by Cherrie Lynn
Starla Kimbrell might be on the worst date of her life, but she didn’t expect to find herself walking home alone on a dark dirt road after her latest mistake leaves her in a cloud of dust. Luckily, salvation comes in the form of Jared Stanton—single dad of two, sexy cowboy, blue eyes like whoa. If she isn’t careful, she might just let him become the latest in her string of amorous disasters.
Jared doesn’t consider himself on the market. His first love left his heart in pieces that even a marriage to someone else couldn’t salvage, and now that he’s divorced and focusing on his twin daughters, he isn’t looking to put another woman in the shadow of the one who crushed him. Still, the stranded tattoo artist intrigues him, while her unstable ex-boyfriend makes him worry for her safety. Is the guy just a mouthy jerk, or is Starla in real danger?
Starla quickly learns that not everyone in her life is thrilled with her new interest in Jared. Their cautious courtship is rocked when tragedy strikes and the world as she and her coworkers know it is shattered. Faced with a situation she can’t handle, she turns to the only man who has ever made her feel truly safe, even as she learns that Jared’s protective instincts might be destructive enough in their own way to rip them apart for good.
Warning: Graphic language, explicit sex.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Other books by Cherrie Lynn
About the Author
Copyright
Dedication
For my dear friend Melanie, the strongest person I know. I love you!
Chapter One
“Have you ever thought about how close to death we are at every moment?”
Starla Kimbrell’s fingers froze midtext. A chill lifted the fine hairs at her nape, but she did her best to huff out an exasperated sigh and look unaffected. Max glanced over at her from the driver’s seat of the older-model Mustang currently hurtling down a dark ribbon of Texas farm road. “Well, have you?”
“Don’t start your shit tonight. I’m not in the mood.”
“Seriously, Star. Look. My hands on the steering wheel, for example.”
She side-eyed the subject of his attention, debating whether she should finish her text to Janelle with a quick last will and testament. Not that she had much to leave to anyone.
The ground on either side of the car dropped away as they crossed onto the Perkins Creek Bridge, and Starla squirmed a little in her seat. She hated bridges on a good day. She found she hated them even more when the driver of the car she was in started talking crazy. “Just one tiny yank a couple of inches to the right…” To demonstrate, Max gave the wheel only a tiny yank. The car lurched to the right and quickly back to center. She gasped, her hands shooting out to either side, meeting door and center console as if that would somehow protect her if he decided to do something stupid.
“We’re on a fucking bridge, Max.”
“I know. That’s my point. See this eighteen-wheeler coming toward us? A yank in the opposite direction and we’re worm food. One little twitch of my muscles. It’s all over. It’s fuckin’ weird when you think about how easy it would be.”
She stared at those approaching headlights until they blinded her, heart thudding. But they rocketed safely by, and she finally allowed herself the breath her frozen lungs had been denying her. Not that she really thought Max would do something like that.
Hell, sometimes she didn’t know.
“We didn’t go into the light after all,” he remarked, teeth gleaming as his lips curled in a grin.
“That’s beautiful.” And this was over. Starla drew another shaking breath. That was two. She was on a roll. “Stop the fucking car.”
Max finished his swig from the beer bottle he’d been keeping nestled between his legs before swinging his head around to look at her. “Huh?”
“I said, stop the car. I’m getting out.”
“Yeah, right.” With a scoff, he switched on the blinker to turn down Old Harris Road, a labyrinthine county road barely wide enough for two cars and the unfortunate route they’d have to take to reach the party he’d insisted on going to tonight.
Starla watched the headlights illuminate the trees as he made the turn, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy and more than a little sick. Deftones’ “Digital Bath” droned from the Mustang’s speakers. She listened for a moment, drawing steady breaths through her nose to build her strength before speaking again. “I’m serious, Max.”
“So you want out. What the hell for? Did I scare you? You should be scared. We should all be scared.”
“You are so weird.” She lifted her phone again, focusing on the lighted screen and ignoring how it shook in her hand. “So fucking weird.”
He nudged her with his right elbow. She jerked away from the touch. “That’s why—hey, come on! That’s why you like me.”
She liked weird, yeah. Psychotic? Not so much. And the more time she spent with this dude, the more he leaned toward the latter.
I gotta get the hell out of here, she quickly texted Janelle. And shit’s prolly about to hit the fan.
She really didn’t want to hear her best friend’s reply, though. Jan had tried to warn her. They’d all tried to warn her—Ghost, Brian, everyone who even vaguely knew Max had told her he was not good news. Well, to be fair, “fucking whacked-out freak” had been Ghost’s exact words. And, naturally, that had only intrigued Starla more. Coming from Ghost? Yeah. Curiosity had spiked to the stratosphere.
