Cowboys Like Us

New York Times bestseller VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’s love affair with cowboys started with The Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick, and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.

Dear Reader,

Writing romance novels is my dream job. And when you’re lucky enough to have a job like that, the years go by like greased lightning!

This is the sixth book in my SONS OF CHANCE series, and I’m grateful for all of you who visit the ranch through my stories. I love hearing from you! You can e-mail me through my website at www.vickilewisthompson.com. Please do!

And finally, thanks to all the readers who’ve helped make Blaze such a roaring success over the years. Here’s to hot heroes and happily- ever-afters!

Yours,

Vicki

To my grandmother, Nellie Sharpe,

a die-hard baseball fan. Your legacy jumped two generations to live on in your great-granddaughter Audrey, who eagerly awaits that first crack of the bat every spring.

August 8, 1963from the diary of Eleanor Chance

NOW THAT JONATHAN’S seventeen and chasing after girls, I decided to find a hobby so I wouldn’t be forever worrying about him. This summer I became a Chicago Cubs baseball fan! I figured that both Jonathan and my dear husband, Archie, would share in this new passion and we’d have some family togetherness listening to the games on the radio here at the Last Chance Ranch.

So much for that idea. Turns out neither of them have the slightest interest in the sport, but I love it! I don’t care if my Cubbies don’t win very often. They’re historic, dating way back, and Wrigley Field is a piece of history, too. Besides, I like the team’s name. Bear cubs are the cutest things ever, and I should know. Here in Jackson Hole we have bears aplenty.

I suppose I could have picked football or basketball, but I don’t understand those rules as well. Baseball has always made sense to me. Hearing the crack of the bat sends a chill down my spine, especially in games like today! Ron Santo hit a home run in the bottom of the tenth to beat the L.A. Dodgers, which is amazing because the Cubs aren’t doing so hot, as usual, and the Dodgers are leading the National League.

When I announced this thrilling victory at dinner tonight, Jonathan and Archie both smiled and said that was nice, but I could tell they don’t give a flip. Too bad for them. They’re missing some great entertainment. I’ve sent away for a Cubs baseball cap. I’m going to wear it, too.

Present Day

LOGAN CARSWELL, FORMER catcher for the Chicago Cubs, had two surefire remedies for a troubled mind, and he couldn’t use either one. Booze was out because he’d taken pain meds for his knee so he could dance at Alex Keller’s wedding reception in Shoshone, Wyoming. As for the second method, he didn’t know any of the women in this tiny town well enough.

Eventually, in spite of the meds, his knee began to bother him. Retreating to one of the Spirits and Spurs’s well-worn bar stools, he swiveled to face the dance floor, where Alex was two-stepping with his bride, Tyler. Logan had known him ever since they were both kids living in the same Chicago neighborhood.

Alex had never had trouble getting girls, with his all-American blond good looks. Add to that his natural charisma behind a microphone, and he’d been able to pick and choose. Apparently he’d chosen Tyler, a dark-haired Italian beauty, or she’d chosen him.

Near as Logan could tell watching the happy couple on the dance floor, they were both quite pleased with the situation. Alex was obviously in love and seemed to have his life together at last. Logan should be so lucky. But he refused to allow his problems to cast a shadow over this celebration.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Carswell?”

Logan swiveled back to the bar and concluded that luck hadn’t totally deserted him. Of the two bartenders working the wedding reception, he’d drawn the girl instead of the guy.

He’d noticed her earlier. She wore her sun-streaked brown hair in a no-nonsense ponytail and didn’t seem to go in for a lot of makeup. Her hazel eyes tilted up slightly at the corners, adding a touch of the exotic to her girl-next-door appeal.

From her enthusiasm and ready smile, he guessed she might be exactly his type—a born optimist. He could sure use a dose of optimism right now.

As he gazed at her, he realized she was looking right back with similar interest. He’d built a night of outstanding sex on less. But Shoshone was a folksy town, and one-night stands wouldn’t go unnoticed around here the way they would in Chicago.

Still, he could flirt with her a little without doing any harm. He tipped back the Stetson that Alex had insisted he buy, along with the requisite jeans, boots and yoked shirt. “I think this is the part where the teetotalling stranger orders a sarsaparilla.” He wished he could remember her name, but if someone had mentioned it, he’d forgotten.