Chapter One
She fell in and out of sleep, barely registering the muffled sound of Jerry Springer on TV and the beeping of her phone from the nightstand. It was a struggle to force her eyes open, and when she finally managed, she blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the broken slats of the blind.
Lifting herself to her elbow, a sharp pain sliced through her forehead and settled into her temples. The battery acid taste in her mouth made her so thirsty she could drink pond water, and the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the nightstand was a reminder of why she felt like a horse had trampled on her.
Last night came back in a blur.
The cowboy had either intentionally or accidentally left his keys on the bar, and when she caught up to him in the parking lot, he invited her back to his room for a drink. After a classy amount of time to make him believe she debated the offer, she finally agreed. He bought a bottle of whiskey at Mav’s, and together, they strolled over to Sagebrush Pine Motel.
Now, here she was. She had a more significant issue than a hangover.
She was in Isaac’s room and not alone.
A large, callused hand had a possessive grip on her sore, bare bottom where she guessed he’d left his handprint. They found they liked things a little rough. She had her boundaries, but a little spanking never hurt anyone.
He inhaled deeply and she stilled, every muscle in her body locking tight as she waited for any sign that he was awake.
In the reflection of the wall mirror hanging above the TV, she saw the man stretched out beside her, the sheet barely covering his waist. He was ungodly tall with broad, linebacker shoulders and eyes that changed colors with his mood. His smile could whip a bull into behaving or convince a cowgirl to return to his room and spend the night.
Isaac. Was that even his real name?
And did it matter in the grand scheme of things?
No, not really.
They probably wouldn't see each other again unless she woke him while making her escape.
She slowly and carefully shifted just enough to get a good look at the hand. His rancher hands were callused and unbelievably large. Across his chest lay an array of scars of various sizes. Some were deep and jagged, while others were superficial, but all stood out starkly against his tanned skin. The ink from the fighter's swords stained one shoulder.
A dryer looked like it had exploded in the small room. There was a trail of clothing and open condom wrappers littering the floor. At least they’d been responsible.
She shifted, and he let out a deep moan of resistance.
Getting away undetected might be more complicated than she first thought.
His grip tightened on her hip. The same hand that molded and shaped her body last night. Her inner thighs trembled, demanding another round, but logic kicked in.
“Get the bastard!” he muttered.
She stilled.
His eyes were racing under his eyelids. “Take the shot!”
He was dreaming, or maybe he was having a nightmare.
His forehead glistened with beads of sweat. He mumbled more inaudible words. She caught terrorist bullshit .
Hope knew soldiers who’d returned from war experiencing nightmares.
Her best friend had recently gone through a difficult time. When Courtney’s husband came home after his deployment, he was a changed man. The sweet, kind husband and father she once knew had become nearly unrecognizable. His drinking and anger had become significant issues in their marriage. Although Courtney still loved him, she decided to file for divorce, primarily for the sake of their six-year-old daughter, Marah.
The night Dex received the paperwork, he showed up at Courtney’s while Hope was visiting. He pounded on the door, demanding that he be allowed to come inside. He shattered a window and woke a sleeping and scared Marah.
Sheriff Dussan, Dex’s step-brother, had shown up after receiving a call from a concerned neighbor. The sheriff had convinced Courtney not to press charges, but Dex was warned never to return to the property. However, after it happened again, Sheriff Dussan had no choice but to arrest Dex for public intoxication and criminal mischief. The judge ordered him to check himself into rehab and anger management classes. Until he completed everything the court ordered, he could only see Marah with supervised visitation.
Hope pushed that terrible event out of her thoughts and reached for her phone. Daddy had sent her a text message. He needed to see her ASAP.
As if she were handling a dirty tissue, she grabbed hold of the tip of her bed partner’s middle finger and, as slowly as she could, she lifted his hand off her body to lay it on his chest. He let out a muffled groan of protest, but he stayed asleep.
Until she moved and the overused springs of the bed squeaked .
This caused a series of events.
Isaac came to his knees, looking down at her with wide eyes and twisted lips. Sweat now poured down his temples. He clutched his fingers around her wrist and waist, planting her against the bed. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
She let out a tiny gasp in surprise.
The pillow slipped out from under her head, pushing the contents on top of the nightstand to the floor. The lamp crashed and broke, jarring him fully awake. He blinked, gaining his bearings. He saw his hand clamped around her wrist and quickly released his hold.