Million Dollar Baby. Janice Maynard

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       One

      A dimly lit bar filled with rowdy patrons was an uncomfortable place to be on a Thursday night near the witching hour...if you were a woman without a date and too shy to make eye contact with anyone. The music was loud, masking Brooke’s unease.

      She was lonely and so very tired of being the forgotten Goodman child. She’d spent her entire life toeing some invisible line, and what had it gotten her? Neither of her parents respected her. Her two older brothers were out conquering the world. And where was Brooke? Stuck at home with Mom and Dad in Royal, Texas. Held hostage by their expectations and her own eager-to-please personality. The whole situation sucked.

      She nursed her virgin strawberry daiquiri and stared at the tiny seeds nestling in the ice. Impulsive decisions were more her style than drunken peccadilloes. Brooke had seen too many of her friends almost ruin their lives with a single alcohol-fueled mistake. She might be crazy, but she was clearheaded.

      Suddenly, she realized that the band had vacated the stage. The remaining plaintive music—courtesy of the lone guitar player—suited Brooke’s mood. She didn’t even mind the peanut-strewn floor and the smell of stale beer. At the same moment, she saw a man sitting alone at the bar, three empty stools on either side of him. Something about his broad shoulders made the breath catch in her throat. She had seen him walk in earlier. Instantaneous attraction might be a quirk of pheromones, but yearning had curled in the pit of her stomach even then. Sadly, the dance floor had been too crowded, and she had lost sight of him before she could work up the courage to introduce herself.

      Now, here he was. All the scene needed was a shaft of light from heaven to tell her this was the man. This was her moment. She wanted him.

      Butterflies fluttered through her. Oh, God. Was she really going to do it? Was she really going to pick up a stranger?

      There was little question in her mind that he was her type. Even seated, she could tell that he was tall. His frame was leanly muscled and lanky, his posture relaxed. His dark blond hair—what she could see of it beneath the Stetson—was rumpled enough to be interesting and had a slight curl that gave him an approachable charm. Unfortunately, she couldn’t gauge the color of his eyes from this distance.

      Before she could change her mind, she lurched to her feet, frosty glass in hand, and made her way across the room. Not a single person stopped her. Not a single person joined the solitary man at the bar.

      Surely it was a sign.

      Taking a deep breath, she set her drink and her tiny clutch purse on the polished mahogany counter and hopped up on the leather-covered stool. No need to panic. It was only a conversation so far. That’s all.

      Now that she was close to him, she felt a little dizzy.

      She gnawed her bottom lip and summoned a smile. “Hello, Cowboy. Mind if I join you?”

      * * *

      Austin glanced sideways and felt a kick of disappointment. The little blonde was a beauty, but she was far too young for him. Her gray eyes held an innocence he had lost years ago.

      He shot her a terse smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I was about to leave.”

      Her face fell. “Oh, don’t go. I thought we could chat.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “Chat?”

      Mortification stained her cheeks crimson. “Well, you know...”

      “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the point. This could be a sorority prank, or maybe you’re a not-quite-legal girl trying to lose her virginity. You look about sixteen, and I’m not keen to end up in jail tonight.”

      She scowled at him. “That’s insulting.”

      “Not at all. You reek of innocence. It’s a compliment, believe me. Unfortunately, I’m not the guy you’re looking for.”

      “Maybe I want one who doesn’t end sentences with prepositions.”

      The bite in her voice made him grin. “Are you insinuating that I’m uneducated?”

      “Don’t change the subject. For your information, I’m twenty-six. Plenty old enough to know my own mind.” She took a deep breath. “I’m in the mood for romance.”

      “I think you mean sex.”

      He drawled the five words slowly, for nothing more than the pleasure of watching all that beautiful creamy skin turn a darker shade of dusky pink. “Sex?” The word came out as a tiny high-pitched syllable. Huge, smoky, thickly СКАЧАТЬ