Page 6 of Saved By the Sergeant

“Geneva.” I swipe at my nose. “Geneva Thayer.”

“Nice to meet you, Geneva. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Can you cook?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Cause I’m starving. Let’s unpack the truck, and I’ll show you around the kitchen.” He opens the door, and a gust of frigid wind snaps across my face.

For half a second, I’m sure he’s joking. But as I watch him climb out of the truck without saying another word, I realize the man is dead serious. Maybe he didn’t bring me up here to truly help me. Perhaps he’s going to chain me to the stove and turn me into some sort of cooking sex slave. “Wait!”

“What?” He drops the tailgate.

“I will not be your concubine.”

He hoists a large bin onto his shoulder. “Come again?”

I tip my head back, ignoring the heavy snow sticking to my face. “I’m not going to be your sex slave,” I yell into the wind.

“You’re not?” He shuffles past me. “That’s a pity. Because from what I can see of you, sweetheart, you’d make a good one.”

“That’s it. I’m leaving.” I spin around to look for the tire tracks to follow them down the mountain. Dear God! The fast-falling snow already covers them.

“You’ll never make it, sweetheart!” Archer calls out as he enters his “cabin.”

My teeth start to chatter as I watch his massive frame disappear into the warmth of his home. I hate that he’s right. There’s no way I won’t end up being a meal for a bear or freezing to death in this storm. Resigned to whatever fate awaits me, I grab a handful of shopping bags and walk into Archer’s house, ready to dance with the devil.

3

GENEVA

“I should warn you,”Archer says as he kicks off his boots. “I have a dog,”

A ball of white rushes in, and bounces at his feet. “Hey, boy. Did you miss me?” He bends down, scratching the little guy between the ears. “This is Gizmo.”

“He’s so cute.” I kneel down. “Hey, buddy.” I hold out my hand for him to smell. He does a little snort and then sniffs my palm. When he’s satisfied I’m not the enemy, he lets me pet his silky coat. “What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a mix of Maltese and Yorkshire terrier.”

Gizmo follows Archer into the living room, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. He’s so big, so manly, I can picture him with a Saint Bernard, a Doberman, or a German Shepherd. But a toy dog? It’s too adorable for words.

I quickly remove my shoes and follow Archer. The living room is amazing. There are exposed beams, and a massive fieldstone fireplace sits in the back of the room, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows. Big, comfy-looking couches with matching chairs entice you to curl up with one of the thick throws foldedneatly in a big wicker basket. Polished cedar walls are decorated with gorgeous rustic art pieces.

“This is beautiful. Did you honestly design it yourself?”

“Every square inch.”

“I’m impressed.”

Archer makes his way to the fireplace. “I’ll start a fire. Would you mind putting the groceries on the counter in the kitchen?” He holds out a log, pointing me to the right.

“No problem. I’m happy to put them away if you don’t mind.”

“Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

I step into a modern kitchen with tan marble granite countertops, cedar cabinets, and a center island. When I spy the farmer’s sink, I sigh with envy.

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