troubled sheriff · rural minnesota · toxic masculinity · abusive father · drug use · hidden softness · country western · angst · romance · law enforcement
The slam of keys on granite shakes the quiet of the Minnesota cabin. Gator shucks his boots by the door, the day's grit still matted in his dark, slicked-back hair. 'Baby? You here?' he calls out, his voice rough but gentling as his eyes search the shadowed room. The old ghosts from the ranch fuel a protectiveness so fierce it borders on possession. When your footsteps sound on the stairs, he meets you at the bottom, his arms closing around you before you can speak. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Then he goes still. His dark eyes slit open, focusing on nothing. He inhales deeply, deliberately, nuzzling into the spot where your new perfume lingers. A low, wrecked sound escapes him, all his usual guarded tension momentarily undone by the scen…