Bound to Be His (The Archer Family Book 2) (2 page)

It was packed. All around him, island folks crowded around tables, chattering and laughing with each other. A barman was slinging drinks just as quickly as he could, his long black dreadlocks flying as he went. And at the very end of the bar was the familiar bulky frame of his older brother.

For an instant, Matt was caught off guard by the way the years had changed Derrick. Or maybe the army had done the changing for him. Still, looking at him was almost like looking at their father again with his thick, dark hair and perpetual five o'clock shadow.

Shaking his head, Matt grinned and yelled, "Derrick!"

The other man looked up, beaming back, and then clasped his brother in a warm embrace.

"It's been too long, little brother," Derrick said, and when they broke apart, he motioned for Matt to take a seat.

"I know it." Matt slid onto the stool beside him and found a frosted mug of beer already awaiting him. "What the hell
is
this place?"

"It's where the locals go. Sort of like a Moose Lodge. Cheaper drinks. Better atmosphere." He shrugged. "I don't want to talk about this, though. I want to talk about you. And Andy, too. You're promising me this Logan guy is good enough for her?"

“Cutting straight to the chase, huh?”

Derrick nodded.

"I promise. Logan’s perfect for her," Matt said.

"And you don't hold him responsible for..." Derrick glanced at Matt's wrist, apparently unsure of how to end his sentence. It was fine, though. Matt had discussed the accident that collapsed his career enough to know how to respond to questions about it.

"We've been over this," Matt said.

"I know. It's just"—Derrick took a swig of his beer and then continued—"I just don't know how a guy can stamp on your pitching wrist like that, call it an accident, and have nobody blame him for it."

"He didn't
call
it an accident. It
was
an accident," Matt said.

"Right," Derrick said.

"It was. I'm telling you." He took a deep breath and then said, "Besides, things are about to change."

"That so?"

"Yeah. I'm going to get back in the majors this year. I feel it," he lied, his stomach writhing with every word.

Derrick raised his eyebrows. "Andy helped you out that much already?"

"She's mostly helped against my will," he said, relieved that that, at least, was true. Despite his best efforts to force his sister to drop him as a client for her sports publicity firm, she'd been pressing her nose to the grindstone for months in an effort to get him back in the public eye and—with any luck—back on a major league bench.

So far, results had been meager at best. Not that she ever let on that fact to him.

"That's how she rolls." Derrick nodded. "I told her not to have the wedding here, you know. I said I'd come to San Diego, but no, Andy wasn't going to inconvenience me." Derrick rolled his eyes.

“There’s got to be some way to stop her when she gets like this. I remember when we were kids Dad used to try to just give her some other pet project to take on. Remember when she tried to get him to date?”

Matt laughed. “That was a disaster. But yeah, I remember.”

“It’s like she needs to be the one to control everything, and if she doesn’t—”

Matt stopped listening. Something inside of him, deep down, had clicked. Andy had passed off his case to Shay.

Shay who hated and despised him. Who wanted nothing to do with him. Who would jump at the chance to be rid of him.

And that was exactly what he needed.

“Hey, you here?” Derrick asked, and Matt shook his head.

“Care to share with the class?” Derrick asked.

Matt hedged. On one hand, he was bursting to share his newly cooking plan, but on the other...

“No, sorry, just...” He shook his head again. “I just remembered something I have to do.”

T
he rest
of the night with Derrick passed in a rush of laughter and euphoria. It was nice, being with him again after so many years. And, of course, after the initial check-ins about baseball and Derrick's work with the army, they got to talking about old times. The pranks they used to play on Andy. The way their dad used to sing so loud in the shower that even the neighbors would complain. Before they knew it, the bartender was shouting for last call and they were both pleasantly buzzed and ready to walk home.

In the morning, Matt grabbed his rental car and thought again of his sister. Or rather, what he'd overheard his sister saying. Shay was going to be taking on his case. Shay with her beautifully short temper and her passionate distaste for him.

She was like a gift, all wrapped up and ready for him to open.

After all, if he tried to pull one over on Andy, she'd know what he was doing—would smell it on him. But Shay? She'd be on the lookout for even the slightest reason to let him loose. Maybe he could even act up enough that she'd be able to convince Andy to let his contract lapse. Then he'd be in the clear. No Shay, no Andy, and no more guilt over ruining what could be a successful business for them.

All he had to do was find his angle.

When he got back to the house, he parked on the couch, flicked open a magazine, and waited. Logan and Andy had already gone out for the day—they’d left a note that they planned on fishing for their supper that night. Which, of course, left only Matt and Shay. All alone.

Another gift.

After only a few minutes, her door creaked open and he heard her long, fitful yawn before her footfalls slapped against the cool, tiled floors.

"Good morning." Matt beamed at her, and she squinted back through bleary eyes.

Apparently, Shay wasn't much of a morning person. In fact, it almost made him laugh to see her normally sleek black hair sticking out in all directions, her mascara smeared under her left eye, and her normally piercing dark eyes clouded by sleep. It almost made her seem human.