So she had only herself to blame. If she weren’t such a sucker for black hair and blue eyes, mystery and weirdness, if she weren’t the type to want to touch the fire even when she knew it would burn…
“Dammit!” she erupted, spurred by her own internal frustrations, trying to shut them up. “I said let me out of the fucking car, Max.”
“Where you gonna go, huh? Calm down.” Muttering “crazy bitch” under his breath, he took another drink of his beer.
She was the crazy bitch? “Anywhere that’s away from you.”
He stepped on the brake so hard, she pitched forward. Her right hand scrabbled for the door handle, but ironlike fingers clamped around her left arm, and she swung around to glare into Max’s outraged blue eyes. “You’re not getting out of this fucking car in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“I don’t care. You’re getting drunk, and you’ll be drunker by the time I’m ready to go home. I shouldn’t have come. So let me out, and I’ll call someone to come get me.”
Her cell phone chimed with an incoming message, most likely Janelle’s reply. The last thing she wanted was for him to see it.
“Who?” he demanded. “Whose dick you plan to suck tonight?”
She jerked the door handle, popping the door open. “Damn sure not yours.”
“Oh yeah? Fuck you, then. Get out.” He shoved her hard in her shoulder. She nearly tumbled out onto the ground, but that would’
ve been fine. Anything, anywhere, by any means, as long as she was out of that car she never should’ve gotten into. Catching herself, she vaulted to her feet and had enough time to flip him off before he snatched the passenger door closed.
He made sure to return the gesture, then straightened and sped off, spraying her legs with dust and gravel. A moment later, his taillights disappeared around a curve up the road.
Good. Fucking. Riddance.
Except…shit! Her purse was still somewhere on his floorboard. Luckily, she still had her phone clutched in her hand. Raising it to her face, however, showed that the screen was cracked. She must’ve slammed it onto the ground trying to catch herself in the fall. But it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t read the text. Janelle wanted to know where she was. Unfortunately, the touchscreen was cracked badly enough that she couldn’t reply or maneuver to a point where she could call.
“Perfect,” she muttered, looking around to take stock of her situation for the first time. She was surrounded by banks of tall trees on either side, the road stretching between them to her left and her right. She couldn’t reach anyone, and Janelle was probably going to think she was dead in a ditch somewhere. Her best bet was to head back to the main road, she supposed, and walk the six long, lonely miles back to town. In the dark.
Jesus.
Maybe she’d slightly overreacted? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d let her temper get her into a messed-up situation. Most likely she and Max would’ve made it alive to the party, then she could have slipped away and called someone to pick her up.
Right. Then he could’ve discovered what she was doing, thrown a tantrum, caused a scene, accosted whoever her rescuer turned out to be, gotten several people into a fight, and she would have that weighing on her conscience. Any more weight on that particular part of her psyche, and she might buckle under the burden of it.
Sighing, she shoved her damaged phone in her pocket and trudged up the road, wishing now that she’d put her gym membership to use. Six miles. Or so. Maybe seven. Maybe someone would have mercy on her and give her a lift. Maybe that person wouldn’t be a machete-wielding maniac. But with the way her luck ran lately, nothing would surprise her.
Was this her punishment? She supposed she should shut up and take it. Stop being so damned stupid. Stop looking for salvation in every guy that came along who somehow, even fleetingly, reminded her of…
Stop. You want to stop? Then just fucking stop. Don’t even think his name. Especially not now.
Easier said than done when she saw him on a daily basis, and every new day was an opportunity for new memories.
Fierce, furious tears stung her eyes, but she stared resolutely ahead at the dirt road, refusing to give in to them. It was terribly dark, no moon above to light her way. A security light here and there as she walked was her only illumination, along with the light from her fractured phone display. Security lights meant houses, but none that looked as if they’d be welcoming of a teary-eyed imbecile pounding on their doors in the dead of night.
She’d made her bed. She kept running around with creeps, so she’d suffer the consequences of running around with creeps. She was in love with someone she could never, ever have, someone who belonged to another, so she’d take every hurt, every sharp pebble under her shoe, every shard in her heart, and drive them all deeper if they could possibly eclipse the pain of that.
It wasn’t fair of her, and it wasn’t his fault, of course, but sometimes she could hate him for turning her into such a freaking idiot.
Starla was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the sound of a vehicle behind her and the brightening of the road ahead with the approaching headlights. Coming from the direction Max had gone. Oh crap, he was back. Stopping in her tracks, she looked wildly around for somewhere to duck and hide, but the foliage was so thick on either side, she dared not try it. No telling what lurked in that. Snakes, spiders… She shuddered and crossed her arms against the chilly early April night, stalking up the road with purpose now. She wouldn’t look back. She would ignore him. And if he attempted to get out and hassle her, she’d fuck him up. A well-placed nut shot would bring any bastard to his knees if it came to that.
Still, her heart thundered and the need to run burned through her veins. As the vehicle pulled alongside her, she whirled to plow through the trees no matter what horrors might await.
