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*Enjoy this excerpt (not
yet edited by The Wild Rose Press)
“I love the way the air feels here,” she murmured, watching the fire in
the sky take its sweet time burning out. “I love how it tastes.”
Her companion didn’t speak. Out of the corner of her eye,
she saw a tall figure leaning against the fence. She turned her head
when he didn’t reply. A stunning zap of electricity surged through her.
Judd had taken
his hat off, revealing his thick crop of black hair, and was holding it
between his hands draped over the fence line, elbows braced on the rail.
His boot was propped on the lowest. His eyes squinted against the bright
display, trained on the sun’s showcase. Beside him, sitting dutifully
was an adorable mutt.
The man was an
enigma. It got to her. That pleasant burning sensation began to swell
within her again.
He straightened, catching her stare. She didn’t look away. Remembering
how he’d raced with her over the field that afternoon, how he’d ridden
that mean bull at the rodeo, she thought he must like challenges. Her
admiration for him peaked.
She liked a challenge, too.
His brows rose as she stepped to him. Interest instead of astonishment
filled his complex eyes. She came to a halt with the dog between them.
“What’s with you, Judd?” she asked, punching just enough challenge into
the question. “Didn’t Apache Jim ever teach you any manners? Didn’t
anyone ever tell you how rude it is to stare?”
Something welled beneath the interest.
Amusement.
A sharp breath escaped her as she watched his eyes smile at her,
crinkling up at the corners. She was the astonished one. Her body froze
up when he reached out with one of those hard, wide-palmed hands. If she
could’ve moved, she wouldn’t have stepped back.
His fingertips brushed over her damp hair, from her brow back over her
crown. She fought against the urge to close her eyes, sigh and melt. Her
scalp tickled under his light touch. His fingers combed through the ends
of her tresses and repeated the motion, slower the second time through.
She gripped the rail next to her, afraid she’d sway.
The amusement in his eyes had faded. They’d lifted to the scars she’d
left exposed by combing her hair back from her face. His thumb traced
the smooth, jagged line, tracing it to the corner of her eye.
She tried to read his face. The tender moment between them intensified.
The tingles deepened. Though she wanted to turn his attention away from
those imperfections on her face, she drew comfort from his whispering
touch. His eyes darkened. There was anger there now. He was angry she’d
been hurt. Her heart picked up pace, welcoming his fury.
She allowed her eyes to close. Her blood was singing, warming skin
chilled by the nightly breeze. She could hear him breathing, just
barely. Edging closer, she reached up to touch him. Her fingers found
the chords of his upper arm. They wrapped around them, gripping them for
support.
His fingertips found the scar by her mouth and began to trail down the
angled mark. Her eyes popped open, fixed on his and her breath seized
when he touched the very corner of her mouth. His fingers lingered, eyes
tracing the line of her lips. She wanted his mouth to do the same. She
waited breathlessly, heart thudding hard between them.
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America's
Sweetheart, Stella Ridge has been away from Wayback for fifteen years
paving her way to the top of the acting business. When a car accident
leaves her physically and emotionally scarred, the only place she wants
to go is home to Texas and her family’s ranch.