No closer to an answer, she drove back to the condo. She couldn’t even think of it as “home” anymore. Not with more than half of the furnishings gone after Ros had taken them. Not with Ros herself gone.
Despite everything, Nell couldn’t help feeling the sharp, painful edge of her absence.
They’d been friends since elementary school. When Nell’s mother had died when she’d been fourteen, Ros had cried with her. When Nell’s father had run out on her just two years later, Ros had talked Martin into letting her live with them.
Nell’s stomach churned. Stress had been taking its toll. Adding coffee on top of it had probably not been the wisest decision in the world.
Vowing to drink more water and less coffee, she went inside. She left the front door open as well as the windows in the kitchen in the back to encourage a cross breeze through the unit. The month of August was never very pleasant, but was even less so without central air-conditioning.
She made herself a tall glass of ice water, then went upstairs to the study.
It was nearly empty now, save the built-in desk where Nell’s laptop sat looking forlorn, and one last shelf with a smattering of books. They were all first-edition children’s books penned by her mother.
Julia Brewster had owned a bookstore. It had been small. Not hugely successful. And the first books she’d placed on her shelves had been the twelve books she’d written about a curious penguin named Monty. In fact, the first title had been just that. Monty the Curious Penguin.
Nell could still remember the vaguely dusty smell of the books as well as her horror when her father had sold the store and most of its contents lock, stock and barrel only months after her mother died.
Nell had spent years tracking down the Monty books. She had recovered them all except one. The tenth. Monty Meets Mary. In the eleventh book, Monty and Mary get married. And in the last book of the series, they have twin baby penguins.
Nell trailed her fingers along the colorful dust jackets, pausing between volumes nine and eleven. The books had been mildly successful for the two years when they’d been published thirty years ago. But there had been only the one printing and the publisher had gone out of business when Nell was still a teenager.
She’d finally had to give up on ever finding a copy of Monty Meets Mary.
Shaking off her melancholy, she placed the books in an empty box that she’d picked up at the grocery store. It smelled vaguely of the apples that it had originally contained, but that was better than bananas. And Nell had no room to be picky. With the books packed, she tucked in a few winter sweaters that she didn’t figure she’d need in the next month, and carried the box downstairs.
She was just in time to meet the mail carrier, who seemed consternated over Nell’s open door—it meant he couldn’t push the postal items through the mail slot. She leafed through the small stack he’d finally put in her hands. Circulars and bills.
Sighing, she tossed them onto the side chair. It was the only piece of furniture left in the living room after Ros had taken her stuff.
Until the room was nearly empty, Nell hadn’t put much thought into the fact that her roommate had chosen and paid for nearly everything on the first floor of the condo. Ros had liked a particular style and could afford to get what she’d wanted and Nell had never had a reason to argue with her.
She didn’t even own a television. Not that she really needed one. A person could get all the news they wanted on their phones these days and Nell had always been more of a reader than a viewer.
With a legal pad and a pencil in hand, she took her glass of water and went out the back door to sit on the step. She drew a line down the center of the page. She wrote Stay at the top on one side of the line and Go on the other.
Then she began to enumerate every point she could think of on each side of the decision.
Unfortunately, the exercise didn’t garner any information she hadn’t already thought of. She tossed the yellow pad of paper onto the cement step beside her and propped her elbows on her knees.
“You look like you’re still fourteen years old.”
She jerked, turned around and looked up to see Archer standing on the threshold of the back door. Apparently he’d just waltzed right through the apartment, meaning he’d been in her condo twice now in the span of six weeks. It was a record. And she was far less shocked to see him than she ought to have been.
“What are you doing here?”
He held up a package wrapped with brown craft paper and twine. “A care package from Meredith for Ros. But considering the lack of furniture in there, I’m assuming she’s moved. Naturally, she wouldn’t bother informing us about it. So I don’t know where to take it.”
“Could take it to her office,” she pointed out waspishly.
“Yes, but then I’ll have to breathe the same air as her father, and I’ve already suffered that experience more than once this year. You know, anyone and their mother’s brother could walk in through your open front door.”
“Anyone did.”
He leaned over and picked up her glass of water, then sat down on the step beside her.
She gave him a frowning look. “Seriously. What do you want?”
A hint of annoyance clouded his perpetually amused expression. “Seriously, maybe I don’t want anything. That so hard to believe?”
“You are one of the busiest attorneys in the state.” And how he managed it with only a few employees based in Denver totally escaped her. “You probably bill by the half second.”
His lips twitched. “Every other minute.”
She rolled her eyes, then reached past him. “Give me the pad.”
He handed it to her.
She flipped to the next page and quickly wrote out Ros’s new address. Then she tore off the page and extended it toward him. “She’s living with Jonathan these days.”
Archer glanced at the address, then folded it into a square that he pushed in his back pocket. His shoulder brushed against her when he did so and she tried hard not to react.
“How’s the job hunting?”
