Page 1 of Saved By the Sergeant

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ARCHER

“This storm is goingto be a record breaker, Archer.” Clyde takes my basket, snatching up items two at a time to scan through the register.

“That’s why I’m here. Extra provisions and some storm treats for Gizmo.” I hold up a box of marrow bones. “These are his favorite.”

“You spoil that dog.”

“He deserves it.”

Clyde pauses to adjust his suspenders. He turns to grab a stuffed squeaky toy from the rack, dropping it in the bag. “I bet he’ll love this. These sell like hotcakes every month.”

“Now, who’s spoiling my dog?” I laugh.

“It’s called a business strategy. Do something nice for your customers, and they’ll keep comin’ back.”

“You’re the only general store in town, Clyde. I’d say that’s a pretty solid business plan.”

“Probably,” he winks. “You know you’re welcome to stay with me and the Mrs. Go home, pack a bag and collect Gizmo. We’ll ride out the storm together.”

“That’s a mighty tempting offer, Clyde. You know how much I love Ada’s cooking. But I’m going to have to pass. I love me a good winter storm. There’s nothing like being snowed in alone with a warm fire, a fine bottle of whiskey, and a good book.”

“I get it, but you’re all the way at the top of the mountain. If we get a few feet like they say we’re gonna, you won’t be able to get down that mountain for days.”

“All part of my master plan.” I wink.

When I retired from the Army, I bought myself a new truck and traveled across the states, searching for a place to call home. I saw some beautiful towns and met some great people. But the minute my feet touched the soil of Whiskey Creek, I knew… this was where I was meant to put down roots. I’ve been here for five years and I’m still in love. Giant pine trees that brush against bright blue skies. Crisp, clean mountain air. Bear, moose, deer, bobcats, and American eagles. Whiskey Creek has it all. You can even drive to the base of the mountain and find sprawling beaches on the other side of town.

It’s a solid, tight-knit community with less than two thousand residents. The people are kind and humble. The crime rate is practically nil unless you count the disputes between the McGregors and the Finleys over their chickens. That in itself is a crime.

I love this town.

“Ada’s granddaughter’s fixin’ to visit in a month. We’ll have you over for dinner. She’s a nice girl. I think you’d like her. A bit on the plain side. But smart as a whip.”

“The last thing on earth I’m looking for is a woman. Not that I don’t appreciate them, because I do. However, they’re also a lot of work. And a lot of drama.”

“I see your point,” he chuckles. “But a man as young as yourself needs to think about settling down. You don’t want to spend your life alone.”

“I’m not alone.” I pick up my bags. “I have Gizmo.”

“Yes, that’s true. But a man needs more than a dog.”

“I don’t know about that, Clyde. Gizmo’s pretty amazing.”

“You are a stubborn, old goat. I’ll give you that.” Clyde blows out a breath.

“I’m not stubborn. I know what’s right for me. I appreciate you, buddy.” I head for the door. “I’ll text you so you’ll know I’m alive.”

“You do that. And think about meeting Ada’s granddaughter, will you?”

“I’ll think about it,” I lie. “Stay warm and give my best to Ada.”

“Will do!”

I trudge through the snow, open the cover on the back of my truck, and set the bags inside next to the bundles of oak I picked up from Wild Oak. I snap the cover in place, and I notice about six inches of snow has fallen since I walked into Clyde’s General Store. I really wanted to take a drive to The Grind for some fresh coffee beans, but this snow is falling too fast.

I back up to the gas pump, fill my tank, then head up Route One. I crack the window to let the cold air in. After four tours baking in the sweltering heat of Iraq, winter is hands-down my absolute favorite season. I love the glacial weather.

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