Here Comes Trouble. Leslie Kelly

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СКАЧАТЬ city to go to college. Her single one-night stand a few years ago had left her feeling so guilty that she’d thrown out the sexy pair of slut shoes she’d worn to the bar that night.

      Racked with guilt…hmm, her grandfather would be so proud. After he condemned her for the one-night-stand thing.

      She shuddered at the thought of the old man with whom she, her mother and her younger siblings had lived since Sabrina was twelve. But, hey, she was lucky. Only one-third of her childhood had sucked. Her first twelve years had been wonderful. Her sister Allie had also been old enough to remember the good times, and they’d talked often about how fortunate they were because of that.

      Sadly, their brother and youngest sister had never even known what their real family life had been like, back when they’d lived in New York and Dad was alive. Since he died when they were babies, all they’d ever known was the judgmental narrow-mindedness of their mother’s father. Which might explain why Sabrina and Allie were so much alike—rebellious and anxious to escape—while the younger two were the models of proper youthful behavior.

      God, she felt so sorry for them.

      “You’re supposed to be tempting the man into misbehaving. At least that’s what you said when you came to me with this whole harebrained scheme.”

      “Don’t remind me,” Sabrina said, shaking off the dark thoughts. “I’m still wondering if I had some kind of psychotic break.”

      Nancy snickered. “Don’t sell yourself short. You can do it…you’re just his type.”

      “Alive and breathing?”

      “Yes. But also beautiful, vulnerable…So why not misbehave yourself while you’re at it?” Nancy asked.

      “I’m not looking for a fling with a playboy,” she insisted.

      “Yeah, yeah. You want someone nice.”

      “Exactly. Decent, funny. A combination of Jimmy Stewart, Tom Hanks and every father from every old 1950s black-and-white family sitcom on TV Land.”

      “Boring.”

      She went on as though Nancy hadn’t spoken. “The kind who’ll be loyal and faithful.”

      “Get a Labrador.”

      “Gentle,” she added.

      “Get a girlfriend.”

      “Well hung.”

      “Get a dil—”

      “Don’t say it,” Sabrina ordered. “I prefer male sexual organs that are actually attached to a body.”

      “Strap-on?”

      Groaning helplessly, Sabrina muttered, “A male body.”

      Nancy sighed. “Picky picky.”

      One thing was sure, whoever the next serious guy in her life happened to be, he would not be the type who’d get so angry when a woman broke up with him that he’d seek cruel revenge. Like seducing her innocent younger sister, getting her pregnant and walking out on her.

      Her sister Allie was currently waiting out the last two months of her pregnancy in Sabrina’s apartment. Allie’s entire life had been ruined as part of the stupid revenge plot concocted by a guy Sabrina had dumped.

      Yes, she’d had enough scumbags to last her whole life. It was nice, decent men from now on. No wicked studs need apply.

      So her almost overwhelming need to see this Max Taylor in person had to be about curiosity, that was all. She simply couldn’t believe any man could be a modern-day combination of Valentino, James Bond and a porn star—as Grace claimed.

      Skepticism and curiosity, she reminded herself. Not interest. Not in a million years.

      She was about to continue arguing that point, but a noise distracted her. A metallic banging split the quiet afternoon air. It came from beyond a small stand of scraggly trees right off the road. Just after it came the loud, familiar tones of a calliope—the plaintive call to come to the circus.

      Glancing that way, she caught the sparkle of something brilliantly shiny—a beautiful gleam of light that seemed entirely out of place in this gray-washed landscape.

      Sabrina liked shiny things—bright lights, big city, loud music, fun. Just one more holdover from an early childhood with her funny, doting father that life with Grandfather hadn’t been able to extinguish.

      Which, she supposed, was why she ended the call, dropped her phone in her purse and stepped out of the car. The music and the colors were calling to her.

      And her curiosity wasn’t going to let her head back to Trouble without finding out where they were coming from.

      CHAPTER TWO

      TROUBLE MIGHT be the name of this town, but as far as Max was concerned, a better one would be The Mental Ward. After two weeks in the Pennsylvania community his grandfather called his kingdom, he was ready to run screaming off a bridge. Anything to escape the sounds of people calling him a savior—or a villain, the rattle of cars on their last piston, or—worst of all—the excruciating chirp of dozens of cuckoo clocks, all cuckooing their black little hearts out when the minute hand struck twelve.

      The clocks. They were the tormenting fiends who’d convinced him he was one inch from insanity. At least one—usually more—of the vile things decorated every room of Max’s grandfather’s house, where Max was staying. And his grandfather loved them as much as he loved the dusty old furniture that had come with the place.

      A lumpy couch he could live with. A few dozen cackling birds he could not. They’d driven him out early this morning, seeking both peace and quiet and a distraction. Any distraction.

      Only not a female one, which was the biggest frustration of all. He was here to live down his reputation. Not add to it.

      Coming to Trouble had been about more than talking his grandfather into unloading this bottomless pit he’d dumped a mountain of money into. The man did have a thing for lost causes and a sob story—apparently this tiny town being bankrupted by an embezzling crook had tugged at Mortimer’s heartstrings.

      Max couldn’t forget his second objective, however—to lay low and stay out of the limelight while his lawyer took care of this Grace Wellington nonsense. Which was why he’d been here for days and had so far not given so much as a second glance to a nicely curved feminine ass.

      Not that he’d seen any. Which was probably a good thing, even though it felt like a bad one.

      There were only two things Max liked as well—or did as well—as women. Piloting. And tinkering with machinery.

      He’d gone flying this morning, and, as always, the freedom and beauty of an endless blue sky had helped. Zipping and soaring between a few fluffy white clouds provided the kind of mindless delight he otherwise only got with sex. But once back on solid ground, the feeling had quickly disappeared. He was still tense…restless.

      Which was why he was now cussing and coaxing the rust-covered engine of an ancient carousel back СКАЧАТЬ