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Cowboy Six Pack

So didja get the new box set yet?

Six hot cowboys for that low, low price of 99 cents?

Mine's about a guy in a fictional Oklahoma town who takes over running his family's stockyard. He meets a woman in a bar, tries to buy her a drink, and gets shut down. Then he witnesses an argument between her and another guy. Come to find out later, he's her new boss. And she's expecting a bundle of joy. It's a sweet little story about family and forgiveness. Here's an excerpt:


“I’m meeting someone.”
The petite brunette had the words out of her mouth before Dean could set the glass down on the bar beside her. She shouted over the lousy rendition of ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’, but didn’t spare him a glance.
“It’s a free drink. I’m not asking for your phone number.” He glared at the band over his shoulder, but they were midway through the song and unlikely to quit playing because he wanted to talk to a woman.
“I don’t want it.” She tipped her half empty glass toward him.
“You look lonely. I could keep you company until he gets here.” He leaned closer to her, but her scowl suggested she was about to walk away.
“He won’t like it if he sees me talking to another man.” She set her glass down. “Beat it before you make him mad.”
Dean held up his hands. “Sorry, sister. I don’t want to tick off your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” She raised blue eyes to meet his gaze. “We have some business to talk about. I don’t need anyone else in the way.” Beneath the dim bar lights and the smoke swirling through the place, she looked washed out and suddenly a little weary, but no less beautiful.
“Got it. Keep the drink. It’s Sprite. I noticed you’re about the lightest drinker in this place. Hope your business goes all right.” He backed away. “Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks.” She swirled the ice and remaining liquid in her half empty glass.
Dean made his way back to the spot he’d occupied on the other end of the bar before he’d noticed the woman in the mirror that hung above the hard liquor. It was easy to watch her from there.
Creepy much? He dismissed the stalkerish feel of what he was doing. People came to bars to be hit on. Usually women liked it when he turned on the smile and bought them a drink. It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned away. People came to bars to cry into their beer too. So he wasn’t rebound material. No big deal. It was just that she seemed sad and a little worried. She kept glancing toward the door and sighing. Whoever she was waiting on wasn’t going to bring her good news. He’d put money on that.
“Another?” The bartender braced his arms on the bar.
“Yeah. Whatever’s on tap.” A shot of whiskey had solidified his nerves enough to talk to the woman. Time to slow it down.
“Coming right up.” The bartender went to get a cold glass.
“We’re gonna take a break now. Give us twenty minutes to set up again and we’ll get the line dancing going.” Tractor Elliot, the band’s lead singer, had a voice almost deep enough to rival Trace Adkins.
The barkeeper came back with the beer and Dean nodded his thanks.
Thank God for the silence from the music. The noise from the chatter died down a little when the musicians stepped down from the stage. At least it was a tolerable level now.
The door swung open and a cowboy in a straw hat with a curled brim sauntered in. He wore artfully torn jeans, brand new boots made to look aged with phoenixes inlaid in the leather, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves torn out, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. Gold rings decorated a couple of his fingers while a thick gold chain with a cross hung around his neck. He strolled straight to the bar and sidled up next to the brunette.
Her lips pulled back in a forced grin when she saw him.
The man slapped her ass, then flashed a huge grin.
She scooted away from him. When he reached for her, she put her hand out to stop him.
Dean couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but it turned sharp in a hurry as the two of them snapped at one another. The wannabe cowboy got louder with every word.
“Dammit, London. How could you let something like this happen? Did you think you could hang on to me by doing this? That ain’t how any of this works, baby.” He slammed his fist down on the bar. “Take care of it. I don’t want any part.” He stomped his boot on the floor, then crossed the floor in quick strides to the door.
The woman—London—hung her head. A curtain of hair fell across her face as everyone within a five-foot radius turned to stare at her. The hair didn’t hide her obvious dismay, the redness of her face, or the tears that hugged her blue eyes.
“Shit.” Dean sucked in a breath.
London dropped a five on the bar, then shrugged her purse up on her shoulder, raised her chin, and made for the door.
Whatever she’d told the made-up wannabe cowboy seemed to have taken a lot out of her. He didn’t envy her position. A crowded bar wouldn’t have been his first choice to break news to anyone, but he didn’t know her or her situation, so he couldn’t judge.
She let the door slam behind her and was gone.



Plus, you know it's great because it's got Melissa Keir and D'Ann Lindun, who I've worked with on box sets before. I'm finding out how great Stephanie, Paty, and Kari are too!

Get it exclusively at Amazon!

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