want me to do what?" Luke Galloway demanded, while focusing hard on his friend
Sam. "Have you totally lost your
mind? I'm not going to tell your
daughter you're dying!"
"It's the only way she'll come." Sam Paris held Luke's gaze and refused to
back down. He ran a hand over his red
and silver whiskers, took a long drink of bourbon, then set the empty glass
down on the kitchen table. "You owe
Luke hated it when Sam tried to make him
feel guilty, which the old coot did often enough. Of course, Luke owed Sam. For a lot of things. But the implication still rankled him.
Releasing his breath in a huff, he said, "Fine.
I'll do it. But what are you
going to do when she finds out you lied to her?
Do you actually think she's going to stick around then?"
Sam grinned, and his green eyes twinkled
with satisfaction. "We'll worry about
that when the time comes. All I want
right now is for you to go get her and bring her back to the farm. This is where she belongs. Right here, with me. I'm the only family she has left now."
Reaching into the breast pocket of his
plaid flannel shirt, Sam pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here's the last address I had for her, and
the name of that race car driver she's been seeing, in case you run into a
problem finding her."
Luke scowled. He knew all about Burke Marcell and his
reputation with women. The man had a new
babe attached to his arm every few months or so, according to those rags Sam
read. After shaking his head, Luke
stared at the slip of paper. It would be
a miracle if Sam's daughter was still in Palm Springs. And if she weren't, she could be anywhere;
the Greek Isles, Rome, Switzerland, Rio.
Hell, she'd lived all over the world.
What made Sam think she'd want to give up her high society life and come
live on a small, struggling horse farm in Kentucky? Refolding the scrap of paper, Luke tucked it
in his shirt pocket. "I'll go sometime
"Like hell," Sam said, cutting Luke
off. "You need to go tomorrow. I already made a plane reservation for you."
"But your surgery's tomorrow."
Sam waved a hand in the air. "I'm having my heel spurs removed. You think I can't handle that without you
hanging around the hospital?"
"The way you've been swearing, moaning and
carrying on lately, I wonder." Luke
reached across the table, grabbed the bottle of bourbon and poured himself a
"Pour me another one, too," Sam said,
nudging his empty glass forward.
Luke tossed his drink back. "Nothing doing. You're not allowed to eat after nine, or
drink anything after midnight.
Remember?" He made a show of
looking at his watch. It was already a
quarter past twelve.
"Who died and made you my mother?"
Grabbing the bottle from Sam's reach, Luke
laughed as he scraped his chair on the hardwood floor and stood. "And you'd better get to bed. You don't want to be cranky for those pretty
little nurses in the morning."
Sam mumbled something under his breath,
and Luke had a pretty good idea what he'd said.
Sam was right. Luke was a
bastard. And Sam's daughter Rusty was
about to find that out, too.
DEBBY CONRAD writes sexy romance with a dash of humor and a slice of suspense. She's been spinning tales since junior high school when she would force her younger sister and a few close friends to listen to her fantasies and dreams. Back then she had no idea her silly tales would end up in print, or that her later dream of becoming a novelist would come true.
Her latest sexy/humor/suspense series is CHANCE AT LOVE - 4 stories, one for each of the sexy Bolinger men.
Debby lives with her husband in northwestern Pennsylvania, has two grown daughters, four grandchildren, a Chihuahua and a miniature Dachshund who does not like being ignored while she writes.You can read more about Debby and her books on her website at DebbyConrad.com