Page 8 of Ronen (Sweet Alps Legacy #1)

Chapter Six

Mason

He really wasn’t going to believe the excuse I had today for the missing book.

Legitimately, this one had actually been destroyed. And, I honestly was too tired to deal with his sarcasm, snark, raised eyebrows, accusing eyes…any of it.

I’d been up all night with my mama goat while she had labored with her first kid.

She’d produced two kids–I always suspected she was an overachiever–two identical looking males.

Her labor had been long and hard, and I hadn’t wanted to leave her side, especially since this had been her first delivery.

So, I had camped out in my barn, in her stall, all night.

Except for a quick bathroom trip, when I had laid the book I’d been reading down.

And returned to Cinnamon happily munching on a corner of it.

More than, because she had managed to devour not only the corner but several pages, essentially destroying the book .

Well, Mr. Ronen S.–whatever the fuck his middle name was–Sinclair could just save his condemning, disapproving looks, take my money for the book, and move right the fuck along with his day. I was too exhausted to deal with him.

My plan was to drop by work, spend a couple of hours on the paperwork that was piling up on my desk, and head home for some much-needed sleep. After I check in on Cinnamon and the babies, of course. They were about the cutest things I had seen in a long time.

Grabbing my stack of books to return, I headed up the wide stone steps. Since it was past ten, the open sign was already flipped, and I held the door and waited patiently for Mrs. Everett when I reached the top.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” the older lady’s cane clip-clopped as she moved past me. Why the woman insisted on parking on the street in front of the library, and climbing the steps, instead of using the stairless entry in the back, I would never understand.

She gave me a mild heart attack anytime I happened to encounter her here, or if I happened to see her when I was driving by. The thought of her cane slipping, especially in winter, and what a fall down the concrete could do to her frail body gave me nightmares.

“I’ve told you to call me Mason,” I smiled, the scent of her perfume–gardenias–reminding me of my own grandma.

Her cheeks pinked with color, pleased. “Mason. Such good manners. Someone raised you right.”

Now it was my turn to blush at her praise. “I’ll tell my papa you said so. I’m pretty sure most days he has a different opinion and will be pleased to know.”

She laughed, making her way slowly to the return desk. “Most parents feel that way at one time or another.”

She dropped her books on the counter, rapping the surface briskly with her hand. “Ronen, I’m here for my books that are on hold.”

Ronen stopped staring at his computer long enough to frown at her. “No need to pound on the counter, I’m standing right here.”

Mrs. Everett snapped her fingers sharply, and I had a vision of what the retired teacher must have been like in a classroom full of unruly children. Even my back straightened at her quick snaps.

“Hop to it, young man. I have places to be today. Can’t wait for you to wake up from your nap.”

Shoving my books into the return slot, I did the same with Mrs. Everett’s books, then waited patiently behind her while Ronen fetched her holds.

By the straightness of his spine, and his clenched jaw, I was sure he had a tart response for the older lady, but he wisely kept it to himself. Guess I wasn’t the only one raised with good manners.

My brows rose when I saw Ronen put a pile of true crime books on the counter for Mrs. Everett. Ronen scanned her card, then the books, placing them one by one in a neat stack.

“That’s a lot of ah…serial killers,” I commented, wondering if I should be amused or concerned.

I wasn’t one to yuck someone’s yum, or their reading choices. I read all kinds of things, but seriously how many books did one need to read on a killer clown, and when should you be worried?

She laughed heartily, “I like what I like. Don’t think I didn’t notice those romance books you had tucked under your arm.”

Touché .

“Fair enough.”

Ronen slid her books into a plastic bag and handed them to Mrs. Everett with…was that a smile?

Did Ronen Sinclair actually know how to smile?

Was I so sleep deprived I was hallucinating?

What was happening right now? Was that the earth I felt shifting beneath my feet, or were we having an earthquake?

Because that smile…holy fuck, it was doing all kinds of things to my insides.

That smile should not be legal. It should be classified as a deadly weapon, used on unsuspecting alphas.

Yep, it was official. I was losing it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Ronen demanded, losing his smile, his face morphing into the frowning one I was used to seeing.

Mrs. Everett took her bag of murder books, turning slowly from the counter with her cane.

