What was Matt Long doing here five long years after heâd left?
Jenny had hoped to never see him again.
When he stepped out of the truck, still as gorgeous as ever, Jennyâs traitorous heart twitched, but she forced it to settle down. Fast. Shallow charm and a killer grin wouldnât turn her head this time around. Sheâd learned her lesson when heâd run out on her.
He could no longer set her skin on fire. The only heat that burned within her for him now was anger.
âYou have a lot of nerve coming back to Ordinary,â she said. âEspecially after the way you left. You couldnât have said goodbye? Or left a note?â
He stopped when he saw her. His mouth dropped open then just as quickly closed. The line of his jaw became hard. Then he shrugged.
No conscience.
Good to know. She felt better about the decisions sheâd made. Sheâd been right to do what sheâd done, and to hell with Mattâs feelings. They werenât her concern.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes the best things in life are the surprises.
Just when we think we have everything figured out, and know exactly where we want our lives to go, surprises send us for a loop, raise their figurative heads and say, âYou might want to rethink where youâre headed.â
Matthew Long first appeared in No Ordinary Cowboy as a love âem and leave âem cowboy, but I wasnât ready to love him and leave him. I knew he had a whole lot more going on than he let the world see.
Matt believes he would make a terrible father, but once he sees Jesse for the first time and realizes that Jesse is his son, his life changes irrevocably.
The question then is whether Matt is up to the challenge, but we romance readers expect a lot from our heroes and our heroes hate to disappoint us.
Sometimes the things we most fear, brought on by those uncontrollable surprises in life, stand up and shout, âSure your life was okay the way you planned it, but youâre going to love this even more!â
Enjoy Mattâs story!
Mary Sullivan
WIND WHIPPED through the valley and howled around the old house like a widow keening.
A crack of thunder shook the earth. Rain pelted the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it away, blurring the outline of the cabin.
Matthew Long swore he could hear years-dead voices whispering things better left unsaid. Grief clung to this place like a bad dream, still breathed his fatherâs obscenities and his motherâs lunatic ravings.
He wished that Jenny Sterling could have found somewhere else to ride out this storm other than the house heâd grown up in.
Lightning flashed the midnight sky with midday brightness, exposing a still life of the land on which Matt had hoped to never again step foot. Weeds had obliterated any trace of the small garden his mother had once planted in the yard. A hole the size of a pebble marred one of the living roomâs windows.
The flat roof of the veranda listed like a drunken sailor.
The house looked forgotten and lonesome.
Warm light flickered in the cabinâs windows and wood smoke scented the air. Jenny had started a fire.
Matt couldnât put it off any longer. He had to go in there and drag her back home to the Sheltering Arms. Hank might be a friend, but he was also their employer. The little idiot needed to apologize for the argument sheâd started with Hankâs guest, Amy.
He turned off the engine and jumped out of the truck.
In the few seconds it took him to cross the muddy path between the truck and the veranda, the wind picked up, bending the trees beside the house horizontal and soaking him to the skin with driving rain.
The aged floorboards creaked beneath him with every step he took. He had to put effort into pushing the warped door while it groaned its resistance before finally opening.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He hadnât been in here since his parents had died. What was that? Ten years ago? The living room hadnât changed one bit, except for the woman standing in front of the fireplace.
Jenny kept her back to him, ignoring him when he knew heâd made enough noise entering to rouse the dead.
Soft candlelight shone on her bare back, lit the threadbare blanket that was wrapped around her and hanging below the flare of her hips. When she bent to arrange her wet clothes in front of the fire, it slipped down to her smooth, round bottom, and anger forged a trail through him.