The Last American Hero

by Ruth Owen

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In this sizzling novel from Ruth Owen, a cowboy loner who can seduce a woman by raising a single eyebrow learns a lesson in love.
 
Luke Tyrell likes his relationships short, sweet, and uncomplicated. Enter Sarah Gallagher, a woman whose soft, inviting lips could start him thinking about settling down. When Sarah begs Luke to take a job fixing up her ranch, his first instinct is to hop on the next bus out of town. But how can he turn down a beauty whose eyes blaze like stars in heaven?
 
Sarah has put her blood, sweat, and tears into her ranch. But now a looming building inspection threatens to destroy her dreams of creating a stable home for her adopted children. Luke is her last hope. As he and Sarah work together to whip the ranch back in shape, sparks fly and passion ignites—and both of them learn the true meaning of home.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from other Loveswept titles.

Release date: December 9, 2013

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 232

Sample

ONE
 
“Luke Tyrell?”
 
Christ, not another one, Luke thought as he settled more deeply into the corner of the graffiti-scarred booth in the back of Bubba’s Bar and Grill. He’d hoped to find some peace in this smoke-filled dive, hoped no one would bother him here. It worked, up to a point. The patrons weren’t the kind to engage in social banter, unless it was over tattoos or the latest centerfold in Hustler. But he’d forgotten about the women, the ones who trolled places like this for customers. Three had approached him so far this evening, and now another one was standing at the table. He was getting damn tired of this. He pulled his broad-brimmed Stetson down more firmly over his eyes, hoping the action would let the lady know that he wasn’t interested.
 
It didn’t.
 
“You are Luke Tyrell, aren’t you?”
 
Persistent cuss, he thought. That and the sweetly husky quality in her voice made him almost curious enough to lift up his hat and take a look at her. Almost. “Listen, darlin’,” he said in a low, languid baritone, “I’m sure you do what you do real well. Another time I might take you up on it, but tonight I’m just not interested.”
 
“Well, that’s swell, cowboy, because neither am I.”
 
This wasn’t the response he’d expected. Tipping up his hat, he took a quick look at the woman who’d refused to leave him in peace. Then he took a closer look.
 
She wasn’t a hooker. She wasn’t dressed for the part. Her worn down-vest and baggy jeans discouraged desire rather than inviting it, and her oversize work shirt effectively hid every aspect of her figure from her neck to her waist. Her thick dark hair was cut in a simple style, with a fringe of bangs covering her forehead and the rest pulled back by some sort of clip. From this angle Luke couldn’t tell whether it was long or short, straight or curly. And he couldn’t tell what shade it was, for the nuances of color were lost in the dimly lighted room. At first glance she seemed deceptively ordinary, the kind of woman he’d pass on the street and not look at twice. Then he saw her eyes.
 
Their color, too, was obscured by the dim light. But color didn’t matter. Her eyes burned into him, demanding attention the way a hawk demands attention of a dove. Beneath her baggy clothes and schoolgirl haircut, the lady was a predator. Others might miss the look, but Luke knew it. He saw it every time he looked in a mirror.
 
After seeing those eyes of hers, he found himself half-wishing that she were a hooker.
 
“Are you going to ask me to sit down?”
 
Not a chance, Luke thought, his common sense asserting itself. This lady was trouble. He could smell it. He could taste it. And he’d had about all the trouble he could stand for one day. “Look, ma’am, all I want to do is finish my beer in peace and be on my way out of town. So if you don’t mind—”
 
“This won’t take long, I promise,” she said, as she slid into the other side of the booth. She sat in an unexpectedly modest fashion, ramrod straight with her hands resting out of sight in her lap. Her manner might be demure, but she was not. “I have a proposition for you,” she said straight out.
 
Luke pushed up his hat a little farther, interested in spite of himself. “Proposition?” he echoed, his tone sizzling with suggestion.
 
Even in the faint light he could see her blush. “Not that kind of proposition,” she said. Watching her face, he could almost see the thoughts running through her mind, the sudden knowledge of the image she must present to him—an unattached woman approaching an unattached man in a bar, and using the word “proposition.” Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. He experienced a keen, unexpected feeling of loss.
 
Still not looking at him, she continued, “I heard you got turned down for a job at the Providence today.”
 
“Well, you heard wrong,” Luke said, bristling. “I was the one who did the turning down. The place was a little too, uh, religious for my taste.”
 
