The Fireman I Loved to Hate by Jenna Gunn
Sneak Peak Neighbor Wars
“I started reading it and I could not put it down!” Reviewer
Two bachelors. One small town. Both TROUBLE.
And they have the nerve to think they can boss me around.
One hates me.
One stalks me.
It'sall I can do just to keep my sanity.
I don't want either of them.
Alpha with baggage, or crazy with the pretty boy facade.
But things go southin a scary hurry.
The soldier saves my life.
One minuteI was sure I couldn't stand him.
With all that baggage and alpha attitude.
The next minute hate turns to heat.
But when Ithought I understood him.
I was all wrong.
His scars run deep.
It turnsout rescuing is a two way street.
He needed to be rescued just as much as me.
Now it's my turn to show the damaged soldier that he's more than enough man for me.
The Neighbor Warsis a steamy contemporary love triangle romance. When troubled and recently discharged veteran Perry Logan moves to town he makes sparks fly with his neighbor Trisha- the good kind of sparks and the bad kind. As he struggles to make his way after an amputation he finds life in his new home town has lots of unexpected twists and turns. Trisha is strong and sassy, but finds herself tangled up with two of the town's bachelors. Don't worry though, this is a happily ever after, stand alone book.
Trigger Notice- This book contains subjects that could be triggering for some people: PTSD, Amputation, a Stalker and a fight scene between two men.
Chapter 1
It was my morning to sleep in, but my eyes snap open at the sound of a barking dog. It’s a rude sound.
Not that it is unusual for me to hear barking. I’m a Veterinarian, so barking is part of my life at the office, but not at home. On rare occasions I’ve heard distant howling from hunting dogs in the woods behind my house. But this isn’t distant. It sounds like it’s coming from my front porch.
I sit up. It’s humid; I can feel my hair frizzing already. The barking continues. It’s definitely a dog, not a coyote or wolf, and it sounds friendly, playful. Nevertheless, I grab a broom before I head toward my front door.
My old farmhouse is pretty big. I got it cheap from an older couple who were moving down to Florida. It’s pre-Civil War, that the couple updated in the eighties. They were adorable and very excited to be moving. Proudly they showed me the property. “Used to be a barn out there,” the wife told me as she showed me the expansive backyard. I remember being in love with the house instantly, despite all the work it needed.
Now, as I head down the narrow stairs, I curse the creaks that I haven’t worked out yet; the dog outside hears them and falls silent.
I glide over the wooden floor to the window of my front door and peek out. Sure enough, there’s a dog - a puppy, maybe - standing on my front porch, head cocked so far to the side it’s in danger of falling off, still as a stone.
I reach for the doorknob cautiously. The dog’s tail starts wagging. Up high - good. This is a friendly dog.
I open the door carefully, and the dog explodes into a fit of barking before taking off down my porch steps and zooming around my yard in a wide circle.
This dog has so much energy. It runs a few laps before running back up my porch and stopping in front of me, tail still wagging eagerly and flinging mud all over. It’s filthy. I know it rained last night - I fell asleep to the sound of it - and by the looks of it, this dog was out in it for hours.
“Okay,” I sigh. “Follow me.”
The dog’s ears perk up. When I walk off my porch, it follows obediently. I lead it around the side of the house to where I keep the water hose.
“I’m gonna let you in, but you need to get all that mud off you.” I reach for the dog’s collar. It doesn’t have one; of course. The dog’s tail wags harder than ever when my fingers brush its fur.
It waits while I unwind the hose and turn on the spigot, but as soon as I give the sprayer a few experimental pumps, it goes nuts; the dog immediately runs into the stream of water, barking in delight.
I manage to grab hold of the scruff of its neck to hose it down properly. “You’re a girl,” I say once I get the mud off her backside. “Good to know.”
Once I’m confident she’s clean enough, I lead her back to my front porch and let her into my house. She immediately tears down the short hallway.
“My floors,” I sigh as her claws scratch at them. I whistle; she comes shooting back from the kitchen, tongue lolling out of her mouth. She’s got German shepherd ears, but her snout is smaller than a shepherd’s; border collie, maybe? She’s definitely some kind of mix. I take her into the downstairs bathroom and pat the side of the tub. She jumps in eagerly.
“Well, you’re certainly smart.” Her tail wags in response.
I grab some spare dog shampoo and turn on the water to give her a proper bath, really working the mud out of her fur. She’s dark brown and black with little tan markings above her eyes like eyebrows. I rub her ears when I rinse her, and her back leg thumps.
“Aren’t you a sweetie?” I croon at her, and she licks my hand.
I get a towel to dry her off and let her run around my house a bit while I head for the kitchen. She pauses occasionally to sniff something or shake more water out of her fur. Everything in my house becomes speckled with water droplets.
I don’t have any early appointments today; I’m not supposed to go in til noon. Emily and Hannah have things under control this morning. I can afford to hang out for a little while before I head to the office; besides, the dog’s curled up in a sleepy donut on my living room rug.
I make myself a cup of coffee and head out to my front porch, where I hover and squint out at the yard. The grass is getting long again; I might need to call the Wilsons and ask their son to mow it soon. I could mow it myself, I suppose, but he’s a good kid. He deserves the money.
My phone alarm beeps in my bathrobe pocket. I pull it out to silence it. My quiet moment to myself is over; it’s time to get ready for work.
I walk inside to scoot my empty coffee cup toward the sink, don my scrubs, and throw my thick red hair up into a ponytail before grabbing my keys. I don’t bother with makeup anymore; I used to, but wrestling an injured cow in the South Carolina heat tends to melt that stuff right off.
The dog wakes up, her ears perking at the sound of my jingling keys. “You wanna go for a ride?” I ask, and she jumps up, her tail wagging. This is definitely someone’s lost dog, and she may have a chip.
I pour the rest of the coffee into a travel mug and grab some hot dogs out of the fridge for the pup. “Come on, girl; let’s go.”
I don’t even have to use the hot dogs to coax her into the car, but I feed her one anyway once I get myself settled.
“Time to get you back home,” I tell her.
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