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Stories of family and romance
beneath the Big Sky!
She wanted Dev.
But hadn’t she learned the price of being impulsive?
Regret and fear welled up and brought tears with them.
“Brynna,” Dev said sleepily. “It’s okay, baby.”
He ran his hand through her hair, but she pulled away.
“Go, now,” she whispered hoarsely.
He reached for her.
She moved back, shaking her head, and pulled the sheets around her body. “No. Leave.”
He cursed. “I’m damned tired of you telling me to leave.” He stood and fumbled in the dark for his clothes. “What was tonight about, then?” he asked, frustration plain in his voice.
“It was a mistake.”
Denim rustled. His belt buckle clanked. “No, burning the toast is a mistake. Taking the wrong highway is a mistake. Not this. Not this, Brynna. The mistake here is you not giving us a chance.”
Marry Me…Again
Cheryl St. John
CHERYL ST. JOHN
A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the terms that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.
Cheryl loves to hear from readers! Email her at [email protected].
Contents
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Chapter One
Eight months ago
“He’s still looking this way,” Emma Carlisle said from behind her third rum and Coke. The animated woman was married and had three teenage children, but hearing her talk about the tall sandy-haired cowboy at the bar, anyone would think she was a teen herself. In fact, they’d have thought the entire group of nurses were high-school sophomores at the mall.
Rae Ann Benton elbowed Brynna. “He’s heading this way. Act like you didn’t see him coming.”
“I didn’t see him coming,” Brynna replied, but her heart had leapt into her throat at the news that the six-foot-something hunk in the slim-fitting jeans, worn cowboy boots and faded chambray shirt was walking toward them. He’d been the subject of their lively discussion and avid appreciation for the past half hour.
When he strolled up to their table and gave a disarming grin, Brynna already knew that his name was Devlin Holmes, that he was better known as Devil and that he worked as foreman at his cousin’s ranch outside town. What she didn’t know—and couldn’t have predicted—was that his flirtatious green eyes would take her breath away when he acknowledged the gathering of women with a polite hello and then singled her out with a confident nod.
“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice a stirring deep baritone that reached her toes.
The jukebox had started a lively Dixie Chicks’ number that did make a person want to get up and move. Brynna never usually drank. Tonight she’d had two drinks and would probably trip and embarrass herself, but what the heck. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d danced. She wanted to dance with him. Her heart-pounding reaction to the guy was crazy.
Rae Ann’s elbow dug into her side so sharply, Brynna practically leaped up out of her seat. If she fell and broke something, she was with the best nurses in the state of Montana, she thought giddily, catching her balance. The handsome fellow gestured toward the dance floor and she led the way across the wooden floor littered with peanut shells, conspicuously aware of his presence close behind her.
She’d showered at the hospital after her shift, changed into jeans and a sleeveless cotton top, and her shoulder-length hair had only begun to dry. She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup except lip gloss and a little blush she’d found on the top shelf of her locker. She couldn’t imagine why the man of nurse dreams would look twice, let alone ask her to dance.
Dev thought the slender, fresh-faced beauty was the prettiest thing he’d seen in a long time, and she moved with a beguilingly natural sensuality that appealed to him on a purely masculine level. The single young women who normally came into Joe’s Bar were made up for a manhunt—makeup, perfume, tiny T-shirts that bared their midriffs, low-slung jeans that usually revealed tattoos. There were also the older manhunters with more skin covered, but with smiles every bit as predatory.
This young woman’s smile was a little nervous, a lot embarrassed, and even if he hadn’t been coming here and knew she wasn’t a regular, he’d have known just by observing her discomfort. “Name’s Devlin Holmes,” he said, leading her to the small dance floor, where
