Page 1 of Wrangled Up

Chapter One

The bartender tucked a hand under the brim of his cowboy hat and peered across the dim space through the grimy window of The Hellion.

Christian Davis grunted. “You gonna hand over that six-pack of Budweiser before I hit middle age, Shady?”

A few sharp metallicclinkingnoises sounded from the parking lot. Shady’s thick white mustache twitched as he winced. Three more sharp raps and Christian turned to follow the bartender’s gaze.

“You drivin’ that big ass Ram truck, Davis?”

“Uh, yeah.” He ducked his head, trying to get out of the shadow of his Stetson and see what the hell was going on in the parking lot.

The grating sound of glass breaking filtered into Christian’s senses just as he spotted her.

“Looks as if you’ve got a jilted lover taking her frustrations out on your truck with a Louisville Slugger.”

Adrenaline surged to the tips of his boots. “That’s not my truck!” he managed as he swung out the door without a care for his beer.

The big red Ram truck Christian had borrowed from his best friend, Tucker, stood in the gravel lot, both headlights bashed out and so many divots in the hood and fender that it looked pocked.

A gush of air froze in his throat as a little gal in teeny cut-off shorts and cowgirl boots danced around the side of the truck. Swinging.

“Jeezus, lady!” Christian hollered as she landed the bat full force and smashed in the side mirror. He took off running, boots digging into gravel and heart thumping.Tucker’s gonna wipe the floor with my ass.He’d sent Christian on the beer run in his truck because it was parked in the way of Christian’s own vehicle.

Springy curls bobbed on the girl’s head as she cocked the bat for another blow. Christiancaught the tip, ripping it from her hands before she swung.

She whirled on him, hands fisted, face pink with exertion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He gaped at her. “Are you batshit crazy, girl? Or don’t you realize that destroying a Ram will earn you three-to-five in these parts?”

With a growl, she lunged for the bat, but he flipped it behind his back, out of her reach.

“Not crazy and I don’t give a damn about jail sentences. I’m related to just about every man with a badge in Reedy. Now give me back my bat!”

He looked at her harder, noting the tears standing in her almond-shaped brown eyes and the way her lower lip trembled. What the hell was going on?

“You got a problem with this here truck?”

“No, I’ve got a problem with the owner of this truck.”

Ah. So Tucker had pissed her off and she was reaping revenge. Not surprising, since Tucker’s fuck-’em-and-walk-away creed had gotten him into more than one jam.

She circled to Christian’s side to make another steal for the bat. “Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Give me your name.”

Shifting her weight to one hip, she dug her knuckles into her upper thigh. “Who wants to know?”

“Christian Davis, driver of this truck.”

Her eyes widened. “But…it’s Tucker’s truck. I know by that cross he has dangling from the mirror.”

Christian raked his gaze over her, starting at the curly roots of her dark hair, down her upper chest exposed by a white tank top, past the Daisy Dukes, and then lingered on her round thighs. Lightly tanned. Smooth. Perfect for tucking around a man on a cold autumn night.

Fuck the Budweiser. He wanted to curl up with her. What the hell was wrong with Tucker that he’d walk away from this glorious little darlin’?

His fiancée’s what’s wrong with him.Tucker’s fiancée had died in a car accident two years before and he couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t see the sun shining all around him because he walked in shadow.

Christian met her gaze, only to find a pained smirk twisting her pale pink lips.

“I can see you aren’t any better than Tucker,” she said.

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