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The Texan's One-Night Standoff
Charlene Sands
One night leads to a pregnancy bombshell! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Charlene Sands.Chicago real estate hotshot Brooks Newport is on a quest to find his true father. But tracking him to a small Texas town puts Brooks on a collision course with horse trainer Ruby Lopez. After a no-strings-attached night together, he’s on his way.When Brooks finally meets the father he never knew, he must come to grips with the past—and the very shocking present. Because Ruby works for the man. And she has a secret of her own—not only is Brooks finding his father, he’s about to become one!The Texan's One-Night Standoff is part of the Dynasties: The Newports series.
One night leads to a pregnancy bombshell! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Charlene Sands.
Chicago real estate hotshot Brooks Newport is on a quest to find his true father. But tracking him to a small Texas town puts Brooks on a collision course with horse trainer Ruby Lopez. After a no-strings-attached night together, he’s on his way.
When Brooks finally meets the father he never knew, he must come to grips with the past—and the very shocking present. Because Ruby works for the man. And she has a secret of her own—not only is Brooks finding his father, he’s about to become one!
The Texan’s One-Night Standoff is part of the Dynasties: The Newports series.
His mouth found hers again, and this time the kiss was hot enough to brand cattle.
A fiery mix of passion and lust, making her forget she didn’t kiss strangers like this, on an open dance floor with half the town watching. But Brooks didn’t let up and she couldn’t pull back or move away, it was that good.
She played with the curling ends of his hair.
He slid his hands lower on her back.
She tucked herself into him.
He groaned and kissed her harder.
The music ended and they hardly noticed. She stared into his blue eyes.
“What now?” he rasped. “You want another dance?”
She shook her head. “I need air.”
He took her hand and led her off the dance floor and out the door of the C’mon Inn. They went around back to an iron and wood bench near a walled garden. “Would you like to sit?” he asked, and before she could answer, he took a seat and reached for her, giving her the option of where on the bench she wanted to plop down.
She chose his lap.
* * *
The Texan’s One-Night Standoff is part of the Dynasties: The Newports series— Passion and chaos consume a Chicago real estate empire!
Dear Reader (#u598f6169-c998-524b-ab91-0259ca9619a1),
I can’t imagine having to search for a long-lost anyone, but real estate mogul and Chicagoan Brooks Newport finally ends his months-long search for his biological father, Beau Preston, in Cool Springs, Texas—aka Small Town, USA. For Brooks it was a labor-intensive, painstaking road to locate his dad after the true circumstances of their separation finally became clear to both father and son.
But for Brooks, their reunion comes with a surprise wrinkle along the way. Ruby Lopez, the Latina spitfire he’d met at the C’mon Inn the night before, is just as happy tossing a man over her petite shoulders as she is training thoroughbreds. Soon, Ruby becomes a temptation, and as off-limits as one woman can get when Brooks discovers her strong ties to the Preston family. Might I add, the raven-haired beauty keeps the wannabe cowboy on the tips of his Justin-booted toes and throws poor Brooks completely off-kilter.
But does she flip him on his backside? You’ll just have to read on to see.
I’m a horse lover by nature, and so researching training techniques and describing the beautifully groomed and modern but rustic Look Away Ranch was a joy for me. Twinkling lights strung across the perimeter, holly wreaths and poinsettias make for a postcard Christmas at Look Away. What could be better than a cowboy in the making, wild stallions, strategically placed mistletoe, surprise presents under the tree and finding true love where you least expect it?
The Texan’s One-Night Standoff is my gift to you.
Happy holidays and happy reading!
Charlene
The Texan’s One-Night Standoff
Charlene Sands
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHARLENE SANDS is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than forty romance novels. She writes sensual contemporary romances and stories of the Old West. When not writing, Charlene enjoys sunny Pacific beaches, great coffee, reading books from her favorite authors and spending time with her family. You can find her on Facebook and Twitter, write her at PO Box 4883, West Hills, CA 91308, USA, or sign up for her newsletter for fun blogs and ongoing contests at www.charlenesands.com (http://www.charlenesands.com).
To my very talented editor, Charles Griemsman, who is also a wonderful person and someone I call friend. Thanks, Charles, for all you do!
