Chapter Three: Quinn

Chapter Three

Quinn

The air leaves my lungs and I’m left standing there, watching Archer walk up ahead of me. What the hell? Did I say something wrong? One minute we were talking, feeling like the old friends we should be, and the next he’s acting like he can’t get away from me fast enough.

It doesn’t matter. More importantly, it shouldn’t matter.

He stops at the employee door, needing me to punch in a code to unlock it. I fold the scrubs over my arm, careful not to press them against my wet dress, and take a spot next to him to enter the code. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a damn thing. The tension rolls off him in waves, and as nice as our chat was a minute ago, I cannot wait to get back into the bar and away from him.

That’s how Archer Jones has been since the moment I met him. Closed off. Guarded. Letting the walls inch down just enough for me to get a glimpse of the man inside only to bring them up again.

A little green light flashes after I punch in the four-digit code and Archer opens the door for me. I step in first, shivering almost immediately from the cold air blowing down on us from the vent above.

“Thanks again,” I say and turn to him. The door clicks shut and I shuffle forward. “For the scrubs. I’ll get them back to you tomorrow. How long are you in town?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Me too. I’ll, uh, see you again I’m sure.”

“I’ll be at your parents’ house tomorrow for the engagement party.”

“Oh, right.” I fiddle with a strand of hair, heart beating rapidly in my chest. Archer shifts his weight, lips parting as if he wants to say something. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before he blinks and turns his head, bringing his hand up to his stubble-covered jaw.

“I’m gonna go change now,” I blurt, needing to say something. It’s getting awkward just standing here.

“Yeah, good idea.” He nods and steps forward, following me out of the back hall and going back into the bar. He goes in the opposite direction, back to Dean and company, and I go into the bathroom. I do the best I can to rinse my skin, sticky from the margarita, and change into the scrubs.

Archer was right: they are big. Knowing I look ridiculous in oversized scrubs and heels, I fold my dress and exit the bathroom.

“I don’t get it.”

I turn, following the male voice I assume is directed to me. It’s that guy Cam from the bar, the one in the fancy suit with the expensive watch. He pushes off the wall, drink in his hand, and flashes that same super-bright white smile my way.

“Are you trying to be a sexy nurse? Because if you are, I suggest something with a little less coverage.”

I blink. Is that supposed to be a compliment? “I’m not trying to be a sexy nurse.”

“Then please explain your ensemble. Because I don’t get it.”

Is he that drunk or is he for real? “You don’t have to get it. It’s what I’m wearing so…” I bring up my shoulders in a shrug. He continues to stare at me, a smug smile on his lips. I shake my head and turn to walk away. He says something else and I pretend I don’t hear it. I go right to the bar again to get a bag for my wet dress and get my glass of vodka-soaked cherries that I stashed in the mini fridge under the counter.

“I heard what happened.” Owen looks over his shoulder as he fills a tall glass with beer from the tap. “Way to go, butterfingers.”

I make a face. “Someone bumped into me. Hard. It would have happened to you too.”

“Doubt it.” He makes a face back and gives the beer to a guy at the counter. I pop a cherry in my mouth, shuddering from how strong it tastes. Owen laughs. “Want me to make you a real drink?”

“Please. I’ll try an Old Fashioned.”

“Give me a minute,” he says and hurries off to bring out more drinks and flirt with his female customers again. I move away from the counter so people don’t mistake me for a bartender, though right now I look more like an escaped mental patient given what I’m wearing.

A few minutes later, I’m sipping the Old Fashioned and Jamie’s walking through the doors. She orders a beer and we snag two seats at the bar.

“Want to go home and change?” she asks.

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s not good.” She laughs and takes a hair tie off her wrist. “Stand up…let me fix it the best I can.” With a bit of finagling, she pulls the scrub top tighter, securing the band in the back. “At least I can see your figure now. And your tits. Maybe we can get some free drinks.”

Since the shirt is big, the V neckline goes down low. “I can already get us free drinks.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

I laugh and rest an elbow on the counter. Jamie and I have been friends since middle school, and though she still lives here and I’m up north in Chicago, it’s always like we just picked up right where we left off whenever we see each other.

We catch up, talking and laughing about any small town drama I missed. About half an hour later, a friend from work comes in, and Jamie’s all too excited to see him. She’s been crushing on him for a while, and they are seriously cute together.

