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Synopsis
With beating hearts and bated breath... Ashley Montoya was in love with Mack McLeroy in high school -- until he broke her heart. When an accident brings him back home to Sunnybell to recover, Ashley's determined to avoid him, but Mack can't stay away. And the more she's with him, the more she can't help but to fall into his embrace... BookShots Flames Original romances presented by James Patterson Novels you can devour in a few hours Impossible to stop reading
Release date: October 11, 2016
Publisher: BookShots
Print pages: 121
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The Return
Erin Knightley
This was it. The final run of the night.
In the year since Mack McLeroy had qualified for the professional bull riding tour—the major leagues of professional riders—he’d done well for himself. But tonight he was looking at a crowd, and a cash pot, bigger than anything he’d seen in his career.
And tonight he was going to win everything.
So far, he’d had three lucky draws. He’d pulled bulls who were mean enough to score big points, but whose moves were right up Mack’s alley. In two words, he’d killed it. And not only had he had three of the best rides of his life all in a row, but two of the top contenders had ended up injured. Sucked for them—they were both good guys—but the win was solidly within Mack’s reach.
Anticipation pumped through his veins like a drug as he lowered himself onto Son of Sam for the last ride of the night. The beast was as black as sin and twice as ugly, with fat asymmetrical horns that curved haphazardly away from his bulbous head and a long, rangy tail that looked like something you’d pull out of a clogged drain. He moved restlessly in the chute, his flanks fairly vibrating with tension. But Mack grinned and patted the animal’s muscled back.
Bring it, Sonny.
SOS was famous for his unpredictability, which always made for an interesting ride. It also made for high scores.
Mack shook his head, excitement pooling in his gut. Six figures. That was more money than most of his friends from high school made in three years. All those people who had called him crazy for setting his sights on the rodeo were about to eat their words.
Leaning forward, he pulled the rope across his hand in a tight suicide wrap. With that kind of money at stake, he planned to stay stuck to that bull if it killed him. SOS shifted anxiously beneath him. Mack chuckled. “Ready to dance, Son? How ’bout I lead?”
He took a deep breath, lifted his free arm, and shouted that he was ready. The moment hung suspended in time for a heartbeat or two, Mack’s body poised for action.
Three, two, one…swoosh!
The gate swung open and SOS exploded into the arena, bucking like a sonofabitch. The crowd roared in approval as he spun left, then immediately changed both tactics and direction, throwing Mack momentarily off-balance. Thank God for the suicide hold, which saved his bacon as he fought to get back in position.
Even as he whipped back and forth with SOS’s earthquake-worthy bucks, he managed to right his center of gravity. And then he found the pocket—that place where he and the bull fell into a sort of violent rhythm together. Apparently the creature wanted to dance after all. Mack grinned for all of a quarter of a second before all hell broke loose.
One moment he was in the zone, and the next he was riding blind. The rhythm that had been there before dissolved into instant chaos. What the hell? A millisecond too late, his brain processed that in the frenzy of bucking, the bull’s tail had whipped forward and slapped him across the face with the force of a steel pole. Instinct made his eyes slam shut. But that was the worst thing that he could have done.
Son of a—Before he could even finish the curse, he was airborne, tethered to the earth by nothing more than the thin strap of leather wrapped around his hand. Not good—not good at all. The force of his momentum, which snapped the leather taut, nearly yanked his arm off. He flopped backward, colliding with the side of the bull before ricocheting up again like a boulder bouncing off a trampoline.
Even as he was thrashed around, he worked to free his hand, frantically tugging at the cursed strap that only moments ago he’d praised. Who knew he was so good at wrapping? Each buck made him dizzier and more disoriented. His blood rushed in and out of his head like a tide on crack. Desperation clawed at his brain and he yanked and pulled for all he was worth. Then, just when he was sure he was a goner, the strap gave way and he went flying.
Freedom!
The strobe effect caused by somersaulting through the air in the well-lit stadium would have been really cool if he hadn’t known that this particular flight was about to end very, very badly. He tried to control the fall so he either landed on his feet or on all fours. That’s what he’d been trained to do for years. But this time?
This time he was screwed.
All his senses were jumbled as if he were being tossed in a dryer set on high. He needed to see but couldn’t clear his blurred vision no matter how desperately he blinked. His body position was all wrong—that was for damn sure. He was flying through the air like a rudderless chopper shot down in battle.
As the ground rushed to meet him, Mack could almost hear the bull laughing. SOS: 1; Mack: 0. Next time he’d keep his smack talk to himself.