Contents
Cover (#u26b5ac18-d770-506b-8a72-9779eaf31e4b)
Back Cover Text (#uf7e4fb6a-15a4-5bd1-b080-91a7e492b5d6)
Introduction (#uc3ac3b4a-e59c-5f99-81d1-b1a667d9cf68)
Dear Reader (#u578bd633-a3f1-502d-8621-e797b4a43f66)
Title Page (#u717628cd-0ba3-583f-a65c-20504df49c3e)
About the Author (#ud93b8ac5-5f73-5ddb-bb7c-5ab3c034f408)
Dedication (#ue9b3f134-6c61-557b-847e-7b3e6e293a42)
One (#u7215ca23-d188-587e-a07f-d9ab68ac633f)
Two (#u8e42c8bc-021d-5115-9991-5a4d55daeca9)
Three (#uaff14691-1459-5fa5-b2ea-a17f4ab95291)
Four (#u50b43b7d-a4ac-5db3-bc27-c007d9cdd9a3)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u598f6169-c998-524b-ab91-0259ca9619a1)
Brooks Newport swiveled around on the bar stool at the C’mon Inn, his gaze fastening on the raven-haired Latina beauty bending over a pool table, challenging her opponent with a fiercely competitive glint in her eyes. With blue jeans hugging her hips and a cropped red plaid blouse exposing her olive skin, the lady made his mouth go dry. He wasn’t alone. Every Stetson-wearing Texan in the joint seemed to be watching her, too.
His hand fisting around the bottle, Brooks took a sip of beer, gulping down hard. The woman’s moves around the pool table were as smooth and as polished as his new Justin boots.
“Five ball, corner pocket,” she said, her voice sultry with a side of sass, as if she knew she wasn’t going to miss. Then she took her shot. The cue ball met its mark and sure enough, the five ball rolled right into the pocket.
She straightened to full height, her chest expanding to near button-popping proportions. She couldn’t have been more than five-foot-two, but what she had in that small package was enough to make him break out in a sweat. And that was saying something, since he’d come to Texas for one reason, and one reason only.
To meet his biological father for the first time in his life.
He’d spent the better part of his adulthood trying to find the man who’d abandoned him and his twin brother, Graham in Chicago. Sutton Winchester, his bitter older rival and the man Brooks thought might be his biological father turned out not to be his blood kin after all. Thank God. But Sutton had known the truth of his parenthood all along, and the ailing man, plagued by a bout of conscience—or so Brooks figured—had finally given up the information that led to the name and location of his and Graham’s father.
Brooks would have been speaking with his real father at Look Away Ranch in Cool Springs right now if he hadn’t gotten a bad case of nerves. So much was riding on this. The trek to get to this place in time, to solving the mystery surrounding the birth of the Newport twins, as well as his younger brother Carson, would finally come to fruition.
So, yeah, the powerful CEO of the Newport Corporation from Chicago had turned chicken. Those bawking noises played out in his head. He’d never run scared before and yet, as he was breezing through this dusty town, the Welcome sign and Christmas lights outside the doors of the C’mon Inn had called to him. He’d pulled to a stop and entered the lodge, in need of a fortifying drink and a good night’s rest. He had a lot to think about, and meeting Beau Preston in the light of day seemed a better idea.
He kept his gaze trained on the prettiest thing in the joint. The woman. She wielded the pool cue like a weapon and began wiggling her perfectly trim ass in an effort to make a clean shot. He sipped beer to cool his jets, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He had visions of bending over the pool table with her and bringing them both to heaven.
Long strands of her hair hung down to touch her breasts, and as she leaned over even further to line up her shot, those strands caressed green felt. She announced her next shot and bam, the ball banked off the left side and then ricocheted straight into the center pocket.
The whiskered man she was playing against hung his head. “Man, Ruby. You don’t give a guy a chance.”
She chuckled. “That’s the rule I live by, Stan. You know that.”
“But you could miss once in a while. Make it interesting.”
So her name was Ruby. Brooks liked the sound of it, all right. It fit.
He had no business lusting after her. Woman trouble was the last thing he needed. Yet his brain wasn’t doing a good job of convincing his groin to back off.
