Taming A Texas Heartbreaker (Bad Boy Ranch Book 4)

by Katie Lane

  His agent had suggested a Caribbean island. His editor had suggested Iceland. But it had been a call from an old friend that had brought Val to Simple, Texas.

  Fifteen years earlier, the Double Diamond Boys’ Ranch had changed Val’s life forever, although he hadn’t realized it at the time. When he’d stepped out of his dad’s Volvo and met the five other troubled teens he’d be living with for those three months, he’d thought the school principal and his parents had sentenced him to death by delinquents. He’d known from experience what tough teenagers could do to a strange, fat kid who spent all his time reading and writing horror stories. Bullying was how he’d ended up at the boys’ ranch and bullying was how he was going to die.

  But after only a couple weeks of listening to their life stories around a campfire, Val realized that Logan, Cru, Holden, Lincoln, and Sawyer weren’t that different from him. They were all just teenagers struggling to survive the cards they’d been dealt. And most of the Double Diamond boys had held much worse cards than Val.

  He only had to deal with his addiction to sweets and the daily fear of getting his ass kicked. His home life was as pathetically generic as you could get. His father was a college English professor and his mother was an author of dessert cookbooks—which explained Val’s childhood obesity. His mother was always testing her new recipes on her family. While his parents had been excellent parents to him and his sister, they’d never been the cool parents. They preferred listening to classical music rather than popular music. They preferred going to museums instead of movies. They preferred playing scrabble rather than watching television. In fact, they hadn’t even owned a television or cellphones. And it was hard to fit in with other kids at school when you knew nothing about pop culture.

  Val might’ve never known what cool was if he hadn’t spent that summer at the Double Diamond Ranch. The other boys were the definition of cool from the clothes they wore to the way they talked. When they welcomed black sheep Val into their fold, he felt cool too—like he was invincible and nothing could harm him. Maybe that’s why he’d decided to come back to Simple to write his next book. Maybe he had been looking for that invincibility.

  Instead, all he’d found was an insecure author who had lost his ability to write.

  At least anything but crap.

  And now Ms. Dixon knew his secret. Something that irritated him to no end—as if the woman didn’t already irritate him. He had yet to figure out why. She was just a simple country girl who ran a boardinghouse. He had dated much more sophisticated and educated women. Yet, there was something in her direct bluebonnet gaze that made him uncomfortable. Like she could see right through his confident, successful author persona to the scared bullied boy beneath. And he didn’t want anyone seeing that boy.

  Which is why he had become a complete arrogant ass when she was around.

  “Writer’s block, Ms. Dixon?” He spoke in the haughty tone he’d learned from Holden Lancaster. When Holden had first come to the Double Diamond, he’d been a spoiled rich kid who talked down to everyone. Val had hated him at first, but then he’d learned Holden had only used his superior attitude to keep people at arm’s length. Val wanted to keep Reba Dixon and her penetrating blue eyes, which made him want to fidget like a kid in the principal’s office, even further away. “If you can read the words, then it’s writing.”

  She picked up a pair of jeans he’d left on the floor and shook the wrinkles out. It was just another thing he didn’t like about her. She was always moving and doing something, even if it didn’t need to be done. “English might not have been my favorite subject in school, Mr. Sterling, but that doesn’t look like writing to me. It looks like someone throwing a hissy fit. Sort of like the hissy Jonas Kirby threw when he failed the fifth grade for the second time and spray painted that exact word all over the front of the school.” She folded the jeans, then hugged them to her breasts like they were her favorite rag doll. The sight intensified the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and his tone became even more arrogant.

  “I don’t throw hissy fits, Ms. Dixon.”

  “Of course you don’t, Mr. Sterling.” A smirk quirked her full lips.

  Reba Dixon had full everything. Full lips. Full breasts. Full hips. And a full set of deep red curls she tried to keep contained in a clip at the back of her head. But a few curls always escaped to trail down her neck or frame her full face. And Val didn’t like red hair. It was too brassy. Nor did he like full woman. He liked his woman as skinny as his latte. Which didn’t explain why his mouth suddenly went dry when Reba set his jeans on the table and bent over to pick up his shirt.

  He tried to look away from the curvy bottom in the snug jeans, but it was impossible when there was a swipe of what looked like flour on one butt cheek. Val hadn’t eaten anything made with white flour since he’d left the Double Diamond ranch fifteen years earlier. Giving up his mom’s breads and desserts had been hard at first. But once he started to lose weight and got rid of the title of “fat kid,” it had been well worth it. And he hadn’t craved a biscuit or baked goods in years.

  Until now.

  Now, he suddenly had an overwhelming craving for one of his mother’s amazing cinnamon rolls with butter and brown sugar oozing from the split between the warm . . . plump . . . risen flesh.

  Risen flesh?

  He shook his head to clear the thought, but it was too late. His own flesh rose and he quickly grabbed the sheet and pulled it over his lap to cover his embarrassing and unexplainable erection. But he thought he hadn’t done it in time when she spoke.

  “What in the world is that?” She turned with his shirt in her hand, and his shoulders relaxed as he saw the streak of red paint she pointed to.

