by Nicole Snow
I give him a wink. “I have my ways. Something else I wanted to mention...I started this whole media thing. I’m the one who told that Jackknife asshole at the Purple Bobcat that Grace and I were engaged. He told his boss, and we saw the fallout.” I shrug, meeting his confused look. “Wouldn’t be much of a soldier if I didn’t accept responsibility.”
He lets that sink in before he asks, “So what’s your plan?”
“The media leaks all say Grace and I are engaged. I figure this asshole is trying to run her off, get her away from here by slandering my reputation, thinking I can’t stand the spotlight. They have to know I left Hollywood for some peace and quiet. They’re using that against me, trying to scare you both into leaving so he can snap you up.”
“That’s his style,” Nelson says glumly. “Bastard thinks he can control everything. Every movement. I’m thankful he’s a little out of his element here, having no clue how showbiz works.”
“Exactly. My plan is to make his plan backfire. Grace and I will put on a show. Act engaged. I’ll take her to town, make sure everybody knows your girl hooked the most eligible new bachelor in Dallas. It’s time I introduce myself to the town properly, too. I’ll encourage folks to go wild, posting their pics of us on their social media sites, giving interviews, the works.”
“That’s only going to—”
“Piss off the Milwaukee boys? That’s what we want. Force their hand. Bring them here, where we’ll be ready.” I pat his arm. “Our turf, our rules. I have good, capable friends who’ll help us out. All former military guys, one was even in the FBI. I know the sheriff and his right-hand man. We’ll be ready and waiting, ready to swing shut the biggest damn mousetrap you’ve ever seen.”
For a second, he turns it over, his eyes brightening. They’re a shade paler than Grace’s.
Then he shakes his head, heaving out a sigh.
“Nahhh, you can’t rope more guys into this. Wouldn’t be right. The Old Town Boys are smarter than you’d think, and Clay, he’s got millions at his disposal.” He hangs his head. “Yeah, I know you’re probably richer than him, Ridge, but he’s a straight-up thug. A savage who’s been in this game his whole life. Outsmarting him isn’t as easy as you think.”
Excitement hits my blood, knowing he trusts me enough to name names.
“I’m planning it down to the last detail,” I say, giving him a fierce nod. The more I think about this, the more I know it’s our only chance. “My buddies have taken down bigger scum than Clay. They’ll have our backs.”
He looks at me, studying my face, looking for any sign of weakness.
I can tell he’s close to agreeing, he wants to, but he’s too used to be being prey. After what they’ve suffered, it’s too hard to believe they could be on the hunter’s side.
“She won’t do it,” he says. “Grace, I mean. It’s not all up to me.”
I lean in closer. “With your permission, leave that to me. It’s time this ends, and we can make it happen for both of you.”
He rubs his forehead, sighing again. “She won’t get hurt? You promise me, mister?”
“I’ll protect her with my life. Just like you’ve done since the day she was born.” To bring it home, I add, “Just like you promised her mother, I’m sure. You’ve seen what I’m willing to do to keep her safe, both of you. You have my word, Nelson.”
A hot tear I pretend not to see slips out of his eye.
Wiping at it while I look away, he nods.
“All right, Ridge. Sold. You have my blessing to marry—” He holds up his fingers and makes quotation marks, then smiles. “Marry my little girl. And if she asks, then yeah. I’ll tell her I agree with your plan a hundred percent. Welcome to the family.”
“It’s an honor,” I say, giving him back a joking smile.
From my eyes, it’s nothing but total sincerity pouring out.
Several hours later, Grace and I arrive in town.
Convincing Nelson this plan will work was like eating candy compared to her. I had to mention Nelson name-dropped Clay Grendal and the Old Town Boys before she’d even listen.
She’d gone as white as a sheet.
Swore her father hardly ever spoke their names, even to her, almost like he believes it’s inviting a curse.
I confessed I’d done more homework with Faulk. I know how slippery Grendal is, how cutthroat, and how he believes he’ll never lose.
I watched her walk off to the cabin after telling her to ask her old man himself if she doesn’t believe he agreed to the plan.
She returned to the house with tension and hope dancing in her eyes.
“I still don’t think this is the best idea,” she says, as if reading my mind. “I mean, just driving into town like this and making sure everyone knows what’s up?”
“Just wait. You’ll see how fast word spreads on the gossip vine in this little town.”
She’s staring at the ring on her finger. The one I’d pulled out of the safe in my bedroom.
It’s the same engagement ring my father gave to my mom. A blue diamond wrapped in an ornate silvery frame. Supposedly, it once belonged to a Russian royal before revolution scattered the Tsar’s jewels to the winds.
They were only married long enough to have me, but my mother kept that ring like it was part of the crown jewels.
It was a relief to find out it fits Grace’s finger just like it was made for her.
She lets out a sigh and glances out the window. “So, what’s the plan here? Run up and down the street, screaming we’re engaged? We should’ve brought Cornelius for that.”
“Less bird poop this way,” I say, holding back a snort.
Her head snaps around so fast her neck pops.
“Oh my God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I laugh, park the truck, and turn off the engine.