“Your smile made him speechless, dear. It’s the Sinclair curse. Happens to most people when any one of you unleashes it on the public. See you in a few days. Sheriff,” she tilted her gray head at me and pointed her cane, and I stood up ramrod straight. “Keep on keeping us safe.”

Tipping my hat at her, I mumbled, “Ma’am,” because what else could I say?

Ronen crossed his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at me, which considering I was several inches taller than him was quite the feat.

Staring at his forearms–his bare forearms–my mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I had been coming to this library nearly daily for over a year, and this was the very first time I had ever seen the bare skin of Ronen’s arms. He was always buttoned up as tight as could be.

From the button at his collar to the ones on his cuffs at his wrists.

But today, Ronen Sinclair was showing some serious skin.

The cuffs of his light blue button up were rolled up just past his elbows. And the visible pale flesh was covered in tattoos. On both arms.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I was sure I was seeing things. But nope, sure enough the ink was still there, lines of black in intricate designs decorating his forearms.

Now that I really looked at him, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, showing just a hint of dark chest hair peeking out, as well as more ink.

Was that part of a wolf’s head I saw that had to be located over his pec?

Ronen had tattoos.

Several tattoos.

Lots of tattoos.

How had I not known this?

Because he’s always got every button buttoned as tight as it can be , my dragon breathed, just as interested in this new development as I was.

Those tattoos were…hot.

Yep, no way to get around it, all that ink was doing it for me.

Did he have more? How many? Where?

Suddenly, I had an overwhelming need to discover every single one of Ronen’s tattoos and trace them with my tongue.

“Why are you standing here, staring at me?” he demanded, sighing tiredly.

He rubbed his eyes, and I noticed he had dark circles under his pretty green eyes.

His hair was its usual mess, only slightly worse this morning.

He always looked like he had a perpetual case of bedhead, but his hair was downright wild this morning.

Sticking up all over his head, in thick, dark locks that I itched to run my fingers through.

His eyes narrowed on me. “You’ve lost another book, haven’t you? Of course you have.” He threw up his hands, before I even had a chance to respond. “What’s the excuse this time? Because I think I’ve heard them all at this point.”

“My goat ate it.”

Honesty was always the best policy.

Maybe not, by the flare of anger that lit up his eyes, before he seemed to remember where he was.

Closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath. He muttered something under his breath I didn’t even try to catch and waited for him to get himself together.

Blinking his eyes open, his lips set in a thin line of disapproval, he tapped away on his keyboard.

I winced each time his fingers banged on a key. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to break a keyboard by hitting it too hard, but Ronen seemed like he was trying to find out.

“Which book?” he snapped.

Fuck all if I could remember the title. I read a ridiculous number of books in a week and owned even more. Rarely did I remember titles. Hell, I’d been known to buy the same book twice, forgetting I already had it.

“Uh,” I searched my memory for anything to go off.

“It’s got an alpha pirate on the cover. His shirt is open to about here,” I pointed to halfway down my own chest, and Ronen’s eyes followed my finger.

“He’s waving a sword and holding onto…something on his pirate ship.

” What I knew about boats in ge neral would fit in my pinky.

“I don’t know much about boats, but it’s like… rope?” Maybe? I had no clue.

His nostrils flared, and two of his fingers rubbed at a spot in the middle of his forehead, like I was giving him a headache.

Tapping his keyboard again–he really was trying to break the thing–he took a minute reading whatever had appeared on his screen, before snapping, “ The Omega’s Pirate Captain ? ”

Since I still had no fucking clue, I agreed. “Sure.”

“You don’t sound very sure,” he snapped.

“Look, we are both obviously not at our best today,” I told him, using the calm voice I saved for unruly bar patrons when I needed to break up a fight between people who were no longer thinking clearly.

“How about I bring the book in tomorrow and we sort it out then. I’ve been up all night, and I just–” A yawn caught me by surprise mid-sentence. “I just can’t with you today.”

He pursed his lips, “Go then. Tell your goat I said hi.”

Yeah, he absolutely didn’t believe my goat explanation.

Turning on the heel of my boot, I waved a hand in the air at him. “I’m going. You have a splendid day, Mr. Sinclair. Always a fucking pleasure dealing with you.”