Crime and Periodicals: Green Valley Library Book #2 Read online

  Crime and Periodicals

  Green Valley Library Book #2

  Nora Everly

  www.smartypantsromance.com

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

  Copyright © 2019 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

  Made in the United States of America

  eBook Edition

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: Prose Before Bros, Book #3 in the Green Valley Library Series

  Chapter One

  Sabrina

  “You are not a sexy librarian,” I said to myself in the mirror.

  There would be no hair-shaking, glasses-removing hot babe reveal in this girl’s life. I did not have an inner goddess. I had an inner band of nerds and they were all wearing headgear and geeking out to Reylo fanfic online. I didn’t have to worry about being a cliché because I wasn’t even a librarian. I was just an assistant.

  I finished touching up my lipstick and put it in my pocket and stuck my tongue out at my reflection. I had spent ten minutes winging my eyeliner this morning only to hide all the effort behind my black cat eyeglasses.

  I smoothed my black curls back with my headband, blinked, then rolled my eyes. Who wants to be a stereotype, anyway? What a waste of makeup.

  Why do I even keep trying?

  “Sabrina! There is a phone call for you, honey. It’s Harry’s school,” Mrs. MacIntyre called from behind the check-out counter.

  I glanced at the bathroom door with a sigh. Probably another meltdown.

  “Coming,” I called back. I turned away from the bathroom mirror and finished drying my hands with a paper towel, and then used it to open the door.

  I once had wild ideas, a few friends, hope for the future—stuff like that. Now I was a small-town assistant librarian stuck in Green Valley, Tennessee. I was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin with no prospects in sight. Even if a prospect crossed my path, I wouldn’t be brave enough to flirt, or even speak to him, anyway. I hid in the horror section whenever I spotted a man heading to the check-out counter—because, yikes.

  There was no shortage of male talent in this town; that was a known fact. But I would have to go into town for one of them to notice me. I was starting to lose hope and I was pretty sure I would die a lonely old spinster. In this town everybody knew everybody, but nobody knew me. I lived my life in this library and at home. I took care of Harry, Ruby, and Weston and nurtured my Kindle like the baby I would probably never have.

  Mrs. MacIntyre held out the ancient cordless phone with a sympathetic smile. “Bring him here if you need to, dear,” she offered. I smiled and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her. She was the head librarian and the sweetest boss in the history of bosses.

  “Hi, this is Sabrina.” I listened, then I sighed. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Can I…?” I started to say, but Mrs. MacIntyre was already shooing me to the door with my purse and keys held out. Bless her heart—I meant that the nice way.

  The brisk fall air ruffled my hair as I trudged through the crunchy leaves littering the parking lot on the way to my Jeep. Harry did not attend Green Valley Grade School; they did not offer the class he needed. I had to drive through the mountains to get to his school. I hated that drive. Even though I grew up here, mountain roads freaked me out. The drop offs, the treetops, the endless plunge into oblivion.

  I managed though. I always managed.

  I rang the bell and stuck my face in the security camera to get buzzed in. I was right. He had a meltdown and they weren’t sure what set him off.

  I took in his angry little face and tear-streaked cheeks before he threw himself into my arms. I picked him up, but it was hard. He was growing up so fast and I was lucky he was small for a nine-year-old.

  “Sabrina,” he said. “Sabrina. Sabrina.”

  His teacher hooked his backpack over my arm with a sympathetic smile for me. “We’re not sure what set him off, but he seemed a little sad this morning during our social circle.”

  “I’ll try to talk to him about it when we get home,” I told her.

  “Let me know if you figure it out.” She patted Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday, Harry. I hope you feel better.”

  “Bye, Teacher Allen. Bye,” he answered. At least the crying had stopped.

  I thanked her and then we were on our way. Hopefully, he’d be okay to go back to work with me. I didn’t like leaving my shift early, even though Mrs. MacIntyre said it was okay. It felt irresponsible. I would always feel like I needed to prove myself, to prove to everyone I was worth hiring. I was sure they only hired me because of who my father was. I didn’t want to let anyone down.

  I set Harry down and helped him into my Jeep. “Buckle up, Harry,” I instructed.

  “Buckle up,” he repeated. When Harry started repeating everything people said with that monotonous tone of voice, I knew something was wrong.

  “What’s wrong, Harry?”

  “Wrong, Harry,” he repeated. “Where is the mountain Hood?” he asked without looking at me.

  “It’s in Oregon,” I answered, hoping my knowledge of random mountain trivia would hold up until we got home. I shut his door and ran around to get in.

  “Where is the mountain Rainier?” he said loudly.

  “In Washington. Want to talk about it?”

  “Where is the mountain Diablo?”

  “In California, Harry.” I started the car and took off.

