Contents

       Title Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Mary Belle Prudhomme let her forehead hit the steering wheel before cracking open an eye. Yep. Smoke was pouring from beneath the blue hood of her old truck.

      Craptastic.

      Five miles from home, and her stupid cell phone as dead as the grass bordering the seldom-used back road. And to make matters worse, she’d left the car charger for her phone in Bear Rodrigue’s truck over a month ago. Now she wished she’d spent thirty bucks on a new one instead of that pair of boots she’d decided she deserved for putting up with Bear’s crap for years. They were cute rain boots patterned with little duckies. But, of course, cute boots did not fix smoking engines.

      “Thanks a lot, Beast,” she muttered to her car, climbing from the cab and giving the front tire a half-hearted kick. “You just had to die miles away from civilization.”

      She popped the hood and fanned the smoke that poured out.

      As if on cue, a sleek convertible pulled up beside her.

      Wariness prickled at the nape of her neck, but then she caught sight of the driver—broad shoulders, dark hair, tan skin and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses.

      A knight in a white Beamer.

      Sweet.

      “Need some help?” the knight called, his reliable car taunting her dented beast of a truck.

      “Uh, maybe,” she said, knowing very well she did, but not wanting to admit it in case the knight was really a deranged mental-hospital escapee. But would a mental-hospital escapee drive a BMW and look like an ad for Yachting World?

      Her knight, aka mental-hospital escapee, maneuvered his car to the shoulder, hopped out and headed toward her.

      Hmmm…khakis, polo shirt and Top-Siders.

      Maybe he was a banker on vacation…

      In Evangeline parish? Not a hope.

      “Let me see what I can do.” He stopped beside her and peered at the hissing metal parts beneath her hood, giving her a whiff of his cologne. The smell reminded her of champagne and other rich people stuff.

      Then he extended a hand toward some part of the engine and she noticed how nice his forearms were—brown and strong-looking—and that his hands were drool-worthy. If, you know, a girl were into those kinds of things.

      “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it’s your radiator,” he said, taking off his sunglasses.

      “The radiator?” she repeated stupidly as she turned and met his gaze.

      And that’s when she recognized him.

      Oh, no. Way worse than an escaped mental patient. In fact she’d have thrown a party with balloons and confetti if it had been a deranged madman with a hook for a hand rather than him.

      Yep, bring on a knife-wielding psycho. Or a flesh-eating zombie.

      Anyone except Tripp Long, the nerd who’d loved her. Until she’d humiliated him in front of the entire senior class of Bonnet Creek High School twelve years ago.

       Chapter Two

      Howard Donald Long III, aka Tripp, narrowed his eyes when he realized who stood beside him. He should have recognized that tight round butt. After all, it belonged to the girl who still popped up in his dreams on a regular basis.

      “Mary B.”

      “What’re you doing out here…and driving that?” She pointed at his new car.

      Tripp knew he should have resisted the urge to prove something to the people of Bonnet Creek by buying the BMW, but he had to admit it drove like a dream. “What’s wrong with my car?”

      She studied it in the fading sunlight. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

      “I’m not seeking anyone’s approval.” The anymore was implied.

      Mary Belle closed her mouth, stuck her hands in the back pockets of her cutoffs—the motion doing amazing things for her breasts—and looked guilty.

      He shifted his gaze away from the Bonnet Creek Owls T-shirt that fit her like a second skin. He didn’t relish standing knee deep on pitted blacktop with a hard-on over a woman he’d spent nearly five years hating.

      Okay, not hating. Just resenting.

      Besides, he’d outgrown his crush on Mary Belle. Sort of. But he couldn’t stop the pleasure he took watching her squirm. She’d treated him no better than the mud on the bottom of her boot. She deserved the discomfort.

      “You look different. More like your daddy.” She dug the rim of her flip-flop into the gravel.

      He smiled the smile he reserved for pretty women and stubborn patients. “Did you think I’d have acne, knock knees and oily hair forever? Everyone grows up, Mary B.”

      She raked him up and down with a bold gaze. “Sure, but you turned out pretty hot.”

      And with those words, Tripp Long felt a little piece of redemption