Page 13 of Entranced in the Mountains
Yeah, because I have a hunky Sheriff protector now.
“Thank you for… hearing me.”
His hand is still on my elbow. His thumb moves once—just a soft stroke, barely there—and my knees threaten to give out.
“I saw you up there,” he says quietly as he removes his hand. “On the stage. You were…” He exhales like it costs him. “…magnificent.”
“I saw you too,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks. “You were watching me.”
“I couldn’t look away.” His jaw clenches. “You put on a mesmerizing show.”
My breath hitches. For a heartbeat, the whole world shrinks to his deep alluring eyes, his hand still warm on my arm, the smell of him—intoxicatingly masculine.
A crackle on his radio slices through the spell. A woman’s voice is tight and urgent. “Sheriff, we’ve got a situation by the ticket booth. Couple of them are getting rowdy about Cooter.”
His eyes harden in an instant. The protector instinct switches on like a light and he pushes the button on his radio. “On my way.”
He leans in close and I swear the room tilts. Or maybe gravity is off. I don’t know. This man’s proximity is making me all loopy.
“I have to go, Ellie,” he says like it’s causing him pain.
He looks at me for a long moment and for a dizzying second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he takes a slow breath like he’s reining himself in, tips his head once, and turns toward the door.
“Wait,” I call out before it’s too late. “What’s your name?”
“Ryland,” he says with a sexy grin. “Ryland Grey.”
And just like that, he’s gone. I splash some cold water on my face and then clutch the sink, trying to pep talk my legs into working properly before I head outside.
There is indeed a commotion by the ticket booth. My heart pounds as I get closer to see.
A cluster of carnies is shouting at Emmanuel as he drags Cooter toward the patrol truck. Three officers, one female and two males, are trying to push back the wave of angry carnies.
Ryland marches toward them like a storm in a uniform.
“Back up!” he hollers, his voice thick with authority. “Anyone want to spend the night in a cell with your buddy, step right up.”
“He didn’t do nothin’!” an overweight guy in a dirty sleeveless tee shouts. “You can’t just take our guy!”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Ryland growls. “This is my town. And that piece of shit assaulted a woman and attacked me with a knife. Now, you want to keep testing me, or you want to go home with all your teeth?”
The redneck carnie is already missing a bunch of teeth, so I guess that threat doesn’t carry much weight with him. He steps forward and two of his buddies flare out at his sides.
Sheriff Ryland doesn’t so much as blink.
Sleeveless then makes the worst decision of his life. He pokes Ryland’s massive chest with his index finger. “Fuck. You.”
In one breathless, fluid motion, Ryland grabs his finger, bends the guy’s wrist into an awkward angle, and slams him onto the ticket counter so hard it makes the whole booth rattle.
The crowd gasps.
Someone cheers. Another guy laughs.
One of the carnies backs up. He’s the smart one. The other one rushes forward, but the female cop is ready. She grabs a hold of him while Ryland snaps his cuffs around sleeveless’ wrists.
“Anyone else?” Ryland asks, looking almost bored as he drags the guy to the police truck.
Another carnie decides that he would in fact like to be “anyone else.” He pulls a knife and lunges.
