Table of Contents
Nothing But Trouble
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Lost Memories
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Back Where You Belong
Copyright
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
Lonesome Cowboy
Copyright
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
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Nothing
But
Trouble
by
Jannine Gallant
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Nothing But Trouble
COPYRIGHT 2012 by Jannine Gallant
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2012
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-161-6
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Lillian Watson:
Your independent spirit, determination, and zest for life for the last 96 years are inspiration to us all.
I love you, Grandma!
Chapter One
Chase Paladin slammed on the brakes and prayed. Momentum, and the heavy livestock trailer he was towing, sent his pickup careening toward the red sports car idling in the middle of Route 66.
With tires smoking, he rocked to a stop inches from its rear bumper. He peeled his fingers from the steering wheel and spared a glance for Bo, who had slid off the seat onto the floor of the truck. The hound shook himself.
“What kind of freaking idiot stops in the middle of the road,” he shouted. Pushing his straw hat to the back of his head with a shaking hand, he leaned out the open window. “Hey, buddy—” The complaint lodged in his throat as the passenger door of the Porsche swung open.
Long, long tanned legs topped by a pair of frayed denim shorts shot out. He dragged his gaze upward as the woman stood. A green-ribbed tank top hugged a slim waist, and thick brown braids dangled over each shoulder. Fists clenched on her hips, she yelled something Chase couldn’t quite hear at the driver.
A pink flowered duffle bag flew through the open door and landed at her feet. She kicked the door shut and flipped the driver the bird. With squealing tires, the car tore off down the highway.
Bending, the woman grabbed the handle of the duffle. Faded denim cupped a world-class ass. Chase let out a low whistle as his pulse picked up speed. She glanced in his direction before dragging the bag toward the side of the road. He edged his pickup forward a couple of yards and lowered the passenger window.
“Need a ride?”
Her eyes were hidden by oversized sunglasses with leopard-spotted frames. They perched atop a short, straight nose covered with a sprinkling of freckles. Color tinged high cheekbones, and a pink mouth with a full bottom lip drew into a tight line.
She bared an even row of white teeth. “Not a chance.”
“You sure? Mornings, there isn’t much traffic along this stretch of highway.”
Her fist clenched around the canvas handle of the bag. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“Look, I swear I’m harmless.”
She eyed him for a long minute. A warm Texas breeze ruffled tendrils of loose hair, blowing them around her face. Pushing a strand off her cheek, she frowned. “You look anything but harmless. If I had to guess, I’d say Trouble is your middle name.”
He flashed his most persuasive smile, the one that made blue-haired grannies bat their eyelashes and nubile twenty-somethings drop their panties. The same smile that had convinced Miss Evangeline Gates to sell him the bull currently riding in the trailer hitched to his pickup. Then again, he’d bestowed that trademark grin on Missy last Valentine’s Day, hoping to take the sting out of their breakup. Since then, the smile had proved less than effective with the local female population—Missy had a lot of friends.
“You’d be wrong,” he finally answered. “My middle name’s Elwood, after my granddad.”
She snorted and turned away. Pulling the wheeled duffle, she marched forward, her flip-flops slapping the dusty ground at the edge of the highway.
He shifted into first gear and kept pace. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you out here alone where someone who really is trouble might come along.”
Ignoring him completely, she shuffled onward.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and frowned. Damn stubborn woman. “If your boyfriend dumped you, maybe you should call someone, a friend or your parents.”
Her lip curled, and she pointed at the large wood-paneled building up ahead. “If it’ll ease your mind, I’ll phone from there.”
“That’s the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk. It’s closed this time of day. Anyway, cell reception is plenty good right where you’re standing.”
She lifted her chin and gave the bag a hard jerk when a wheel caught on a loose rock. “Don’t have one.”
“Don’t have one what?”
“A cell phone.” Her brows drew together over the ridiculous glasses. She pushed them up her nose. “Look, I don’t need a savior, and though I appreciate your concern, you can take off.”
It would serve her right if he did. He thought it over for about two seconds before letting out a gusty sigh. “I have a sister around your age. If she were in trouble, I’d expect someone to step up and help her out.”
She picked up her pace, making a beeline for the honky tonk. “You know what they say, fool me o
nce... I’ll get a ride from a woman or some nice family with a couple of kids in the backseat.”
He frowned at her over the top of Bo’s silky brown ears. The hound rested his chin on the open window and watched the woman skip ahead. “Have you been hitchhiking? Now that really is asking for trouble.”