His shoulder crashed to the dirt first, and he did his best to relax and roll with the motion, but damned if the presence of a 2,500-pound pissed-off bull didn’t make it hard. Pain splintered and zinged through his collarbone like bottled lightning. That’s gonna leave a mark. Next came the impact to his left hip, followed quickly by his booted feet slamming back down to the earth with all the force of a cannonball.
A roar filled his ears—the bull’s, his, or the crowd’s, he couldn’t tell—as bright lights burst across his vision. White-hot sensation bolted down his left side. As much as this hurt, only one thought echoed in his brain over and over: Get up! Get up! Get up!
But his body wouldn’t respond. The wind had been knocked out of him by the impact, and between his disorientation, his spasming lungs, and his screaming pain, nothing was working right.
Something close to panic set in. He wasn’t worried about the pain; it hurt like hell, but he’d had worse. What he was worried about was being a sitting duck when old SOS decided to finish what he’d started.
And that was the moment the bastard charged.
The bull turned on him, hellfire blazing in his black eyes. With impeccable aim, his front hooves came down like the business end of an anvil. The full weight of the beast landed dead center of Mack’s chest, squashing his lungs as if they were a pair of spent whoopee cushions. The pressure was indescribable; the pain was epic. His protective vest might as well have been made of tissue paper for all it seemed to help.
The arena dimmed and blurred. The only thing he could make out was the flash of frantic color as the bullfighters streaked around him, risking their lives to protect him from further injury until the medics moved in.
It couldn’t be over. He couldn’t be over.
By sheer force of will, he struggled to push back against the rising blackness, but it was like wading through scalding-hot tar. Hopeless. Before he could so much as move his damn pinkie, the world went dark and he fell backward into the yawning ocean of agony.
Chapter 2
“I’ve got fresh gossip to go with these fresh veggies,” Laurie Beth Simmons announced, wiggling her eyebrows.
Ashley Montoya grinned at her friend’s declaration. No one knew more about the goings-on in Sunnybell than Laurie Beth. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Ashley said wryly, setting down the sweet potatoes she’d been inspecting.
Laurie Beth laughed and set a freshly manicured hand on her hip. “Well, what good would I be if I didn’t come bearing juicy news? Nobody would recognize me.”
“Can’t argue with that. Come on, let’s get out of this crowd so we can chat.”
It was opening day for the Sunnybell farmers’ market and the place was packed. Ashley and Laurie Beth ducked down a side lane that was much quieter. Pausing beside a table of jarred salsas, Ashley said, “So, what’s the latest? I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
“I know! With Madeline’s bookstore launching next we. . .
In the year since Mack McLeroy had qualified for the professional bull riding tour—the major leagues of professional riders—he’d done well for himself. But tonight he was looking at a crowd, and a cash pot, bigger than anything he’d seen in his career.
And tonight he was going to win everything.
So far, he’d had three lucky draws. He’d pulled bulls who were mean enough to score big points, but whose moves were right up Mack’s alley. In two words, he’d killed it. And not only had he had three of the best rides of his life all in a row, but two of the top contenders had ended up injured. Sucked for them—they were both good guys—but the win was solidly within Mack’s reach.
Anticipation pumped through his veins like a drug as he lowered himself onto Son of Sam for the last ride of the night. The beast was as black as sin and twice as ugly, with fat asymmetrical horns that curved haphazardly away from his bulbous head and a long, rangy tail that looked like something you’d pull out of a clogged drain. He moved restlessly in the chute, his flanks fairly vibrating with tension. But Mack grinned and patted the animal’s muscled back.
Bring it, Sonny.
SOS was famous for his unpredictability, which always made for an interesting ride. It also made for high scores.
Mack shook his head, excitement pooling in his gut. Six figures. That was more money than most of his friends from high school made in three years. All those people who had called him crazy for setting his sights on the rodeo were about to eat their words.
Leaning forward, he pulled the rope across his hand in a tight suicide wrap. With that kind of money at stake, he planned to stay stuck to that bull if it killed him. SOS shifted anxiously beneath him. Mack chuckled. “Ready to dance, Son? How ’bout I lead?”
He took a deep breath, lifted his free arm, and shouted that he was ready. The moment hung suspended in time for a heartbeat or two, Mack’s body poised for action.
Three, two, one…swoosh!
The gate swung open and SOS exploded into the arena, bucking like a sonofabitch. The crowd roared in approval as he spun left, then immediately changed both tactics and direction, throwing Mack momentarily off-balance. Thank God for the suicide hold, which saved his bacon as he fought to get back in position.
