Deception Lake
I'm not who you think I am.While his rodeo days have come and gone, cowboy Jack Drummond is in for the ride of a lifetime…with life itself hanging in the balance. An unexpected encounter with his old flame, Mara Jennings, triggers a series of events that Jack never could have predicted. There's just one problem: Mara isn't the same woman Jack remembers. She looks like Mara. And sounds like Mara. But reignited passions aren't enough to hide the fact that she's harboring a big secret–and hiding out from an even bigger enemy. Now, learning the truth might be the only way to stay alive. Or it could tear them apart–permanently.
Читать Deception Lake онлайн беплатно
âMaybe you should let them find you,â she murmured, her gaze dipping to his mouth. Her own lips trembled apart, her breath quickening.
Answering heat flooded his body. âI told you. If you go, Iâll follow.â
âYouâre crazy.â Somehow, she was even closer to him, her breasts brushing against his chest. He didnât know if sheâd stepped closer or if he had been the one to close the distance.
He didnât really care.
âI rode bulls for a living,â he answered, sliding one hand around to press against her spine, tugging her closer. âCrazyâs baked into that cake, sweetheart.â
She slipped her hands under the hem of his T-shirt, her fingers cool against his skin. She traced his muscles and the ridges of his rib cage with a light, maddening touch. âI donât need you.â
âI think maybe you do.â
PAULA GRAVES, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When sheâs not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.
With thanks to Bill Clifton, the computer guru who answered all my questions with patience and kindness. All errors in this book are mine, not his.
Contents
The weather was warm for March in the Smokies, or so the woman at the diner counter informed Jack Drummond when he commented on the heat as he took a seat at the counter and scanned the large menu board behind her. She was a broad-shouldered woman in her late thirties, with work-worn hands and a plain but pleasant face devoid of makeup. The name tag over her left breast read Darlene.
âWonât last,â Darlene warned in a hard-edged drawl as she pulled a pen and order pad from her apron pocket. âWeâll get another frost in time to kill off all the daffodils thatâll be blooming.â She shrugged. âSpring in Tennessee.â
Jack could tell Darlene a few stories about spring in Wyoming that would curl her lanky brown hair. Late-season snowstorms piling up in feet, not inches. Winds so strong and cold they seemed to blast the skin right off your face. But he refrained, ordering a steak sandwich and a sweet tea, his gaze sliding past the beer menu without snagging for even a second.
Progress.
The bell on the door behind him tinkled as another customer came in from the March sunshine. A womanâs voice called out, husky and lightly tinted with a Texas twang. âDarlene, do you have the to-go orders for The Gates ready?â
The skin on Jackâs neck prickled, and he swung his head slowly toward the newcomer, certain heâd imagined the familiar tones heâd heard in the feminine voice. Sheâd be too old or too young, too tall, too short, hair too red or not red enough, wrong eyes, wrong face, wrong build.
But not this time. In the middle of Purgatory, Tennessee, on an impromptu fishing trip with his brother-in-lawâs family, heâd finally tracked down Mara Jennings.
Heâd been looking for her for four years to make amends.
It was one of the twelve steps, one he hadnât taken where Mara Jennings was concerned. But now that she was standing right in front of him, so close that he could lean forward a few inches and touch her arm, his tongue felt like lead and his pulse began to roar in his ears.
She must have felt his scrutiny, for her cool blue eyes flicked his way, her own gaze resting a brief moment on his face before sliding back to the waitress at the counter.
She hadnât recognized him.
Was that possible? Heâd been a little lax about getting his hair cut since he left the rodeo circuit, and heâd put on ten pounds now that he wasnât shooting through gates on the back of a thousand pounds of pissed-off beef and trying to hang on for eight seconds of sheer adrenaline. But it wasnât his face that had gotten crushed under Coronadoâs rolling body. His looks hadnât changed that much.
Then her gaze snapped back, her brow creasing slightly as her eyebrows dipped to a V over her nose.
He managed to find his voice. âHi, Mara.â
She froze in place for a moment, her expression going completely blank. Then she gave a short nod. âHi.â
âSo, this is where you disappeared to. I wondered.â He licked his dry lips. âI was so sorry to hear about your sister.â
A flicker of pain darted across her still face, so brief that he wondered if heâd imagined it. But when she spoke, her voice came out on a soft rasp. âThank you.â
âIâm sorry about everything, really. Especially the way things ended.â
Her eyes narrowed slightly. âForget about it, Jack. I have.â
