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While shooting pool at the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk,
rancher Tyler Desmond takes an errant dart in the neck. Ready to retaliate,
he’s instead captivated by the blonde who threw it. Tyler isn’t interested in
opening his heart, so why does he kiss the verbal buzz saw? Just to shut her
up?
As a teenager, Lacy LaRoche had a secret crush on Tyler.
When the dart brings them face-to-face, all she can do is chatter—until he
kisses her. But Lacy didn’t come back to Texas to fall in love. She’s hiding
another secret: her roommate surreptitiously videotaped Lacy undressing and
posted it on the internet.
When Tyler’s daughter is bullied at school, Lacy must
reveal the truth and face the emotional damage of cyberbullying. Over-protective
of his daughter—and his heart—Tyler must learn to trust again. Can two scarred
hearts find their way back to where they belong?
OPENING SCENE--
What
the hell?
Tyler
Desmond whirled away from the shot he was about to make at the pool table to
grasp for whatever caused the sudden, stinging pain at the back of his neck. When
his fingers closed around a dart, he yanked the offending object out, searching
through the crowd in the Lonesome
Steer Honky Tonk for the bastard who dared throw one at him.
His
cousin Billy Wayne leaned in close as if to examine the dart’s point of entry. “Damn,
that’s gotta hurt.”
Tyler’s
eyes narrowed on the culprit. The object of his wrath stood about eight feet
away, her face glowing red like embers in a branding fire and eyes mushrooming
when his gaze zeroed in on hers.
He
handed his cue stick to Billy Wayne and growled, “Not as much as one female’s
about to. You can be damn sure of that.”
Three
women, her friends no doubt, scurried back to their table, leaving her to face
him alone. He slowly sauntered toward her, gathering his words as he approached.
He’d cut many men to size with his acidic tongue. This woman would be no
different.
Nervous
hands clasped and unclasped and then fiddled with curly blonde hair. Then, as
if to prepare herself for their inevitable confrontation, she squared her shoulders.
Good
move, lady. You’re going to need a dose of courage for I plan on giving you a
verbal thrashing you’ll never forget.
He
extended his hand, the offending dart lying in his palm. “I believe you lost
this…in my neck.”
“Crap,
yes, I did.” She plucked it from his hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit
you.”
He
placed his hands on his hips and glared into her blue eyes. “Really? Then who
the hell were you aiming for?”
The
woman had the audacity to giggle. “I…I wasn’t aiming for anyone. You see,
Carrie Jo”–she jerked her thumb toward the table of women behind her–“bumped against
my elbow just as I was shooting. She was horsing around, calling me ‘Dart
Demon.’”
His
gaze ricocheted toward the gaggle of women, all nodding and smiling. Two did a
finger wave. He scowled as a dull ache settled behind his eyeballs. When Dart
Demon leaned toward him, he got a whiff of her perfume and fought to ignore its
beguiling, flowery scent.
“Just
between us,” she began, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “she’s
had too much to drink. Good thing I’m the designated driver tonight.” Her hand rose
in a swearing gesture. “Honest. Nothing stronger than diet soda. See, Carrie Jo
and her boyfriend are fighting again. They’re just not suited for each other.” Her
blonde head shook once. “Ever notice how opposites attract? It’s the strangest
thing, isn’t it?”
She
pursed her lips, giving him no time to reply before she charged ahead like his
prize Brahman bull. Evidently the woman didn’t need to breathe to talk. “He
likes rap music and she likes country. He likes to play video games while she
runs marathons and works out. He’s a slob and she’s a neat freak. Yet, they can’t
keep their hands off each other. The chemistry’s there, but not the
compatibility. Know what I mean?”
Tyler
inhaled and opened his mouth, ready to start his tirade. But before one angry
word could roll off his tongue, she commenced her nonsensical rambling again.
“That’s
not why we’re here though. We’re here to celebrate. I sold an article to a
magazine. My first!” A smile, brighter than a hill country sunrise, spread across
her pretty face and niggled at one of his faint, long-forgotten memories.
“Isn’t
that just too wild?” She pressed a hand to full breasts that strained a T-shirt
imprinted with: I’m the strong, silent type.
Silent?
Are you freakin’ kidding me?
“People
keep telling me I have writing talent, but I’m not so sure. I guess you could
say I have a lot of self-doubt.” Her blue-eyed gaze locked on his as she pursed
those pink lips again. “I’m just not good with words, you know?”
Right,
and I’m not good with raising cattle. The dull ache in his head ratcheted up
a notch.
“I’m
prattling, aren’t I? I am.” Those blonde curls bobbed again, and he wondered if
they were as soft as they looked. “I prattle when I get nervous. Normally I’m
quiet.” Nervous hands rose and fell. “Most days you can’t get a word out of me.”
Just
my damn lucky day then, isn’t it?
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| BULL-RIDING...SECRETS...AND TEENAGE ANGST |
