6. Archer

6

ARCHER

"You slept in that chair all night, didn't you?"

I crack one eye open. "Good morning, to you, too." I'm not telling her I haven't slept a wink. After she cried her eyes out, I carried her upstairs to lay her down, and the poor thing passed out from sheer emotional exhaustion. She was so fragile that I couldn't leave her alone.

Geneva swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm sorr?—"

"Don't." I lean forward, and rest my forearms on my thighs. "No more apologies for you. Your apology tour is over, okay?"

"Okay," she says as she runs her fingers through her hair. "If you're not going to allow me to apologize, how about I take a shower and make you breakfast?"

"If you're cooking, sweetheart, I'm not turning it down." I stand up to stretch my back. "I think I'll shower, too. I'll see you downstairs."

Gizmo pokes his head out from underneath the blanket I covered her with last night.

"You're such a good boy." He scratches him between the ears. "I'll cook for you, too."

I start for the door. "You'll be all right?"

"I'll be just fine," she says as she puts three fingers in the air. "Girl Scout's honor."

"You were a Girl Scout?"

"No," she smiles. "I saw it in a movie once."

"You like movies?"

"I do."

"Well then, you have come to the right place, sweetheart. I have a movie library full of classics. And we're snowed in. So, we can spend all day watching whatever your heart desires."

"Do you have popcorn?" Her eyes twinkle.

"Does a zebra have stripes?" I wiggle my brows.

"Awesome. It's a date." Her cheeks flush bright red. "I mean...umm…I…"

"Sweetheart, relax. It is a date," I step into the hallway. "I'll pick you up in the kitchen."

I'm never going to look at yoga pants or oversized sweaters the same. Never. As Geneva bends over to take a pan out of the oven, I have to adjust myself under the table. The woman has a body that would make a sculptor weep.

She sets a platter of pancakes and bacon on the table. "Breakfast is served."

"I'm going to have to go on a diet by the time this storm is over," I say as I load up my plate.

"I doubt that very much," she smiles. "I want to thank you for last night. And before you say anything, it's a thank you, not an apology."

"Gratitude received." I drizzle syrup over my stack of pancakes. "And you're welcome."

Geneva snaps a strip of bacon in half. "I looked out the window this morning. There's a lot of snow out there."

"Indeed. I'm guessing it's close to twenty-six inches. My friend Clyde told me the storm was going to be a record-breaker. And I'm pretty sure he's right."

"Oh, darn it, "Geneva says as she gets up from the table. "I forgot the orange juice."

"Sweetheart, sit and enjoy this amazing meal you made while it's hot. We don't need orange juice. We can have it tomorrow." As I hear the words come out of my mouth, there's an odd feeling in my stomach and a tiny voice in the back of my head, praying the storm doesn't end.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before she blurts, "Donny Mason is going to kill me."

My blood runs cold. "Who's Donny Mason, sweetheart?"

Her pretty face goes pale. "We used to date," she says and takes a deep breath. "He's a cop."

My blood pumps hard. "Why would he want to kill you?"

"I don't even know where to start…"

"Take your time, sweetheart." I reach across the table, and gently rest my hand on top of hers. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes are filled with such pain and anguish that I want to annihilate this Donny Mason character. My heart pounds faster.

"When we started dating, he was so sweet and thoughtful. I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd finally met a nice guy." She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. "But I was wrong. And when I realized what kind of man he really was… it was too late."

Her voice is so soft that I have to lean in to hear every word.

"I was trapped with no way out." She stands up, turns around, and lifts the back of her sweater. "He has a bad temper and doesn't like to hear the word no."

I blink, as I try to unscramble my brain as I stare at a thick, jagged two-foot scar that curves from her left shoulder down to the top of her right buttock. It has ugly raised edges that are uneven, with tiny fissures that shoot out all over her skin.

"He did that to you?" I whisper.

"I fell through a glass coffee table." She sits, keeping her eyes cast down. "Well, I didn't fall. I was pushed."

"I am so sorry that happened to you," I no longer want to annihilate Donny. I want to torture him within an inch of his miserable fucking life. "What did he call you, sweetheart?"

She looks at me, confused. "What?"

"What did he call you?"

"Geneva," her bottom lip quivers. "He always called me Geneva. Nothing else."

"All right," I say as I rub my hand over my jaw. "If it's all right with you, I'll call you Gennie from now on."

"Okay," she whispers. "I've never been called Gennie." Her lips slightly curl at the edges. "I like it."

"Perfect," I declare. "To me, you'll be sweetheart, Gennie, or whatever cutsie name I can think of. But I will never call you what he called you." I sit back in the chair, tormented by what else he may have done to her. "We're not all bad, Gennie. There are a lot of us who are good, honest, kind… and gentle." I breathe out.

"I know." she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "I met you."

I have to restrain myself from launching across the table and crushing her to my chest.

"Did he pay for what he did to you?"

"No," she shakes her head. "He's a cop. Nobody would believe me over him."

"I know some fine cops who would believe you, sweetheart." And when this storm is over, I'm going to take her to them. "When you went to the hospital to get stitches, didn't the staff ask how you were injured?"

"After it happened, he kept me in his apartment for two weeks. "

Bile burns the back of my throat. I don't want to ask the next question, but I must know. "Then who sewed that up for you?"

"He did," she whispers, cradling her face in her hand, "and he stapled me."

That's bloody it. That son of a bitch is mine. "He let you go, yes?"

"Yes. And I went about my life and didn't say a word to anyone."

"I'm lost, sweetheart. If you didn't report the assault to the police or the kidnapping?—"

"Wait." She puts her hand up. "He didn't kidnap me."

"Did you want to stay at his place for two weeks?"

"No," she says and shivers.

"Then you were kidnapped, too, sweetheart." I let that sink in for a minute. "If you kept his dirty little secret, why would he want to kill you?"

She jumps to her feet. "Can we take a break for a minute? I want to tell you everything, but before I finish this story, I'd like some of your whiskey to calm my nerves. Is that okay?"

"Gennie," I get up, put my arm around her shoulders, and walk her to the pantry. "What's mine is yours. And lucky for you, I never let my friends drink alone. I'll have a whiskey, too." I wink down at her. "I meant it when I said I'm not going anywhere. You take all the time you want to tell me your story, sweetheart."

"Okay." She smiles up at me. "You are a good friend, Archie. May I call you Archie?"

The last person who called me Archie was in the fourth grade. He walked away with a black eye and a bloody nose. But Gennie… she can call me anything she wants. "I'd like that."

"Good," she beams. "Let's whip up the dishes, sit by the fire, and drink."

She rests her head against my chest for no more than a heartbeat.

And that's when it happens.

I fall in love with a bright-eyed Happy wielding would-be assassin.