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Cold Hearted Love – A Small Town Sheriff Romance
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Sexy Small Town Sheriff Tyson was everything I shouldn’t want in a man.
It wasn’t my fault I found the bossy lawman thing hot.
In my defence he kissed me first, I just…submitted.
We were all wrong for each other, but the thought of not seeing him again…
Somewhere along the way my enemy became something more.
He became my everything.
A reporter. Gorgeous. Stubborn. Mouthy.
Except she was fiery, and she didn’t give up.
She kissed like her mouth was made just for me.
She had a way of making me forget she was a nosey journalist.
Always out for a story, no matter the cost.
Ginger made me laugh, she was a thorn in my side.
She made me fall for her.
But can I trust her with my heart when I don’t know what she’s hiding from me?
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One of the best things about having a hands off boss is that there was no constant presence hovering over you as you completed every single task assigned to you. One of the worst things, was when said boss never slept and communicated exclusively by email. Every single day. All day long. Some days I logged into the Tulip Gazette email system to find a dozen messages from the man who signed my direct deposit paychecks.
He was always respectful, mostly stern and usually redundant.
In conclusion Ginger, I am finding the Tulip Gazette a waste of resources. It turns a profit, but I feel it could b bigger. It should be bigger. Get those numbers up so we don’t have to talk about things like shutting down the paper and unemployment claims. Greg T.
That’s how he signed every message. Which didn’t leave much of an impact on me, but the people of Tulip were utterly fascinated by him. His holiday cards and charitable donations have given him quite a reputation in Tulip, despite the fact he’d never set foot in this town. Ever.
Still, his message to me was crystal clear. Do better, or lose my job. Which basically meant, do better, because I couldn’t lose my job. Decent paying positions were difficult to come across in this economy, and one with the flexibility to work another job was almost impossible. It’s how I landed in this teensy town in the first place. The paper needed a journalist, and I was in need of a job in the field of journalism. It wasn’t the best paying position, but now a few months later, I practically ran the place as a one woman operation for a slightly higher salary, which went to the pricey care home that treated my mom’s Alzheimer’s. It all worked out perfectly, because my part time job at Big Mama’s diner paid my own living expenses. I had to stay on here.
No matter what.
I read Greg’s email at least three more times, just in case the words shifted into something else that didn’t threaten my employment status. Then I stared at the yellow notebook beside my tablet on the small wooden desk that counted as half of the Tulip Gazette offices. I had to come up with at least a hundred ideas if there was as chance in hell I found a dozen that could help drive more traffic, because more subscriptions were pretty much out of the question.
Tulip was a small town, I knew that when I packed up my apartment in Minneapolis, but that didn’t bother me. It was certainly one of the smallest, with fewer than ten thousand people, but it wasn’t my first small town. In my eagerness to earn more money, I hadn’t stopped to figure out how I would keep up with the digital Joneses.
“I’ll find a way.” Mostly because I had to. It was just us, me and my mom. The Scanlan girls. She took care of me and put me through school, and now it was my turn the return the favor. Even if she had no idea what I was doing. Or for whom. That didn’t matter, I wasn’t doing it for the recognition or the gratitude, I was doing it for her.
Which meant I needed ideas. Lots and lots of ideas.
And I would come up with them. Soon.
For now, I had to get over to the diner before my shift began. The breakfast rush was crazy busy, and it was the best time of day to get good tips. Keep shift workers and retirees in steady cups of coffee and they were very generous before they headed off for another day of punching a clock. I had a few minutes before Big Mama expected me, so I took my time and enjoyed the scenery which included the infamous Tulip’s Tribute, which is probably the sole reason the paper was still in operation.
“Morning Ginger.” The sound of Rafe Montgomery’s voice pulled me from my own thoughts and I smiled up at the too good looking fire chief.
“Good morning, Rafe. Fighting fires before the sun comes up?”
“Something like that,” he grinned with twitching lips. “Breaking bad news to firefighters is best done with coffee and sugar.”
“And don’t forget carbs. Loads and loads of carbs.” It didn’t do a thing to take the sting off bad news, but pastries were a special kind of miracle.
“Of course.” His lips twitched again and I was never really sure if he was laughing at me or with me. “How are you settling into Tulip?”
“It’s great,” I told him honestly. “It’s small and safe and weird as hell. What’s not to like?”
“Maybe we ought to put that on the welcome sign. Welcome to Tulip. Where it’s small, safe and weird as hell.”
“Why not? We still have twelve hot hometown heroes to fall back on if that doesn’t work.” If possible, Rafe’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of hot pink that teased a laugh out of me. “Sorry.”