My gaze darts to the back of the bar, finding Archer still in the booth with Dean and his friends. They have more shots in front of them, and while everyone else seems to be having a good time, something seems off with Archer.

But it’s not my problem.

“Want to play pool with us?” Jamie asks, finishing the rest of her beer.

“Yeah, sounds fun. I’ll get us drinks and meet you over there.” Back behind the bar I go and get Logan to make me three mojitos. I give him my credit card before I leave, opening myself a tab to cover what I spilled as well as what I drank and have him put Dean’s party on it as well.

“I have to say,” Cam starts, appearing out of nowhere. “The look is starting to work for me.”

I’ve already spilled enough drinks tonight and I’m determined not to shed one drop of the three I’m precariously balancing on a tray this time. Flicking my eyes to him, I keep walking, taking small, level steps.

“This might surprise you, but I didn’t get dressed today with the intent of my clothes working for you. I wear what I want.”

He laughs. “Sure you do. That little dress you had on was just for you, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” He winks and then laughs, and I’ve never been more tempted to throw a drink in someone’s face before. Guys like him make me want to throw up. I don’t need to be patronized, and I sure as hell don’t need him to mansplain how my brain works when I pick out an outfit to wear.

“Yes. It was.”

Grimacing, I set my sights on Jamie and her friend Bryan, delivering the drinks with no incident this time. We take turns at the pool table, not playing by the rules but giving us something to do as we drink and talk. Soon, Jamie and Bryan get handsy, and I go a few yards away to throw darts, giving them some privacy. Well, as much as they can get in a crowded bar.

“And then there was one.”

Seriously? I close my eyes in a long blink. Doesn’t this guy have anything better to do? If he’s really stuck in Newport on business, then no, he doesn’t. Still…haven’t I made it clear I’m not interested?

“Need some company?” Cam asks.

“No thanks, I’m good.” I finish the rest of my mojito and set the empty glass on a tall table. I have a feeling this guy’s going to give me his company whether I like it or not.

“Are you?”

“Yes. I am.” I throw a dart and hit only an inch from the bullseye.

“Nice shot!”

“Thanks,” I blurt, my manners coming out automatically.

“How about this: I get one closer and you come have a drink with me.”

“Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not interested.”

“Come on, sweetheart. What do you have to lose?”

I’ve dealt with my fair share of pushy guys before, but this guy is relentless. He takes a step toward me and I move back.

“I won’t bite.” He smiles. “Unless you want me to.” He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear, then runs his fingers across my shoulder and down my arm. If my drink was in my hand, I’d throw it in his face. Unfortunately, I’m holding a dart, and the last thing Logan and Owen need is a lawsuit over their sister stabbing a drunk guy with grabby hands.

“Hey!” a loud male voice shouts. It’s not one of my brothers, and it only takes me a second to place the voice.

Archer.

“She’s not interested, man. Back the fuck off.” He shifts his gaze to mine. Darkness clouds his chocolate eyes and anger pulls down his handsome face. “Are you all right, Quinn?”

“I am now.”

Cam holds up his hands. “Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean to trespass on your territory.”

Archer gives him a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look, then before I know what’s happening, he coils his fists and goes to hit Cam right in the face. I grab his arm at the last second, the logical part of my mind kicking in. He said he’s applying for surgeon jobs. Getting arrested for a bar fight won’t look good on a resume.

“He’s not worth it,” I say softly, and Archer turns, just inches from me. He unclenches his hands and lowers his arm. I keep my fingers wrapped around his bicep, feeling the heat of his flesh through his t-shirt.

“But you are,” he says so softly I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

“What?”

He shakes himself, pulling out of my grasp. “You sure you’re all right? You don’t need me to punch this cocksucker in the throat?”

It’s like one of my brothers coming to my defense, but there’s something different with Archer. Maybe I’m the only one who feels it, and there’s a good chance I’m only feeling whatever the hell it is because I want to.

And also because I’ve had a few drinks.

But there’s nothing brotherly in the way Archer stands in front of me, eyes narrowed and arms held out slightly to his sides, ready to pummel Cam and defend my honor.

“No, but thanks. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and turns, keeping himself between Cam and me. “That guy’s an ass.”

“He’s been hitting on me all night.”

“All night?” Archer tenses again and turns around. Cam is slinking away, but won’t get far if Archer decides to go after him.

