Spare Hearts

by Dorothy F Shaw, T.D. Hoffman

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

"Lace up those bowling shoes! Candy and Sterling are the perfect couple, and fans of sweet, sexy love stories will be chuckling and sighing all the way through. Spare Hearts is so much fun you'll want to read it twice." -- Megan Hart, NYT Bestselling author of The Space Between Us Stuck in this dead-beat town for too long, Candy Jameson is itching for some action. And the magnetically sexy, Sterling Dey might just be her chance to get back in the game . . . at least for a night. Soon the sparks flying between Candy and Sterling ignite into a fiery encounter that scorches the lanes. But when Sterling wants more than just one night with Candy, she's not sure she's ready to bet her heart on a one-night stand. Former professional bowling champion Sterling Dey wants to reclaim his title. This sleepy alley in a small Texas town with no distractions is the perfect place to practice-until Sterling lays his eyes-and more-on the joint's sultry night manager. As attraction becomes more than desire and the pins start stacking up against them, Candy and Sterling's future may just come down to the roll of the ball.

Release date: August 6, 2013

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 162

Sample

Candy peered up from her crouched position behind the blue laminate counter to see Toby Hansen leaning over the top, staring down her shirt. Again.

“Howdy, Candy.”

“Hey, Toby.” She sighed, finished putting away the disinfectant spray, and stood. “You needin’ somethin’?”

“My, you look pretty tonight.” Toby leered, displaying the large gap between his front teeth.

“Aww, you’re so sweet.” Candy plastered a practiced smile on her face and stifled the shudder running through her body.

Toby straightened and popped both thumbs in his front pockets. “Shucks, fine as you are, you make it easy to be sweet.” He laughed, causing his large belly to shake and slip out from under his shirt.

“Stop that now, you’ll make me blush.” She waved her hand at him. “What’d you need?”

He eyed her cleavage again, and she cleared her throat in order to pull his attention back to her face. Most men were raised right and proper, and didn’t gawk like Toby was doing—or at least they weren’t so obvious about it. Candy wasn’t afraid to show her body off. Didn’t mind the attention either. But there was a difference between looking and downright rude staring.

“Oh, uh… ball’s stuck on six.” He continued to stare at her chest.

“Again? That dang thing. Let me give a holler back to Joe and get you taken care of.” She grabbed for the ancient house phone to ring the pinsetter area, praying Toby wouldn’t tell her all the ways he’d like her to take care of him.

Toby winked at her, then stepped away from the counter.

Thank the Lord above for small miracles. It might’ve been over two years since she’d seen any action between the sheets, but she sure as hell wasn’t desperate enough to take the likes of Toby Hansen into her bed. If she had to hear him go on again like last Friday night about her “perky assets,” she might just vomit right there on all the bowling shoes she’d finished disinfecting. She leaned against the counter, phone to her ear, and waited for Joe to pick up. “Dammit, that hick never answers,” she muttered and hung up.

Candy walked out from the front desk and headed for the area behind the pinsetting machines. The worn heels of her pink cowgirl boots clicked on the concrete floor as she made her way down the small walkway at the end of the fifteen lanes. She hated going back there. Dingy old machines creaked as they loaded and reloaded pins, and the loud crack of the ball as it connected with its target made her ears ring.

She’d probably find Joe snoozing: boots kicked up, hat covering his face. Good God, sometimes she hated this job, almost as much as she hated this mom-and-pop town she was stuck in. The job paid the bills, though, so complaining was a waste of brain cells.

Candy always thought she’d be happily married with kids at this age, or maybe have some sort of career. She’d done the married thing but missed the happily and the kids parts by a long shot. And the alley sure as heck wasn’t a career.

Divorced and twenty-eight years old, and she still hadn’t dug her way out. Someday it’s gonna happen.

*     *     *

This driving crap was for the birds. In the past, when Sterling retained his “pro” status, he’d flown to all the tournaments. Now, no such luck. It was proving to be a long, hard road back to the championships and better travel arrangements. His desire to win, his need to prove to himself he could still do it after all this time and stubbornness, was exactly what had led him to the here and now. Driving to Strawn, Texas, a one-horse town, to spend a month focusing on his game before the big tournament in Fort Worth, and hopefully his life-changing moment.

Sterling took a deep breath as he exited the highway and was faced with a huge billboard.

WELCOME TO STRAWN, TEXAS. HOME OF THE NATIONAL BOWLING CHAMPION MASON JENNINGS

Damn, they sure are proud of their hometown hero. Sterling swore every tiny town had to have its claim to fame.

His manager, Troy, had convinced him this was exactly what he needed to focus and make sure he was bringing his A-Game to the tourney. Less distraction, he’d said. Apparently, Troy was old friends with the owner of the town’s bowling alley and called in a favor. For Sterling, it was just another stop on the way to getting his life back. Plus, he liked to keep a low profile anyway. Who needs all the sports writers chasing you down and snapping pictures at all the wrong times? He sighed. I do. That’s who.

A bright blue vacancy sign blinked on the side of the two-lane main road. Sterling slowed to pull into the parking lot but lifted his foot off the brake and coasted forward as soon as he saw the giant flashing BOWLING DREAMS sign next door. Dreams, huh? How appropriate.

The brisk night air whipped across his skin as he swung open the car door. The coolness slapped him in the face and chased off any remaining drowsiness. He pulled himself out of the driver’s seat and stretched the fatigue from his legs.

Twisting his waist until he felt—and heard—a loud crack that loosened his spine, he let out a sigh of relief. He smoothed out his jeans and leaned back inside the car to retrieve his favorite white cowboy hat before crossing the parking lot to check in to the hotel. It was more of a “motel” really. A couple dozen doors on the front of a single-story brick building that faced the parking lot. He could move his car later when he found out which room was his.

After completing the long check-in process, Sterling turned back for the door and ran his thumb over the plastic diamond-shaped key chain and room key. When was the last time he checked in to a motel that actually still used real keys? What has Troy gotten me into? He shoved the key in his pocket on his way back to his car. Sterling grabbed his bowling bag from the back seat and headed for the double-door glass entry of Bowling Dreams. “Might as well check the place out.”

He eyed the inside of the alley; a grand total of three, maybe four, people were in the whole building. Gee, I wonder if I can get a lane. At the empty front counter, he set his bag on the floor and grabbed a sucker out of his shirt pocket. Pulling the wax paper off, he looked for somebody, anybody that might be working tonight. He popped the hard candy into his mouth, root beer flavored, his favorite. He leaned his body against the counter and began tapping his championship ring on the ring finger of his right hand against the laminate top.

*     *     *

Candy leaned over a snoring Joe. “Hey! Wake up!” She flipped the hat off his head and stepped back as he jumped out of his skin, his eyes scanning the space wildly.

“Dammit, Candy. Hate it when you do that.” He spat a mouthful of tobacco juice on the floor and got to his feet.

“Ugh, gross! Hate it when you do that.” She held back an urge to gag. “If you’d keep your ’hind awake, I wouldn’t have to scare the tar outta you.” She spun on her heel.

“What’d you need anyway?”

Shoot, she’d almost forgot. “Ball stuck on six,” she yelled over her shoulder, exiting as fast as she’d come in.

With hands tucked in the back pockets of her cutoff denim shorts, Candy wandered back down the narrow walk. At least the music was good on Friday nights, compared to the rest of the week, though the crowd had been getting pretty dang thin on the weekends. With the economy the way it was, it made her worry she’d have to find a way out of Strawn sooner than she could afford.

As she approached the front desk, she couldn’t help noticing the tall, cool drink of water leaning against the counter. Sweet Jesus, who is that? Candy took in his lean form as she got closer: Standard-issue cowboy boots, long legs covered in nice-fitting jeans that hugged a back end just begging to be grabbed. Candy’s sleeping libido woke up and took notice. This man for sure did not live around here. If she could just see his—

She stopped short as she rounded the corner of the counter.

My God, he had the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen. High cheekbones, and lush lips framed by a close trimmed beard. All topped by a white cowboy hat. Candy swallowed past the lump forming in her throat and focused on the front of his royal blue button-down shirt, trying for all it was worth to calm the pitter-patter of her heart. The way his broad chest filled out the fabric sent a wave of lust barreling through her. She needed to at least keep it together long enough to greet a new customer, for Lord’s sake.

“Howdy.” He pulled the lollipop from his mouth. “Is Mason Jennings available?” He smiled, displaying his near perfect teeth.

“Not at this hour. He usually works the day shift.” She shook herself and forced her eyes away from his mouth.

“Dang, should’ve figured.”

“Is there anythin’ I can help you with?” She brushed her thick hair off her shoulder.

He raised his arm to glance at his watch and the muscles in his bicep bunched, tightening his shirtsleeve with the movement. “Any chance of gettin’ a lane tonight?”