  “Where is the mountain Le Conte? The mountain Clingmans Dome? The mountain Chilhowee? Oh. Oh. Oh. The mountain Guyot? Chapman? Old Black? Kephart? Collins?” He was just yelling out the names of the mountains by this point.

  “Harry, where are we?” I stopped him. Sometimes giving him an anchor helped him come down from his agitation.

  “Where are we? Green Valley, Tennessee. The Great Smoky. Appalachia.” He paused for a second. “Where are you? Sabrina?”

  “Right here, sweetheart. Right here, like always.”

  “Right here. Very good, Sabrina. Tickle hugs, please. Tickle hugs, Aunt Riri.”

  “I’m driving, Harry. When we stop, okay?”

  Please…just hold on a few more minutes, Harry.

  He rocked into the back of his seat, hard. I could feel the car jerk with his movements and I frantic
ally looked for a place to pull over. He rocked into his seat again and again until his seat belt locked. Then he screamed so loud it rang in my ears. He threw his shoe; it bounced off my shoulder onto the passenger seat.

  “Harry, stop. Please, Harry. I’m trying to drive. I’ll pull over soon.”

  We were on a twisty-turny backwoods Tennessee mountain road for crap’s sake. There was nowhere to go except over the freaking side.

  “I’m looking, Harry. I’ll pull over as soon as I can. Shh.” I tried to soothe him.

  He would not stop screaming. No matter how many times this happened, I had never become used to it. It was hard to concentrate. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel and I was afraid my panting breath would fog up the window. Finally, I found a spot to pull over. Thankfully, it had a guardrail on the side. I parked, turned the engine off, and climbed over the console into the back seat. I unbuckled Harry and pulled him into my arms. His red, sweaty, tear-streaked face burrowed into my chest as I pulled him closer and wrapped him up tight. After that drive, I needed hugs too.

  “Tickle hugs, Aunt Riri. Tickle hugs, please.”

  A hysterical laugh escaped me as I wiggled my fingers along his sides and rocked him. He was almost ten. How would we manage when he got older? I heard the brief sound of a siren, then saw red and blue lights reflected in the rearview mirror.

  Just great. Exactly what I need right now.

  “Harry, I have to let go for a minute,” I whispered.

  He gripped my cardigan in his fists, burrowed further into me, and would not let go. I was stuck—pinned in the driver’s side corner of the back seat.

  There was a tap on my window.

  “Everything okay in there?” he said loudly.

  I heard him, but I did not see him, on account of my being buried under a melting down nine-year-old boy. I reached around Harry to unlock the door and push it open. I found myself looking up into the concerned face of Deputy Sheriff Jackson James. I let out a sigh of relief. Jackson was handsome and nice—I wasn’t afraid to talk to him. He came into the library sometimes. I only talked to him that first time years ago because he surprised me in my horror section hiding place. Jackson is a big Stephen King fan, like me.

  Jackson raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Are you okay, Sabrina?”

  “This is my nephew, Harry. He is on the autism spectrum,” I explained. Harry would soon be my son—after the adoption went through, that was. I was waiting on his dirtbag biological father to sign the papers like he’d promised my father and our attorney. But I was keeping that news to myself until all the ducks were in a row, not wandering around in the street like maniacs.

  Jackson nodded his understanding.

  “He’s having a rough day. I just picked him up from school, and I had to pull over,” I continued.

  “That’s understandable. But this isn’t the safest stretch of road to stop on, sweetheart.”

  I nodded, because it sure as all heck was not. I wouldn’t drive it at all if I had my way.

  “He threw a shoe. He was rocking my Jeep. I had to stop. I didn’t know what else to do,” I said. And to my mortification, tears filled my eyes. I tried to blink them back, but one fell anyway.

  Jackson nodded decisively. “Stay here,” he ordered.

  Well, that should be easy enough. I scrubbed the tears away after he walked off.

  He returned with another officer following behind him. “This is Wyatt Monroe, one of our deputies. He’ll drive you home. Y’all buckle up back here.” Jackson tapped the top of my Jeep with a smirk and walked away.

  Someone else replaced Jackson in my line of sight. My mouth dropped open as I watched him step toward my door. He was so tall, and broad—I had never seen muscles like that in real life.

  Gah, don’t be such a creeper.

  I snapped my eyes from his body up to his face and my tears dried up. Holy mother of hot guys. Wow. That body had nothing on his handsome face. Deep brown eyes the color of chocolate stared back at me, the best kind of chocolate. The kind where you could only eat one piece because it was so rich. Except, I was sure I would want more than one piece of him.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me.

  Smile back, dummy. I did what I said and smiled back.

  “Who is there? Who is it, Aunt Riri?” Harry said, then pulled back from my chest to turn his head and look.

  “My name is Wyatt. I’m a deputy sheriff.” He smiled and held his hand out to Harry.

