The Broken Protector Read Online Nicole Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement1

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This cranky old car likes to slip a little.

The road takes me into the main plaza. I swear I can feel people watching as they stroll around leisurely, moving from shop to shop and going about their lives.

Like any sane person planning a life-altering move, I did my homework on Redhaven before I accepted the job.

There’s barely three thousand people here. That might seem like a lot, but I’m from New York City—the kind of place where you can live next door to someone and never even know their name, much less make eye contact.

Here, I’m guessing everyone not only knows your name, but your business, your last hookup, and what you had for dinner last night.

I can’t decide if I’ll love it or hate it.

But I’ve come this far, so I have to give it a fair shot.

I’ve been told to check in at this place called The Rookery, so that’s where I’m going.

As the road levels out into the cobblestoned plaza, it’s not hard to pick out. It’s the largest building bordering the town square, two stories of cream stucco with a peaked roof and dark-green shutters over double windows.

White columns ring the entire building on both stories, a green-painted ironwork railing on the second floor, turning it into a wraparound balcony. A cute wooden cutout sign dangles from a post just outside the main door.

The Rookery Bed and Breakfast, it says.

I park on the curb and get out, smoothing my tank top.

Just in case, I hitch the neckline up a little before I push the iron gate open and head up the long concrete walk bisecting the manicured lawn.

The heat feels as slow and lazy as the gnats swirling in the air. I swat at a small swarm as I step into the cooler shadows of the overhanging balcony and push through the door.

Sweet, sweet air-conditioning instantly gives me goose bumps.

And I don’t get a second to adjust to the dimmer light inside the spotless lobby before the woman behind the counter looks up at me and smiles.

“Let me guess.” She squints and points at me. “Miss Clarendon?”

I blink at her dumbly.

I’m not used to people being so direct, calling me by name with this kind of warmth.

She’s a slim woman, older, trim in her khakis and cardigan, her reddish-blonde bob neatly trimmed and starting to go grey to match the lines around her light-brown eyes.

I slowly smile and remind myself this isn’t NYC.

No ulterior motives to stress about here.

I hope.

“Delilah,” I say, offering my hand. “Am I that obvious?”

The woman laughs and shakes my hand lightly. Her palm is warm, a little hard in that way that says she’s no stranger to hard work.

“Oh, I was expecting you, hon,” she says with a touch of amusement, her eyes glittering like we’re sharing a secret. “It’s not likely you’d be anyone else right now. We’re heading into the offseason, and most of the tourist folks and pensioners are heading back upstate. We don’t get many new faces this time of year.”

I give her hand an answering squeeze, then let go and tilt my head back to look around.

I’m legit impressed.

Golden hanging light fixtures, subtle patterns on the burgundy carpeted upholstery, an upper gallery with numbered doors behind a wrought-iron railing. Very classy.

“Nice place,” I say.

“Oh, I make do,” she says. “I’m Janelle, by the way. Janelle Bowden.”

“Right.” I clear my throat, fighting not to blush. I’m already being rude, not even asking her name, falling back on that impersonal distance big cities grind into you. “Great to meet you, Miss Bowden.”

“Janelle’s just fine.” She chuckles. “And don’t look so uncomfortable! I promise we don’t bite around here.”

Maybe not.

But I can’t help noticing how her eyes flick to my shoulder and down my arm—following the lines of my tattoo so clearly, it’s like I can feel her touch.

There’s no judgment, no scorn, only curiosity, but...

Who knows.

We’re deep in the 2020s where tattoos are more common than baseball hats, but little towns do love their gossip.

Maybe as soon as I’m out the door, she’ll be on the phone, telling half the town their new kindergarten teacher has a scandalous dragon tattoo.

I flash her an uneasy smile. “Sorry. Honestly, I guess I’m a little worried about fitting in.”

“You’ll do fine, hon. Everyone gets used to Redhaven’s quirks eventually. If you stay here long enough, you become part of it.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

There’s something about her statement that makes me a tad uneasy. That stifling feeling strikes again, the same tension that hit when I saw that house on the hill.

Part of me wants to ask about it, but I don’t know where to start.

Janelle takes the problem out of my hands, though, dusting her hands together briskly with a no-nonsense smile. “But listen to me, chattering on. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get settled in, won’t you?” She leans back, peering under the glossy reception counter and fishing around. “Jeez. I know I put those keys somewhere—ah, there we go.”


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