Tempting The Dragon
WHAT LIES BENEATHInvestigative reporter Rance Sleighter had promised to prove the mythical Lake Creature existed. But it’s protector had already given him a heap of trouble, not to mention inspired one too many hot fantasies. If Rance was going to get some answers, he’d have to get on the gorgeous Jade Burnett’s good side. . . and away from his bed!For generations, Jade’s shape-shifting pack had kept the Creature safe. Now Rance’s appearance had her rethinking all her vows. She’d seen him in her dreams, knew he was a shifter and they possibly shared a life-changing bond. Yet could she find the courage to trust the dragon with the truth…and her own fragile heart?
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âAre you okay?â Rance asked, holding on for a heartbeat too long before releasing her.
She decided to be honest. âNot really. Iâm confused and a bit unsettled.â
âIâm sorry.â
âIf you really were sorry, youâd leave town.â
âAh, you know I canât do that.â
Somehow Jade had suspected heâd say that. âCanât? Or wonât?â
âGood point.â As they climbed over another rocky patch, he once again took her arm. And once again, she had to pretend her skin didnât tingle from the contact. Funny thing that. She hadnât realized she could be capable of such tangled emotions. She both wanted the man gone and to wrap herself around him and never let him go.
KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at eleven. Amid the Catskill Mountains, then the Rocky Mountains, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty surrounding her. Karen lives in north Texas and shares her life with her hero of a husband and three doting dogs. You can email Karen at [email protected] or write to her at P.O. Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182, USA. Fans can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.
To my father, Charles J. Corcoran. He fell ill right before I started this book and sadly passed away when I was about a hundred pages into writing it.
I will always miss him. Love you, Dad. Always.
Contents
âA lake monster?â The elderly man peered at Rance Sleighter as if heâd shown up drunk at church on Easter Sunday. Never mind that they were standing in front of Rexâs Hardware store on Main Street in the small town of Forestwood, New York. Upstate New York, which Rance understood as anywhere north of New York City.
âYes, a lake monster,â Rance repeated patiently, mentally wishing, as he still did several times a day, for a beer. The craving never went away, but at least now he knew he was strong enough to resist it. He hadnât been once, right after his wife, Violet, had died. His drinking had cost him too much for him to ever go back.
Meanwhile, he had to think of Eve. As usual, the thought of his tiny stepdaughter made his gut clench. Heâd loved her since the moment heâd met her, when he and her mother had started dating. Luckily for all of them, Eveâs human father, Jim, and her mother had remained on civil, almost friendly terms. Rance and Violet had even invited Jim to their wedding.
Now Violet was dead and Eve lay seriously ill in a hospital bed in Houston, silent except for the steady beeping of the machines. Though Jim had taken custody, heâd allowed Rance full visitation. The two men had remained friends, sharing Eveâs love.
She couldnât die. She wouldnât die. He wouldnât let her. The thought strengthened his resolve. Eve was why heâd come here. No matter what, he refused to let her down. Heâd do anything for his little girl. Even find a lake monster.
âThe story has traveled all over the country. Itâs the reason Iâm here. You canât tell me you havenât heard about it.â
The old man puffed up at that. âHarrumph. I might have heard nonsense, but you wonât catch me discussing it. You want to talk lake monsters, go talk to the witchâs family.â
âThe what?â
âYou heard me.â Pointing a shaky finger north, the codger grimaced. âBurnett family. Daughter is a witch. Iâm sure theyâll be delighted to discuss lake monsters with you.â
And then, while Rance struggled to formulate a reply, the old-timer stomped off, heading across the street toward a restaurant titled Mother Earthâs Café.
As small towns went, Forestwood had a picturesque, holiday-postcard-type of appeal. The brilliant reds and orange of the fall leaves helped. In Houston, where Rance was from, they didnât have much of an autumn. When the trees did shed their leaves, they just sort of turned yellow and fell off.
He took another glance around him, charmed despite himself. It almost felt as if heâd stepped back in time. Fully restored old buildings lined Main Street, and all of the houses surrounding downtown were large and beautiful and...old. Painted and pretty, but from another era.
Not his thing. Rance grimaced. Give him a sleek modern condo downtown in any large city any day. Much less upkeep, especially for a guy who lived the way he didâconstantly on the move in search of the next story. If he were to be perfectly honest, which he usually was, a guy who stayed on the run from his internal demons.
Dramatic, too, he supposed. Guess that was what investigative journalism and losing his family had done to him. Lifting his camera, he snapped a few shots of the street with the beautiful trees in the background. Nice to get a sense of place to go with the story.