  “It’s red paint,” he said. “I’m helping Chester and Lucas paint their barn.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re helping to paint their barn? I heard you went to the Double Diamond ranch every afternoon, but I thought you were just hanging out with Chester, Lucas, and Holden. I didn’t think you would actually do manual—” She cut off before she finished the insult, but it was too late.

  “Labor,” he finished for her. It annoyed him that she viewed him as a weakling who couldn’t lift a paintbrush. “Not that it’s any of your business, Ms. Dixon, but I had to take plenty of manual labor jobs before I got published. And I spent an entire summer on the ranch painting barns, mucking out stalls, and herding cattle.”

  “Everyone in town knows that you were once a Double Diamond boy, Mr. Sterling. I just can’t see the . . . successful celebrity you are now doing ranch work.” Her hesitation before she’d said successful told him that she’d wanted to use another adjective. Probably something along the lines of arrogant, demanding, or pretentious. Which is exactly how he’d been acting towards her. He knew it was a defense mechanism. But he couldn’t seem to stop feeling defensive.

  “I really don’t care how you see me, Ms. Dixon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to eat my overcooked poached egg before it gets any colder.”

  There was a flicker of fire in her eyes, but she quickly lowered her gaze. “Of course, Mr. Sterling. I’ll just take this shirt and see if I can get the paint out of it.” She headed toward the open door and etiquette demanded that he stand and follow her. He kept a tight hold on the sheet because for some reason his erection had yet to go down. He knew he must look like an awkward virgin standing by the door clutching a sheet, but it was better than letting Reba see the reaction he had to her. Or not to her so much as the flour. Maybe he needed to add a few carbs to his diet.

  He waited for her to step out the door so he could close it behind her, but instead she paused and turned back around, moving so close that he could see the starburst of light blue in her deep blue—almost purple—irises. “I’m curious, Mr. Sterling. If you don’t mind a little ranch work, why aren’t you staying at the Double Diamond ranch?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, Ms. Dixon?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Sterling. I was just m
aking a suggestion. If the boardinghouse hasn’t cured your writer’s block, maybe the Double Diamond will.”

  That was doubtful given that Chester and Lucas’s ranch had become busier than Grand Central Station between the Double Diamond boys who had moved back and their new brides. Cru Cassidy and Logan McCord had married the Gardener sisters from the neighboring ranch and stopped by often to check on Chester and Lucas or to see Holden and his new bride, Devlin, who were living on the ranch until their house got built. Val couldn’t be rude and ignore his friends or their brides and stay locked in his room and write.

  No, he needed solitude to write. Even then, he had ended up with crap.

  Maybe his book wasn’t that bad. Most authors were extremely judgmental of their own work. Maybe he’d just been working too hard and needed some time away from his laptop to get a new perspective on his story. His friends were all getting together at the Double Diamond tonight while their wives were at some book club and had asked him to join them. He had declined the offer, but now decided that a night relaxing with his friends was exactly what he needed.

  “Thanks for the suggestion, Ms. Dixon,” he said. “But I’m fine right here. Now if you’re done wasting my morning . . . “

  The flicker of fire was back in her eyes, but this time she didn’t try to hide it. This time she stared right through him. Like always, he felt like she saw much more than he wanted her to see. “It doesn’t look like you need any help wasting your morning, Mr. Sterling.” She turned on a boot heel and headed out the door.

  Unfortunately, her feet got tangled in his sheet that pooled on the floor and she stumbled. Instinctively, he dropped the sheet and reached out to keep her from falling. His arm curled around her waist and pulled her back against his body, making him immediately aware of the differences between a skinny woman and a full one.

  Reba’s body hadn’t been starved or overworked on a cardio machine. It wasn’t all stringy muscle and fragile bone. The body he held was lush and abundant. All her soft curves and sweet swells seemed to overflow and fill all his empty hollows. Empty hollows he hadn’t even realized he had until then. For the first time in a long time, he felt . . . complete. Which probably explained why his arms refused to let her go.

  Even when she turned her head and looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. “Mr. Sterling?” she said in a whispered huff of breath that smelled like the chocolate chip cookies his mom always had waiting for him when he got home from school. The love she had baked into those cookies had made whatever bullying had happened that day at school tolerable.

  He had given up eating his mom’s chocolate chip cookies. Just one more sacrifice he’d made in his transformation from geek to successful author. He hadn’t regretted it . . . until now. With the delicious scent filling his lungs, he craved a chocolate chip cookie like he had never craved anything in his life. Since there were none around, he took the next best thing.

  Reba lips were as soft as her body—two plump, heavenly clouds that opened in a startled intake of breath. He took advantage of her surprise and delved deeper into the heat of her mouth. She even tasted like chocolate chip cookie straight out of the oven—warm, delectable, and addictive. He certainly couldn’t get enough. He turned her in his arms and had just introduced his tongue when she drew back and slapped him hard across the face.

