|
|
|
Harlequin American
ISBN: 978-0373750542
January 2005
Read It!
Buy!
|
Daddy By Choice
"An extremely well-written book that kept me guessing right to
its most satisfying end."
--
www.cataromance.com
"Well-rounded characters make this a compelling read!"
--
Romantic Times
"A moving story of a lonely cowboy."
--
Writers Unlimited
|
5-Hearts!
"Marin Thomas' second Harlequin American is a big-hearted winner! This beautifully
written novel is all about love and self-worth and finding both of those where you
least expect it. The two main characters are superbly written, with a great deal
of inner conflict that fuels the story and gives it a rich, emotional quality
guaranteed to tug at the reader's heartstrings.
--Cindy Mealer,
www.loveromances.com
4.5 Roses!
"Another winner by Marin Thomas! Her next novel in the Fatherhood series,
Daddy By Choice, is a heart tugger! JD is a modern version of the old western outlaw, raw, sexy, and tough on the
outside, but he's also a giving and caring man on the inside(you girls will love him!)
Josephine is dynamite in a corporate suit. Together they are one heckuva sizzling
couple!"
--Bonnie,
www.aromancereview.com
"I was immersed in Daddy By Choice from beginning to end! JD and Josephine have layers,
histories, depth, and their share of flaws. Marin Thomas turns up the heat with each
memorable confrontation between JD and Josephine!"
--Alane Coppinger,
www.romancejunkies.com
Chapter One
JD wasn't sure if it was the bright sunlight bouncing off the petite blonde or off the
sparkling silver rental car that blinded him as he swung his black Ford truck into a
parking space outside Lovie's café. Whichever, both the lady and the car looked out of
place among the dusty, battered ranch vehicles lined up and down Main Street in Brandt's
Corner.
Because of the oppressive West Texas heat wave, he shifted into Park and left the motor
running to keep the air conditioner on. Without it, the temperature inside his truck
would spike to a hundred degrees in sixty seconds flat, and he was in no hurry to get out.
He had some lookin' to do first.
A suit in the middle of July? He shook his head at the blonde's outfit. Pinstripe,
no less. She wore her honey-colored hair in a fancy twist at the back of her neck,
revealing a clean profile. Evidently, she got her haughty air from the high cheekbones.
The slight bump in the middle of her narrow nose created an interesting contrast with
the too-delectable-for-kissing pink mouth. Sunglasses concealed her eyes, but he
imagined them a cool hazel or gray. His attention shifted south. Petite, yes, but
by no means boyish. The suit showed off her ample attributes to perfection.
Wondering if his mirrored sunglasses distorted the mouth-watering curves, he slid
the rims down and peered over his nose.
Nope. The lady was a looker.
A couple of local ranch hands strolled by, tipping their hats in greeting. Instead
of the customary smile or nod, she lifted her chin and tapped the toe of one expensive
leather pump against the pavement.
Uppity little thing.
All of her, from her wardrobe to her demeanor, boasted privileged life. Privileged
meant money. Money meant trouble.
His gut twisted. Since yesterday's phone call from this woman, his insides had festered
as if he'd swallowed a handful of rusty fence nails.
Fear.
Fear of the unknown--the worst kind. He'd rather sit on the back of a rank rodeo bull
than go head to head with her. Too bad he didn't have that option.
He shut off the ignition, left the truck and headed toward the enemy. His right boot
slid across a patch of gravel, and she turned at the scratchy sound. He stopped a few
feet away. Up close, he noticed several streaks of burnished gold running through her
hair. He'd never seen so many shades of blond on one head.
Showing no surprise at his appearance, none of the nervousness choking his airways, she
straightened her shoulders and tugged the bottom of the suit jacket. The stuffy outfit
shouted attitude a mile away. Fine with him. Ms. Corporation would discover soon enough
he had his own share of attitude and then some.
She removed her sunglasses and the air whooshed from his lungs. Blue. Brilliant blue.
Eyes the exact color as. . . He pushed the thought aside and focused on the light brown
eyebrows scrunching to create an intriguing wrinkle across the bridge of her nose.
"Usually when someone hangs up on you, it's a hint they're not interested in anything
you have to say. What part of my hangin'-up business didn't you understand, lady?"
Perching her fists on her hips, she glared. "Isn't hanging up on a person a little
immature for someone your age?"
The purr of her husky voice gut-kicked him. Exactly one hour after he'd slammed the
receiver down, cutting this woman off in mid-sentence, she'd called again. The second
time, she'd left a message on the answering machine, stating her intention to meet with
him and supplying every damn detail of her travel itinerary.
Like he'd send out a search party if her plane went down?
He'd listened to the information on the recorder once before deleting the message but
hadn't remembered her voice sounding as intimate as lovers tangling on silk sheets.
He took off his sunglasses, crossed his arms over his chest and stared her straight in
the eye. "I wasn't interested in anything you had to say yesterday and I'm not interested
today. So, you can put your shapely little fanny in that fancy rental and head back to
Chicago." He hoped she'd sputter and stomp away at his rudeness. Fat chance.
Flashing a smug smile, she insisted, "Oh, I believe you'll be more than interested in what
I have to say." She slipped a white envelope from her purse, stepped forward and shoved
her five-feet-nothing right in his face. "I'm not leaving until we discuss this." She
flicked the paper under his nose.
When the corner of the envelope poked his left nostril, he clenched his jaw to keep from
flinching. The afternoon sun was hot enough to burn a hole through his shirt, but if the
lady wanted a standoff, then by God, he'd give her one. He smirked and waited for her to
melt into a puddle of frustration. He didn't have long to wait.
A soft huff escaped her mouth and she lowered the envelope. He'd won the first round.
Or so he figured....
|
|
|