Even as he whipped back and forth with SOS’s earthquake-worthy bucks, he managed to right his center of gravity. And then he found the pocket—that place where he and the bull fell into a sort of violent rhythm together. Apparently the creature wanted to dance after all. Mack grinned for all of a quarter of a second before all hell broke loose.
One moment he was in the zone, and the next he was riding blind. The rhythm that had been there before dissolved into instant chaos. What the hell? A millisecond too late, his brain processed that in the frenzy of bucking, the bull’s tail had whipped forward and slapped him across the face with the force of a steel pole. Instinct made his eyes slam shut. But that was the worst thing that he could have done.
Son of a—Before he could even finish the curse, he was airborne, tethered to the earth by nothing more than the thin strap of leather wrapped around his hand. Not good—not good at all. The force of his momentum, which snapped the leather taut, nearly yanked his arm off. He flopped backward, colliding with the side of the bull before ricocheting up again like a boulder bouncing off a trampoline.
Even as he was thrashed around, he worked to free his hand, frantically tugging at the cursed strap that only moments ago he’d praised. Who knew he was so good at wrapping? Each buck made him dizzier and more disoriented. His blood rushed in and out of his head like a tide on crack. Desperation clawed at his brain and he yanked and pulled for all he was worth. Then, just when he was sure he was a goner, the strap gave way and he went flying.
Freedom!
The strobe effect caused by somersaulting through the air in the well-lit stadium would have been really cool if he hadn’t known that this particular flight was about to end very, very badly. He tried to control the fall so he either landed on his feet or on all fours. That’s what he’d been trained to do for years. But this time?
This time he was screwed.
All his senses were jumbled as if he were being tossed in a dryer set on high. He needed to see but couldn’t clear his blurred vision no matter how desperately he blinked. His body position was all wrong—that was for damn sure. He was flying through the air like a rudderless chopper shot down in battle.
As the ground rushed to meet him, Mack could almost hear the bull laughing. SOS: 1; Mack: 0. Next time he’d keep his smack talk to himself.
His shoulder crashed to the dirt first, and he did his best to relax and roll with the motion, but damned if the presence of a 2,500-pound pissed-off bull didn’t make it hard. Pain splintered and zinged through his collarbone like bottled lightning. That’s gonna leave a mark. Next came the impact to his left hip, followed quickly by his booted feet slamming back down to the earth with all the force of a cannonball.
A roar filled his ears—the bull’s, his, or the crowd’s, he couldn’t tell—as bright lights burst across his vision. White-hot sensation bolted down his left side. As much as this hurt, only one thought echoed in his brain over and over: Get up! Get up! Get up!
But his body wouldn’t respond. The wind had been knocked out of him by the impact, and between his disorientation, his spasming lungs, and his screaming pain, nothing was working right.
Something close to panic set in. He wasn’t worried about the pain; it hurt like hell, but he’d had worse. What he was worried about was being a sitting duck when old SOS decided to finish what he’d started.
And that was the moment the bastard charged.
The bull turned on him, hellfire blazing in his black eyes. With impeccable aim, his front hooves came down like the business end of an anvil. The full weight of the beast landed dead center of Mack’s chest, squashing his lungs as if they were a pair of spent whoopee cushions. The pressure was indescribable; the pain was epic. His protective vest might as well have been made of tissue paper for all it seemed to help.
The arena dimmed and blurred. The only thing he could make out was the flash of frantic color as the bullfighters streaked around him, risking their lives to protect him from further injury until the medics moved in.
It couldn’t be over. He couldn’t be over.
By sheer force of will, he struggled to push back against the rising blackness, but it was like wading through scalding-hot tar. Hopeless. Before he could so much as move his damn pinkie, the world went dark and he fell backward into the yawning ocean of agony.
Chapter 2
“I’ve got fresh gossip to go with these fresh veggies,” Laurie Beth Simmons announced, wiggling her eyebrows.
Ashley Montoya grinned at her friend’s declaration. No one knew more about the goings-on in Sunnybell than Laurie Beth. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Ashley said wryly, setting down the sweet potatoes she’d been inspecting.
Laurie Beth laughed and set a freshly manicured hand on her hip. “Well, what good would I be if I didn’t come bearing juicy news? Nobody would recognize me.”
“Can’t argue with that. Come on, let’s get out of this crowd so we can chat.”
It was opening day for the Sunnybell farmers’ market and the place was packed. Ashley and Laurie Beth ducked down a side lane that was much quieter. Pausing beside a table of jarred salsas, Ashley said, “So, what’s the latest? I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
“I know! With Madeline’s bookstore launching next we. . .
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