“Darlin’, I learned three things about North Dakota as soon as I got here. One, there’s always at least one Lutheran church in every town. Two, the residents do not need a reason to fill a bar on Friday or Saturday nights. Three, they eat hotdish like hamburger and tater tots won’t be around next year.”
At least it gets a laugh out of her.
I point out the window. “First we’re going into that diner. We’ll eat and then walk across the street to that bar called Libations for a few beers and a little dancing. Don’t worry, it’s a little more upscale than Grady’s place.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You will tonight, sweetheart.” I open my door and wink at her.
The way her cheeks light up cherry-red wakes up my dick.
Two hours later, I have her on the dance floor.
Turns out, she’s a natural, and watching her sway to the loud country music booming from the speakers ignites my blood.
If it was hell fighting off my hard-on before, it’s excruciating now.
I catch her hand, giving her a twirl, loving how she smiles real sweet at me mid-spin.
After she’s made a flawless pirouette, I grasp her waist, pulling her up flush against me.
These tits are destroyers of men, I swear.
The urge to do shameful acts of fuckery I’ll regret in the morning roars through me like a wind.
“You lied to me, Grace,” I say into her ear. “You know damn well how to dance.”
She laughs and slips out of my hold.
Twisting her shoulders with a saucy little switch of her hips, she does another twirl before stepping closer again. “I didn’t say I can’t dance. I said I don’t dance. Words, mister.”
Little minx.
Her smile, the shimmer in her eyes, the way her gold hair flips and falls back in soft waves around her face, over her shoulders, mesmerizes me for life.
I know how insane that sounds.
I’m the dude living this crazy.
Fact remains, I can’t take my eyes off her, and I wouldn’t be a red-blooded male if I wasn’t thinking about fucking her hard and deep.
There’s no denying it
.
She’s had me thinking about that in sweltering flashes ever since I saw her at the Purple Bobcat, hiding her curves behind that puffy white coat.
It’s a trope in every romance film ever made to tug on heartstrings.
Instant attraction.
Turns out, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting when it happens in real life, when you meet a girl who’s such a magnet you wind up fighting yourself tooth and nail to stay sane.
And not giving into pure insanity is getting harder every minute I spend with my eyes glued to those flaming blue eyes, those ample tits, an ass I could hit so hard I’d wake the dead.
Sweet mercy.
I’ve played more than one role where my character was insta-lusting after a woman, and a couple scenes later, we were in bed together.
I’ve had my share of flings in real life, too. Cautiously because I’ve always known the risks. Sleeping with the wrong person has destroyed more than one career in Tinseltown.
I shake my head, dispelling the sex-crazed track I’ve been heading down and grab Grace by the waist, hold her hips against mine as we fly across the floor to another tune.
The feel of her, the scent, the sight, it’s the grounding I need, even if it’s still driving me a special kind of crazy.
I need to remember why we’re here.
As the music ends, I grasp her hand and pull her up on the small corner stage where the local band—who aren’t bad for a group of kids barely old enough to drink—flash a thumbs-up.
They must appreciate how we’ve been tearing up the floor.
She’s frowning as I shoot her a grin before asking the lead singer if I can borrow his mic.
The singer passes it over with a lopsided grin and flips his guitar aside to clap politely as I take center stage, pulling Grace along with me.
Not so much as a beer bottle clinking against the table can be heard as all eyes settle on us.
First, I ask them to give the band a big Dallas hand.
They applaud generously. No surprise. They’re being plenty generous to me, too.
When it quiets down, I look out over the crowd, a group of hard-working folks that truly are the heart of this nation.
Farmers and oilmen still smudged up in their clothes, hardworking office women giddy with time off, a couple police officers in their uniforms drinking beers, though I don’t see Drake or Sheriff Wallace with them.
Dallas has a pulse. This little town looks out for everybody in it. The very thing I always heard my Army buddies talking about when they’d get homesick.
They’d been jealous of me, of course, and told me point-blank when they found out who I really was. I’d pretended my life was amazing, never letting on how I’d envied them.
All for this sense of home.
“Hi, ladies and gents. I have a big announcement,” I say into the mic, and for the first time in my life, I’m nervous. I’m speaking from the heart, my words rather than a script. “But first, I want to say thank you. I’d wager a few folks in the crowd knew who I was, even before the latest flap in the media came out. I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Ever since my arrival in Dallas, you’ve treated me like I’m just another neighbor. The new guy who bought that ranch on the land old Jonah Reed always swore was no good.”
A low rumble of laughs winds through the crowd. I knew mentioning North Earhart Oil’s founder would help win over any holdouts.
“It’s true. I’ll never laugh off winter again after spending entire weeks snowed in,” I say. “And I’m glad I did, so the next time I visit Southern California, I’ll have plenty of horror stories for the folks who freak if it dips below fifty degrees.”
I wait until more laughter dies.
“Seriously, though, it’s not the weather telling me how good I’ve got it. Dallas folk show me every week. I appreciate being able to go to the café, the grocery store, feedstore, gas station, and bars, without being assaulted with newshounds looking to break the next big scoop on Ridge Barnet’s scandalous life.”