Almost. Because, of course, the way her nightgown clung to unnaturally gorgeous curves was still something of a mystery. No woman should look like that—with such round, firm breasts and a bottom to match. It was one or the other; everyone knew that.

"Morning," she grumbled back, and when she picked up the carafe and tilted it, only a few droplets of coffee dripped into her mug. She frowned at him.

"This is your doing?" It was more an accusation than a question.

"Sorry, I thought you'd be up. Time difference."

"The time changed. My need for sleep didn't. Neither did my need for coffee." She yawned again. "It's okay. There's more."

Yes, there used to be...

He stared down at the steaming mug on the weathered wood coffee table in front of him rather than watched the realization inevitably dawn on her face. Even now, he knew it was low-down and dirty what he'd done, but he did have a job to do.

Slowly, he heard one cabinet after the other click open and then shut as Shay searched the shelves. When at last the final click sounded, she said, "This is unbelievable. I could have sworn there was more coffee in here."

"Me too." He shrugged, picturing the place where he'd hidden the k-cups under the sink, just behind the dish detergent.

"I guess I'm going to have to go buy some."

"No can do." He clicked his tongue. "Andy and Logan have the car."

"Don't you have a car I can borrow?" She raised her eyebrows.

"What's the magic word?"

"Please." She pushed the word through gritted teeth.

"No can do. Needs an oil change. I wouldn't feel safe." He shook his head.

"Then why did you just—" She huffed and then stalked back down the hall. He knew he should have turned around again and focused on his coffee, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the way her ass swayed as she moved.

"I'm getting changed. Then we've got to talk." Her speech was blunt, and punctuated by the snap of her bedroom door.

Good, he was already off and running. Next, she'd come out here already irritated and try to get some work done. All he had to do was make sure that wouldn't happen.

All he had to do was be himself. That always seemed to do the trick where Shay was concerned.

The door whooshed open again, and when Shay reappeared, he could hardly believe she was the same person. Her black, angular bob was perfectly sleek and in place, and her long legs were accentuated by her too-short white dress. And what a dress it was. It clung to her hips, her waist, and finally cut off just below the shoulder to highlight her elegant collarbone and long, creamy neck.

He blinked, wondering where her usual pair of stilettos had gone, but then pulled himself back to the present.

"Looking good, slugger," he said, and then reached for his coffee and sipped it pointedly.

She stared as he drank, her eyes narrowing. "Thanks, sport."

Plopping onto the white leather couch across from him, she let out a deep sigh and pushed a stack of papers onto the coffee table between them.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Your new public appearance strategy. I was up half the night working on it." For a moment, it almost seemed like she hedged, but then she added, "The last page also contains a number of therapists to see about your injury and learning to cope with the—"

"No." He cut her off, all pretense forgotten.

"Right, well, it's your decision." She frowned and then carried on as briskly as ever. "Anyway, since your sister has decided on such a long honeymoon, we can't afford to put everything on hold. You and I are going to have to work together—"

"I like the sound of that," he said.

She grimaced. "And maintain some professional civility."

"As far as I remember, I've always been more than civil with you."

"Even if you don't have a professional bone in your body," she shot back.

"You're right, that was a very professional thing to say." He cocked an eyebrow, and color rose in her high cheekbones.

"Okay, okay, you got me." She shook her head. "It's going to be an adjustment for both of us. So will you just look at the packet?"

He glanced at it. From here, he could already see the names of a few familiar magazines and a few more familiar trainers. Hell, the thing even seemed to be color-coded. She'd clearly put a lot of effort into this. For him.

No, for Andy.

Not that it mattered who. After all, he was looking out for Andy, too.

"I don't think so. I trust you." He shrugged and then sipped his coffee. "We done?"

"Definitely not," she said. "You can't just shrug it off. You need to look over it."

"I don't need to do anything."

"Don't you want to get back in the majors? Don't you—" She stopped suddenly, stared at the coffee and then the cabinet and finally at Matt himself. Her mouth became a very tiny "o" and then split into a wide grin.

"What?" he asked.

"I see what you're doing," she said.

"No, you..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I'm not doing anything."

"You certainly are. You're throwing this. You're going full on Red Sox." She nodded.

"I'm not going Red Sox," he said. "What a stupid, dated reference."

"Come on, Matt." Shay leaned back in her chair. "I've known you for as long as I've known your sister. You don't think I know when you're fucking with me?"

"I would hope fucking with you—" he started, trying to steer them back on course, but Shay was determined.

"Knock it off. I see what you're doing. I know you."

"You do not know me. And I'm not doing anything," he repeated.

"Right, right." She rolled her eyes. "So you're going to sit here and tell me that your real-life inclination is not to do everything in your power to get back into the major league? That after all your years of practicing and all your work at the physical therapy center, you're okay with letting go of that dream?"

He eyed her for a moment and then said, "That's not what I'm saying."