“Even in the scrubs.” I give him a half-smile and sigh. “I’m trying not to go off on a rant right now, but I cannot stand guys like that. There are other reasons for going to a bar, you know. Not everyone wants to hook up with you, Mr. I’m-Doing-Business-in-Newport.”

Archer laughs. “That was his line?”

“It was one I remember. It’s pretty bad, huh?” I readjust my purse on my shoulder. “I think this is a sign from the universe I’m not meant to be at a bar tonight. I just want to go home.”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I came with Kara. So it’s going to be a long night.”

“I can take you.” He doesn’t look at me as he offers.

“I don’t want to make you leave.”

“Honestly,” he starts and forces himself to look at me. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second before he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “I’m tired. I came straight from work and I haven’t had a day off in over a week.”

“That’s brutal.”

“It is. So let me take you home and use it as an excuse to bail early. I don’t think the guys are ready to hear that I’m not the partier I used to be.”

“You can use me as your scapegoat.” He can use me any other way too. “I’m going to tell Jamie I’m leaving and then we can go.”

Ten minutes later, we’re walking out into the parking lot.

“Are you staying with your parents?” Archer unlocks his Jeep.

“Yeah, I am.” I fold down the top of the to-go bag of burgers and fries I got on the way out, the least I could do for Archer for leaving his friends. Yeah, he said he was tired, but I’m not sure I believe him.

“I haven’t been to their house in a long time. Please tell me it’s the same.” He opens the passenger side door for me and goes around to get in.

“It pretty much is. Plus another dog or two.” I click the seatbelt into place, trying to think back to the last time Archer joined us for dinner. Before I went away to college myself, I looked forward to the Sundays where Dean and Archer would make the drive from Purdue University to the house for dinner.

Sunday dinners were a big thing. After church, Mom would spend the day cooking, and even with all four of my brothers plus Archer, there’d be food to spare and she’d send Dean and Archer back to school with enough care packages to last half the week.

Without needing directions from me, Archer drives to my parents’ house. We’re about twenty minutes away, and suddenly the silence between us is awkward. A mile goes by and I know I need to say something.

Another goes by before I turn and open my mouth.

“So where do you work?” I ask at the same time Archer asks me something.

“You go first,” we say in unison.

Laughing, Archer looks away from the road for a second. “Indy. What about you?”

“Chicago.”

“I never pegged you to be a big city kind of girl.”

“I didn’t think I was either, but I love it there. And I love my job, but sometimes I miss this.” I wave my hand at the window.

“There’s literally nothing there.”

“Exactly.” I smile. “I miss it. The cornfields, the quiet, the slower pace…I’m not that far away at least.”

“Do you come home often?”

“I try to. Mostly to see Jackson, because I miss him too much.”

“Jackson?” Archer turns his head, eyes widening and his grip on the wheel tightening. Is he jealous?

“Oh my God, has Dean never mentioned Jackson to you?”

“Why would he…who…I don’t think so. Is he your boyfriend?”

My heart speeds up and I lick my lips, eyeing Archer. I think he is jealous. “No, Jackson is my nephew. Wes’s son.”

Archer relaxes considerably. “Right. Yeah, he’s mentioned him. He always calls him Jax though. Didn’t ring a bell right away.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s watched Sons of Anarchy way too many times. Jackson is named after our grandfather, who never went by Jax. Well, never according to my grandma, that is.”

Archer smiles. “How old is he now?”

“He just turned three. He’s so flipping cute. Hopefully he stays that way and isn’t overly influenced by his uncles.”

“At least he has a good aunt.”

It’s my turn to smile. “I try. So…do you like Indy?”

“It’s not where I thought I’d end up, but the hospital is great.” He gives me a genuine smile, and I ease back in my seat. We talk about work the rest of the way.

Archer puts his Jeep in park outside the garage. He hesitates, and I take it as my cue to leave.

“Thanks again, Archer,” I say, and his name feels both good and bad coming from my lips. I extend my arm, giving him the bag of takeout.

“Didn’t you get two burgers?”

“Yeah, but you can have them.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You should eat. I mean, you’ve had several drinks, right?”

“Right.” My heart speeds up. “Who am I to ignore advice from a doctor?”