The game continued until she handed the older guy his vitals on a silver platter. “Sorry, Stan.”
“You’d think after all these years a man could do better against a teeny tiny woman.”
She grinned, showing off a smile that lit the place on fire, then set a sympathetic hand on the man’s shoulder and reached up to kiss his cheek.
The old guy’s face turned beet red. “You know that’s the only reason I endure this torture. For that kiss at the end.”
Her deep, provocative chuckle rumbled in Brooks’s ears. “You’re sweet for saying that, Stan. Now, go on home to Betsy. And kiss your sweet grandson for me.”
Nodding, Stan smiled at her. “Will do. You be good now, you hear?”
“I can always try,” she said, hooking her cue stick on the wall next to a holly wreath.
Stan walked off, and Ruby did this little number with her head that landed all of her thick, silky hair on one shoulder. Brooks’s groin tightened some more. If she was any indication of what Cool Springs was like, he was quickly gaining an affinity for the place.
The woman spotted him. Her deep-set eyes, the color of dark cocoa, met his for a second, and time seemed to stop. Blood rushed through his veins. She blinked a time or two and then let him go, as if she recognized him to be an out-of-towner.
He finished off his beer and rose, tossing some bills onto the bar and giving the barkeep a nod.
“Hey, sweet doll,” a man called out, coming from the darkest depths of the bar to stand in front of her. “How about giving me a go-round?”
Ruby tilted her head up. “No thanks. I’m through for the night.”
“You ain’t through until you’ve seen me wield my stick. It’s impressive.” The big oaf wiggled his brows and crowded her against the pool table.
She rolled her eyes. “Pleeeze.”
“Yeah, babe, that’s exactly what you’ll be crying out once we’re done playing.”
“Sorry, but if that’s your best come-on line, you’re in sad shape, buster.”
She inched her body away, brushing by him, trying not to make contact with the bruiser. But the jerk grabbed her arm from behind and gave a sharp tug. She struggled to wiggle free. “Let go,” she said.
Brooks scanned the room. All eyes were still on Ruby, but no one was making a move. Instead they all had smug looks on their faces. Forget what he’d thought about this town; they were all jerks.
The muscles in his arms bunched and his hands tightened into fists as Brooks stepped toward the two of them. He couldn’t stand by and watch this scene play out, not when the petite pool shark was in trouble. “Get your hands—”
The words weren’t out of his mouth before Ruby elbowed the guy in the gut. “Oof.” He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and cursed her up and down using filthy names.
Crap. Now she was in deep. The guy’s head came up; the unabashed fury in his eyes was aimed her way. Brooks immediately pulled his arm back, fists at the ready, but before he could land a punch, Ruby grabbed the guy’s forearm. The twist of her body came so fast, Brooks blinked, and before he knew it, she’d tossed the big oaf over her shoulder WWF-style and had him down for the count. As in, she’d laid him out flat on his back.
Someone from the bar groused, “No one messes with Ruby unless she wants to be messed with.”
Apparently the oaf hadn’t known that. And neither had Brooks. But hell, the rest of them had known.
She stepped over the man to face Brooks, her gaze on the right hook he’d been ready to land. “Thanks anyway,” she said, out of breath. Apparently she wasn’t Supergirl. The effort had taxed her, and he found himself enjoying how the ebb and flow of her labored breaths stretched the material of her blouse.
He stood there somewhat in awe, a grin spreading his mouth wide. “You didn’t let me do my gladiator routine.”
“Sorry. Maybe next time.” Her lips quirked up.
Behind her, the bartender and another man began dragging the patron away.
“Does that happen often?” he asked her.
“Often enough,” she said. “But not with guys who know me.”
He rubbed at his chin. “No. I wouldn’t imagine.”
He kept his gaze trained on her, astonished at what he’d just witnessed. Her eyes danced in amusement, probably at his befuddled expression. And then someone turned up the volume on the country song playing, and his thoughts ran wild. He was too intrigued to let the night end. This woman wasn’t your typical Texas beauty queen. She had spunk and grit and so much more. Hell, he hadn’t been this turned on in a long, long time.
