Page 99 of Bad Girls Don't Marry Marines (Rock Canyon, Idaho 3)

Falling for Owen

BOOK TWO: THE MCBRIDES

By Jennifer Ryan

Good Girls Don’t Date Rock Stars

By Codi Gary

An Excerpt from

Falling for Owen

Book Two: The McBrides

by Jennifer Ryan

From New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Ryan comes the second book in an unforgettable series about the sexy McBride men of Fallbrook, Colorado. Reformed bad boy Owen McBride will do anything to protect his beautiful neighbor when she gets caught in the crossfire between his client and her abusive ex.

Claire woke out of a sound sleep with a gasp and held her breath, trying to figure out what had startled her. She listened to the quiet night. Nothing but crickets and the breeze rustling the trees outside. A twig snapped on the ground below her window. Her heart hammered faster, and she sucked in a breath, trying not to panic. Living in the country lent itself to overactive imaginings about things that go bump in the dark night. The noise could be anything from a stray dog or cat to a raccoon on a midnight raid of her garbage cans, even an opossum looking for a little action.

Settled back into her pillow and the thick blankets, she closed her eyes, but opened them wide when something big brushed against the side of the house. Freaked out, she got up from the bed and went to the window. She pulled the curtain back with one finger and peeked through the crack, scanning the moonlit yard below for wayward critters. Not so easy to see with the quarter moon, but she watched the shadows for anything suspicious. Nothing moved.

Not satisfied, and certainly not able to sleep without a more thorough investigation, she padded down the scarred wooden stairs to the living room. She skirted packing boxes and the sofa and went to the window overlooking the front yard. Nothing moved. Still not satisfied, she walked to the dining room, opened the blinds, and stared out into the cold night. Something banged one flower pot into another on the back patio, drawing her away from the dining room, through the kitchen, and to the counter. She grabbed the phone off the charger, went around the island, and tiptoed along the breakfast bar to the sliding glass door. She peeked out, hiding most of her body behind the wall and ducking her head out to see if someone was trying to break into her house. Like she thought, the small pot filled with marigolds had been knocked over and broken against the pot of geraniums beside it. Upset that her pretty pot and flowers were ruined, she moved away from the wall and stood in the center of the glass door to get a better look.

With her gaze cast down on the pots, she didn’t see the man step out from the other side of the patio until his shadow fell over her. Their gazes collided, his eyes going as wide as hers.

“You’re not him,” he said, stumbling back, knocking over a potted pink miniature rose bush, and falling on his ass, breaking the pot and the rose with his legs. She hoped he got stuck a dozen times, but the tiny thorns probably wouldn’t go through his dirt-smudged jeans.

In a rage, she opened the door, but held tight to the handle so she could close it again if he came too close. She yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’ll get him for this and for sleeping with my wife,” the guy slurred. Drunk and ranting, he gained his feet but stumbled again. “Where is he?” The man turned every which way, looking past her and into her dark house.

“Who?”

“Your lying, cheating, no-good husband.”

“How the hell should I know? I haven’t seen or heard from him in six months.”

“Liar. I saw him drive this way tonight after he fucked my wife at his office and filled her head with more bullshit lies.”

“Listen, I’m sorry if my ex is messing with your wife. I left him almost two years ago for cheating on me. Believe me, I know how you feel, but he doesn’t live here.”

“You’re lying. He drove his truck this way and stopped just outside.”

“He doesn’t drive a truck.”

“Stop lying, bitch.”

“I’m not. You have the wrong person.”

“You tell that no-good McBride he better stop seeing my wife. If he thinks a bunch of papers will ever set her free from me, he doesn’t know what I’m capable of, what we have. He’ll be one sorry son of a bitch. She’s mine. I keep what’s mine.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No. You don’t understand,” he said, almost like a whining child. “You tell him, or I’ll make him pay with what’s his.” He pointed an ominous finger at her. “You tell him if he doesn’t leave my wife alone and let her come back to me like she wants, I’m going to hurt you before I come after him.”

An Excerpt from

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