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In Roared Flint
Jan Hudson
HERE COMES THE BRIDE… .Single mom Julie Stevens… is about to get married - again. Only, this time, she won't be jilted at the altar. Because this time, her groom isn't local bad boy Flint Durham. And this time, she sure as heck isn't wildly in love… .THERE GOES THE BRIDE… .How dare Flint kidnap her from her own wedding - and ask her to marry him? Julie needs a husband whose kisses don't set her heart aflutter and her common sense askew. Besides, her twins need a levelheaded stepfather. After all, they'll never know their real father. And, Julie vows, Flint will never know about them… .RITA Award Winning Author
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ufbefe22c-b817-525b-950a-1d408e905dca)
Excerpt (#ub5bcdd8d-5a84-57fd-8201-24f7553f405e)
Dear Reader (#u640bae43-99c6-5fc2-ba9a-18d842cf7b44)
Title Page (#u59b4e7e7-29d9-5057-93e2-2e6773f77782)
About the Author (#uda24eec8-4f9b-54ed-a711-1466c4f575c4)
Dedication (#u72ff1559-446d-5598-870b-a4556882e40d)
One (#u90926ac3-a47a-57d7-b895-1c5587def3a3)
Two (#udf23cef8-4cad-5714-b2b1-caf85a490062)
Three (#ufa0849c2-6d12-50a9-af2c-e2249e021bbd)
Four (#u2b144903-c2b6-5533-8dc5-10301d925de9)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I Should Be Married And At My Wedding Reception Right This Minute!”
Julie shouted at Flint. “You cannot kiss me. No.”
“Darlin’, I wasn’t the only one doing the kissing.”
“Don’t call me darlin’. I’m not your darlin’. I’m about to become Mrs. Robert Allen Newly.”
“Newly? Julie Newly?” A snort of laughter exploded from him.
She bopped him on the shoulder with her fist. “Don’t you dare laugh. Yes, I’ll be Julie Newly, and it’s not funny. And if you know what’s good for you, Flint Durham, you’ll take me back to my wedding ceremony right this minute.”
Dear Reader,
The holidays are always a busy time of year, and this year is no exception! Our “banquet table” is chock-full of delectable stories by some of your favorite authors.
November is a time to come home again—and come back to the miniseries you love. Dixie Browning continues her TALL, DARK AND HANDSOME series with Stryker’s Wife, which is Dixie’s 60th book! This MAN OF THE MONTH is a reluctant bachelor you won’t be able to resist! Fall in love with a footloose cowboy in Cowboy Pride, book five of Anne McAllister’s CODE OF THE WEST series. Be enthralled by Abbie and the Cowboy—the conclusion to the THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT miniseries by Cathie Linz.
And what would the season be without HOLIDAY HONEYMOONS? You won’t want to miss the second book in this cross-line continuity series by reader favorites Merline Lovelace and Carole Buck. This month, it’s a delightful wedding mix-up with Wrong Bride, Right Groom by Merline Lovelace.
And that’s not all! In Roared Flint is a secret baby tale by RITA Award winner Jan Hudson. And Pamela Ihgrahm has created an adorable opposites-attract story in The Bride Wore Tie-Dye.
So, grab a book and give yourself a treat in the middle of all the holiday rushing. You’ll be glad you did.
Happy reading!
Senior Editor
and the editors of Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Waiden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
In Roared Flint
Jan Hudson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JAN HUDSON,
a winner of the Romance Writers of America RITA Award, is a native Texan who lives with her husband in historically rich Nacogdoches, the oldest town in Texas. Formerly a licensed psychologist, she taught college psychology for over a decade before becoming a full-time author. Jan loves to write fast-paced stories laced with humor, fantasy and adventure, using bold characters who reach beyond the mundane and celebrate life.
For Alex Thorleifson.
Thanks for friendship and
for Garner Valley.
One (#ulink_e4f15a3b-5d56-57eb-89f3-b9570c6748f9)
Flint Durham was back.
A fury of emotions surged through Julie Travis Stevens as she clutched the lace curtains of her upstairs bedroom and watched him rip down Travis Boulevard toward the house.
Dressed in black and astride a Harley, he was roaring in the same way he’d roared out six years before. An unforgettable aura of dark intensity and menacing allure rode with him like a familiar. Unshaven, with a red bandanna on his head and his long black hair streaming behind him, he exuded a wild sensuality that was every mother’s nightmare. And every daughter’s secret dream.
Squeezing her lids tightly shut, Julie prayed that her eyes had deceived her, that her mind had conjured up an apparition. Oh, please, God. No. Not Flint. Not now. Not today. But when she opened her eyes, there he was—unmistakably real.
After six long years, why had he picked today of all days to come back?
One thing she knew for sure: Flint Durham was up to no good. A sick, sinking feeling gripped her stomach, and she groaned involuntarily.
“Julie, what’s wrong?” her younger sister, Melissa, asked. She gathered her long shirt and crossed the room to peer out the window. “You look like you’ve seen a—Holy horse patties!” She grabbed Julie’s arm in a death grip, and her eyes bugged out like a bullfrog’s. “Would you look at that? I can’t believe it. It’s him. It’s Flint. Flint Durham. Holy horse patties!”
Julie fought back the panic building inside her as she watched him roll to a stop behind the caterer’s truck and set the kickstand. Sure that she teetered on the edge of screaming hysteria, she clung to the shreds of her self-control as he came up the walk, his broad shoulders and long legs moving with the familiar, confident swagger that always had women in six counties swooning over him.
