She only prayed she’d someday get the chance. Chapter Two
Today
Where the hell is she?
As a brutal storm shrieked through the surrounding canyons, Nate Santana paced in the stable,
his cell phone pressed hard to his ear, no sound emanating from the slim, useless device. “Come on, come on,” he encouraged but he knew it was no good. Regan, damn her, was MIA.
No service appeared on the phone’s small screen. Frustrated, Santana jammed his cell into the pocket of his worn jeans and told himself to remain calm. He was just keyed up from everything that had gone on in the sleepy town of Grizzly Falls in the last few weeks. No big deal.
And yet, he felt worry eating at his gut, reminding him that everything that had been good in his
CHOSEN TO DIE
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life always disappeared and that Pescoli, damned her sexy ass, was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long while . . . probably since Santa Lucia . . .
His thoughts took a dark twist as he considered the last woman who had changed the course of his life, then pushed her beautiful image from his mind. Shannon Flannery was past history. Right now, he had to deal with the fact that Regan was ducking his calls.
Or was she?
He shoved a hand through his hair and glared at the indoor arena where a particularly stubborn and nervous colt was staring back at him, challenging him.
Usually Santana could be easily distracted by animals. In his experience they were a helluva lot easier to deal with than people. More trustworthy. More constant. But this frigid morning, he couldn’t concentrate, his thoughts creeping ever to Regan. Hell, he had it bad. And he hated it that she’d somehow gotten under his skin. You let her. You al- lowed a quick, no-strings-attached fling to develop into a full-fledged affair starting to border on a relationship. His jaw tightened at the thought.
She was the worst woman he could have chosen to get involved with. The absolute worst!
He mentally castigated himself, calling himself a long list of names that grew progressively more derogatory. No woman in a long time had infiltrated his brain, or caused him to think about finding ways to get her into bed at all hours of the day. And Regan was a damned detective with the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department, for crying out loud. 20
Lisa Jackson
What did that tell you?
Avoid. Avoid. Avoid!
But he’d been drawn to her like a dying man in the desert to an oasis.
A glance through the window confirmed that the mother of a storm wasn’t letting up. Sub-zero wind howled through the deep ravines of this part of Montana. Ice glazed the outside of the panes and the snow was falling so thick and fast, he couldn’t see the lights glowing in his cabin only a hundred feet away.
Inside, the huge stable with its indoor exercise arena was warm, the heating system wheezing and stirring up the dust of last summer, while the familiar smells of saddle soap and horse dung, scents he’d known all his life, filled his nostrils. Horses shuffled in their stalls; one, the nervous mare, sent out a quiet whinny. Sounds and odors that usually calmed him. Truth be known, he felt far more akin to animals than he did to most men. Or women, for that matter.
Until damned Regan Pescoli.
With her two children.
Two finished marriages.
Their relationship, basically all sex, wasn’t the least bit romantic or conventional.
No vows.
No promises.
No strings.
No big deal.