“Of course.” Dragging her eyes back to his, she settled her fingers on the keyboard to check him in. “Welcome to Bowling Dreams. Will you be needin’ shoes?” Suddenly thirsty, Candy was surprised she managed to speak without sounding like she had a mouth full of cotton.

“No, ma’am, I have my own.” He tapped his ring on the counter.

Candy activated his lane on the register system and reached for her bottle of water under the counter. “You can take ten. Right there across from the counter.”

“Thank you kindly.” He tipped his hat, popped the lollipop back between his lips, and turned away.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Anything. Really, please don’t hesitate to ask.

“Will do.” He grinned over his shoulder.

She laughed to herself and rested her elbows on the counter, watching him walk away. Dang fine view she had of his hind end. Butterflies swarmed in her tummy at the sight and her cheeks got hot. Actually, she was hot all over.

Ten was the perfect choice and she thanked the Lord it was available. Now she could watch him and hopefully not drool all over herself, until closing from her station.

Candy may not have found her way out of Strawn yet, but at least she had something fine to pay attention to while she passed the time tonight.

Setting his bag down and taking a seat, Sterling had almost forgotten the one major attraction of small towns: small-town girls. Sure, he was tired. Sure, he needed to focus on the big picture. But damn if a beautiful girl didn’t help serve as a nice distraction. He unzipped his bag and pulled out his custom-made bowling shoes. He toed off his boots, tucked them under the chair, and laced up his signature flashy royal blue and silver best friends.

Crunching on the tail end of his sucker, he grabbed his personalized ball out of his bag and snuck a quick glance back at the counter girl. Dayum if she wasn’t purty as all get-out. A set of pouty full lips glistening with lip gloss, a straight nose turned up just at the tip, and a head full of the thickest dirty blond hair he’d ever seen. He bet all that hair would look sexy as hell draped across his chest. He loved little women, and looking just under five feet tall, this girl had his attention. Focus, man!

After depositing his ball in the return tray, he turned to walk back to enter his name in the score computer and caught her staring. Sterling’s curiosity piqued. Well, I’ll be… Maybe I caught her attention, too.

“Ya know, you never did introduce yourself.” The slight crimson flush washing across her high cheeks let him know she’d heard him speaking to her.

She walked around from behind the counter and Sterling wasn’t the least bit disappointed in the view he got. A pink and gray plaid button-up shirt tied into a halter top displaying a generous amount of cleavage, a narrow waist flowing into a pair of tiny little cutoff denim shorts framing a nice full set of hips. Damn, curvy in all the right places.

“I think you’re right. I’m Candy Jameson, sorry ’bout that.” A smile looking like it’d jumped off a Victoria’s Secret catalog adorned her lips. “Kitchen’s closed this late, but I might be able to rustle up somethin’ for you. You look… hungry.” She winked.

Suddenly famished, Sterling hoped she might offer to be the main course.

“Candy, huh? That’s sweet. I like it. Name’s Sterling Dey.” He reached in his bag for his wrist brace and let his gaze linger over her as he fitted it to his right arm. “How ’bout a soda? Coke or something?”

“We have a full bar if you want somethin’ harder, hon.”

“Nah, no alcohol for me, soda’s good.” He grabbed another one of his suckers, unwrapped it, and held it up, waving it to tease her. “I like candy more.”

Her eyes lighting up, she draped her hair over one of her shoulders and ran her fingers through the thick tresses. “I’ll be right back.”

Sterling’s eyes waved from side to side and his breath hitched as he tracked the hypnotic rhythm of her plentiful hips. Her backside taunted him and arousal rocketed through him hard and fast while watching her sashay her way to the kitchen. Bowl, ya damn hick. Gonna go pro again, remember?

Shaking his head to wrangle his thoughts, he put his hat on the seat and walked over to the ball return. Focus. Get in the game. With his routine planted in his mind, he gathered his ball and polished off any possible oil residue with his towel. Staring down the thin boards, he locked his eyes on the pins and declared to himself that they would all fall.

Sterling let his fingers hover over the hand dryer, then slid them into his ball; the holes fit perfectly. Of course it did—the thing had been custom made for him and was the same one he won the championship with all those years ago. He dropped his towel on the rack and started toward the far right side of the lane to line up his target. One month until his big return to the game, the countdown had begun. His last chance as far as he was concerned. It was rare that anyone tried for a second shot. . .