Or maybe that was just Ginger’s sex-starved imagination.
“Well….I thought you’d yell at me for what I did just now.”
“Naah. You were surprisingly diplomatic about it.”
Ginger winced at the “surprisingly” part, but she’d earned it.
“And that was actually pretty damn smart of you,” Sheriff Armstrong continued. “I should have thought of that myself years ago. Every time I tried to offer Cletus and his family money, they say they don’t take charity; I should have realized the solution was to find Cletus some kind of job. He’s right that it’s hard for him to find any work, the Arbuckle’s have a bad reputation in town. Especially Cletus, he did time in juvie for a vandalism spree after his father died, smashed the windows on a bunch of businesses on Main Street, and a lot of folks in town hold that against him.”
“I’ll pay for his salary,” Ginger said, relieved that this wasn’t going to get her in even more trouble with her pack. “And his lunch.” She could charge it to her credit card, skip lunch for the next few months when she was in New York…
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman. I’ll get the town to cover it out of petty cash. We do need that garden weeded and planted.”
They climbed back in the car and headed into town. “Next time, consult me first,” he added.
“Will do.” She nodded, relief rolling over her. Disaster averted. Her Alpha, and her standing with the pack, were safe. For now.
“I’m going to take you to my office now, introduce you to everybody. We expanded our building recently. I’ve got boxes and boxes of filing that needs to be done.”
“Great!” she forced a bright, cheery smile, but inwardly she quailed. How would everyone at the station react to the woman who’d publicly insulted their Alpha? And how had she managed to get herself into this mess?
Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she pulled it out and glanced at it.
“Boyfriend?” he said, glancing sideways at her.
Hmmm. Why was he asking?
“I don’t have one of those,” she said. “But I do have a mother who’s apparently called me 11 times this morning.”
“No boyfriend? Men in New York must not know a good thing when they see it.”
“You’re too kind. I had a boyfriend. We…wanted different things.” That wasn’t a lie. She wanted fidelity, more passion and a wedding ring, and he wanted to have sex with Bitsy Saperstein.
Her phone rang again.
“Why does your mother’s ring tone sound like the wedding march?”
She shot him a dirty look, flipped open the phone, and her mother’s shrill voice rang in her ear.
“What have you done? Did I raise you like this? How will we ever get you married now? Are our packs going to be at war?”
“Mother,” she said, gritting her teeth together. “I am in the car with the sheriff. Everything is fine. Everything is going very well.”
“Really?” her mother perked up. “Does he like you now? Is he single?”
“Mother.”
“Maybe you could cook him dinner. Show him how domestic you are. I’m going to text you some recipes as soon as I hang up. Or maybe-“
“I’ll call you tonight,” she said hastily, and hung up. Loch was stifling a laugh. “Don’t,” she said crabbily. “Just don’t.”
The sheriff’s building was a squat brick structure, with black shutters and a big sign out front that said Blue Moon County Sheriff’s Office, with a picture of their logo, which was a wolf howling at the moon. It was located in downtown Blue Moon Junction, which was what passed for a town in those parts. They were gliding into Loch’s parking space by the front door when the radio crackled again.
“Some kind of disturbance call at Terry Jones house,” the dispatcher said. “She specifically asked for you to come, sheriff.” There was an undertone of amusement in her voice.
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it.”
He pulled out of the parking lot, looking annoyed.
About five minutes down the road, they pulled into a mobile home park. The homes were small but neat-looking, surrounded by well tended little yards.
The sheriff parked in front of a house towards the back of the park, and as he and Ginger walked up the pathway to the mobile home on 3622 Sand hill Crane Court, he said to her “Brace yourself.”
“For what?” she asked, puzzled.
“You’ll see.”
They walked up the white gravel path to an entrance which was flanked by artificial roses in plastic pots, and the sheriff rapped on the door with his knuckles. The door flew open, revealing…a voluptuous naked woman. Well, not totally naked. She was wearing a bikini made of saran wrap. It was quite evident that she waxed.
“Ready to unwrap me, Sheriff?” she purred.
Then her gaze lit on Ginger, and her face fell. “What’s she doing here?” she pouted.
“Miss Jones. I have talked about this with you before. This is inappropriate, and a waste of county resources. You could have taken me away from a real emergency.”
“But-” her lower lip stuck out.
“No buts. Next time you place a fake emergency call, you will be prosecuted.”
Her eyes widened with anger and shock, and she slammed the door hard before letting out a stream of curses. He turned and walked down the walkway, with Ginger following behind him and struggling not to laugh as they climbed back into his car.
“Soooo…I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that at one point, you did hit that, and she wants an encore?” Ginger said, struggling and failing to keep a straight face.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” His tone was irritated and he stared at the road straight ahead, but Ginger thought she saw a little smile struggling to break free.
“A little bit. Yeah. This will make a great story to tell the friends back home.”
“You in such a rush to leave us?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” she said politely.
Hell yes, before I accidentally offend someone else and start a full on war, she thought. Or before I climb on the sheriff and start humping his leg.
Stupid annoyingly sexy sheriff.
