The Trouble with Josh. Marilyn Pappano
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Hell, Josh thought, it was wrong to feel—he didn’t even know what—about Candace.
Unsettled was as good a word as any, he decided as he sat in his truck, engine idling, pondering which way to turn.
He wasn’t used to a beautiful woman being off-limits for any reason other than marriage. And Candace Thompson was definitely beautiful. If not for her history with his family, he would already have done things with her that would make a grown man blush.
Instead, he wasn’t supposed to see her, talk to her…even think about wanting her.
He damn sure wasn’t supposed to help her change a flat tire, then go home with her, bandage her scrapes and touch her in a way that brought those soft, erotic whimpers from her, as he had tonight.
Clutching the steering wheel tightly, he turned away from Candace, toward Tulsa. A night on the town, too much to drink—and, if he did it right, come tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t remember a damn thing about tonight.
Right?
The Trouble with Josh
Marilyn Pappano
MARILYN PAPPANO
brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then she’s sold more than forty books to various publishers and even a film production company.
She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her country home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she spends her free time mowing the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK, 74067-0643.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Chapter One
Visit all fifty states:
Mississippi
Arkansas
Oklahoma
In the months since she’d almost died, Candace Thompson had made a list of all the things she wanted to do while she still had a chance. It filled six pages on a dog-eared legal pad and wasn’t in any particular order, except in her mind. She had crossed off plenty of them—things like Spend a week on the beach and Apologize to Craig, whom she’d dumped her senior year in high school, for the manner in which she’d done it.
There were still plenty to be crossed off—another thirty or forty years’ worth, by her reckoning—but the time had come to take care of the number-one priority on the list: Make amends with Natalie.
Nothing like setting her goals too high. It would be easier, she suspected, to sprout wings and fly to the moon, but she had to try. She’d made promises—to God, to the doctors, to herself. She had to do her best to keep them.
It had taken some effort, but she’d finally located her former best friend, living on a ranch outside Hickory Bluff, Oklahoma. She’d had the address and phone number for five months now and had done nothing with them. Forgiveness of this magnitude wasn’t something that could be asked for over the phone, and doing it by mail struck her as cowardly—too easy, too impersonal.
Hey, no one had said all the things on the list would be pleasant or fun. Some were supposed to hurt, to require guts and courage and looking people in the eye.
This was definitely one of those.
She’d arrived in Hickory Bluff nearly twenty-four hours earlier, after taking the scenic route from Atlanta, and had spent the time getting settled. In planning the trip, she’d discovered there wasn’t a motel in town, but there was an RV park at a lake two miles north. Since she’d recently come into possession of a fairly comfortable motor home, she’d reserved a space, much to the amusement of the campground owner—obviously October wasn’t a busy period for them. Once she’d settled in at the park, she sweet-talked a friendly guy named Rick at the nearest car rental agency into delivering a car to her.
And she’d found out exactly where this ranch of Natalie’s was. She was all set.
Except that she’d been sitting at this intersection of two dirt roads for more than ten minutes and couldn’t bring herself to go on.
Natalie wasn’t going to be happy to see her, and Candace couldn’t blame her. If the situation were reversed, she would wish Natalie off the face of the earth. It would be a cold day in hell before she would give even scant consideration to forgiving her. Since Natalie was sure to feel the same way, and Candace had come all the way here, maybe she could give herself credit for trying, scratch it off her list and go on to the next goal.
But that would be cheating. No surprise there. She’d been a cheat and a user and a manipulator all her life. No one who truly knew her expected honesty from her.
It was a pathetic excuse for a human being who couldn’t be honest with herself.
Drawing a deep breath, she checked the crossroad in both directions, even though not one car had passed in the minutes she’d been sitting there. It took a major effort to press the accelerator down, another major effort to not turn right or left to avoid the destination straight ahead.
She kept her speed down—because she didn’t want gravel flying up to damage the rental car, and because Rick the friendly rental agent had gone to some trouble to get her a convertible and she didn’t want to show up at Natalie’s all dusty. Not because she was trying to delay her arrival at the ranch.
The road ran straight and true with little to see on either side—open grassland and woods, an occasional cluster of buildings. She couldn’t imagine Natalie voluntarily settling down someplace like this…but a lot of her choices had been taken away from her. Her career, her reputation, her relationship with her father—none of it had survived Candace.
Up ahead something appeared in the road. She squinted behind her sunglasses to bring it into focus. Large, shaggy, brown and white—cows. A whole herd of them. Just sort of milling around on the road.
She slowed to a snail’s pace, then stopped about ten feet from the nearest bovine. Most of them appeared taller than her low-slung little sports car, and they seemed to have zero interest in her. The ones that were munching grass at the sides of the road continued to munch, and the ones that were just standing around blocking her way continued to stand and block.
She was reaching to tap the horn when a voice from someplace much too close behind her said, “I wouldn’t advise honking the horn. They tend to associate that with feed and come running.”
As she twisted in the seat to see who’d spoken, a cowboy reined in his very large horse next to the driver’s door. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and scruffy boots, along with a cowboy hat that shaded his face.