Virginia Kelly is a real girl, with real curves and real problems. The last thing she needs is New Yorker Hawk McKinley pulling every trick in his billionaire playbook to get her into his bed. Certain Hawk wants nothing more than to make her a one-night stand or the double-wide butt of a cruel joke, Ginny is about to teach him no one messes with this West Texas girl.
From the moment Ginny rescues him on the side of the road on a hot day, Hawk can't get the woman out of his mind. With her southern sass and lush body perfect for sin, she's everything he wants and everything he intends to have.
In a game of North versus South, can two hearts win?
**********************
Copyright © 2012 by Christa Wick
Sveva font licensed from astype@myfonts. Cover art © AndreyEfremov@dreamstime. All persons and entities are fictional. Not for sale to libraries. No lending outside distributor (e.g. Kindle/Nook) terms of service. Otherwise, re-distributing, lending, or reading this e-book without first purchasing a license to do so is illegal and subject to heavy fines.
Texas Curves
I saw the black vintage Mustang with steam billowing from its engine on my way home. Glancing at the dashboard clock of my beat up Chevy truck, I released a quick string of words that would have gotten my butt tanned if momma had been riding with me. Pressed for time, I had half an hour to drive the five miles from Roy's Steakhouse where I worked to the rented house I lived in with my parents and brother. Once there, I had to make my father a quick lunch and give him his medicine then get my oversized butt back to work.
Daddy is recovering from major back surgery and momma works an hour away. My brother Beau isn't allowed to leave his worksite, whichever one he's at for the day, so that left me. I had about four weeks left of taking care of daddy on my lunch and, if I returned late one more time this week, Roy was going to have my head and some other girl was going to have my job. So the last thing I needed was some fool with an expensive, restored antique vehicle screwing with my lunch break.
I wanted to ignore the car and could have. It was about 200 feet past my turn. Only there wasn't a lot of traffic on this road between noon and six and the heat index was pushing one-hundred ten degrees. Even though the driver likely had a cell phone, he wouldn't get a signal. Up until two months ago, Tupperville's population had been less than fifteen hundred souls, too little and remote to warrant enough nearby cell towers. Then the wells hit and the town swelled to twenty-five hundred people in less than two weeks. With two new fields opened up since then, the number would probably double by the end of the month.
Today, though, the driver could be stuck for hours.
Letting loose another stream of fuckity, fuck, fuck, I drove past my turn and pulled to a stop behind the Mustang. Driving a beat to hell truck from the early 80s, I always carry a gallon jug filled with water on the passenger floor and a small toolset next to it. I grabbed both and climbed down from the truck's cab.
I was still swearing, but only in my head now that I had an audience. Finding and filling an empty jug would cost me at least another two minutes, but I couldn't risk driving the Chevy back to work and home again without any water. I had my own radiator problems.
"You're the first--"
I charged past him, head down and not so much as looking at him as I reached along my backside to pull a bandana from the pocket of my jeans. The damn fool hadn't even taken the radiator cap off!
I placed the toolset and jug on the ground and released the cap, one final plume of steam hissing from the radiator. I flapped the bandana over the engine, clearing the steam away. Part of the problem was obvious. From the looks of it, a hose had been recently replaced and whatever genius installed it hadn't trimmed the length right. The hose needed trimmed and the clamp re-fastened. Add in the water and he should
From the moment Ginny rescues him on the side of the road on a hot day, Hawk can't get the woman out of his mind. With her southern sass and lush body perfect for sin, she's everything he wants and everything he intends to have.
In a game of North versus South, can two hearts win?
**********************
Copyright © 2012 by Christa Wick
Sveva font licensed from astype@myfonts. Cover art © AndreyEfremov@dreamstime. All persons and entities are fictional. Not for sale to libraries. No lending outside distributor (e.g. Kindle/Nook) terms of service. Otherwise, re-distributing, lending, or reading this e-book without first purchasing a license to do so is illegal and subject to heavy fines.
Texas Curves
I saw the black vintage Mustang with steam billowing from its engine on my way home. Glancing at the dashboard clock of my beat up Chevy truck, I released a quick string of words that would have gotten my butt tanned if momma had been riding with me. Pressed for time, I had half an hour to drive the five miles from Roy's Steakhouse where I worked to the rented house I lived in with my parents and brother. Once there, I had to make my father a quick lunch and give him his medicine then get my oversized butt back to work.
Daddy is recovering from major back surgery and momma works an hour away. My brother Beau isn't allowed to leave his worksite, whichever one he's at for the day, so that left me. I had about four weeks left of taking care of daddy on my lunch and, if I returned late one more time this week, Roy was going to have my head and some other girl was going to have my job. So the last thing I needed was some fool with an expensive, restored antique vehicle screwing with my lunch break.
I wanted to ignore the car and could have. It was about 200 feet past my turn. Only there wasn't a lot of traffic on this road between noon and six and the heat index was pushing one-hundred ten degrees. Even though the driver likely had a cell phone, he wouldn't get a signal. Up until two months ago, Tupperville's population had been less than fifteen hundred souls, too little and remote to warrant enough nearby cell towers. Then the wells hit and the town swelled to twenty-five hundred people in less than two weeks. With two new fields opened up since then, the number would probably double by the end of the month.
Today, though, the driver could be stuck for hours.
Letting loose another stream of fuckity, fuck, fuck, I drove past my turn and pulled to a stop behind the Mustang. Driving a beat to hell truck from the early 80s, I always carry a gallon jug filled with water on the passenger floor and a small toolset next to it. I grabbed both and climbed down from the truck's cab.
I was still swearing, but only in my head now that I had an audience. Finding and filling an empty jug would cost me at least another two minutes, but I couldn't risk driving the Chevy back to work and home again without any water. I had my own radiator problems.
"You're the first--"
I charged past him, head down and not so much as looking at him as I reached along my backside to pull a bandana from the pocket of my jeans. The damn fool hadn't even taken the radiator cap off!
I placed the toolset and jug on the ground and released the cap, one final plume of steam hissing from the radiator. I flapped the bandana over the engine, clearing the steam away. Part of the problem was obvious. From the looks of it, a hose had been recently replaced and whatever genius installed it hadn't trimmed the length right. The hose needed trimmed and the clamp re-fastened. Add in the water and he should
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