When some pretty little thing shows up at my doorstep with a suitcase, claiming she rented my house for the summer, I waste no time informing her that my house isn’t for rent. Some Internet jack@ss scammed her out of all her money, but that’s not my problem.
Only when I find her sleeping in her car a couple days later, I can’t turn my back. I make her an offer: room and board in exchange for working on my ranch.
She agrees–not like she has a choice–and I open my doors to a girl who sings too loud, sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong, and distracts me with her tight jeans and those full, f*ckable lips.
I keep her at an arm’s length, and for good reason. I don’t deserve happiness. And I don’t deserve her.
But when those hot summer days melt into long country nights, I find it hard to keep my hands off of her, even when I know they don’t belong there. My mouth on hers, her body on mine, that glimmer in her big brown eyes when she looks at me like I’ve hung the moon …
For the first time in years, my frozen heart beats again. And when I look at her, I’m reminded that I’m still alive, that maybe all isn’t lost. And when I kiss her, I’m not thinking about the past anymore, I’m picturing the two of us. A future.
But people around here like to talk and rumors are alive and well, and some folks are out to convince her I’m a monster with a sordid past.
And maybe I am …