She lifted her head, and he could see that her eyes were brimming with mischief.
 
“Brennermen does thump that Bible pretty loud, doesn’t he?” she asked.
 
“Pound is more like it. Community prayer in the morning and before bed at night. Grace at every meal, and required attendance at Sunday services.” Luke took off his hat and plowed his strong fingers through his hair in a quick, frustrated motion. “Made me think I was signing up for the clergy instead of for a stockman position.”
 
“The money’s good,” she pointed out.
 
“Freedom’s better,” he countered. “I like to choose where and when I worship.” He studied his hat, running a finger along its well-worn brim. “Kind of like the way I choose where and when I want company. Now’s not one of those times. So if you don’t mind, Mrs. …?”
 
“Gallagher. Sarah Gallagher. I own the Corners Ranch just north of town, and before you tell me to go away again, I want you to know that I’m here to offer you a job.”
 
Lord, she got out more words in a single breath than most people did in a minute. “No offense, but shouldn’t your husband be here doing the asking?”
 
“You have problems doing business with a woman?”
 
“Damn straight,” he said. “Any smart man would.”
 
Her eyes snapped fire at his comment. She’d like to throttle him, Luke thought, amused. But his amusement turned to respect as she visibly reined in her anger. Luke had a short fuse himself, and he knew how hard it was to snuff out a fire once it was started. This lady appeared to have more than her share of fire.…
 
She was talking again. “It’s a good job. I can’t offer you as much money as Brennermen did, but I’ll provide your room and board. And,” she said, a smile replacing her frown, “I’ll make sure I keep my Bible out of your sight.”
 
That damn smile of hers could get him in a world of trouble. Her nature might be ornery as a mountain cat, but her lips were soft and inviting, with a naughty playfulness that put him in mind of a kitten. Warning bells rang faintly in his head. “So why isn’t your husband here?” he repeated, more sternly this time.
 
“I’m not married.”
 
Warning bells turned to sirens. “Not interested,” he said, fighting the sudden roughness in his throat.
 
“But you haven’t even heard the details.”
 
“I don’t have to,” he stated. The last thing he needed in his life was an unattached female with an intriguing smile and eyes that blazed like stars in the heavens. He liked his relationships short and uncomplicated and did his best to keep them that way. But eyes like hers could start him thinking about settling down, about caring for something—and someone. And that was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take again, for anyone.
 
He settled back against the scarred wall of the booth and pulled his hat back down over his eyes. “I’ve been offered a job on an oil rig. There’s three hundred miles of highway between here and Houston, and I’m planning to drive it straight through. I’d appreciate a little quiet so I can rest up a bit before I take off. Good night, Miss Gallagher.”
 
He figured she’d leave, that she’d slip out of his booth and his life, leaving him a little emptier for the loss of her sweet lips and bright eyes. He figured wrong. She stood up and reached over the table, whipping off his hat in a single swipe.
 
Nobody, but nobody, touched Luke Tyrell’s hat. He rose slowly, straightening until his lean six-foot-six frame topped her head by at least a foot. “Give that back,” he said with true menace.
 
“Not until you’ve listened to me,” she said.
 
She held the hat behind her, out of his immediate reach. Another woman might mistake the extent of his rage and use the gesture as a childish, coy flirtation. But Luke saw the tightness in her jaw and knew she was fully aware of his anger and willing to face it. Once again he accorded her a measure of grudging respect.
 
“I need your help, Mr. Tyrell. I’ve tried, but I can’t manage my place all alone. So far I’ve kept it going on a wing and a prayer, but I’ve learned the county building inspector’s going to examine it in sixty days. If I haven’t been able to make the necessary repairs by then …”
 
Her eyes completed the sentence, staring up into his in a desperate plea for help. Green, he thought. Green as the deep, secret heart of a forest. Gazing into them, he saw beneath her tough exterior to the soft, vulnerable center of her soul. Somewhere near his own heart a string pulled taut. She’s scared, he thought, so scared, she’s willing to show her fear to me. The few minutes he’d known her had showed him that she was a proud, strong-willed woman, used to meeting and besting life’s challenges on her own. Independent to a fault himself, Luke could imagine how much admitting her fear must have cost her.
 
“Surely, there’s someone around here who can help you.”
 
“There’s no one,” she said flatly. The softness in her eyes died, hidden behind a condemning wall of disappointment. “No one in town will lift a finger to help me. You were pretty much my last hope.”