Mountain Man Officer (SMALL TOWN MOUNTAIN MEN #2) by Natasha L. Black EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Natasha L. Black
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.1 MB
- Price: Free
JASON
Singer’s Ridge, a town so small it had one grocery store and a single
shopping district. This town was the peace and quiet I needed following
the disaster with my soon-to-be ex-wife. I didn’t want to think about it. I
needed something new, a fresh perspective on life. And this sleepy little
town was just what the doctor ordered.
I had pulled in about an hour ago after a straight drive from Nashville and
dropped the U-Haul off at a storage locker outside of town. The owner was
a plump woman in her mid-forties who talked my ear off about nothing in
particular.
“Bradley said he would touch up the paint job here.” She rubbed two
fingers along the edge of a storage shed. “You know Bradley?”
“No, ma’am,” I said.
I stopped to gas up my truck and struck up a conversation with the old man
on duty.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
“I’m here for a job interview,” I told him.
“What job?” The old man looked puzzled. I guessed there weren’t that
many employment opportunities in a town this small.
“Police officer.” I grinned.
“Well.” The old man wiped an oil-stained hand on his jeans and stuck it out.
“Welcome to Singer’s Ridge.”
I found the police station just off the main commercial artery, near the post
office and across the street from a diner. I pulled in, put the truck into park,
and reached for the rearview mirror. With far too serious, blue-grey eyes, a
haunted man stared back at me. Stubble was beginning to appear on my
chin, even though I had shaved early that morning. My hair was short but
growing longer, and I might be in need of a trim soon. I made a mental note
to see if there was a barber or a hair salon in this one-horse town.
I approached the station with caution, no detail of the building escaping my
notice. It looked more like a house than the barracks-like structure back in
Nashville. A set of wooden stairs led to a door that was badly in need of
repair. It didn’t bode well for the municipal budget or my potential
paycheck. Inside, a single dispatch officer sat at a desk behind a
microphone and a computer. She looked up at the sound of the opening
door.
“Good morning,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Jason White,” I introduced myself. “I’m here for the officer’s position.”
“Have a seat.” She smiled, pushing out from behind her desk.
I looked around and found a line of metal chairs against the far wall. Before
I had a chance to pick one, the dispatch officer crossed the room and
knocked against a far door. She leaned inside and said something to the
room’s occupant. A moment later, a ruddy, middle-aged man emerged from
the office.
“Dawson Lane, Chief of Police.” He held out a hand.
“Jason White.” I clasped the offered hand.
“Thanks for comin’ all this way,” Dawson said, motioning toward his
office.
“No problem,” I said, maneuvering into the tiny office and choosing a seat
across from the desk.
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