"Oh, but it is. You're saying you don't want to know about the press junket. You don't want to take all the steps you need to. You're willing to let it all go."

"Shay," he said, but she shook her head.

"I know you. Know you well enough to know when you're being stupid and prideful. Andy wants you as a client for more reasons than just being your sibling. Do you honestly think I would have signed my reputation to somebody who would take on a pity case?"

"Is that your twisted way of saying you like me?" he asked.

"Only if that's your twisted way of admitting that I'm right." She smiled. "Read the damn packet."

He looked from it to her and back again. If he reached for it, he'd be signing on again—be letting himself up from what could turn out to be the biggest letdown of his career since the accident. But if he didn't at least try...

He couldn't think about the alternative.

"Did you include my rider?" he asked, leaning in to pluck the stack of papers from the table.

"Only divas have riders." She rolled her eyes and then leaned in and grabbed his coffee from the table. "And this now belongs to me."

She took a sip and then got back to her feet and smoothed her skirt with her free hand. "Okay, tell me if you have any questions. The fun stuff starts next week. Don't mess it up."

"When have you ever known me to mess anything up?" he asked.

In response, she only quirked her eyebrow and walked away.

W
hen Shay stepped
through the little patch of grass and onto the sandy shore that night, it was with one goal in mind—to clear her head.

The salty ocean breeze whipped her black hair around her face, and she breathed deeply, careful to take in every last drop of the serenity. Exhaling, she started off toward the sunset, watching the orange fade into red and purple in the sky as she got closer and closer to the horizon.

This
was the sort of thing she should have been focusing on. The nature surrounding her, the beauty of the little white blossoms of the trees along the shore. After all, how often was a girl in Hawaii?

Still, even as she tried with all her might to force her mind in one path, it veered off again. Wondering how she'd never noticed that Matt's eyes were exactly the same color as grass. Wondering if she ever really noticed just how broad his shoulders were before today.

She shook her head. Come on, sunset. Look at the sunset.

The sunset that was exactly the same scarlet of Matt's old uniform. Damn, could he fill out a uniform.

She swore internally, and her walk became something more akin to a march as long, purposeful strides carried her along the shore.

Just when she was about to stop, she spotted two silhouettes in the distance and, noticing the familiar wave of Andy's brown mane, she made her way over. The closer she got, though, the more she realized that Andy and, as it turned out, Derrick did not want to be overheard.

The two were standing only inches apart, taking turns muttering in low voices and glancing over their shoulders to check for intruders. When it was Derrick's turn to look, Shay panicked and jumped behind a huge, flowering bush so quickly that she shook half the petals from the plant.

At first, she was sure she'd given herself up, but then Derrick turned back to his sister, and nodded thoughtfully.

Great. Just great. She glanced through the bushes at the pair and silently wondered how she'd talk herself out of this one. If the tug on her scalp was any indication, she likely had a full-on bird’s nest in her hair, and a sting on her knee let her know that wasn't her only problem.

Still, if she popped out of the bushes, they'd know she was listening. Except she wasn't. Or at least she hadn't been.

"I know what you're saying." Derrick's deep rumble carried further than his sister's quiet, careful tones. "I just think... I don't know. You know and I know. Why shouldn't Matt?"

Shay stiffened. This was wrong. She shouldn't be listening. But then...

She focused harder, willing her ears to catch the lilt of Andy's voice in the wind. "He's going to try to find her. You know it and I know it. We're all better off without that happening, don't you think?"

Her?
Who was her?

She racked her brain, trying to remember any tidbit about lost love or old girlfriends, but as far as she could recall, Matt had never settled down with anyone long enough to plant any emotional roots. He was more of a tumbleweed. A slutty, slutty tumbleweed.

"That's not up to us. She's his mother, too," Derrick answered, and Shay's heart stopped beating.

Mother. They—Andy and Derrick, that was—knew where their mother was? And they were keeping it from Matt? For some odd reason, angry betrayal coursed hot and hard through her veins, running up the back of her neck.

The Archers, as far as she'd been told, had never had much of a mother. Even when Evelyn Archer had been around, it was never for more than a catatonic bout on the couch or in bed. The birth of Andy had been the last straw. When she was only a week old, her mother up and split in the middle of the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

Or so Shay thought.

Andy covered her mouth with her fist and then said something Shay couldn't understand. Still, she caught herself leaning closer. If she moved even a hair out of place, she knew they'd find her out, but it was too much to bear. She had to know more.

"Because she contacted me. Again." Derrick answered the unheard question. "She wants to see us."

"I still don't understand how she found you," Andy said, but her brother only sighed.

"What does it matter? She knows. About me and you and Matt, too. If I don't see her, she's going to try to find you and Matt next."

"Tell her not to," Andy said.

"She would have no reason to listen. Andy—"

"Don't. I'm not having this conversation again. If you don't remember what happened with Oregon—"

"Of course I remember. That was hard for all of us."

"One little tip and we spent a whole summer looking for her. I can't see Matt like that again. I thought he'd never—"