Heated. Niobia Bryant

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      So, it bothered her to think that legacy of quality work and care might be lost. How bad were things? Was it salvageable?

      The summer sun was blazing down on her without any shelter from its rays. As she turned down the worn path leading to the area behind the old bunkhouse, Bianca’s steps faltered at her first sight of the gable-styled barn—or what was left of it. The structure had not survived what obviously was a fire. What was left was charred, broken, and decrepit. Useless.

      Questions flew to mind. The who, what, when, and why of it all.

      As she stood in the center of that great field, the tips of the grass dried and yellowing from the heat, Bianca looked around. Not a soul was in sight: the horse pens were empty, no one using the handling chutes to safely contain a horse while trimming feet or treating injuries, no hands walking the horses that should’ve been boarded, the obstacle courses were desolate.

      Uh-oh.

      Things were bad. Worst than she thought. If her father didn’t get his behind home ASAP she would hunt him down and drag his butt home to explain to her to just what the hell was—or wasn’t—going on.

      Kahron steered his truck down the long, winding dirt road leading to King Equine Services. Night had fallen and he was hoping Hank was at home so they could talk. That would save him a trip to Charlie’s, a small wooden shack at the end of a dead-end road whose namesake sold beer and liquor and allowed the local men to play cards—for a cut. Charlie’s was located on the other side of Holtsville, nearer to Summerville, whereas the section of Holtsville he lived in was nearer to Walterboro. Kahron really wasn’t up for the drive or the socializing tonight.

      His truck had just passed the grove of trees that made that stretch of the road seemed black as midnight when he caught sight of the house. He saw a figure on the porch rise as he neared.

      “Well, I’ll be damned,” he thought with a roguish grin.

      It was the curly haired beauty he saw in the convertible earlier today. She looked even better standing.

      Hank had bragged that his daughter was coming home, but never had Kahron imagined her to be so beautiful. Guess he was picturing a female version of Hank—which wouldn’t have been a pretty sight for anybody’s eyes!

      She was tall and shapely, something clearly defined by the form fitting jeans and tank that she wore. From her straight up stance he knew she was comfortable in her skin, something that made her even sexier to him. Her reddish-brown hair—he didn’t know what else to call it—was the perfect compliment to her light complexion. Her features were feline, with wide eyes and high cheekbones. She had the fullest lips he’d ever seen, and the small mole over her left eyebrow made her all the more endearing.

      Kahron was intrigued by her. He felt drawn to her. His pulse quickened and he felt that same nervous awareness he used to get around pretty girls when he in his awkward teens.

      But this was the odd part. Standing before him, highlighted in the darkness by the porch light and his headlights, was a beautiful woman with a sexy figure—the type of woman he used to have wet dreams about—but it wasn’t her beauty that drew him in. It wasn’t the lure of the naughty pleasure her body could bring him. It wasn’t the thrill of her luscious lips tantalizing parts of his body—above and below.

      It was the moment of sadness he saw reflected in her hazel-green eyes.

      Just before Kahron parked and cut off his truck lights he saw her lips shape into a frown. He opened the driver side door and rose a bit so that she could see him. He liked that her face shifted to surprise and then pleasure—she remembered him as well. In an instant he wanted to be the one to take that sadness from her eyes.

      Bianca sat on the top step of the porch waiting for her father’s return. She glanced down at her watch. He had been gone for well over seven hours.

      “No wonder the business’ gone to pot,” she muttered, just as headlights reflected in her eyes.

      She rose, ready finally to have the conversation with her father that she rehearsed in her head all afternoon.

      As the truck neared, she saw that it wasn’t her father’s vehicle. She looked on as the truck parked next to Trishon’s BMW and the drivers door opened.

      Her heart swelled as the moonlight glinted off of the top of his silver head. It couldn’t be him, could it?

      Her eyes locked on him as she looked into his face.

      Oh, yes. Yes the hell it was.

      Bianca started to walk down the steps to him, but stopped herself. His shades were gone, but it was him and Bianca felt an awareness of him that made her absolutely breathless.

      His hair looked so divine against his bronzed complexion that she knew was more sun cooked that heredity.

      “Hi. How you doing? Is Hank home?” he asked in a warm, deep voice that she knew could emit a guttural cry as a woman brought him to a seductive climax.

      Breathe, Bianca, breathe.

      Then she realized she still hadn’t spoke.

      Talk, Bianca, talk.

      “No, he’s not home yet,” she said, wanting to do something to stall him from leaving her presence.

      “Could you tell him Kahron Strong stopped by?” he asked.

      Strong, huh? СКАЧАТЬ