  Harry looked at it for a second, then shook it. “Like Wyatt Derp,” he said.

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. As did the hot sheriff. He had a sense of humor—bonus. Plus, the laughter made his eyes twinkle adorably, in addition to that spectacular corner crinkle.

  “It’s Earp, sweetheart,” I gently corrected.

  Harry twisted back and looked at me. “‘Destiny is that which we are drawn towards and fate is that which we run into.’ Top ten Wyatt Der—Earp quotes.” He had moved on from listing mountains. It was a good sign. Quoting was better than listing when it came to Harry’s coping mechanisms.

  “Did he say that, honey?” I asked him.

  “Yes. I had a bad day, Aunt Riri,” he sighed and cuddled into me. I hugged him back and kissed the top of his head.

  “Is your name Riri?” Sheriff Hottie McOhMyGod asked with a smile.

  A gorgeous smile from delicious looking lips…that were still smiling at me.

  Holy Hufflepuffs—he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen.

  “No, my name is Sabrina,” I murmured, suddenly even more acutely aware of him and the effect he was having on me.

  Quit it. He’s probably married. Or gay. Or has an epically awesome girlfriend that would actually know what to do with that body when she was lucky enough to get her hands on it.

  I glanced down at his left hand—no ring. Niiiice.

  “That’s a pretty name. It’s nice to meet you.” He held his hand out for me to shake.

  I placed my hand in his and had to fight my instinct to squee out loud. His big, warm palm dwarfed mine.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. Uh, I think we’ll be okay though. You don’t need to drive us,” I stammered.

  He grinned at me. “Actually, I do. It seems Jackson left me here.”

  “Oh, well. Okay then. The keys are still in the ignition. And thank you, but we’re not going home. I’m going to the library. I have to work until three.” Since Harry seemed to have calmed down, I decided to finish my shift. There wasn’t much left of it, but I’d feel better if I finished it out. Harry loved the astronomy section, and he adored Mrs. MacIntyre and Naomi Winters, who was on the schedule to close this evening.

  “No problem. Are you a librarian?” he asked.

  “No, I’m an assistant librarian. I help shelve the books and sometimes I clean the bathrooms.” Well, gosh, I’m sure he found that fascinating. I shut my eyes and shook my head.

  Harry had fallen asleep on me. I wasn’t surprised, as he had been quite worked up and he usually took a short nap after an outburst. I tried to shift him to the side, but my arm was full of tingles from him laying on it and he was getting heavy.

  “Do you live in Green Valley?” Deputy Monroe asked.

  I nodded yes.

  “I just moved back to town a few months ago. That’s probably why I’ve never seen you around before.”

  Unlikely. He hadn’t seen me before because if I was not at the library then I was usually at home. Plus, I went to a private school—all girls—so even if he were near my age, we wouldn’t have crossed paths that way either.

  “Let me help you with him. I’ll pull him over.” He crossed in front of the car, opened the door, and leaned in. He gently took Harry in his arms, slid him off me, and effortlessly propped him up in his seat. When Harry was out, he stayed out.

  I leaned over to reach for the seat belt and came face-to-face with him.

  “Poor little guy wore himself out,” he said. His eye
s crinkle-smiled at me again. Up close, it was amazing.

  I smiled back. “Thank you. My arm was asleep.” I inhaled. My God, he smelled good. So good, like clean laundry and all that was sexy in the world. He was so big. His shoulders took up the whole space in the doorway. I sighed.

  He leaned over and patted my tingly arm.

  My heart stopped. Then it started back up and pounded like a bass drum in my chest and I froze stock still in my seat.

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled softly and winked at me.

  Winked.

  At me.

  There was no one else here. I fought the urge to turn around and see if there was someone behind me. He meant to do it.

  Oh my gosh. I blushed furiously.

  My eyes blinked at him and my mouth opened to say—something, freaking anything—but no words came out.

  He chuckled, then stepped back and gently closed the door. I buckled Harry in and scooted to the middle seat to fasten my seat belt. Harry sank to the side with his head resting on my shoulder.

  “Ready?” he asked after he finished adjusting the seat and mirrors.

  I could see his eyes on mine in the rearview mirror. This would be an interesting ride into town.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” I was such a liar. I was not ready. No way. Not one bit.

  I worked in a library, surrounded by books all day long. And if I’m being honest, I lived my life within the pages of books. But I was not naïve enough to think books could give me all the answers. They couldn’t tell me what to say to Deputy Sheriff McOhMyGod. They couldn’t tell me how to act. And they sure as all heck could not tell me what was in his head. All I knew was my palms were sweaty, my knees felt weak, and I was sure my cheeks were as red as my MAC Ruby Woo lips. I mentally sorted through the many (many, many, many) romance novels I’d read over the years, because my symptoms were straight out of one of those. Not the Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy.