“Archie!” She slowed her pace. “What’s wrong?”
He peeked his head around the comer. “Shhh. Come here.” With a limp flap of his hand, he waved her over, but the motion sent him stumbling back a step before he could right himself.
The realization that Archie was falling down drunk hit her at the same time as the stench of liquor.
She stepped around the side of the barn, and instantly forgave him his lapse. His face was swollen with purple bruises, his lip split. His dirty and rumpled clothes attested to the fact that he’d been dragged through hell. She couldn’t blame him for falling off the wagon. By the looks of him, he’d been shoved off. And she had had a hand in giving him that shove. If it weren’t for her, he’d never have had to return to Specter Canyon.
She reached for his chin, intending to angle his head for a better look at the damage. A bleeding cut above his right eye looked like it might need stitches. Archie jerked away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I’m just plain sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.
“No.” The awful thought was there before she could stamp it out. “Please don’t tell me something has happened to Christopher.”
He tilted his head, his face almost comical in his drunken confusion. “Who’s Christopher?”
She placed her hand on her chest and tried to cushion the pounding of her heart, unable to find anything amusing under the circumstances.
“Christopher Braddock. The man I was with when we met. He and Corey joined the posse heading for Specter Canyon. Didn’t they rescue you?”
Archie snorted. “Do I look rescued?”
Lorelei searched him with her gaze. She wanted to shake him, but communicating with him in his condition was useless. Instead she scoured the compound, looking for the others, or any clue as to how Archie got here.
She turned to go back to the house, but Archie grabbed her arm to stop her. “Whoa, don’t go anywhere. I don’t want the others to hear you.”
Her eyes widened at the force he used to restrain her. His grip hurt. She shook him off and he released her, shamefaced.
He lowered his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry, Miss Lori. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t see that man of yours or the Sullivan boy.” Despite the fact that he swayed on his feet, he suddenly sounded reasonably sober.
“How did you get away from Mulcahy? We worried when you didn’t come back sooner.”
His complexion paled under his bruises. “I need a drink.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her behind him as he walked away from the house. “You’ve got to come with me down to the spring. You know, the one you took me to that day.”
She planted her feet and tugged against his force. “I don’t think so, Archie.”
Instead of the battle for strength she expected, she stumbled when he released her abruptly.
“Please, Miss Lori. I don’t want those kids to get involved. I don’t want them to see me like this. You have to take me to that spring like you did before and clean me up.”
At least she agreed with that. The only way she’d pry any coherent information from him was to sober him up. “Let’s go back to the house and get you something to eat. That will clear your head faster than anything.”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “I don’t want that pregnant lady to get hurt. You have to come with me. They can’t see me.”
Lorelei glanced back at the house, looking for divine intervention in the form of Jay and the kids returning early from the field. When that didn’t happen, she resigned herself to the situation. She knew from her father’s binges that there would be no reasoning with him until he sobered.
“All right.” She hooked her arm through his and steered him in the direction of the spring. Archie was harmless, she assured herself—all the while knowing that what she was doing was a mistake.
The closer they got to the creek, the shakier Archie’s steps became. By the end of the trail she was practically dragging him.
When they heard the gurgle of the small stream, he struggled out of her gasp. “I changed my mind. Let’s go back to the house.”
In his condition, he’d fall flat on his face before she could guide him back to the house. The blood had drained from his face, leaving his bruises blackish and his lips looking a sickly shade of white. He was either going to pass out or be sick. The small stream provided the nearest shelter. Small scrub trees grew along its bank and would shade Archie from the blazing sun.
She recaptured his arm and tugged him down the slope that led to the creek. “Come on, Archie. Just a little farther.”