Contemporary Romance, 423 pages
Cover image provided by
RomanceNovelCovers.com, cover modes Jimmy Thomas & Jacqui, art by Erin Dameron-Hill
Blurb:
Sarah
Grace Mayhew, a Southern widow, avoids new love. When enigmatic Wyatt Harper
lifts her from a fountain, he gets under her wet skin. Yet how can she love the
man whose phantom enemy also targets her? And why should Wyatt
cherish a woman tied to his family’s worst nightmare? Only their hearts can
say…
Excerpt:
Wyatt
Harper spotted trouble as he
downshifted the Harley rumbling
beneath him. He cut across the parking lot of Gibbs
Plant Conservatory. Two men
were quickly closing in on a woman standing alone by her car. One yanked her
pink bag from her arm. She nearly lost her balance and cried, “Help! Help me,
please!”
Hearing her frantic call, Wyatt
winced, raised his right hand, and circled the air with his forefinger. In four
seconds he and his two buddies, Ace and Willie Dean,
surrounded the thieves and the pretty lady.
Surely, the fired up hogs would’ve deterred the assailants,
but they were too busy. As if on cue, Wyatt
and his friends dismounted. He removed his sunglasses and hung them on the
handle bar. He then turned and strode into the fray, demanding, “What’s going
on here, fellas?”
“None of yer damnation bizness,” growled the bigger of the
men, who tossed the purse to his partner in crime. Wyatt
swept his gaze over their victim. She was trim with long legs. A frown wrinkled
her forehead, and she pursed her full mouth in distress. She widened her
blue-green eyes. Shaking, she gazed into his.
Wyatt tightened his
jaw. It’d been a long time since a woman had visited his eyes. She did it so
sweetly it almost hurt. But he’d sworn off that kind of hurt last year when Celia had ditched him for a stevedore on the coast.
He blinked once and thrust himself back into action.
“Let’s go,” the partner grunted and stuffed the purse down his
gray t-shirt.
“I don’t think so,” Wyatt
stated and yanked a fistful of the punk’s stringy hair. With one push he
steered him into the receiving arms of Ace, who forced him down onto his knees.
Willie Dean pinned the man in place with a meaty
hand. “Give it up, you yaller dawg,” he said. The white lightning-scented
robber hastily obliged him with the pink purse.
Meanwhile, the lead snatcher shoved the lovely woman against
the fender. She seemed a delicate sort, fair of skin, with sun-streaked
strawberry-blond hair. Sudden fire erupted in her eyes. She flung out an
awkward swing at the crook with her fist as he jabbed her bare ankle with his
foot. Missing her aim, she crumpled to the ground by a black portfolio.
Wyatt grimaced as the
man reached down and grabbed the zebra-striped tote bag next to her.
“Drop it,” Wyatt
demanded, closing the distance and keeping a wary eye on him and the woman, who
leaned her back against a tire. Cowering, she pulled her knees up to her chest,
and squeezed her beautiful eyes shut.
The snatcher shrugged, dropped the tote bag and pulled out a
knife from a sheath on his waistband. “You want a taste of this? No? Then back
off, dude. I’m busy here.”
Wyatt spat, “So am
I.” He charged and delivered a serious kick to the robber’s ribs. The hoodlum
reeled, quickly straightened and held his knife steadfast. Lunging forward, he
swiped at Wyatt, almost nicking his
earlobe.
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