Tonight I’ll be chatting live at Writerspace—at 8 PM ET with the Ellora’s Cave Authors, then at 9 PM ET with the After Midnight Authors! Join me if you can!
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for a free download of this book!
This excerpt is from the first short story I wrote for publication. Something short, sassy and in first person. It was released by the Wild Rose Press in 2007.
Caught in a sudden thunderstorm on a lonely stretch of Texas highway, I pull into a dingy little diner to wait out the rain, never dreaming the cowboy of my dreams would follow me inside. Now I have a couple of choices, play it coy and safe? Or go for the big brass buckle…
Lightning clawed the dark like a crow’s foot, illuminating thick thunderheads that glowed yellow-green and ominous. The color of the sky before a tornado twisted its nasty tail.
Glad to be out of the rain and safe from the jagged, streaking light, I shivered against the cool vinyl booth as another flash lashed out like the end of a whip, lighting the horizon so intensely that for a moment the darkened parking lot was bright as high noon.
That was when I saw the large pickup roll in, pulling a horse trailer. It ground to a halt beside the diner’s plateglass window. The driver wasn’t going to bother trying to park it in the flooded lot.
I heard the muffled slam of the truck door, but the end of the lightning strike flickered out, plunging the parking lot back into darkness. The driver would be soaked before he even hit the door. Only twelve feet, but the rain was coming down in sheets. I’d been lucky, arriving before the worst of the storm struck. Mostly dry, I’d peered through the window at the deepening night, waiting for a lull. I’d read the clouds as well as any West Texas native and headed to the nearest shelter. The tiny diner with its 70’s style brick façade, split vinyl bench seats, and peeling, laminated counter tops was a welcome haven. The attached string of motel rooms was part of Plan B if the storm didn’t wane before midnight.
My arrival had been nearly forty minutes ago. Except for a bored waitress smoking a cigarette at a far table, I was the only occupant. Until now.
The door squeaked open, and a cowboy strode inside. He pulled off his cream-colored hat and shook dark brown hair like a dog, sending droplets of water lashing against the glass door. His white T-shirt, soaked almost to transparency, clung to the hills and hollows of sharply defined muscles along his chest and abdomen.
Setting his cowboy hat on the table, he sank into a booth near the door, his expression a study in irritation. Dark brows drawn in a fierce frown, his lips crimped in a thin line.
The man needed a reason to smile.
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