Archer's Voice (A Sign of Love Novel)(15)

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 axe 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 closed 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 chest, 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 remember me? From town? The candy bars?" I smiled.
He continued to stare.
God, I needed to leave. This was awkward. I cleared my throat. "Phoebe," I called. "Come here, girl." Phoebe stared at me, still sitting at Archer's feet.
I moved my eyes between Archer and Phoebe. They were both completely still, two pairs of eyes trained on me.
Well.
My eyes settled on Archer. "Do you understand me? What I'm saying?" I asked.
My words seemed to get his attention just a little. He stared at me for a beat and then his lips pursed and he let out a breath, seeming to make a decision. He walked around me and toward his house, Phoebe following close behind. I turned to watch him, confused, when he turned, looked at me and signaled me with his hand to follow him.
I assumed he was walking me back to the gate. I hurried behind him, speed-walking to keep up with his long strides, the little traitor known as Phoebe staying with Archer the whole time, but turning to watch me follow, yapping excitedly.
When I made it up to where he was standing waiting for me, I said, "You're not, like, an axe murderer or something, are you?" I was joking, but it did occur to me again that if I screamed, there wasn't anyone who would hear me. Trust your instincts, Bree, I reminded myself.
Archer Hale raised his eyebrows and pointed down the slight incline to where he had left his axe, stuck in the stump. I looked down at it and back at him.
"Right," I whispered. "The whole axe-murderer thing doesn't really work if you don't have your axe."
That same miniscule lip quirk that I had seen in the parking lot of the drug store made the decision for me. I followed him the last of the way to the front of his house.
He opened his front door and I gasped when I looked inside and saw a big, brick fireplace flanked by two floor to ceiling bookcases full of hardbacks and paperbacks. I started moving toward them like a mind-numb, book-loving robot, but I felt Archer's hand on my arm and halted. He held up his finger to indicate he'd just be a minute and walked inside. When he came back out a couple seconds later, he had a pad in his hands and he was writing something on it. I waited, and when he turned it to me, in very neat, all upper case letters, it said: