by Karen Kelley
Oh, hell!
What was she thinking? Haley smoothed her hands down the side of her robe, took a deep breath, and started to open the door. She remembered at the last minute to remove her glasses and stick them in her pocket. Rachael had said they made her appear more professional. Haley thought the glasses made her look like Buddy Holly. She wore them more out of habit than a need to see.
The cowboy wasn’t there.
Had she only imagined him? She closed the door enough so that she could slide off the chain. Her smile was firmly in place when she opened the door again. Nothing. Only Old Mrs. Monroe watering her lawn across the street. She looked up and waved as her crotchety husband came around the corner of the house, getting a face full of water. Mrs. Monroe quickly dropped the hose.
“Damn, thought we’d finally got some rain,” he sputtered.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She rushed toward him, raising her flowered apron as she went.
Haley smiled, then glanced down the street. Her smile dropped. Not a soul, darn it. Her fantasy lover, possibly an answer to her prayer, showed up on her porch and what did she do? Slammed the stupid door in his face.
Maybe she only imagined the guy. Really, who could actually look that good? She took a cautious step past the doorway. Maybe Mrs. Monroe saw the cowboy. But her neighbor had already turned off the water and they were going inside.
Haley stepped off the wide, covered front porch, her eyes narrowing as she looked up and down the street. Still nothing.
Chelsea, the former cheerleader, high school football sweetheart, beauty-queen-turned-slutty-bank-teller stepped out of her house next door, then gave a surprised jump when she caught sight of Haley. Chelsea’s gaze swept over her.
“You really should take a little more pride in your appearance.” She shrugged. “But then, I suppose nothing would help so why try?”
Haley’s lip curled. Why did her co-worker buy the house next door? To taunt her? Her ploy was working.
Chelsea closed her front door, but immediately returned her attention to Haley. Oh, no, Chelsea wore her fake pouty look. Haley braced herself.
“I’m sorry about last night. Ben and I happened to be working late at the bank, and afterward, we decided to have a drink. He totally forgot about his date with you until it was too late. I hope you weren’t too disappointed.”
She took a step back as Chelsea hurried down the front steps to her sporty, little, red Mustang. But Chelsea had to know about the date. Then it hit her. Of course Chelsea knew. That was exactly why she coerced Ben into taking her for a drink. Chelsea loved hurting people. It was a game to her—one she played very well.
Haley tried to think of something smart to say. “You… you…” Darn! Why couldn’t she think of a good comeback? She probably would that afternoon when she wouldn’t need it. “I hope you get a flat tire,” she finally sputtered. Oh, that was a real winning line. Sheesh!
Chelsea was right, though. Haley’s looks left a lot to be desired. But Ben was her date. Of course Ben would want to be with Chelsea rather than her. Chelsea looked hot with flaming red hair and she was cute.
Haley marched back inside and closed her door a little harder than necessary. Out of habit, she jerked the chain through the slot and turned the lock. Not that it mattered. An intruder would take one look at her frumpy froggy pj’s, her thick robe, and run screaming in the other direction. Which was probably what happened to the sexy cowboy and he barely got a glimpse. What would he have done if he saw the whole picture?
No, she didn’t want to think about his reaction. Her day was already depressing enough. She aimed toward the kitchen and grabbed a diet soda out of the fridge instead of the ice cream. She would get dressed, then figure out what she would do for the rest of her boring day.
She trudged into the bedroom and came to a dead stop. Her heart thumped so hard inside her chest she thought it would crack a rib. The cowboy was casually reclined on her bed with his back braced against her headboard, his booted feet crossed at the ankles.
About the Author
Karen Kelley is the award-winning author of twenty books. I’m Your Santa spent three weeks on the USA Today bestseller list. Karen lives in a small Texas town with her very supportive husband and their very spoiled Pekingese, along with many wild birds that can empty two large feeders in the course of a day. She makes jewelry as a hobby because she’s a firm believer that you can never have enough bling-bling. You can visit Karen at www.authorkarenkelley.com.