Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
My blood heats all over again as I think about my encounter with the sexy, yet infuriating officer. He was a real piece of work, that one. Acting all high and mighty with his stupid snow brush and laced-up boots.
The avalanche of emotions I felt in that short encounter is something I am still baffled by hours later. I went from feeling guilty for unavoidably sliding into his SUV, to immediately being struck by his rugged good looks. So much so, that I felt all the air get knocked out of my lungs. With disheveled brown hair, a strong jawline, and an olive complexion that enhanced warm hazel eyes, there is no denying the man is more than attractive. And not the kind of attractive I’m used to seeing back in California. No stiff suit with bleached-white teeth and a fake tan.
Oh no, he was far from that. He was tall, his body strong—something that was apparent even under his jacket—and it only added to the authority he exuded. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. I was completely riveted.
Until he opened his rude mouth and ruined it all.
I fully expected to receive the ticket of my life after the tongue-lashing I gave him, but nope, the good-looking bastard ended it with an act of kindness before leaning inside my car and bringing that handsome, infuriating face only an inch from mine, drugging me with his woodsy, masculine scent.
It caused an unusual shift to take place inside of me. The furious rhythm of my angry heart started to beat for an entirely different reason. It was unnerving, to say the least, and has left me feeling off-kilter for most of the day.
I’m pulled from the thought when the bell above the door jingles, alerting me of someone’s arrival. Looking over, I find a young girl with a pink backpack on stumbling inside. She’s bundled to the nines and covered in snow, looking like she just walked a mile to get here.
Concerned, I make my way over to her. “Well, hello.”
“Hi.” Her returned greeting is muffled behind the scarf covering most of her face. Shaking the snow off herself, she sends the white, fluffy powder all over the floor before removing the knotted material from around her neck. It reveals the sweetest face with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. “Sheesh, it’s crazy out there,” she says, pulling her hat off to unveil a staticky mess of golden-brown curls.
“It sure is. Are you all right?” I ask, wondering why she is out in this weather all by herself. I’ll admit most of the locals don’t seem fazed by this storm, but she can’t be more than ten years old.
“Yes, but I need to borrow your phone if you don’t mind. My so-called ‘babysitter’ pulled a no-show, so I need to call my brother to come pick me up.”
I find myself amused by the way she uses her fingers as air quotes when talking about this so-called babysitter.
“Of course. Right this way.”
She follows me over to the front counter, the sound of her winter boots stomping on the floor behind me as she struggles to maneuver in all her layers of clothing.
Grabbing the phone from under the register, I place it on top for her to use. “Do you need help?” I ask. “I can dial it for you if you tell me the number.”
“It’s okay. I got it.” She shuffles up to the counter and lifts to her booted toes in order to see the buttons, then begins dialing the number.
I pretend to busy myself behind her, wanting to stay close in case she needs something, and listen as several faint rings echo from the receiver.
“Come on, Mike. Pick up,” she whispers, a hint of concern lacing her tiny voice.
I start to worry the call will go unanswered until a muffled voice comes over the line a moment later.
“Cross.” By the deep timber of the voice, I realize her brother must be quite a bit older than her.
“It’s me. We got a problem,” she says, sounding all business again.
“Great. What now?”
“Flakey Felicia didn’t pick me up from school like she was supposed to.”
A smile touches my lips at the nickname she gives the babysitter, but it quickly fades as chaos erupts on the other end of the line.
“What!?” the furious voice booms from the receiver, forcing the young girl to pull the phone away from her ear. “What do you mean she didn’t show up? Where the hell are you?”
She returns the phone to her ear, seeming completely unfazed by her brother’s outrage. “I’m at the Christmas store. The doors to the school were locked, so I walked here to use the phone.”
The elementary school is less than a block away. Not far at all, but still a trek in this weather, especially for a child.