Here it is. My jaw clenches. “Why would I do that?”
He shrugs. “Because you need my help. I know how to fix things.”
“No.” Anger grinds through me. I move closer, my hand clenching around my gun. “No way. You want to fix it up so that dickwhistle Oliver Nichols can buy it out from under me.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not about that. Not entirely. I sincerely want to help you.”
Confusion coils with the fury. “Why? If you’re here for Oliver, then you want me to sell. You don’t care about me. Why would you?”
His head tilts back slightly, then he shrugs. “I understand why you don’t believe me. You don’t have to trust me. But I won’t do anything to force you off your land. How could I? You can run me out of here any time you want.” He gestures to the inoperable weapon dangling at my side. “What I can do is keep Oliver off your back for a few weeks and fix up some things around here. Can you afford to turn down free labor?”
I stare at him, baffled. This makes no sense. His words are not computing into logic in my mind. He’s here to convince me to sell, but in the meantime, he wants to dig ditches and clean cabins?
“Why on earth would you do any of this? What are you getting out of it?”
He steps closer. “I get to tell Oliver you haven’t tried to kill me and figure out something to make this whole situation mutually beneficial.”
My shoulders tense. “I’m never selling.”
He nods as if it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “I’m willing to accept that. All I’m asking is that you hear me out and let me stay for a few weeks.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you have no reason not to. This is a win-win for you. If you decide not to sell, no hard feelings, and you get free labor in the meantime. I will continue to pay my nightly rent, so you’re also getting a short-term customer and steady income, small as it is.”
His straight talk is like an arrow shot right into the heart of the problems that I’ve been contending with for years.
He’s right. But I don’t like it. And what he’s offering? It’s almost too good to be true. “There’s got to be some kind of catch.”
“No catch. Just let me stay and don’t kill me. We can make a deal. I’ll do whatever menial tasks you want, but every night when we’re done, talk to me and maybe answer some questions.”
My defenses rise, preparing for battle. “Questions about what?”
“Purely business related.”
I shift on my feet. “So let me get this straight. You’re going to pay the rent on the cabin, and work for me—for free—and all you ask is that I answer some questions and listen to you blabber about why I should sell?” I stare at him, flabbergasted. “Something I’ve already made abundantly clear I don’t intend to do.”
His gaze stays fixed on mine. “That’s right.”
I release a huff of laughter. “This won’t work like you think it will.”
“Then you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. We can even put it in writing, and I’ll sign it.”
My tired mind sorts through any potential ramifications. This is like one of those crossroad demon deals where they give you what you want but sentence your soul to eternal damnation.
“What if there are questions I don’t want to answer?”
“I won’t force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’m not intending to ask anything embarrassing or personal. I know you find it hard to believe, but I truly want to help you.”
I frown. “Why would you want to help me?”
“It’s what I do. I’m a solvency expert.”
I don’t understand exactly what that means, but I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to know anything about him.
He could be lying, I guess, but it would be easy to verify his occupation with a quick internet search. Even though I want to hate him with every fiber of my being, I really only hate him with about a quarter of them. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to spend my morning digging or maybe it’s my lonely, lonely lady parts, but there is something inherently capable and trustworthy about Archer.
Either he’s telling the truth, or he’s a sociopath.