“Julie, he’s coming to the door,” Melissa said, her voice an octave higher. “What are you going to do?”
“If I had a gun, I’d shoot the bastard!”
The doorbell rang, and the melodious chimes above the double staircase reverberated throughout the big house like a disaster knell.
“Aren’t you even going to talk to him?” Melissa asked.
“No way. I’m not letting him ruin two wedding days for me. Hand me my veil before you completely mangle it, and go downstairs and tell Rosie not to let him in.”
Melissa sighed. “Why do I have the feeling that getting rid of Flint won’t be easy?”
“Tell him that I said, ‘Drop dead.’ That ought to do the trick. If not, call Uncle Hiram.” Uncle Hiram, the eldest of the town founder’s four grandsons, was the police chief in Travis Creek, and he ruled the small East Texas town with an iron fist. Uncle Edgar owned the Travis Creek Times; her daddy was the president of the bank. And Uncle William…well, Uncle William drank.
After Melissa hurried out, Julie sat down at her dressing table to finish her hair and makeup. She hummed loudly to drown out the ruckus downstairs. In exactly one hour and forty-eight minutes, she would say “I do” with Dr. Robert Allen Newly in her parents’ rose garden. And she was determined that nothing was going to spoil this day. Her pale peach dress was perfect; the weather was perfect; the roses were perfect. Rob was the perfect husband for her. Her parents said so frequently.
The only thing about her wedding that caused her the least bit of trepidation was that her name would be Julie Newly. It sounded like part of a bad jingle.
She would have to sign her letters: Yours truly, Julie Newly.
Shouting from downstairs stabbed at her composure, but she hummed louder.
Yes, Rob was a wonderful man. From a fine family. With a marvelous future as a physician. Perhaps if she’d known him when he was choosing his specialty she might have steered him toward heart surgery or even dermatology, but people needed proctologists, too, she told herself.
And what did a little bald spot matter when he was so good with the children? Perhaps his kisses didn’t exactly blister her nail polish, but she’d learned the hard way that other things were more important than wild, mindless passion. Rob was a man of character and substance, steady as a rock. Perfect.
Rob adored her. And best of all, his new practice was in Piano, north of Dallas. She and the children would be out of her parents’ house and into one of their own, one too far away for doting grandparents to hover over the kids and continue to spoil them rotten.
Julie heard the front door slam, but the ruckus downstairs continued—the doorbell chimed incessantly amid shouting and banging. She hummed louder and closed one eyelid to put on eyeliner. Her hand shook so badly that the line looked like rickrack.
“Dammit!” She threw down the pencil and wiped her lid with a tissue.
Melissa ran into the room. “The man is crazy. Wild. I don’t know what to do. He says he won’t go away until he talks to you.”
“Call Uncle Hiram.”
“Oh, Julie, are you sure? Can’t you at least talk to him? God, he’s such a hunk.” Melissa sighed and hung on to one of the posts of the cherry four-poster.
A spray of gravel clattered against Julie’s window and Flint bellowed her name from down below.
“Mommy, Mommy,” Megan said as she ran in the room, grabbed Julie around the legs and plastered her small body against her mother. “There’s a man yelling downstairs. And he looks mean. I’m scared.”
“I’m not scared,” said Jason, Megan’s twin brother. He puffed out his thin five-year-old chest as he marched in. “I’ll morph into a Power Ranger and kick his lights out.”
Julie knelt and gathered the twins to her. She kissed Megan’s forehead. “Darlings, there’s no reason to be afraid. Aunt Missy is calling the police right now,” she said, then looked pointedly at Melissa. “Aren’t you?”
“Right this minute. See?” Melissa snatched up the phone and reported the disturbance to Uncle Hiram. “Someone will be right here.”
Julie gave each of the children a hug. “Now why don’t you run along with Aunt Missy and get your wedding clothes on? The guests will be arriving soon.”
Melissa herded the kids out, and just as the door closed, another clatter of gravel hit the window. Flint bellowed her name. Furious, Julie stomped to the window, threw up the sash and poked her head out.
“Dammit, Flint Durham, would you shut up! You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
Flint dropped the handful of pebbles he held and looked up. When he spotted Julie, his usual insolent scowl changed immediately into a broad smile with the power of a nuclear reactor.
“Hi, Julie. I’m back.”
“Well, isn’t that just ducky? Now go away!”
“But, Julie, I have to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Go away! Melissa has called the police, and they’ll be here any minute.”
“Dammit, I’m not leaving until I talk to you!” He grabbed a limb of the oak tree that grew near her window, swung himself up and began climbing.
She shrieked, grabbed a vase of roses and upended flowers and water on him. It had the same effect as pouring gasoline on a fire. He roared, cursed and kept climbing.
She threw everything at him that she could get her hands on, pelting him with a jar of face cream, a candy dish, a pair of bookends. He dodged every missile and kept climbing. She took careful aim at the motorcycle emblazoned across the black T-shirt he wore and hurled a Waterford clock at his chest. It hit dead on target.
A thud, a loud ooofff, a curse. He lost his grip and fell, flailing and still cursing, to the grass below.
Momentarily panicked, Julie leaned out the window and looked down to where Flint lay. He didn’t move. His eyes were closed. Dear Lord, had she killed him?
One black eye opened. It zeroed in on her. “Now what did you go and do that for? I just wanted to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to say, Flint Durham.” As she slammed down the window, a siren wailed from the police car racing toward the house. She turned her back and walked away.
Once more she sat down at her dressing table and hummed very loudly.
