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Let’s see, she thought, beat-up Civic or fancy sports car?
It wasn’t even a question.
“We’ll take your car,” she said, the heels of her Prada knockoff boots crunching over the gravel.
Please God, don’t let that car be stick shift.
Reese climbed into the passenger seat and tucked his hat down over his eyes, looking like a man about to sleep it off.
“Hold up, Reese. Where do you live?”
“Staying out at Jeremiah’s place.”
“Jeremiah Stone?” Well, well, well, this night just kept getting better. Playing chauffeur to a drunken Reese got a whole lot more appealing with Jeremiah Stone at the other end. “I didn’t know he was back in town.”
“Yes ma’am,” he muttered and then, shifting deeper into his bucket seat, he seemed to pass out.
Stone Hollow was the spread next to the Rocky M, the ranch she’d grown up on and was currently calling home while her life fell to pieces in Los Angeles.
Jeremiah, five years older than she and Reese, had been a local legend in Northern California. A rodeo stud, he’d left high school to make it big in the arena when Lucy was a freshman. Last she saw Jeremiah he’d been on the front page of a grocery store tabloid, a country music singing star on his arm.
The car’s engine roared to life when she turned the key, the reverberations rumbling up through her body as if she were sitting on top of a wild creature. She put the car into Drive—not a stick shift, God was listening for once—and a familiar reckless thrill flickered through her chest as the powerful vehicle slipped onto Main Street.
She unrolled her window, letting the mountain air comb its fingers through her hair, blow kisses across her cheeks. The neck of her shirt gaped and the air slid down into more intimate places.
Glancing sideways at the sleeping man, she grinned and gunned the engine, racing through the night up into the mountains.
Twenty minutes later she pulled to a stop on the paved parking area in front of the sprawling, one-story ranch house that sat in a pretty pocket of land just west of the Rocky M. Fields were silvered by the bright moonlight; horses took on a mystical look, shaking their manes, their breath fogging slightly in the cool night air.
Funny how things worked out. Growing up here all she’d wanted was out. Away. She’d wanted adventure and culture. Excitement. Not dust.
But in Los Angeles for the last five years she’d found herself missing the smell of sun-baked junipers. In a city where wearing a cowboy hat was an ironic statement, she’d longed for the real thing. And after dating a bunch of cynical men in skinny jeans, she’d nurtured a craving for the kind of cowboy who would squash a guy in skinny jeans like a bug.
The front door opened, a rectangle of golden lamplight spilling out into the darkness. A man—it had to be Jeremiah, judging by the long, lean size of him—stepped forward, black against all that light. She was glad about those wide shoulders of his because she had a feeling Reese was going to have to be carried out of this car.
She got out and waved.
“I have Reese,” she said. “He was too drunk to drive home.”
Jeremiah didn’t say anything, just plugged his feet into his boots and stepped out onto the porch and down the steps.
Once he cleared the shadows, the silvery moonlight highlighted his black curls, the icy blue of his eyes.
Jeremiah Stone hasn’t changed a bit, she thought, her body still humming from controlling that car. Or maybe it was Jeremiah. He was the sort of man to make a girl’s body start humming.
The devil was in that man’s smile and she found herself smiling back. Honestly, Jeremiah could seduce a saint with that mouth of his. And knowing his reputation, he’d probably already given it a shot.
“Thanks for bringing him back,” Jeremiah said, opening the passenger door. Reese spilled out like all that whiskey he’d been drinking at the bar, and Jeremiah grabbed him easily, half marching, half dragging him toward the house. Reece’s hat tipped over into the dust and Jeremiah paused for a second as if trying to figure out how he could pick it up.
“I got it,” she said and grabbed the hat, following the men inside.
She’d been in the house a couple of times growing up. The last time had been when Jeremiah’s sister Annie’s husband died about five years ago. But the big open living room didn’t look anything like she remembered. It actually looked like a Laundromat and a sporting-equipment store had had a baby right there on the couch.
Jeremiah kicked a stack of laundry down to the floor and dropped Reece onto the long denim couch.
“That’s Lucy.” Reese pointed at her. “She showed me her boobs.”
Jeremiah’s dark eyebrows hit his hairline.