“I can take care of myself.” Her jaw tilted at a mutinous angle. “I handled the pervert in the Porsche without any problem.”
“Jesus.” He ran a hand through his overlong hair and resettled his hat.
She turned onto the graveled drive of the Lonesome Steer, the duffle bumping along behind her. Following at a crawl, he parked next to the sole vehicle in the lot, a battered blue pickup.
Switching off the engine, Chase opened the door and stepped down. Bo stared at him through liquid brown eyes. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
His boots crunched on gravel as he followed her; she cast a look over her shoulder and hustled toward the building. After tugging on the door handle to no avail, she gave the door a few solid thumps with her fist. High overhead a flashing steer ran away from a neon star; its heels kicked and a wild look flickered in its eye. Caribbean blue eyes held the same panicked expression as she pushed her sunglasses up on her head and stared at the glowing beast.
He stopped a few yards away. “Look, the last thing I want to do is scare you.”
She whacked the door again. “Could have fooled me.”
“I don’t think anyone is here.”
Nodding toward the blue pickup, she pounded on the solid wood panel. “I bet you’re wrong.” When the door swung open, she nearly toppled inside.
Gus Rankin, wearing his usual faded denim shirt and a black vest, reached out a hand to steady her. “What’s all the ruckus about? We’re closed,” the owner of the honky tonk groused.
A long, shuddering breath slid past pink lips. “I was hoping to use your phone.”
He eyed her for a moment before nodding. “Come on inside. Is it a local call?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yep, I need to call the sheriff.”
His brows shot up. “You in trouble, miss?”
Chase stepped forward. “Hey, Gus.”
The big man squinted into the midmorning sun, and a smile spread across his leathery face. “Chase Paladin, haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
“Haven’t had time to socialize lately. Will you please tell this woman I’m not some lowlife degenerate before she calls the cops.”
The tips of his mustache quivered. “You piss off another female, Chase? Wasn’t too long ago Missy Cahill was in here calling you every name in the book.”
His shoulders drooped. “She had reason. I only offered this one a ride.”
A deep laugh shook the slight paunch hanging over Gus’s belt. “Son, you do get yourself in some peculiar fixes. Come inside, both of you. Let’s sort this out over a cup of coffee and a donut.”
“Sounds good to me. I could use a shot of caffeine.”
He stepped forward and held the door. The girl gave him a narrow look through those amazing blue eyes before dragging her bag over the threshold.
They followed Gus across the empty dance floor to the long bar at the back of the room. He slipped behind it, pulled three white mugs from beneath the counter, and lifted a coffee carafe from the hot plate. After filling the cups, he set a tin pitcher of cream, a bowl of sugar packets, and a box of glazed donuts on the bar top. “Help yourself.”
Chase pulled out a stool and lifted one of the mugs to his lips, sipping cautiously at the steaming liquid. “Thanks, Gus.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, tell me what you did to annoy such a pretty young lady.”
The lady in question smiled, and Chase sucked in a breath, nearly choking on a bite of donut. The smile put a sparkle in her eyes and a hint of dimple in her left cheek that rocked him back on his boot heels.
“He really did just offer me a ride, but after the last one...” She broke off and shrugged. “I may have overreacted.”
Gus gave her a sympathetic smile. “It never hurts to be careful. If you need a lift, I’ll vouch for Chase. He’s been known to break a few hearts, but he’s trustworthy and law abiding.”
The look she gave him over the rim of her coffee cup was long and discerning. “I’ll bet.”
The bar owner broke a donut in half. “I’m Gus Rankin, proprietor of the Lonesome Steer. Do you have a name, young lady?”
“Honor Jackson.”
He wiped his hand down the side of his jeans before taking hers. “Nice to meet you, Honor. This rascal is Chase Paladin. He owns a ranch over near Redemption. If you’re not from around here, that’s a few miles up the road, right on the border between Texas and New Mexico.”
Her eyes widened. “I have friends in Redemption.”
Chase lowered his mug to the bar. “Yeah?”
“Davis and Andee Matheson.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “You wouldn’t be the old college roommate Andee mentioned, the one who’s coming out to help in the café once the baby’s born?”
“I might be.” Her tone was cautious.
“When I spoke to her last week, she said her friend’s name is Honey.”
Honor finished the last swallow of her coffee and met his gaze. “My friends call me Honey.”