He kills the engine and gets out. I unlock the garage door and shimmy past my parents’ trucks. My dad’s a contractor, and my mom quit her job as a kindergarten teacher years ago to work full-time along with him. It’s not unusual for the barn, the garage, and occasionally the house to act as storage from a project they’re working on.

“I didn’t know your parents were so high-tech,” Archer muses when I enter the passcode into a computerized lock.

“They’re not. Technology is kind of my thing, though.” I open the door and wait for the dogs to come running. Boots, Chrissy, and Carlos are friendly and don’t give a care in the world who’s walking through the door. All they want is attention. Rufus, on the other hand, is territorial and protective and has gotten worse in his old age.

I slip my fingers under his collar and hold him back before he has a chance to lunge at Archer.

“Hey, buddy,” Archer says, holding out his hand. “Remember me?”

All of my parents’ dogs are mixed breeds, rescued from the local shelter. Rufus is the oldest of the bunch, and I think my mom had just brought him home the last time I remember Archer coming around.

Rufus growls but sniffs Archer’s hand. He considers him for a minute, then wags his tail. He’s a German Shepherd and Malamute mix and can be hard to handle when he goes on the defense. I’m glad he’s good with Archer, because there’s something telling when your dog doesn’t like someone they’ve just met.

“Calm down,” I whisper-yell to the others, not wanting to wake my parents. Obviously I’m a competent adult and can come and go as I please, but I’d feel bad waking them, and mostly, I know Archer would leave.

Nothing makes me feel the child I was the first time I laid eyes on Archer than bringing him back to my childhood home and hoping we don’t wake up my parents.

“What do you want to drink?” I ask, still greeting the overly-excited dogs. I grab treats from the pantry.

“Whatever you’re having,” Archer tells me as he drops to his knees to pet Rufus. I stare for a few seconds, hating how freaking adorable he looks with his fingers buried in the old dog’s fur.

I pour two glasses of lemonade and put our food on plates, taking it to the large island in the kitchen.

“I never realized how much I missed eating here.” Archer looks around the room, flattening his hand on the surface of the cold granite counter.

“You and Dean spent a lot of time in the kitchen.”

He half-smiles and takes a bite of his burger, nodding. I grab two fries and dip them in ketchup.

“The food was only part of the reason I liked coming back to the Dawson Homestead.”

I raise an eyebrow. “There was more than one reason?”

His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us. My heart is in my throat, beating so fast and so loud there’s no way he’s not hearing it.

“There was.”

I wait a beat, but he doesn’t elaborate. “What was it?”

“That’s for me to know.” He gives me a little grin and goes back to his food. I can only stomach half my burger and a handful of fries before feeling too full. I pick the meat off the bun and divide it up between the dogs, who gobble it up in seconds.

Chrissy goes over to the back door and noses a bell hanging from the knob.

“Is she ringing a bell to go outside?”

“They all do. Well, everyone but Boots. That dog’s not the brightest crayon in the box if you know what I mean. And when I let one out, they’ll all want out.”

Archer finishes his lemonade and stands, taking his plate and mine to the sink. He’s right behind me when I unlock the door to let the dogs out, and steps onto the patio with me.

The sounds of the night echo around us and a soft breeze has picked up, moving the sticky humid air. All four dogs take off, running through the grass like idiots. My heart speeds up again when I look back at Archer, and all the things I’ve wanted to say to him over the years threaten to bubble up and spill out.

He takes a step closer, and the woodsy scent of his cologne wakes up every nerve inside of me, making me curse myself for not staying in touch with this beautiful man.

The breeze picks up again, bringing in a gust that tousles my hair around my face. Archer tucks it back behind my ear and parts his lips. If we were in a romance movie, he’d lean in and kiss me right now. Then he’d tell me how he’s always had feelings for me, and even though it’s been years, the fluttering in his stomach came back the moment he saw me, just like it did when I saw him.

But this is real life, and real life isn’t as carefully crafted and scripted like a movie. Archer has never expressed interest in me, and as far as I know, he thinks of me as a sister. Plus, Dean would throw a fit if I said I’ve had a crush on his friend, telling me how things will be awkward from there on out.

Sometimes, real life sucks.

Boots barks, and we turn just in time to see Chrissy lower into a crouch at the edge of the pool.