He harrumphed, and turned on the radio, flipping through channels until he found a country song.
Her cell phone rang, and she saw that it was Marigold. She quickly hit the “talk” button.
“Oh my God, have you had sex with him yet?” Marigold said.
“Why, hello, Marigold. You know, he can actually hear you. I’m in the patrol car with him. He’s like a foot away from me. So shut up, is what I’m trying to say.”
“Oooohhh! Did he arrest you? Are you in handcuffs?”
Her face reddened. “No, I’m not in handcuffs. How would I answer the phone if I were in handcuffs?”
“Good point. Hey, sheriff hot stuff! When you guys do it, you should do it in the back seat of the patrol car!” Marigold yelled into the phone. “Or maybe on the hood!”
“I am going to murder you when I get home tonight!” Ginger hissed, and clicked the phone off quickly.
Blushing, she turned and shot a venomous look at the sheriff, who was stifling a snicker.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” she demanded.
“A little bit. Yeah. So, you’re going to murder your friend tonight? Are you confessing in advance?”
“You hoping to put me in handcuffs?” She could have bitten her tongue off as soon as she said it. What happened to her promise to herself to be the only woman in Blue Moon County who did not stroke the over-inflated ego of Sheriff Loch Too-Sexy-For-His-Shirt Armstrong?
“Ginger Colby. I’d heard that big city girls were kinky, but I had no idea.” His warm brown eyes were like melted chocolate, and a smile curved his lips.
Her cheeks flamed red, and a sudden image flashed through her mind of herself handcuffed to her headboard while Sheriff Armstrong spread her legs open with his big, strong hands and... Sh
e pressed her legs together and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, praying she wasn’t leaving a damp spot there. She’d die. She’d literally die of mortification.
She quickly changed the subject. “So, you and trailer park Terry – you never answered my question.”
She was pleased to see that he looked uncomfortable. “Never on duty. That’s all I’ll say. And only once, with her.”
“Never on duty? Ever? With anyone? In your whole career?” Ginger gave him the skeptical side-eye.
He spluttered and then made an abrupt turn at an intersection, swerving the car so hard that she banged into her door and clutched at her seatbelt.
“Cherry pie?” he said.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ginger gasped.
“You like cherry pie? We’re going to Edna’s house of pie right now. Their pie is excellent.”
“Well…sure. Although I’m more of an apple pie girl myself.”
“Good to know.” They pulled up in front of a small diner style restaurant with a hand painted billboard sign that showed a perky 50s style waitress holding up a pie in one hand.
Ginger felt everyone’s eyes on her as they walked through the door, and she blushed. One man in a booth let out a low, appreciative whistle as he checked Ginger out.
Loch’s eyes blazed amber with fury and he spun to face the man. “Watch yourself.” It came out in a growl, and the man quickly ducked his head, muttered “sorry”, and pretended to be very interested in his menu.
The waitress lit up when they sat down at the table, simpering all over the sheriff. He grinned at her and winked, much to Ginger’s annoyance, and the waitress nearly dropped her tray of plates.
Of course, there was no reason it should bother her. She and the sheriff weren’t an item. They would never be an item.
The sheriff was sitting across from her, and she could feel his legs brushing against hers, and the physical contact almost made her whimper out loud.
She stared down at the menu.
Concentrate on the pie, she thought. Come on, Ginger, you can do this.
All she had to do was resist the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on for two weeks even though he kept throwing sexy innuendo her way, and also refrain from making snarky remarks born of sexual frustration, and she’d be able to go home in two weeks and put the sheriff out of her mind forever.
Piece of cake.
“So, those archeologists…are they still getting harassed by people from the panther nation?” Sheriff Armstrong asked.
Thank God, she thought. Normal conversation! Any more flirting and I’d crawl across the table and lick his neck. I am not a woman of willpower, damn it. My size sixteen ass is living proof of that.
“They’d mentioned it. What’s that all about? They’re not on panther territory, right?”
“No, but they’re uncomfortably close. Probably not the best place for a dig. The panthers suspect them of secretly looking for tribal artifacts, and the site keeps getting sabotaged. Tires have been slashed on vehicles, tools keep getting stolen. They posted a security guard there, and the security guard quit the next day, said he saw panthers pacing around in the shadows all night long.”
Blue Moon County was located on the border of The Panther Nation, a huge section of Florida forest and swampland that was inhabited only by a small, close-knit tribe of Native American shape shifters. It was strictly forbidden for anyone who didn’t belong to the Panther Nation to venture on to the property unless invited by the panthers, and they had resolutely refused to allow any archeologists on their land.
Some of them interacted with the outside world, operating stores, bars, farm stands, and a casino on the edge of their territory; some were more reclusive and never left their land.
“Well, they’ll be out of there in a few weeks, right?” Ginger said.
“If they last that long. I’ve got a bad feeling about it. I’ve been stepping up patrols, doing everything that I can to keep the peace out there.” The sheriff frowned as he dug into his pie.
Chapter Five
Ginger stood next to a cabinet in the file room, putting away case files and pretending not to eavesdrop.
