Traveling to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to cover Groundhog Day is the worst thing reporter Amy Mitchell can think of. Until, that is, she gets stranded in a snowstorm and has to find refuge with a family who are part of the famous Phil’s inner circle. Maybe she can turn her bad luck into breaking news if she can uncover animal abuse in this strange town that seems to have gone insane. Cozying up to the small town veterinarian, in the hopes to get a scoop, certainly won’t be a hardship either.
Ken Patterson has been one of Punxsutawney Phil’s handlers for several years. He’s not excited about having to be hospitable to a reporter who seems to be looking for any hint of mistreatment of Phil. Since he already lost his wife, when he put his groundhog before his marriage, Ken wasn’t worried about Amy finding any wrongdoings. But he was afraid she might find a way into this heart.
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“What do you mean? I’m not the only reporter to doubt that there’s a talking hundred year old groundhog in Pennsylvania?” She came to the edge of the stage and stood next to him.
He turned and looked down at her face. “He’s one hundred and eight. Life is sometimes about believing in the simple thing. It’s folks like you who question everything they can’t prove that makes it lose its magic.”
Her tongue shot out and wet her bottom lip as she looked into his. He could hear her breath hitch as his gaze fell to her mouth.
“You’re not just talking about magic punch are you?” she whispered.
She was cute. No one would call her a supermodel. He liked that she wasn’t caked in heavy make-up and perfume. Even bundled in his sister’s slightly too big snowsuit, she looked sweet. But she was a reporter and a city girl. Two things that meant her very soul was cynical. The last thing he wanted around Billy or himself was another one of those. He walked past her and strode down the steps.
“Are we leaving?”
He didn’t bother answering her, just headed toward the snowmobile. She showed up next to him and took the helmet he handed out. “So this place is only used for a few hours once a year?”
Ken strapped his helmet on and secured the chin strap. “The rest of the year it can be rented out for picnics or other events.”
“Will there be food trucks and vendors here tomorrow? I assume someone will be selling hot chocolate and coffee.”
“Nope. Everyone brings their own. The festival starts later in the morning up in town.”
He climbed on the machine and started the engine. As Amy settled in behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, he hated how much he liked it. She’s a reporter. She’s a reporter. He repeated it in his head like a mantra hoping to calm his libido.
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