to shut her down, to tell her it wasn’t any of her business, but he didn’t have the heart to do that to Zoey.

“I know quite a lot about extreme injuries and physical therapy. My mom and I went through this with my father for years.”

But he’d bet her father never lost a limb. Kind of difficult to play any kind of football after that. Archer was once more reminded that he would probably never kick a “soccer” ball again, not even with his own children. It was one more of those pictures of his future he’d had to reframe. The physical therapist told him that of course he would be able to. Archer didn’t quite buy it. He’d been an All-Star in high school; it was a high bar to meet. In some ways, he didn’t want to do something if he couldn’t do it as well as he used to.

They had to change the subject to something else.

“We need to discuss the party.”

She wouldn’t like this but it had to be done. He needed to ax this party—it was far too much of a risk. Ian had made the executive decision.

“What’s there left to talk about?”

“Zoey,” he said, lowering his head to study his hands. “It’s not happening.”

She’d been on the other side of the kitchen counter, cutting into some kind of pie, and she stopped and stared up at him.

“Yes, it is.”

“It can’t happen. You’re going to have to cancel it.”

She turned her body toward him, dark eyes flaring, hands on hips. “I won’t do it! There’s no reason to cancel, because Scott is a nonissue and you and I both know it.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“I am? About what? The party?”

“No, about Scott. He’s not the issue.”

Chapter Seventeen

Archer understood the need to protect Zoey and keep her in the dark about the reason he’d been hired. But he respected her enough to tell her the truth. She could handle it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t his place to tell her about her father’s business.

He came around the counter and stepped close, reaching for her elbows.

“Can you trust me and just know my employers know more than you do about this?”

“Are you serious? You’re not going to tell me?”

“It’s not my place, or I would.”

“I see,” she said. “So, this is my father again, interfering in my life. He can’t let me live it the way I see fit. I’m sure he’d rather I still lived with him. Maybe that’s the solution.”

“That’s not what this is,” Archer said. “Your father’s fears are valid.”

“But you can’t tell me why?”

Archer scrubbed a hand down his face. They’d certainly not made his position here any easier. The job didn’t include a lot of action, but it had become emotionally exhausting. Guilt pulsed through him, because he didn’t like hiding the truth from Zoey. His feelings of physical attraction had developed into something far deeper.

“Maybe you can tell me why first,” he said. “What is it about this party that’s so special to you? Why can’t it be canceled? It’s just a party, right?”