Page 42 of The Archer and his Rosebud

“Oh, shoot. I was so busy making sure she’s warm, I forgot.” I hand Clem over…and wait.

“What is she…well, sweet girl, look at you.” He tugs the attached hood over her head and laughs. “When did you buy her this?”

I tug the cat ear on my daughter’s hood and grin at how adorable she looks swallowed-up in the hunter green shearling bunting. “That day I was on campus. My girl needed to represent, so I splurged a little. Didn’t I, Clem?”

“This is too damn cute. Eli’s going to want a matching sweatshirt the moment he sees this.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged. What about Nolan?”

“Oh, Nol’s still claiming allegiance to Texas like his old man.” He winks.

“Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect. Let me grab my coat.”

Though the sun has set and it’s chilly, I convince Archer to walk three blocks to a little diner for a bite to eat. “You need exercise and fresh air.”

Archer lifts his head from where he kneels next to Clem, tucking her quilted blanket around her legs. My baby looks like she’s ready for dog sledding in Alaska. “Is that a dig on my dad bod?”

The man has the furthest thing from a dad bod. I spent my last two years living on a college campus and at thirty, Archer’sbodcould stand against any number of guys I saw on a daily basis.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re actually debating your answer to that.” I giggle as Archer tugs me into motion by my coat sleeve while pushing the stroller with his free hand. “The answer was supposed to be an easy: ‘No Archer, you don’t have a dad bod.’”

I roll my eyes. “No, Archer, you don’t have a dad bod.”

“Well, that was believable.”

I tuck my arm through his. “Speaking of bod. Tell me about your Texas tattoo.”

He grumbles. “I’m surprised you took this long to ask.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad. As far as I could tell it was well done, it’s just not something I would have pictured you getting.” The tree-covered street lights make him difficult to read, but his gaze warms the top of my head when I turn to watch where I’m walking. “Beside your accent and some of your phrases, I forget you’re from Texas. I mean, come on, you love hockey. You’re not a cowboy.”

“No, I’m not a cowboy, but I am a laid-back southern boy at heart. My family is blue collar through and through. Hard working, family loving, God-fearing. That’s how I was raised.”

“And the tattoo?” I nudge.

“It was a bet between the crews on the rig. My crew lost. The reasoning never makes sense to people who haven’t lived that life. Doing that job is different. We were a family of our own.”

“Okay, so tell me about working on the oil rig then.” A gust works its way under my coat, causing me to shiver.

Archer tucks the arm I’m hanging on into his side, drawing me to his body heat. “You really want to know?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I want to know everything about Archer Thomas.

“It’s dangerous work. We live a hundred miles off the coast with two hundred people for two weeks at a time and we’re on-call twenty-four-seven. It could be stressful and tiring, but it was a good time, too.

“The majority of my time off shift was spent sleeping or studying, but we played a lot of games. Watched movies. Worked out.”

“Ahh, that explains the dad bod.”

“You’re pushing it tonight.”

The stress that coated his words earlier is gone, and I smile.

“Anyway, this is going to sound lame but we had leagues on the rig. Ping pong, pool, air hockey…” His hip checks mine. “Stop laughing.”

I can’t help myself. “I’m sorry, you were in a ping pong league?” My laughter echoes around us.

“When you’re young, married, and trapped for two weeks with the same people, around the clock, with no access to alcohol, you do what you can.”

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