Archer's Voice by Mia Sheridan Read Free Book Online Page A

what that sound was?
    Phoebe trotted around the house and out of sight.
    I tilted my head, listening and adjusting my weight between one foot and then the other. What should I do? I couldn't leave Phoebe here. I couldn't go back to the gate and yell loudly for Archer to answer–he couldn't hear.
    I had to go in after her. Archer was in there. I was not a girl who was willing to put herself in dangerous situations. Not that I had before–and yet, danger had found me anyway. But, still. Walking into unknown territory wasn't something I was thrilled to be doing. Damn little, misbehaving dog. But as I stood there considering, working up my nerve to go in after Phoebe, I thought about Archer. My instincts told me he was safe. That had to count for something. Was I going to let that evil man make me doubt my own instincts for the rest of my life?
    I thought about how my hair had stood up on my arms the minute I heard the bell ring on our front door that night. Something inside me had known, and standing here now, something inside me felt like I wasn't in danger. My feet moved forward.
    I walked down the driveway slowly, inhaling the pungent smell of sap and freshly mowed grass, continuing to call softly to Phoebe.
    I took the stone path around the house, trailing my hands along the painted wood. I peeked around the back of the house and there he was, his bare back to me as he raised an a xe over his head, his back muscles flexing as he swung downward, cracking an upright log straight down the middle so that three pieces all fell outward and landed on the dirt.
    He bent down and picked them up and placed them in a stack of neatly piled pieces sitting under a tree, a large tarp off to one side.
    As he turned back around to the stump where he was chopping the smaller pieces, he caught sight of me and startled and then froze. We both stood there staring at one another, my mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. A bird trilled somewhere nearby and an answering call echoed through the trees.
    I cl osed my mouth and smiled, but Archer remained staring for several beats before his eyes did one quick sweep of me and returned to my face, narrowing now.
    My eyes moved over him as well, his well-defined naked ch est, all smooth-skinned muscles and rippling abs. I had never actually seen an eight-pack, but there it was, right in front of me. I guessed that even slightly strange, silent hermits weren't exempt from exceptional physiques. Good for him.
    He was wearing what looked like a pair of khakis, cut off at the knees and tied at his waist with a… was that a rope? Interesting. My eyes moved downwards to the work boots on his feet and back up to his face. He had tilted his head to one side as we studied each other, but his expression remained the same–wary.
    His beard was just as scraggly as the first time I had seen him. Apparently, his knack for lawn trimming didn't extend to his own facial hair. That could use some major edging. As long as it was, he must have been growing it for some time now–years probably.
    I cleared my throat. "Hi." I smiled, moving closer so that he could clearly read my lips. "Sorry, to uh, bother you. My dog ran in here. I called her, but she didn't listen." I looked around, no Phoebe in sight.
    Archer brushed his overly long hair out of his eyes and his brows furrowed at my words. He turned his body and lifted the axe and buried it in the tree stump and then turned back around to me. I swallowed heavily.
    Suddenly, a little white fur ball shot out of the woods and trotted toward Archer, sitting down at his feet and panting.
    Archer looked down at her and then bent and petted her head. Phoebe licked his hand exuberantly, whining for more when he withdrew and stood up. Little traitor.
    "That's her," I said, stating the obvious . He continued to stare.
    "Uh, so, your place," I went on, waving my hand around, indicating his property, "is really nice." He continued to stare at me. Finally, I tilted my head. "Do you