“Hey,” a male voice said. Not Max. Starla turned, wide-eyed. Not a car. A pickup. A dually, actually, huge and high off the ground due to its mud-grip tires. From what she could tell, it was red. A country song drifted mournfully from the interior. What she couldn’t tell was much about its driver in the darkness, especially since he appeared to wear a cap pulled low over his eyes. “You having trouble?” he asked, and the song’s volume decreased as he turned it down.
“You could say that.” When wasn’t she having trouble?
He leaned his head out a little farther, looking back at the road he’d just traveled. “Are you broke down? I didn’t pass anything.”
“Did you by any chance meet a black Mustang?”
“Yeah, I did. Nearly ran me into the ditch.”
“That’s the trouble I’m having. Or rather, the idiot driving it.”
To her surprise, he opened the driver’s door. A heavy work boot came down on the truck’s single step, and he easily boosted himself down.
Out here, standing just at the edge of the shine of his headlights, she could see better. Tall. Broad shoulders that almost stretched the dark plaid of his shirt. Built. A scent wafted toward her, not cologne but hay, cut grass, fresh air, and hard work.
And, hello, beard.
He tipped his cap back a bit and appraised her closely with eyes of an indiscernible color. Whatever color it was, it was light.
Please, God in heaven, don’t let them be blue.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his assessment apparently yielding him nothing alarming.
“Oh yeah,” she said quickly, glancing down self-consciously at herself. “Nothing much happened. I just made him let me out. Jerk. I did break my phone, though, so I can’t call anyone to pick me up. I was going to walk.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, debating. Not wanting to ask outright for any help, no matter how badly she needed it.
“I’m on my way into town. I can give you a ride if you want.”
Hmm. Punishment and blisters and achy feet versus heat and the comfort of a seat under her butt. No brainer. And she’d bet the meager contents of her bank account that this dude wasn’t a machete-wielding maniac. Although he could probably wield a machete, which would come in handy with idiots like Max.
Of course, stubborn thoughts like that were what always got her into these situations.
Chapter Two
Jared Stanton glanced over at his charge for the next few miles and puzzled over where he’d seen her before. She sat demurely against the passenger door, but he’d bet there really wasn’t a demure thing about her. She wore a black top with cut-out shoulders, enough to show that both her arms were covered with tattoos, and her jeans were ratty and torn enough to reveal her legs were no different. Shimmering blonde hair with pink and turquoise streaks spilled in large curls over her shoulders. She stared out the window, elbow propped on the door, silver-ringed fingers pensively at her lips.
Silence had filled the air ever since she’d hoisted herself into his truck. Ordinarily¸ he had no problem with silence, but this was a girl who looked like she had a lot to say. He only needed to look at her to see the tension thrumming under her skin.
“You really look familiar,” he said at last, then wanted to cringe at the banality of it. It was enough, though, to bring her head around. Feeling her stare him down, he figured it was no less than he deserved. He’d been doing the same to her.
“Now that I think about it, you do too.”
Interesting. But this wasn’t a big town, after all; he might’ve only seen her in passing. “What’s your name?”
And that was even more interesting, though he should have guessed what she was going to say before it came out of her mouth, should have prepared for the teeth-grinding misery of it. “You’re Macy Rodgers’s ex.”
Yeah. That was what he was known for, it seemed. Macy Rodgers’s ex. Since the catastrophe that relegated him to that position in life, he’d married someone else, had kids, divorced, and still, Macy Rodgers hung like a damn thundercloud over his head, forever to rain on his life. He and Macy had been an inseparable unit for so many years, though, with so many people expecting them to be together forever, he supposed that was inevitable.
“Jared Stanton,” he said, if only to prove to himself he had a name. He glanced at Starla again, the colorful hair, the tattoos, the little flash of silver he’d noticed on her tongue when she’d spoken to him outside his truck. “I take it you’re acquainted with…” He trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the guy’s nickname. It sat sour and unsaid on his tongue.
“Ghost,” she supplied. “Yeah. I work with him.”
Jared sat in silence, white-knuckling the steering wheel as the muscles in his chest tightened. It wasn’t that he could really blame Ghost for taking Macy and running. How could he? He’d tried to do the same, not once but twice. It was just that if Ghost hadn’t come along when he did, forever with Macy might have finally happened.
“He’s a good guy, you know,” Starla said, probably sensing his own tension had ratcheted up tenfold. “Don’t let him fool you with the crazy act. That asshole I was with tonight? That’s a bad dude. Ghost, he’s pretty awesome.”
The last thing he needed was to hear the guy’s praises sung in his own truck. But he had to admit it was nice to hear Macy would be okay from a more objective source. She’d promised Jared that herself, but she was biased. Her parents had even promised him, but did they really know that guy? Ghost would be on his best behavior around them. Hearing that a coworker—whose opinions could run good or bad—thought highly of him was slightly more comforting.