Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Just another festival, another stage, and another small town I’d forget in the morning.
But then I saw him and I knew I’d never forget this place.
Sheriff Ryland Gray—gruff, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and the kind of man who makes you forget how to breathe.
He looked at me once, and my world tilted. When he talked to me, my universe shifted forever.
He calls me angel, like it’s a fact, not a nickname.
He looks at me like he knows I’m his.
He’s older, protective, and possessive in a way that should scare me.
But it doesn’t. It makes me feel safe.
It makes me feel wanted.
It makes me feel alive.
So, how can I forget this place?
How can I go?
And if I try, will this hot, silver fox of a Mountain Man even let me leave?
A sizzling Age-Gap romance is in the Greene Mountains forecast. Join Sheriff Ryland Gray as he falls for the irresistible musician visiting his town. This hunky Mountain Man falls hard.
May December Insta-love at its finest in a SAFE read with no cheating and a super sweet HEA guaranteed. Can be read as a standalone book. Enjoy!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Ryland
“Hey, Sheriff,” Emmanuel says, shaking his head as he walks over. “Mrs. Kensington had her purse stolen too.”
I grit my teeth and let out a low growl as I glare at the redneck leaning on the cotton candy machine. He’s staring back at me while he tucks his chewing tobacco into his cheek and spits on our beautiful town square’s pristine grass.
These guys are starting to piss me off.
It’s been nonstop trouble since these carnies arrived and I want them out of here right fucking now.
But the summer festival is in full swing and almost the whole town is here. I can’t exactly shut it all down. A lot of work went into setting this up and I’ll be damned if I disappoint all the parents, kids, and couples in love over a few redneck freaks who can’t keep their sticky fingers to themselves.
“Where is she?” I ask Emmanuel. My deputy is staring down a worker at the hot dog stand with his big shoulders and huge arms flexed tight. The greasy carnie glances over at Emmanuel and smiles, showing off his lack of teeth as he hands a customer a hot dog that I doubt would pass even the most basic food inspection.
“She’s over by the ferris wheel,” he says, pointing to the large wobbly monstrosity that doesn’t look safe in the least. It’s definitely making a worrisome amount of noise. The grinding metal gets louder as I march over.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Molly, the town veterinarian says with a smile as I pass her.
I tip my hat and keep walking.
Our mayor set this whole thing up. Everything is first class—the musicians playing on the rented stage, the corn roast, the food trucks, the petting zoo, the face painting booths, and all of the tables set up by locals selling their crafts and homemade baked goods. The only rotten thing is these sketchy as fuck carnies he hired to bring in these old squeaky rides and games that are impossible to win.
It’s bad enough they’re ripping everyone off with their rigged games and rides that will dislocate your neck, but stealing and pickpocketing them too? Not on my watch.
“Mrs. Kensington,” I say as I arrive at the ferris wheel. She’s looking very flustered as she scans the crowd, trying to spot her missing purse. “What happened?”
“Oh, it’s horrible, Sheriff,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “I put down my purse while I was recording my grandson on the ferris wheel and then when he got off, my purse was gone.”
The two guys operating the ferris wheel keep glancing over here. I don’t need to be a trained detective to know they’re suspect number one and two.
“Let me see the video you took,” I say as I grit my teeth, trying to stop the thundering impulse to go over there and wring their skinny necks. “Maybe there’s something on it.”
“Good idea,” she says as she starts playing it on her phone. I see her grandson smiling on the ferris wheel and a lot of shaking and blurry parts, but I can’t see anyone approaching her or taking her purse.
“What am I going to do, Sheriff?” she asks, starting to panic. “My medication is in there. My ID. The keys to my house and car.” She gasps. “They have my address and home key!”
I squeeze my hands into fists as I picture those creeps bursting into this nice lady’s house and doing lord knows what. Not going to happen. Not in my town.
“Stay here,” I say with a growl as I stare them down. The one with the mullet who’s leaning on the railing stands up and looks at me with a challenging gaze as I march over with my shoulders pulled back and my chest puffed out. The other one with the shredded trucker hat and bloated beer gut puffs on his cigarette as he pushes the red button, slowing the ferris wheel down.
“What can we do for you, Officer?” mullet asks with an amused grin.
I lock eyes with him and clench my jaw. He knows I could pound that cocky grin into mush if I wanted to, but lowlives like him are used to using the law and the goodnatured patience of cops like me to their advantage.
Thing is, my patience has run out. And around here, I am the law.
“Did you see where her purse went to?” I ask, pointing at Mrs. Kensington.
They both shrug and shake their heads. “Nah. We didn’t see nuthin.”
I survey the area, but there’s not much around except for the control panel and a bunch of cigarette butts that they’ve carelessly tossed onto the grass.
There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to hide a purse, but I know these guys are cagey. And I know they’ll be onto the next town soon, ripping the hardworking people there off too.