Standing on the Line — Emma Jay

Sheriff Cheyenne Culpepper has been alone in the small town of Purity, California for two years since the death of her husband. But she hasn't realized she was lonely until handsome hot shot firefighter Deacon Granger showed up, flirting and making her remember she's a woman with needs too long denied. But bringing him into her bed can put her heart and her reputation, a vital trait in a small town, on the line.

She's been standing on that line so long, balancing who she is and how people see her...is she really ready to cross it for him?

Excerpt:

The drive to Chico was interminable for Cheyenne, but she imagined it would be worse for the injured hot shots. She used her GPS to locate the hospital, and the device sent her past the correct turn twice before she reasoned it out. She pulled into the parking lot and took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking when she released the wheel. She unfolded herself from the car and stood in front of the hospital.
What if Deacon was injured? She didn't know him well enough to help him, didn't know him well enough to meet his family. What was she doing here?
Seeing for herself, that was what. Once she knew he was fine, she'd head back to Purity and back to her life and forget all about him.
A few Fire Service trucks were in the parking lot. Her pulse thundered as she approached the hospital, just as two more Fire Service trucks pulled up. She froze mid-step as the door of the first one burst open and a man in a yellow Nomex shirt jumped out. Everything in her seized. She knew him despite the soot that smeared his face--it was Chris Milburn, the man who'd been taken along with Deacon on the mountain. He was watching the man on the stretcher closely, brow furrowed in concern. His expression--and his presence--propelled her forward.
“Chris!” she called when she got close enough.
He looked up and his eyes widened. “Sheriff. What are you doing here?”
“I heard on the radio and I had to--” She looked past him at the other hot shots climbing out of the truck. “Who is it?”
“Jason Hoyt, my best friend. Tree fell on him. I need to--” He pointed over his shoulder, toward the hospital, indicating he wanted to be with Jason.
She bit back her questions and nodded, then watched as he pivoted and loped away.
Good. That was good. It meant Deacon was safe. So why was she shaking?
“Cheyenne!”
She whipped around to see another Fire Service truck pulling into the lot, the passenger door opening and Deacon hanging halfway out, his dirty face creased with concern. He hopped out and hurried toward her. She met him half way, knowing she should keep calm and professional, but her emotions took over and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his smoky chest.
“Whoa, there,” he said with a quiet chuckle, bending his head to hers as he folded his arms around her to hold her close. “You okay?”