Dear Santa,
Iâve been a good girl. Well, mostly.
These days, Iâm usually the one dishing out advice. But the readers of âDear Debbieâ donât know that Iâve never been the love of anyoneâs life. As soon as I landed at the Rocking Chair Ranch, though, my luck started to change...thanks to one special guest. Promoter Drew Madison wants to shine a spotlight on the ranchâs retired cowboys. But Iâm the one who feels aglow every time he glances my way. And the electricity between us? It sure could light up every town in Texas! Still, after he discovers my secret, Iâm afraid that Iâll be thrust back into darkness. Now I only want one thing for Christmas: for Drew to give meâno, usâa second chance...
âLainie
âHere, try a bite.â
He opened his mouth and relished the creamy, sweet taste bursting on his tongue.
âWhat do you think?â she asked.
âItâs good.â He withdrew a clean spoon from the drawer, dipped it into the small mixing bowl and offered it to her. âYour turn.â
âOkay.â Her mouth opened and closed around the spoon, tasting it herself. Then she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
His knees went weak, and an almost overwhelming urge rose up inside, pressing him to take her in his arms and kiss her. But he couldnât do that. He shouldnât anyway, and tamped down the compulsion as best he could.
Still, he continued to study her.
âHmm, this is really good.â Her voice came out soft. Sweet. Smooth.
He couldnât help himself; he reached out and brushed the flour from the tip of her nose.
Desire flared, his heart pumped hard and steady and his hand stilled. The temptation to kiss her senseless rose up again, stronger than ever. But he wouldnât do that.
He shouldnât.
Oh, why the hell not?
* * *
Rocking Chair Rodeo: Cowboysâand true loveânever go out of style!
Chapter One
Dear Debbie,
Iâm desperate and need your help.
Elena Montoya studied the first of several letters sheâd been handed during her job interview at The Brighton Valley Gazette. Sheâd come here today, hoping to get her foot in the door at the small-town newspaper, but as a reporter. Not someone offering advice to the lovelorn in a weekly column.
Mr. Carlton, the balding, middle-aged editor, leaned forward, resting clasped hands on his desk. âSo what do you think?â
Seriously? Elena would be hard-pressed to offer advice to anyone, especially someone with romantic trouble. But she didnât want to reveal her inexperience or doubt. âIâd hoped to land a different assignmentâor another type of column.â
âLetâs see what you can do with this first.â Mr. Carlton leaned back in his desk chair, the springs creaking under his weight, the buttons of his cotton shirt straining to contain his middle-age spread.
Elena knew better than to turn down work, even though this job wasnât a good fit. Worse yet, the pay heâd offered her wasnât enough to cover a pauperâs monthly expenses. And since she was new in town, she needed a way to support herself.
But as an advice columnist? The irony was laughable.
âYou look a bit...uneasy,â the editor said.
She was. Either Mr. Carlton had neglected to read her resume or heâd confused her with another applicant.
âItâs just that...â She cleared her throat and chose her words carefully. âWell, donât get me wrong. Iâm happy to have this position, but I only took two psych courses in college. And since I majored in journalism, Iâm more qualified to work as a reporter.â
âDonât worry. It shouldnât be too difficult for a young woman like you, Elena.â
She cringed at his use of her given name. The last thing she needed was for her new co-workers at the newspaperâor any rodeo fans in the small Texas communityâto connect the dots and realize who she was. And why she looked familiarâin spite of her efforts to change her appearance.
âBy the way,â she said, âI go by Lainie.â At least, thatâs the childhood nickname her twin sister had given her.
âAll right,â Mr. Carlton said. âThen Lainie it is. But keep in mind youâll be known as âDear Debbieâ around here. We like her true identity to be a secret.â