Christyne Butler - The Cowboy's Second Chance

Landon’s lips creased into a smirk. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips traced the ridge of her knuckles. “I wanted to get into the good graces of my lady boss.”

A blaze ignited in her stomach. Much like the one he’d created in the dark interior of his truck when he’d slanted his mouth over hers in a searing kiss.

“Landon, I don’t…”

A storm of fury and lust flared in his eyes. Her heart seized in her chest. Before it jumped back to life again, the emotion in those dark depths vanished.

He lifted his mouth from her hand. “Liar.”

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Dear Reader,

I’m a big believer in “do-overs”—where would we be without second chances? From sports to elections to falling in love, everyone deserves another try at getting it right and winning their heart’s desire.

Landon Cartwright and Maggie Stevens are two people who are in desperate need of a second chance, even if they can’t see it. Both of them need to let go of the past and realize love can be a part of their lives again, but boy, can they be stubborn about it! As someone who also found it difficult to take another chance on love (but the gamble paid off!), I just knew these two were perfect for each other. While Maggie is in a better place to take that sometimes frightening leap into the unknown, poor Landon really needs a few nudges from Maggie and her entire family to realize that a second chance is just what a certain cowboy needs.

I hope you enjoy Landon and Maggie’s story!

Christyne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

fell in love with romance novels while serving in the United States Navy and started writing her own stories six years ago. She considers selling to Silhouette Special Edition a dream come true and enjoys writing contemporary romances full of life, love, a hint of laughter and perhaps a dash of danger, too. And there has to be a happily-ever-after or she’s just not satisfied.

She lives with her family in central Massachusetts and loves to hear from her readers at chris@christynebutler.com. Visit her Web site at www.christynebutler.com.

Dedicated to my own Nana B…Margaret Elizabeth Blakeslee,

and my aunt, Carol Ann Baranowski,

both of whom continue to live on in my heart.

And to my mother, Sandra Jean Toms,

thank you for your love and strength!

Extra special thanks to Charles and Gail for your belief in me,

“The Goddesses” at WriteRomance—Alison, Christina,

Jen, Sandi and Tina, NHRWA and everyone at the

eHarlequin boards for all your support!

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

“You no-good, rotten thief!” Maggie Stevens stomped across the trampled grass of the fairgrounds and tried not to spill the frothy beer from the plastic cups she held in her hands. “You’re stealing my man!”

Kyle Greeley shot her a sardonic grin and continued to peel bills from the large roll of money. By the time Maggie reached him he’d handed over at least a hundred dollars to the cowboy standing next to him—her cowboy.

“Not man, babe,” Kyle said. “Men.”

“What do you mean, ‘men’?”

She shot a look at Spence Wilson, one of the hired hands who’d worked for her for the last few months. Then she saw Charlie Bain step from the shadows, his gaze locked on his boots.

She should’ve known.

While spending a beautiful summer day enjoying Destiny, Wyoming’s, Fourth of July Celebration with her daughter and grandmother, she’d seen neither hide nor hair of her cowboys.

Until now.

“It’s nothin’ personal, Miz Stevens,” Spence said. “We enjoy workin’ at the Crescent Moon, but Mr. Greeley’s pay is too good to pass up.”

Maggie fumed. The dangling carrot of more pay had charmed away ranch hands—at least her young and strong ones—once again. They took the bait like a pair of hungry rabbits.

You did, too, at one time.

Okay, so a few candlelight dinners wasn’t cold, hard cash, but she’d been enamored all the same by Kyle’s smooth-talking ways. Then she’d found out what a scumbag he really was.

Kyle leaned into her. “You know, Maggie, you could be quite comfortable if you’d accept my offer for your land. Buy yourself a place in town, spend more time with your daughter, get yourself a man…”

She glanced at the beer, trying to control her anger and the urge to dump the liquid over his head. She gritted her teeth. “I’ve told you before, my land isn’t for sale.”

Movement caught her eye, and she saw her former employees scurry into the shadows of the darkened barns and empty animal corrals.

Cowards.

She looked back at Kyle. “Why stop with those two? Why not wipe me out completely and go after Willie and Hank, too?”

“Those old coots should’ve been put out to pasture years ago.” He stepped closer, wrapping a finger around a strand of hair that had worked loose from her ponytail. “Admit it, you can’t handle all that land, cattle and horses.”

Maggie jerked her chin, freeing his hold. “Go to hell, Kyle.”

She headed for the bright lights of the raised wooden platform beyond a cluster of cottonwoods. He fell into step beside her.

“I remember a time when you didn’t want me to stay away.”

She shook her head, barely able to tolerate that she’d once been taken in by his baby-blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones and charming lies. “Three months,” she said. “Three months of romancing me to get my land.”

He smirked. “Sometimes a man’s got to make sacrifices. I never could figure what Alan saw in you. Then I realized he’d stuck around to get his hands on your ranch.”

She spun to him, furious. “Well, he didn’t. And you can forget about getting your hands on it, too.”

They’d reached the trees. Kyle leaned in and grabbed her arms. Whiskey laced his breath. She mentally kicked herself for not noticing sooner. Sober, Kyle was annoying, but after a few drinks, he could get downright mean.

“I can put my hands any damn place I please,” he said.

A flash of a buried memory caused Maggie’s stomach to lurch. Beer splashed over the edges of the cups and dripped over her fingers. “You bastard,” she choked. “Take your hands off me.”

“Not until I’m good and ready.”

A flicker of panic coursed through her, but anger snuffed it out. “Get ready now or you’re going to find yourself with a face full of Budweiser.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

With an angry flick of her wrist, she launched the contents of the cups at him. He jumped back, releasing her with a shove. “Goddammit!”