“Chrissy, no!” I shout, but it’s too late. The lab mix dives in, happily paddling about. Carlos goes in after her, doing one quick lap before coming out and shaking water all over Rufus, who gives the small mutt the evil eye. Sighing, I shake my head and laugh. “Whatever. You guys can just stay outside until you’re dry.”

“That dog loves to swim.” Archer’s lips are pulled into a smile as he watches Chrissy splash about.

“She loves it, and I forgot. Though I will blame my parents for not shutting the gate around the pool.” I grab a squeaky tennis ball from the ground, squeak it a few times and throw it as far as I can into the night.

It doesn’t go far.

Still, it’s enough to get all four dogs running, and as soon as Chrissy is out of the pool, I shut the gate. Chrissy brings back the ball, and this time Archer grabs it, throwing it much farther than I did.

I sit on the wooden glider my dad made for my mom, figuring I might as well get comfortable. With the breeze and her running around, it won’t be long before Chrissy is dry enough to come inside and get toweled off.

“I meant to ask you before,” Archer starts, taking the slobbery ball from Chrissy and throwing it again. “How you got into software design for your career.”

“I took one of those online quizzes that tell you what you should be when you grow up.”

“Really?”

“No,” I say with a laugh. Archer takes a step back, closer to me. “I’ve always been fascinated with technology. When I was a kid, I thought it was crazy people didn’t have the technology that we did. Like how the hell did they survive in the olden days?”

Smiling, Archer takes a spot next to me on the glider. He pushes off the ground with his feet, sending us sliding back.

“I guess from there I just got into it even more. I actually started out my freshman year as an engineering major but switched to computer science my second semester. Which is super interesting, I know, but remember that little-known fact about me in case my dad decides to play Cash Table tomorrow.”

“Cash Table?”

“His version of Cash Cab but he asks random questions when we’re all sitting down at the table together. It’s like the daddest thing in the world, I know.”

Archer laughs. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

“So what about you? What made you want to go to med school?”

“I didn’t want to face responsibility and chose a profession with an ungodly amount of schooling.” He playfully nudges me.

“That was actually my first guess, though you should have wavered more in there and switched your major back and forth at least three times, you rookie.”

“Damn it, I should have. But really, I made up my mind to be a doctor when I was a sophomore in high school. I had a sick family member and have always been thankful for what they’ve been able to do for…for that person.”

I bend my knees up, tucking my feet under my legs, and study Archer. He’s staring into the dark, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. I don’t remember him or Dean ever mentioning a sick family member. My heart aches a little for him, and I hope the illness didn’t claim a loved one.

His jaw tenses, and then he leans back, blinking rapidly. “You can’t tell anyone about that project you’re working on?”

“Nope. Though I’m pretty sure I’ve convinced Dean we’re building a Batmobile.”

“Is it sad I’m a little disappointed that it’s not?”

I laugh. “Well, I didn’t say it’s not a Batmobile…”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” He chuckles, and his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. “And if it is, you’ll have to pull strings to let me drive it.”

“Only if you wear a Batman costume.”

“I’d wear a Joker costume if it means I can drive the Batmobile.”

I shake my head. “If you’re thinking of Heath Ledger’s Joker, then his clothes are too cool. You’ll have to go with Danny DeVito’s Penguin.”

Archer makes a face, acting like he’s considering it seriously. “Yeah, I’d still do it. For the Batmobile.”

“I should probably wait until after you’re dressed up to tell you this, but it’s not a Batmobile.”

“I figured such.” He yawns, and in just seconds all the humor is gone from his face. Leaning forward, he grabs the ball from Chrissy and tosses it again before standing. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” I reply, trying not to let him know the abruptness is startling, though it’s the second time tonight he’s cut me off short right when I was thinking we were getting along just fine. Better than fine, really. “I should, uh, go inside and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

Archer’s hand lands on the back of his neck, and his brows pinch together. “Right. Tomorrow. Your brother’s party.”

I pat my leg and make a kissy sound, getting the dogs’ attention. Archer stands aside, letting me take the lead back into the house.

“Thanks for dinner. See you tomorrow,” he says as he pulls his keys from his pocket. He’s gone before I can tell him goodbye.

Perplexed, I stand in the kitchen for a minute before going to lock the back door. Though it’s now gone, there’s no denying we had a moment. The feelings I thought I could quell for Archer have come back with a vengeance, and my heart demands another moment with him.

But I can’t help but feel he doesn’t want one with me.