One in a Million & Love, Texas Style by Ruth Jean Dale & Kimberly Raye

Author:Ruth Jean Dale & Kimberly Raye [Dale, Ruth Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

1

COWBOYS WERE a dying breed, and Brett Maxwell knew why.

He forced himself from the cot, bit back a groan and stepped into his jeans. Even after a week at Handy Andy’s Cattle Ranch and Wild West Getaway, deep in the heart of central Texas, he could barely walk. Everything that fit into his now saddle-worn Levi’s hurt, from his ankles clear up to his...

He winced, slid the button into place and sucked in a breath as the zipper hissed to a close.

A noise drew him to the window, and he spotted Creme Puff in the dawn’s light, snorting her way around the corral not more than ten yards from the cabin Brett had called home the past week.

Forget the Terminator. Brett had faced off with the Emasculator. And from the feel of things—he shifted and bit back another groan — he’d sure as hell lost. He doubted if he would ever be able to have sex again. His nine-month, eighteen-day dry spell—not that the last time had been that memorable, but a guy had to keep track of these things—was this close to turning permanent.

Ugh, permanent. Just thinking about the word gave him the willies.

Temporary. Ah, that was better. Temporary, as in free, as in no ties or commitments, as in relax, it’ll be over soon.

He’d spent the better part of his life tied down, bound by duty, by love. At seventeen, he’d been the oldest of four boys when his parents were killed in a car accident. He’d taken charge, traded high school football for cooking and cleaning and caring for his brothers. While he didn’t regret a minute of it, he’d had his fill of living for everyone else. It was his turn. His youngest brother was off at college, and Brett was here, building up his fledgling ad agency by putting a little drawl into his voice, a little bow into his walk. When he could manage to walk, that is.

A warmth brushed his arm and his gaze shifted to the greedy female who’d waddled into his cabin the first night, and every night since, to do some major begging.

“Where’s your pride, honey? I told you, I can’t do it anymore. You’re going to have to find someone else to give you some goodies.” He folded his arms and put on his sternest expression. “From here on out, my nuts are off-limits.”

The female in question, a fat racoon with soulful black eyes, scratched at the windowsill and waited.

“And my cookies,” Brett added. “And my chips and my cupcakes and my moon pies. No more junk food, Zorro. Your teeth are going to fall out.”

Zorro scratched at the windowsill again and eyed him.

“You’re going to clog your arteries. Then there’s the added calories.”

Another scratch, and the black eyes blinked.

“Forget it. I’m not falling for the whisker twitch again.” Whiskers twitched, and Brett sighed. “Okay, one cookie. Then you’re out of here.”

He opened his nightstand drawer and rummaged inside, bypassing a jar of half-eaten chocolate-covered peanuts and two boxes of Twinkies for a bag of Chips Ahoy.

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