The sheriff was engaged in a heated argument with an attractive sheriff’s deputy named Portia Sinclair. Portia was a reed thin woman with shining, waist length black hair, and an adorable little turned up nose, and a sulky mouth.
Portia had glanced up at Ginger and the sheriff when they walked in the door, and stiffened in her seat. Another member of the sheriff’s fan club, Ginger thought. And clearly she didn’t like Ginger.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was sure it involved her.
Well, eavesdropping was the town’s national past-time, wasn’t it? Time to join in.
She ducked behind a stack of boxes and partially shifted. The bones of her face shifted and stretched, her ears lengthened, and all of her senses, including her hearing, instantly grew sharper.
“-you have to throw them in my face like this all the time?” Portia’s angry voice growled across the room.
“Portia, I never wanted you to join the sheriff’s department. You went over my head and got yourself hired after I asked you not to, so you don’t get to complain that you don’t like seeing me with other women. She’s our guest, and I damn sure expect you to be civil to her, or I’ll move you to the night shift at the North County substation.”
Portia let out a low growl of anger, and then Ginger heard the sheriff’s footsteps heading her way. She quickly shifted back to her human form.
What were they even talking about? Why would Portia feel threatened by her? Portia was beautiful. And Ginger was only here for two weeks.
She walked out of the room and nearly ran right into Loch. He stepped back with a grin, and she quickly folded her arms over her chest as her nipples sprang to attention.
“Everything going okay with the filing?” he asked.
“Absolutely! Is…is me being here causing you problems?”
“Not at all. I did have a couple of questions about your abilities. The ones your Alpha mentioned to me.”
Ginger made a face, although she tried to stifle it. “Sure. Ask away.”
“If it’s something that you’d rather not talk about, I don’t have a problem with that.”
“No, no, not at all. That’s not it. It’s just another thing that makes me stand out, and not necessarily in a good way.”
He looked at her quizzically.
“You know,” she said, gesturing at herself. “This figure. The only werewolves who are, shall we say, fuller figured, are the ones who are half-breeds. So we’re pretty rare. And then when I was little, before I could control my powers, I’d talk to people that only I could see. My mother had me tested and it turned out that I wasn’t actually crazy, that I was communicating with the recently deceased, but people still look at you funny when you carry on one-sided conversations. It took me until I was in my teens to learn to shut it out unless I was actively seeking to speak to the dead. By that point, the nickname Crazy Ginger had spread among the pack, and it stuck.”
Oh, crap. She’d just told him her very unsexy nickname.
But he was still smiling. No matter what she said, how dorky she sounded, he always looked at her like he wanted to spread whip cream on her and lick it off. Of course, he probably looked that way at every woman who was old enough to legally buy alcohol.
“Oooh, I think that’s a wicked cool power. Excuse me for eavesdropping.” A spiky haired girl with arms covered in tattoos walked up and stuck her hand out. Her fingernails sparkled with purple polish. “Hi, I’m Lola. I’m a secretary here. That’s why I get to dress like a freak. So, are there, like, ghosts right here? In this room?” she shivered in happy anticipation.
“I do sense a presence.”
“Really?” Lola squealed excitedly.
Ginger glanced at the sheriff, who nodded. “Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”
When he said it, his gaze roved
over her body, and she stifled a shiver. Why was it that everything he said felt like it was meant as a double entendre?
Ginger walked over to the far left corner of the room. The corner was empty, but she sensed that it hadn’t always been.
She closed her eyes and relaxed, letting her defenses down, letting the world fall away from her.
She opened her eyes again.
“Eek,” she said. There was a desk and a chair in the corner now, and there was a ghostly figure sitting in the chair, a sheriff’s deputy who was slumped in the chair with what was left of his head thrown back. There was a gun lying on the floor at his feet.
The top of his head was blown off, and splattered all over his lap. Her stomach lurched.
“Suicide?” she said. “No, wait…”
His head reformed. He was sitting there with a handkerchief in his hand, polishing the outside of his gun, which was pointed right at his face. He was humming a happy little tune.
Then the gun went off, and the top of his head exploded.
She turned to look at Sheriff Armstrong in dismay.
“Was it a suicide?” The sexy smile was gone. He was staring at her with concern stamped on his handsome face.
“No. He was cleaning his gun with a handkerchief and the gun was pointed at his face. He didn’t mean to kill himself,” she said.
“Whew. Glad to hear it. It happened just last month. The coroner’s inquest found that it was an accident, but there have always been questions. Poor ole Dumb Darryl,” he added, shaking his head sadly.
“That was really his nickname?”
“He’d already shot himself in the foot, twice, drove the patrol car through a store window, and accidentally set his own house on fire. Nobody wanted to go on patrol with him. But his wife will be relieved to get the final word that it wasn’t a suicide.”
“That was so cool!” Lola’s eyes were wide with admiration.
“Unless she’s certified, it’s not admissible as evidence,” Portia snapped. She had gotten up from her desk and walked over to them.
“I am certified as a post-death communications facilitator,” Ginger said.
Fated Mates: The Alpha Shifter Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle) (Insatiable Reads) Page 142