Margot Dalton - Even the Nights are Better

Vernon jumped a little, sending bubbles over the rim of the tub.

“I’m looking for the soap,” Carolyn said innocently.

Vernon chuckled. His spirits began to rise. Maybe everything would be all right after all. He’d make sure to get hold of Scott early in the morning and caution him not to reveal anything. Then later, when he felt Carolyn was ready to hear it, he’d…

He smiled, closed his eyes, leaned back and allowed the warm water to soothe him.

“You keep that up much longer, girl,” he muttered huskily, “and you’re going to find much more than the soap down there.”

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Margot Dalton for her contribution to the Crystal Creek series.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Sutton Press Inc. for its contribution to the concept for the Crystal Creek series.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Crystal Creek! In the heart of Texas Hill Country, the McKinneys have been ranching, living and loving for generations, but the future promises changes none of these good folks could ever imagine!

Crystal Creek itself is the product of many imaginations, but the stories began to take shape when some of your favorite authors— Barbara Kaye, Margot Dalton, Bethany Campbell, Cara West, Kathy Clark and Sharon Brondos—all got together with me just outside of Austin to explore the Hill Country, and to dream up the kinds of romances such a setting would provide. For several days, we roamed the countryside, where generous Texans opened their historic homes to us, and gave us insights into their lives. We ate barbecue, we visited an ostrich farm and we mapped out our plans to give you the linked stories you love, with a true Texas flavor and all the elements you’ve come to expect in your romance reading: compelling, contemporary characters caught in conflicts that reflect today’s dilemmas.

Margot Dalton takes us next door to the Double C in Even the Nights are Better, where Carolyn Townsend, J. T. McKinney’s sister-in-law and neighbor, certainly has her hands full. What with an unwelcome business venture opening right under her nose, a health crisis throwing all the McKinneys into a tizzy and a wounded puppy fighting for survival in her barn, romantic advances are the last thing on her mind. Being confronted with a lifelong ardor she hadn’t ever known existed is more than she can cope with right now!

And next month, you’ll want to attend the opening of the Hole in the Wall Dude Ranch with all of us. Everyone who’s anyone in Crystal Creek will be there. And owner Scott Harris’s wandering brother Jeff—who can give Cal McKinney a run for his money in the charm department—is bound to show up sooner or later!

C’mon down to Crystal Creek—home of sultry Texas drawls, smooth Texas charm and tall, sexy Texans!

Marsha Zinberg

Executive Editor

Crystal Creek

A Note from the Author

Even the Nights Are Better begins in the spring, and I soon realized that no matter how hard I tried, I just wasn’t going to be able to describe the true miracle of April in Texas Hill Country. It’s not only the green hills rolling off into the misty distance, the incredible blue of the sky and the miles and miles of wildflowers. There’s something even more magical in the air, something that goes far beyond words. I just hope that someday, everyone will have a chance to visit Texas in the spring and see it for themselves.

Margot Dalton

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

RAIN FELL over the hills of Central Texas during the night, carried by gray brooding clouds that had rolled in with the twilight and massed along the darkening skyline as soft and dense as piles of wood ash.

But it wasn’t one of the torrential downpours that often lash the Hill Country in the spring, dropping two or three inches onto green wooded hillsides and gravelly creek beds in the space of a few hours.

This was a gentle sweet spring rain, pattering and rustling in the new green leaves, dancing on the silvered surface of the river, whispering through gullies and shallow draws in the midnight blackness. The moisture flowed like a blessing across the hills and valleys, and by dawn the world was made new, washed clean and bright as a freshly minted coin.

Just as the rain ended, a silver-gray Camaro came skimming along a country road in the early-morning freshness, its sleek sculptured sides catching and reflecting the rising sun’s dazzling rays that broke into rainbows among the silent dripping trees.

This vehicle belonged to Vernon Trent and was his one wry, half-joking concession to longing for vanished youth. On this glorious spring morning, Vernon Trent had just passed his forty-fifth birthday and was, on the whole, comfortable with himself and his life. He liked the maturity and confidence that came with middle age, enjoyed his friends and daily routines and didn’t really miss the real or imagined crises of youth.

But he did have a stubborn boyish love for his shining, sporty Camaro, and never more than on a morning like this when he was alone at the wheel, the only living being in a world so fresh and lovely that it brought a lump to his throat.

His excuse for this drive was a scouting trip before office hours, a search for likely properties for a wealthy businessman from Dallas who fancied a retirement home here in the Hill Country. But this pretext was pure nonsense, of course, and Vernon was well aware of the fact.