Christyne Butler - The Maverick's Summer Love

“It’s been a while since…well, I’ve done this.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” Dean asked.

She closed her eyes, took a breath and then tipped her head back to look straight at him. “Six years.”

Dean’s heart stopped for a moment, before it went into overdrive. To be the first man she’d slept with after such a long time…

“Shelby, maybe we should think about this—”

Her fingers halted his moving lips. “I have been thinking about this, in ways I never allowed myself before I met you. Please tell me I’m not the only one.”

He nodded, his throat too constricted to allow him to speak. How many times had he woken up, reaching across his empty bed, wanting and wishing she was there?

“No thinking about the past or the future, okay?” Her voice was soft. “Not tonight. Tonight is about right here, right now…you and me. That’s enough.”

“Is it? Is what’s about to happen here enough for you?”

“It’s everything.”

CHRISTYNE BUTLERfell 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 Mills & Boon ®Cherish ™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. or visit her website, www.christynebutler.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my husband, Len, whom I met nineteen years ago this month… Who knew a rebound could have so much bound!

“Well, aren’t you the picture of domestic bliss.”

Dean Pritchett didn’t look up from his e-reader. Even though his most recent download was an old favorite he’d already read numerous times, there was no need. He had a feeling his brother wasn’t done yet.

“Hmm, you seem to be enjoying that spin cycle a bit too much,” Nick continued, his voice laced with typical sarcastic humor. “I think you’ve been cooped up in this trailer too long, little brother.”

Shifting his weight as the decades-old washing machine beneath him finally switched into high speed, Dean stayed put despite his brother’s teasing. He’d learned the first weekend of staying in this government-sponsored mobile home that perching something heavy, like himself, on top was the only way to keep the appliance from dancing across the tiny laundry room’s floor during the last cycle.

“You’re just jealous because I got here first.”

“I’d rather do my ‘spinning’ the old-fashioned way.” Nick propped one shoulder against the open doorway. “And it’s about time you did, too.”

He finally looked up. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

“Wrong answer, bud. That might’ve worked when Dad and Cade were still here, but now I need a new wingman.”

Dean stared at his brother. He was the shortest of all the Pritchett kids, but built like a football player. All muscle. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as their oldest brother and baby sister, unlike Dean who had inherited their mother’s deep green color.

Nick also had the charms that made sure he was rarely at a loss for company.

“You haven’t needed a wingman since you were fourteen,” Dean said, “and came home with the phone numbers of three cheerleaders in your pocket. All seniors.”

Nick returned his smile. “Yeah, those were the days. But if you think I’m going to let you sit here and stare at that gadget all night—” he snatched the tablet from Dean’s hand “—you’re wrong.”

“Hey!”

“At least tell me you’re reading something hot like the latest issue of Biker Babes Gone Wild—” He peered at the screen, then guffawed. “Wait, The Collected Works of Jane Austen? That’s chick stuff.”

“Jane Austen is a literary giant,” Dean shot back. “Her work is classic and timeless and she was Mom’s favorite author. She gave me my first book.”

“Okay, professor. At least it’s not Shake-N-Stir.”

The washing machine ended its run. Dean hopped down and reclaimed his e-reader, flipping the cover closed to put it to sleep. “That’s Shakespeare, you doof.”

“Whatever.” Nick pushed away from the door. “Come on, it’s time to put the books away and suck down a few cold ones. And change that shirt.”

Dean looked down at his gray T-shirt with the big block letters stating REAL MEN READ. “Abby gave this to me at Christmas. And it’s the last clean shirt I have.”

Nick eyed the pile of freshly folded laundry before yanking a snap-front Western-style shirt still warm from the dryer and tossed it at him. “Here, put this on. Girls in Rust Creek Falls love cowboys.”

Dean snorted. The Pritchett family had a working ranch back home in Thunder Canyon, about three hundred miles south of here, so technically they could be called cowboys. Lord knew he and his siblings had all worked the land alongside their father from the moment they could walk. And yes, he often wore a battered Stetson while he’d worked here in town to keep the sun out of his eyes.

But it was the family business, Pritchett & Sons Fine Woodworking, known for producing beautiful handcrafted furniture, where both he and his brothers made their living.

And what had brought them to this small ranching community last month.

Rust Creek Falls had been hit hard over the Fourth of July holiday by what was now called the Great Montana Flood. Dean had been one of the first to answer the call for volunteers to help rebuild the town, and soon his entire family joined in, setting up shop in the cluster of trailers on the west end of town.

Thankfully, most of the businesses in Rust Creek Falls were up and running again, except for the elementary school that suffered a lot of damage. Many private homes and ranches were still in need of work, especially those located south of the creek, which had become a raging river breaking through its levees during the storm.

Dean and his family had worked long days those first couple of weeks, but now their father and oldest brother had gone home to take care of the ranch and family business while Dean and Nick had chosen to stick around for the duration.

And maybe, for Dean, even longer.

“Come on, time’s a wastin’.” Nick nudged him out of the way and opened the lid of the washer. “I’ll take care of loading your dryer. You get pretty. We both know you’re going to take longer.”

Dean cuffed his brother on the back of the head before turning toward the tiny bathroom to wash up and change. It wasn’t as if he’d never been to the one bar in town. He’d gone a couple of times, but he tended to prefer books to most people he met.