THE DALTON BOYS ARE RIDING HARD…
The notorious Dalton Gang once ran wild through their home town of Crow Hill, Texas. Now they own the run-down Dalton Ranch—and they work hard to keep it up. But when the right women come along, they still know how to play hard too…
Casper Jayne turned his back on Crow Hill nearly 20 years ago for a career in the professional bull riding circuit. Now he’s back—and Faith Mitchell is having a tough time thinking about anything else. She’s had a crush on him since high school, when he was part of her brother’s gang—and off limits. Since then, Faith has learned not to take risks. And Casper’s reckless, hard-living ways are causing her to think twice about trying to make the fantasies she has for this powerfully physical man come true.
Casper said he’d wait for a sign—but Faith is determined not to give him the satisfaction. Then an unexpected encounter finally penetrates her reserve, and the two of them ignite an intense passion. Faith finds herself holding on for a wild ride that breaks all the rules. But when the hot affair burns out of control, Faith will have to learn to take the reins…
“Alison Kent can write relationships and honest emotion like no other author. She delves right in to the painful realities that sometimes arise between family and friends. This book has my highest recommendation, especially if you’re a reader who appreciates characters who are a little broken, but fiercely loyal, and a story that will catch you right in the chest.” — Laurie D., Amazon reviewer
His back against the side of his truck, Casper Jayne braced for the bad news his gut said was coming. The same gut that had kept him in his bedroom when his old man had stumbled wasted through the door. That had sent him to the ground from his third story window when his old lady had waved guns and threats. That had told him nearly two decades ago to get the hell out of that house if he wanted to live.
The very house he was now standing in front of.
The one-page, handwritten letter folded to fit his back pocket felt bulky and heavy and made it hard to get comfortable as he watched the inspector circle the house he’d lived in before leaving Crow Hill at eighteen. The house was now his, as useless as tits on a boar hog, and would be hell to dump or to keep.
It had been a pit as far back as he remembered. His old lady hadn’t done a damn thing to make it livable the years they’d called the rambling monstrosity home, or even later, when his life was rodeo, his old man in the wind, and she’d been the only one keeping the fires burning.
Gutting the interior and starting from scratch might be his only option, but first he needed to know if the structure itself was sound. Check that. He needed to know what it was going to cost him to make it so. Especially since he was cash poor and getting his hands on the money he did have meant barreling his way through the woman who held his purse strings.
A woman tighter than a ten day drunk.
He suspected he’d have an easier time getting her to give up what she hid beneath the suits she wore than the funds he needed. And he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t rather have the first than the second. But since both options hung off the edge of possibility’s realm, what he wanted didn’t matter a lick.
He took off his hat, ran a hand across the bristled buzz of his hair, resettled the beat-to-hell straw Resistol and pulled the brim low. But he didn’t push away from his truck. He stayed where he was, crossing his arms as the man with the electronic gadget in his hand and acorns popping beneath his feet kicked at the sidewalk, the cement buckled by the roots of the yard’s hundred year old live oaks.
The inspector pecked out another note on the screen before walking through the thigh-high gate missing two pickets and hinged at a cockeyed angle. He stopped, swung it back and forth, then screwed his mouth to the side before looking at Casper from behind sunglasses that hid his eyes but not his expression. They both knew there was more wrong with this house than was right, but Casper didn’t care what the other man was thinking.
He needed an official report to back up his request for the cash to do what was needed. Even shouldering the bulk of the labor himself, the supplies would set him back the cost of a herd of good horses. He doubted the house had been worth that much when he’d spent his nights staring at the holes in the ceiling and hoping the balls of newspaper he’d used to plug them would keep out the biggest of the spiders at least.
“Sure you don’t want me to take a look inside?” This was the third time the inspector had pushed to get through the doors. “Let you know what you’re looking at with your heating and cooling systems? Your plumbing fixtures? Your outlets?”
Casper shook his head. He wasn’t ready for that. Besides, there was no cooling system. Never had been, unless he counted opening the windows and praying for a breeze. The space heaters he and his mother had used had been no match for the lack of insulation or the gaps in the siding—and the two of them hadn’t done more than try to control the temperature in the four of the two dozen rooms they’d used.
Summers and winters. Both had been hell. “Just give me the external damage. What am I looking at?”