She shrugged and was glad that her Stay/Go list was flipped over and away from his too-observant eyes. “Haven’t found the right fit just yet.”
He sipped her water as if he had every right to do so. “What really happened between you and Pastore?”
“I told you.”
“You said you didn’t make partner. That doesn’t explain why he’s been dropping little nuggets here and there about your professional fitness.”
Her face burned. “Maybe I’m not fit.” She hadn’t yet reported Martin’s actions on the Lambert estate to the bar association, and it should have been the first thing she did. But Ros had been right about one thing. Lambert’s wishes with regard to his estate had been ultimately fulfilled regardless of the money Martin had accepted to manipulate the probate.
“Don’t be stupid.” For the first time, Archer looked and sounded impatient. “You’re a good lawyer. Better than Pastore deserved, for damn sure.”
Her eyes suddenly burned and she quickly looked away before he could see.
He shifted again, broad shoulder once more pushing against her while he reached into his pocket, this time extracting something. He held it out to her.
“What’s that?” Though it was perfectly obvious what it was: an ivory-colored business card containing a single telephone number and nothing else.
“That’s my grandmother’s number. Vivian Archer Templeton. She lives in Weaver.”
Nell eyed him, not sure where he was going with this. Weaver was as far away as his hometown of Braden. And both municipalities put together were still smaller than a quarter of Cheyenne. “So?”
He nudged the card toward her again. “She’s looking for someone to head up her latest pet project.”
“I don’t need your pity any more than I needed your so
-called offer to work for you.”
He let out a short laugh. “Trust me. You wouldn’t have gotten it working for me and you definitely won’t get it working for Vivian. She’s rich and eccentric. Which makes her a force that can only be understood through experience. My cousin Delia would attest to that. She’s Vivian’s personal assistant when she’s not off gallivanting around doing something else like she is right now.”
Nell still didn’t take the card but she couldn’t keep herself from being curious. “What’s the project?”
“She wants to get a new public library built in Weaver. Raising money, finding the property, getting it through the red tape. All of it.”
She’d been there numerous times because of the Lambert estate. It had never even crossed her mind to think it would be a great place to live. “I’d have to go to Weaver.”
He gave her a look. “And that’s a negative? What’ve you got going here that’s better?”
“I’d have to find a place to live there, too.”
“Vivian’s got a big house. If she takes a shine to you, she’s got space for you to stay right there. And if that’s too close for comfort for you, you can use the guesthouse out at my place,” he added, sounding casual. “I’m never there and you can feed my cat.”
“You don’t have a cat.” Then she frowned at him. “Do you?”
His lips twitched. “What do you think?”
She exhaled and rolled her eyes again.
“Look, I don’t care where you live. I’m just saying there are options for you.”
She wasn’t really going to consider it, was she? She slowly slid the card from his fingers, carefully avoiding touching him. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. Vivian’s not a young woman. She needs help on the project sooner rather than later. If you don’t step up, someone else will. If you were working for her, it’d give you time to regroup. Figure out what it is you really want to do.”
“I’m a lawyer. That’s what I really want to do.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that look for?”
He spread his hands innocently. “What look? You going to call her or not?”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“Right.” He suddenly stretched out his legs and stood, then picked up the twine-wrapped package. “Let me know if you need me.”
“I won’t need you,” she replied by rote.
“I know.” He lightly knuckled her head as if she were a little kid, then went into the kitchen. She could hear him whistling softly as he left.
Nell picked up the yellow pad and looked at her Stay/Go list.
On the Go side, she penciled in one word.
Archer.
Then she sighed faintly and tossed aside the pad.
Chapter Four
Vivian Templeton turned out to be a diminutive woman well into her eighties. She had perfectly coiffed silver hair and diamond rings on every finger, and lived in a mansion—an honest-to-goodness mansion—located on the edge of Weaver.
Thanks to all of the work that Nell had done on the Lambert estate and the Rambling Mountain matter, she was fairly well versed with the Weaver demographics. In a region populated by more cows than people, as a general rule, mansions weren’t the norm. As often as not, a person’s barn was bigger than their abode.
She’d been hard-pressed not to stand there with her mouth hanging open when she’d arrived for the meeting that she’d arranged with Archer’s grandmother. She’d been met at the door by a bald guy wearing an ivory ascot and formal black suit who’d introduced himself as Montrose before leading her through to a two-story atrium.
Vivian’s office was on the second floor. It had windows that overlooked the rear of her property and Rambling Mountain loomed violet and gray in the distance.
Nell had never stepped foot on the mountain—it had been privately owned land until Otis Lambert died. She wondered if Archer had.
She pushed the thought of him out of her mind and focused harder on the petite woman across from her.
“The biggest challenge,” Vivian was saying now, “is the town council. One of the members in particular who is unreasonably opposed to anything I try to accomplish in this town.” Her lips thinned. “But not even people like Squire Clay can stop progress when it’s warranted, and a library properly sized and outfitted for a growing community is certainly warranted.” She looked over the top edge of her reading glasses at Nell. “Do you read, my dear?”
