LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      CARLENE SANDERS WAS well aware of the two great weaknesses in her life: premium chocolate and Wynn Beck.

      Too bad it appeared this morning she was on a collision course with both.

      Just ahead by the barn, she saw Wynn with two huge take-out cups that no doubt contained the hot chocolate that he drank as if it were the cure for all ills. He was walking straight toward her, which meant one of those cups was probably for her.

      For once the gossip mill was falling down on the job, because Carlene hadn’t heard a peep about Wynn coming home for a visit to Wrangler’s Creek, Texas. Too bad. Because whenever her life collided with Wynn, which thankfully these days wasn’t very often, she always needed to prepare for it in advance. She usually did that by steeling herself, girding her loins or running for the hills.

      Today, she was choosing the third option. It would give her a couple of moments to accomplish the first two.

      Carlene skirted the corral and ducked into the cluster of sugarberry trees that was at the back of the ranch house she called home. The running, though, was all for nothing since Wynn saw her anyway and just kept coming toward her.

      “Morning, Carlene,” he drawled. “On the way over here, I stopped by the diner and picked us up something to drink. Double dark chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.”

      Well, he hadn’t lost any of that charm, and he knew her Achilles’ heel was that chocolate. “What do you want?” she grumbled.

      Wynn took a leisurely sip from one of the cups. He also tried to hand her the other one, but she shook her head and scowled at him.

      “Now, is that any way to say hello to an old friend?” he teased. He even winked at her.

      “Yes, when that friend is an ex-husband, it is.”

      An ex-husband who could still make her feel too many things. Not just the old attraction, either, but the heartache that came along with it. She didn’t need it. And she didn’t need him.

      “What do you want?” she repeated. “Because your uncle Joe’s not here. He moved to Florida shortly after Christmas.” That was over two months ago, and Carlene had figured that if Wynn hadn’t come home to say goodbye to the uncle he loved, then he had no intention of returning.

      “I know. I talked to Uncle Joe just this morning.” And then Wynn smiled, all lazy and slow. That Wynn-ing smile was so potent that many women in their hometown of Wrangler’s Creek had classified it as foreplay.

      He took a step toward her.

      “Don’t come any closer,” Carlene warned him, fearing that he might try to give her a welcome hug. Or worse—a welcome kiss. She didn’t want to get any closer to Wynn’s mouth or that highly caloric brew.

      He didn’t listen. What else was new? Wynn never listened when it benefited him to do otherwise. He not only came closer, he also kept on smiling that heat-generating smile.

      “Carlene, Carlene, Carlene.” He tsk-tsked her. “That’s the best greeting you can manage? And here we haven’t seen each other in, what? Two years?”

      “Three,” she corrected.

      Too bad she hadn’t even had to think about it for a second. That told Carlene loads about this potentially explosive situation. Like premium chocolate, Wynn was all too often on her mind. Worse, like chocolate, the taste of him was embedded in her memory and her mouth. And it was a taste that she craved much too often.

      But he was way off-limits.

      They’d divorced nearly three years ago, and he’d left Wrangler’s Creek and his uncle Joe’s small ranch to go full-time on the bull-riding circuit. Wynn had wanted to make a name for himself. And from everything she’d heard, he had done just that. Maybe he’d leave and keep on making that name so she wouldn’t have to see him.

      Carlene didn’t want to notice, she really didn’t, but darn it, he looked good. Of course, looking good wasn’t much of a stretch for a guy like Wynn. Good genes poured into great-fitting jeans complete with one of those prize rodeo buckles that was only slightly smaller than a truck hubcap.

      He had butterscotch hair that drizzled around the collar of his buckskin jacket. Warm caramel eyes. There was just a touch of milk toffee tint to his skin, a DNA contribution from his Comanche grandmother.

      All in all, Wynn looked downright

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