“Well, Honey, this is a fortuitous meeting.”
Her stare was unwavering. “I suppose it is, but the name’s Honor. When I want you to call me Honey, I’ll let you know.” She glanced across the bar and smiled sweetly. “Gus can call me Honey.”
The bartender slapped his hand down next to the box of donuts and chortled. “This one has spunk.”
Chase grinned. “Yes, she does. Now about that ride—”
Her eyes darkened as she studied him. “Under the circumstances, I guess I’d appreciate it.”
Gus rounded the end of the bar and walked them to the door, a broad hand on each of their shoulders. “Chase, I want you to bring Honey back for an evening out real soon. Show her some Texas hospitality.”
“I’m not much of a partier.”
Chase bit his lip to keep from laughing, her appalled expression not ruffling him in the least. He held the door open and winked at Gus. “Sounds like a fine idea.”
“Thanks for the coffee and donuts,” Honor said, her back stiff.
“Anytime.” Gus rubbed his chin and looked from Honor to Chase and back. “You brightened my morning. The way I see it, this day has real promise.”
****
Honor walked toward the black pickup, wondering if she would have been smarter taking her chances with the Porsche driver who’d picked her up east of Amarillo. She could handle his type, the kind of man who thought money bought them whatever they wanted. She wasn’t so sure about the cowboy ambling by her side.
With his easy smile and twinkling green eyes, Chase Paladin threatened her composure. Prolonged exposure would surely prove destructive. Those broad shoulders and lean hips, the way his faded jeans hugged long legs, and—she gave herself a mental shake. She was in Texas to help an old friend and figure out what to do with her life. She’d said goodbye to the past and was headed toward a fresh beginning. The last thing she needed was a good-looking man stirring up her hormones.
Chase crossed to the enclosed trailer with a silver stylized P stenciled on the side and peered through the window. “Doesn’t look like my quick stop hurt him any.”
“Hurt who?”
He glanced over his shoulder and tossed her that sexy smile. “My new acquisition. Come take a look.”
Curiosity overrode common sense. She stepped up next to him, felt the heat radiating through his thin cotton shirt, smelled the scent of alfalfa and sheer maleness...
Honor swallowed and forced her attention toward the occupant of the trailer. A round, black orb surrounded by gleaming white stared back at her. The creature snorted, and she jumped, tripping over her duffle bag.
Chase raised a brow as she sprawled
against the side of his truck.
Righting herself, she brushed her hands down the seat of her shorts. “That cow looks mean.”
“That cow is a prize winning bull for my breeding program. I’ve been told he has a bit of a temper. I hope he’s meaner than hell.”
Her brow creased. “Why would you want a mean cow—excuse me, bull?”
“Because I breed rodeo stock. No one pays to ride a pansy bull. I’m counting on Muffin to put the Circle P breeding program on the map.”
She stared at him, and her lips twitched. “Muffin? You named that animal Muffin?”
A tide of red crept up his neck and settled over his cheekbones. “I didn’t name him. I bought him from an eighty-two year old lady with a warped sense of humor. Anyway, it’s a nickname.”
She pressed her hand to her lips. “This ought to be good. What’s his full name?”
The red darkened to crimson. “Stud Muffin.” He let out a sigh. “Go ahead and laugh. I knew what I was getting into when I signed the check.” He turned a dark glance on the bull. “He’d better be worth every penny.”
Warmth settled around her battered heart. You had to admire a man who’d buy a bull named Muffin. It was a sure sign he didn’t take himself too seriously. “The way that beast looked at me, I bet he’s worth his weight in gold.”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed.” He picked up her duffle bag and set it in the bed of the pickup. “Let’s hit the road, Honor. I’d like to get home before noon.”
“Call me Honey.”
Green eyes sparkled with flecks of gold as he silently studied her. Her breath caught in her chest and tightened painfully.
“It would be my pleasure. If that bull put me in your good graces, he’s already worth every dime I paid.”
Pulling her gaze away, she edged around the pickup to the passenger side, needing a moment to collect herself. She should be immune to sweet-talking men. Any fool could see this one charmed the rattles off a diamondback before breakfast. She might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She’d learned her lesson the first time around.
At the truck door, she came nose to nose with a long-eared, soulful-eyed hound dog. He put his oversized paws on the window frame and gave her a sniff. Reaching out a tentative hand, she scratched his head. Tongue lolling, the hound moaned in response.
Honky Tonk Hearts Volume 2 Page 1