  “No!” Her eyes flared as her voice shook with anger. “If you think you can put sex on your long list of demands, Mr. Sterling, you can think again. I have cooked your special low-carb meals, ironed your prissy shirts, and washed your Darth Vader undies, but I will not be bullied into having sex with an arrogant, selfish asshole. I will not fall into that trap again. Now pack your bags and get out!” She headed out the door, slamming it closed behind her.

  Val flopped down on the bed and ran his hands over his face, knocking his forgotten glasses off. What the hell had just happened? He had never forced himself on a woman in his life. Obviously, all the bad reviews had screwed with his mind. And staying up all night hadn’t helped. He needed sleep. But after his run in with Reba Dixon, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  Bullied?

  After his childhood, she couldn’t have used a more demeaning word. It was true. He had been bullying her. He had been treating her like she was beneath him and having her do things that he knew weren’t in her job description just because she made him feel uncomfortable and inadequate. He had let his ego turn him into the type of person he despised.

  He got up from the bed and grabbed the black jeans she’d folded so neatly.

  He found her in the kitchen. She was standing at the counter taking chocolate chip cookies off a cooling rack and placing them on a plate.

  “So that’s where the smell came from,” he said.

  She jumped, dropping a cookie on the floor as she whirled around. Her curls were even more messy than usual, and he suddenly remembered slipping his fingers into them when he’d angled her face for a deeper taste. They had felt like springy silk. His fingers twitched as if wanting to test those curls again. He fisted his hands and got to the reason he was there.

  “I’m sorry to startle you,” he said. “I’m here to apologize. I had no business kissing you.”

  Her cheeks flamed as she knelt to pick up the cookie. “No apology will keep me from kicking you out, Mr. Sterling. Today was the straw that broke the mule’s back.”

  “I believe it’s camel’s back.”

  “You’ve been working me more like a mule.” She tossed the cookie in the trash, then went back to plating the other cookies. They looked different from the ones his mother made. His mom’s were puffy and perfect while these were large and flat.

  “I think you forgot the raising agent.”

  She turned to him. “Excuse me?”

  “In your cookies. You forgot the baking soda or didn’t use enough.” He realized his mistake in pointing out her baking error when her bluebonnet eyes blazed.

  “You are the most arrogant, obnoxious, controlling man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting in my entire born days and I’m through kowtowing to you. Now get out of my house.”

  He started to argue that he was paid up until the end of the month, but stopped when she grabbed a nearby broom and headed toward him. He should be scared. Reba had lifted the broom like an Amazon warrior getting ready to do battle with her most evil adversary. But instead of feeling scared, a rush of excitement pumped through Val’s veins making him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time. He suddenly realized what had been missing from his last two books.

  Passion.

  He’d felt no passion for his stories or his characters. In fact, he felt no passion for his life. Which was crazy. He was a successful writer who dated models and movie stars, partied with the rich and famous, and just got back from a European book tour. Most people would love to have his exciting life.

  Except it hadn’t felt exciting. At least not until now. Now his entire body hummed with excitement as the flaming-haired hellion came toward him with the broom. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and taste her cookie-flavored lips once again. But before he could, she whacked him hard on the shoulder with the broom. It hurt like hell.

  “I said git. And I mean git!”

  Before she could wind up for another swing, Val got.

  Chapter Three

  “It scared the bejesus out of me.” Luanne Riddell, the founding mother of the Simple Book Club, scooped up some more guacamole with a tortilla chip, her wrist full of homemade beaded bracelets rattling. “After reading it, I had to ask Bud to walk me to the bathroom and stand guard by the door so that psycho stalker wouldn’t get me.”

  “Bud stood guard outside your bathroom door?” Raynelle Coffman, Luanne’s close friend, scrunched her face. “Psycho stalker or not, that is just gross. And did you just double dip?”

  “I did not double dip, Ray! I know my dipping manners. And Bud and I have spent close to twenty years being grossed out by each other so we’ve
become numb to the disgusting things we do. And don’t tell me that this month’s book didn’t scare you too.”

  Raynelle shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought the stalker was kind of sexy.”

  “Sexy?” Evie McCord stared at Raynelle in disbelief. “He sliced the heroine’s boyfriend’s throat and her next door neighbor’s too.”

  “Her boyfriend was kind of a jerk.” Maureen, who was pregnant with her fifth child, rubbed her rounded belly.

  “Just because he was a jerk doesn’t mean he deserved to get his throat carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey.” Luanne reached for another chip.

  “Some jerks deserve it,” Emma Johansen said dryly.

  All the women in the Simple Book Club exchanged knowing glances. They all knew what jerk Emma was referring to. Boone Murphy and Emma had hated each other since high school. Their fathers had given them half shares in the Simple Hardware store thinking it would end the feud, but it had only made it worse.

  As the book club hostess, Reba should’ve jumped in and changed the subject to keep Emma from going on a long rant about her business partner and distracting from the discussion of the book. But tonight Reba’s mind was consumed with her own jerk.

  Valentine Sterling was gone and she was giddy with joy that the man was out of her life. As soon as he left, she’d scoured his room from top to bottom with Lysol, wanting to get every last trace of his musky scent out of her house. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to get him out of her head. The kiss they’d shared that morning just kept playing over and over in her mind.