Feeling bemused, Nell nodded. “My mother owned a small bookstore, actually.”
“A businesswoman.” Vivian nodded approvingly. “Has she given it up?”
Nell shook her head. “She died when I was fourteen. My father sold the business shortly after.”
That earned another look over the edge of the glasses. “I’m sorry.”
Nell assumed Vivian was sorry about her mother versus the business, but she wasn’t entirely certain. “Thank you,” she said, which seemed to cover her bases either way.
Vivian was giving Nell a close look as she toyed with the heavy strands of pearls hanging around her fragile-looking neck. Her demeanor told Nell she was already moving on. “Archer speaks highly of you.”
She was grateful that her cheeks didn’t get too hot. “I’m not sure why,” she admitted. “More often than not we’ve been on opposing sides in the courtroom.”
“Respecting a worthy opponent is as valuable as respecting one’s close associates.” Vivian took off her glasses and dropped them atop the résumé that Nell had brought with her. A résumé that Vivian had completely ignored. “I’m afraid the position doesn’t pay as much as you must be used to getting.”
She proceeded to name a figure that Nell had a hard time not choking over. Not because it was so low. But because it was so high.
Whatever Vivian Templeton was used to paying her lawyers, it bore no resemblance to what Martin had paid his associates.
“If that’s acceptable—” Vivian’s expression was confident, and at that high a salary, why wouldn’t it be? “—when would you be able to start?”
Nell hid the relief bubbling inside her and glanced at her résumé. “Any time, really,” she said calmly. “Once you’ve had an opportunity to review my references—”
Vivian waved a dismissive hand and sunlight caught in the diamonds on her fingers, dancing across the mild look of distaste on her face. “My grandson is the only reference I need,” she assured. “I trust his judgment.”
If the woman knew, or cared, about the rumors Martin had been circulating regarding Nell, she didn’t show it.
Vivian folded her hands together. “So, that leaves the metaphorical ball in your court, dear. Would you like the position? I can’t promise you a nine-to-five—frankly the thought of that makes me shudder. Dreary, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for a response. “But I can promise you an interesting variety of tasks. If you like to be busy—”
“I do,” Nell said quickly.
Vivian looked pleased. “Excellent. Is next Monday agreeable?”
It was already Thursday. That would leave Nell with a very busy few days before Monday, but she nodded with more confidence than she felt. “Perfectly agreeable.” She’d been preparing to move out of the condo anyway. What difference did it make if she did it over this weekend or the next?
“Will you need assistance getting settled here in Weaver?”
Nell prided herself on her independence, and the last several weeks had already given her a blow in that arena. The last thing she wanted was for her new employer to think she couldn’t handle such basic matters. “I have it covered, thank you.” She didn’t, but she would.
Again, Vivian smiled as if pleased. “When Archer called me this morning, he told me again just how eminently capable you are. He mentioned you’ve known one another since law school
. As many lawyers as I’ve needed in my life, perhaps I should have gone to law school myself. Would have saved a fortune in retainer fees. Obviously you weren’t Archer’s type, but you were good friends with Meredith’s daughter, Rosalind, is that correct?”
Were. Vivian couldn’t know how correct she really was. But Nell highly doubted that Archer would have bothered sharing the details of her fractured friendship with his stepsister. “Ros recently moved in with her boyfriend, but up until then, we’d been roommates since school.” The facts were accurate, despite the real cause behind Ros’s actions. And Nell wasn’t touching Vivian’s blunt comment about not being Archer’s type. “Your grandson was in his last year when she and I were in our first.”
“I’ve met Rosalind,” Vivian said. “Takes after my son’s wife in looks. Quite beautiful. I never trusted beautiful female attorneys.” She looked at Nell and nodded with satisfaction. “Welcome aboard.”
Nell managed not to wince. Vivian obviously didn’t consider her a beautiful female attorney.
Her new employer stood and tugged lightly at the three-quarter-length sleeves of her nubby pink suit. Nell didn’t have a lot of personal experience with high-end designer clothes, but she was willing to bet that the suit carried a very fancy label.
She’d learned enough about Vivian Archer Templeton to know that she hailed from Pennsylvania and that most of her money came from her first husband—Archer’s grandfather—who’d been in the steel industry. The several husbands who’d followed had only added to her wealth.
As a result, Nell doubted that Vivian had ever had to worry about retainer fees stretching her beyond her means.
She stood too and stuck out her hand. “I appreciate your confidence. I’m looking forward to proving it isn’t misplaced.”
Considering her overall air of delicacy, Vivian’s handshake was surprisingly firm. Then she led the way out of the office, lightly clasping the filigreed balustrade that overlooked the rest of the atrium below. She went as far as the curving staircase where Montrose was waiting, as if he had some magical sixth sense that the meeting between Vivian and Nell had concluded.
Lawfully Unwed Page 5