The crowd goes quiet, but faces are smiling.
Grace’s hold on my hand tightens.
I squeeze her hand back, silently showing her that I know what I’m doing.
“Y’all made me feel like one of the guys, but I never realized what being one of the guys meant, until now. Until recently when, as some of you know, the newshounds discovered where I’ve been holed up. I want to apologize for that, and in advance for any and all hyenas who might pop up around here hounding you folks for info.”
I sigh, looking around the room, watching several worried faces.
“I should’ve known the truth would leak out eventually. I should’ve introduced myself like this sooner, and thought of you. All of you. You respected my privacy, but I didn’t respect your community by keeping my head in the sand since I came here last fall. People, I apologize.”
There are a few hushed mumbles, people wondering where I’m going with all this.
I have to admit, I’m better with scripts than I am with improvising on the spot.
Still, I know having the community on my side will help thwart the real hyenas I’m worried about coming for Grace and Nelson.
“Guess what?” I flash Grace a grin before continuing. “I don’t care what the hell the entertainment media says. They’ll print their own words in chickenshit if it sells stories—pardon my French—but here’s what I do care about.”
I grin, waiting for the laughter to die down again.
“I care what you all think of me. I want you to know I didn’t move to Dallas to turn your town upside down with wild rumors. So if anyone asks, I want you to know you heard it from the horse’s mouth—and I don’t mean Edison’s.”
A few enthusiastic shouts fly out. I think if they could elect that old horse mayor, they would.
I’ve got ’em now.
Releasing Grace’s hand, I throw my arm around her, tugging her close. “Here’s the real news—I just got engaged! Her name’s Grace Sellers, and yes, her family owned a pumpkin farm in Wisconsin. No, she’s old enough to drink and do a whole lot more. Hell yeah, she’s loving Dallas just as much as I am, folks.”
The crowd erupts with raucous clapping, cheers, even a few wolf whistles. Those who were seated dart up, a standing ovation, shouting their congratulations.
“I was joking when I said I’d shout it from the streets,” Grace whispers as she leans her head on my shoulder.
Laughing, I spin her around, loving how the soft lights pool in her shimmering eyes.
The kiss is for show...until it isn’t.
It happens without warning, the instant my mouth finds hers.
Then my whole body goes rigid, electrified with white-hot wow.
Holy fuck.
I don’t even need the crowd hooting and hollering to celebrate kissing Grace Sellers for the first time, tasting what’s haunted me for too many sweltering nights.
She’s surprised, but she wants it as bad as I do.
Her lips part, offering an inch and the sweetest little whine.
I take an entire mile, finding her tongue, chasing her deeply, delicately at first in front of our audience.
Her arms tighten on my neck. She’s so far gone I think she’s over the crowd, too, and I pull her in closer, lost in the frenzy, claiming her bottom lip with my teeth.
We might have a hundred people around us, stuffed in the busy bar.
But in our own heat, our passion, our need seething out of every pore and dancing on our lips, we’d might as well be the only two people ever made.
It’s scary how good her mouth feels on mine.
She tastes like sugar cut with some powerful drug designed to drive me mad.
It’s almost impossible to break away for air, remembering where we are.
As the noise dies down, I say into the mic, “Thank you, Dallas! Grace and I have known each other for a while now. I’ve had to work hard to convince her to give my ranch a try. She’s an interior designer. One hell
of a designer, I’ll add. In just a few days, she transformed my house from a yuppie mausoleum into a home I’m proud to call mine for the rest of my life.” I laugh, delivering a good dose of acting when I say, “I was under the impression that just being married to me would be enough.”
Laughter fills the room as Grace looks at me and shakes her head.
Once again, I wait for the noise to fade.
“Seriously, folks, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Now you’ve heard it from me, so if anyone asks, you know the real story. Be sure to set ’em straight—and make sure they pay you, too. The jackals where I come from will spend an arm and a leg on gossip.”
I wave the singer closer, throwing my free arm around the kid. He gives me a goofy grin.
“Before I hand the mic back to my man, I have one more announcement I’m sure you’ll be thrilled with. Everybody’s bar tab from now until midnight is on Ridge Barnet, so bottoms up!”
15
No Controlled Burn (Grace)
I can’t decide if I’ve ever been more embarrassed or more awed in my life.
I’m still trying to pull my jaw off the ground. Ridge had that crowd eating right out of his hand.
And what he did to me?
Insane.
Indescribable.
Absolutely deadly.
His kiss took me by surprise the first second. Thirty seconds later, it took me over.
He knew when to tease, when to chase, when to spar, and when to give.
I wonder if I’m even in a solid state after melting under his heat, tasting the sexy torment of his lips. And of course I’m already addicted.
That kiss was performance art.
If I didn’t know the truth, I’d think we really are engaged.
Not just from his little speech, but the way he’s still all over me, running a firm hand down the small of my back...
Oh my God.
My panties are so wet it’s a struggle to move by the end of the night. The man is a freaking magician when he can make me believe in an illusion I’m supposedly in on.
His touch was too real, like a man who’s been awestruck by the woman he’s promised to marry.
