Lucky Streak (Lucky 2)

Somehow he’d tracked her here, leaving Amber with a choice. She’d been faced with many potentially life-changing decisions in her time. She’d remained with the father she loved but the lifestyle she hated rather than live with a sense of normalcy at her grandparents’. She’d trusted in Mike, a man she’d just met instead of walking away from the most sizzling attraction she’d ever experienced.

Amber had taken a gamble on Mike and she couldn’t regret how that choice had turned out. And yet for the last week or so, she’d been hiding out from King Bobby, unable to find Marshall, living in limbo. Worse, she’d been unable to move forward with her husband, assuming he’d want her when this was over.

Well, no more. Her father hadn’t raised her to be a coward. She was going to face King Bobby Boyd and reclaim her life. Once and for all.

IF KING BOBBY HAD HATED Boston, he hated this little dinky town of Stewart even more. Everything was small and scrunched together. Hell, even the service in the only diner in town wasn’t up to the King’s standards. Nobody came over to take his order and his choice of beer on the menu consisted of piss water.

“Hey, little lady, bring me a rack of your best ribs,” he called to a plump waitress rushing between tables.

She gave him a nod, then disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors.

So far his mission here was a bust. He’d tried asking questions about Amber or Detective Michael Corwin, but people in town weren’t talking. They’d clammed up, thanks to the hometown athlete who’d been caught cheating. Numbnuts, King Bobby thought, without bothering to learn the man’s name. If he was going to cheat, he should have had the brains not to get caught.

About the only thing this town did have going for it was its loyalty to its own. Nobody was talking to strangers, and King Bobby, with his ten-gallon hat, didn’t look like a local. He didn’t sound like one, either. These darn people had a stupid-sounding accent, he thought.

But if he was going to locate Detective Corwin’s family, he had to find someone willing to talk. Since the locals were keeping mum, he’d just start asking the reporters if they’d heard of the Corwins.

“Here you go.” The waitress interrupted his planning as she set down his meal.

He glanced at the plate and spoke the first thing that came to mind. “What in the name of Texas barbecue is this?” he asked, staring at the tiny baby backs slathered in sauce. Looked like little peckers, they did. “They’re wet,” he added.

The woman scowled at him. He’d hate to be the poor sap she came home to at night. Women like her were the reason men got themselves mistresses.

“Well, of course they’re wet. They have barbecue sauce on them,” she said. As if he was dumb. And blind.

“In Texas, the only thing wet in a barbecue is our whistle after we drink beer.” Another sore subject, given his choices in this joint. “Barbecue is dry rub, honey. And the ribs look like they were ripped off a prize hog, not off some pet piglet in a tutu.” He laughed at his joke.

She didn’t. “Hey, Mel, there’s a problem with the ribs!” she called into the kitchen before turning back to King Bobby. “And I’m not your honey.”

“Don’t I know that,” he muttered.

She started to grab his plate, but he stopped her.

“Never mind. This is obviously as good as it gets around here.”

“Never mind,” she screamed back to the so-called chef.

“Honey—I mean, little lady, can you bring me whatever’s on tap?” He tried for a little more respect.

“Damn out-of-towners,” she muttered under her breath as she went to get his beer.

He tucked his paper napkin into his shirt, ready to pick up the poor excuse for a rib, when a female voice interrupted him.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up. And into the eyes of the woman he’d been chasing halfway cross the country. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Amber Corwin, the Little Lady Thief.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AMBER’S HEART POUNDED in her chest as King Bobby Boyd looked her over like meat hanging on a rack. She didn’t know if he was going to slice her, dice her or spit her back out.

“Isn’t this a coincidence,” he said in his lazy Texas drawl. “Have yourself a seat.”

Acting unfazed wasn’t easy, but Amber did as he said, easing herself slowly into the booth across from him. “Hey, King Bobby, long time no see.”

He raised an eyebrow, or at least she thought he did. It was tough to see beneath his hat.

“You’ve given me quite a run for my money.”