Can't Stop Loving You

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Starting a new story is like beginning a trip to somewhere you've never been. It's exciting and just a little scary. Along the way, though, are markers and signposts—yes, and that blessed GPS—to help. I'd like to thank some of those who encouraged me as I found my way from the first sentence to the last of
Can't Stop Lovin' You
.

I want to give a big shout-out to Southwest Florida Romance Writers. This group trumps any and all, and it's through this writers group that I've met some of the most important people in my life, some of my very best friends. Support, education, friendship, and opportunity—you've provided it all.

Thanks to my Waffle Wednesday gals—Jo Hiner, Patti Spicer, and Maria Jones—for keeping me steady and stable. According to Maria, I'm eccentric. What a wonderful euphemism.
☺
We all know I border on crazy—especially near deadline. Patti scours the stores with me, looking for that just-right table covering for a book signing, that perfect trip to Curaçao, and…sigh…she even brings me horseshoes. And Jo—always there for me—no matter how big or small the crisis or celebration. During walks on the beach, she listened as I plotted my very first book. How lucky I am to have you all in my life. I couldn't do any of this without you, friends.

To my critique partners, Diane O'Key and Joyce Henderson, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. We lost Joyce near the beginning of this book, and so our Three Musketeers became two. Not a day goes by that Joyce isn't in my thoughts and in my heart. I miss her friendship and her wisdom beyond words.

To Barbara Bent for traipsing through the garment district in NYC with me as I did research for Maggie and Brawley's story and for so much more.

A huge thank you to my incredible editor, Lauren Plude, for always knowing exactly what is needed to make the story that much better, and to Morgan Doremus, my awesome publicist. The same thanks extends to all the other wonderful, hard-working people at Grand Central Publishing. You make my dreams come true; you make magic happen.

Nicole Resciniti, my agent. How do I thank you enough for giving me this opportunity to share my stories? You always go above and beyond, and it's oh so appreciated.

Then, there's Dave. My other half. The voice of reason. Of sanity. God surely did smile on me the day he brought you into my life.

Last, but certainly not least, a heartfelt thanks to all who pick up my books and read my stories. You are appreciated more than you can know.

Welcome back to Maverick Junction!

Thanks so much for stopping by my small Texas town again, this time for Maggie and Brawley's story. Talk about two people at cross purposes. Their relationship goes back to first grade and is as fiery as Maggie's red hair.

When I started
Somebody Like You
, the first book of this series, I had no idea how real this fictional town would become to me. I swear I've walked that Main Street and can all but taste Bubba's barbecue. I hope once you've shared time with Annie and Cash, Sophie and Ty, and Maggie and Brawley, you'll feel the same.

I've never lived in Texas, but I did live in Wyoming for nearly twenty years, and can I just say there's nothing that beats a cowboy, whether he's from Wyoming, Texas, or parts in between. Cowboys are strong and confident, and they're not afraid of equally strong women. Instead, they celebrate them. Cowboys honor old-fashioned values. They stand for their country and its flag, say yes, ma'am and no, sir, and love their mamas and daddies. They know how to treat their women and aren't afraid of emotion, whether it's anger or passion. They're a throwback to a slower, easier time but with a kickass edge, and they're irresistible in worn jeans, cowboy boots, and Stetsons.

So get comfy, pour yourself a big old glass of iced tea or a cup of hot coffee, and saddle up for Maggie and Brawley's story.

I'd love to hear from you!

B
rawley Odell figured his life wouldn't be worth one plug nickel the second he stepped foot inside Maggie's shop. Too damn bad. He hadn't driven the thirty miles from Maverick Junction to back out now. He was goin' in.

After all this time, he'd come home…and she was leaving.

He grasped the brass knob and shoulder-butted the oak door. It flew open, the bell overhead jangling. Maggie Sullivan, all that gorgeous red hair scooped into a jumbled mass, stood dead center in the room. Dressed in a skirt and top the color of a forest at twilight, she held a fuzzy sweater up in front of her like a shield. Those amazing green eyes widened as he stormed in.

“We need to talk.” He ignored the woman at the back of the store who flipped through a rack of tops.

“What the—?”

He held up a hand. “Don't speak. Not yet.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

Anger boiled in him, but he needed to find some modicum of control. Taking a deep breath, he held it for the count of ten, then slowly released it. “Did you plan on telling me?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“You're invited to New York City for a showing of your new line, and you don't share that with me? I have to learn about it secondhand?”

“Last I heard this wasn't about you, Brawley. In fact, my life, my business has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

His jaw clenched. “Anything that affects you is my business, Mags.”

She snorted. “Get real, Odell. You gave up any and all rights years ago.” Her head tilted. “Why are you even interested? You want to attend so you can show off your latest Dallas Cowboy cheerleader? Maybe order her trousseau?”

He shot her a deadly look, one that had made grown men back away.

Not Maggie. She actually took a couple steps toward him. The woman had no survival instincts. Another reason she had no business heading off to New York alone.

She tapped a scarlet-tipped finger on her chin. “Oh, that's right. There'd be no trousseau for your honey, would there? Maybe a weekend-fling outfit for your date
du jour
? A one-night-stand set of lacy lingerie.”

“Shut up, Maggie.”

“Make me.” Her eyes flashed.

This time the look in his eyes must have warned her she'd treaded too close to the edge. She stepped back.

“You challenging me, Maggie?”

When she wet her lips, his gaze dropped to her mouth, followed the tip of her pink tongue as it darted out.

“Only one way I could ever get you quiet,” he said.

Her hand shot up. “Don't even think about it.”

“No thought required. Been wanting to do this a long time now.” He closed the distance between them and dropped his mouth to hers. Fire. Smoke. Hell, a full-out volcanic eruption.

The dressing room door opened. Brawley dragged his lips from Maggie's.

“Maggie, honey, this is fantastic! I'd like— Oh.” Her customer stared at the two of them. At the friend who, now sitting on the love seat, waited for her while watching the show he and Maggie had put on. From the expression on her face and the quiet little sounds she made, Brawley assumed she'd enjoyed it a whole hell of a lot.

Maggie pushed him away as if burned.

But if what he'd just felt was mutual—and from the glazed expression on her face, it had been—the kiss had short-circuited more than a few wires for her, too.

Still, that famous temper flared.

“Stella, run and get the sheriff for me. Tell Pete an idiot has come into the shop and I'm being assaulted.”

Brawley frowned, then turned his megawatt smile on the women. Two could play this game. “A little lovers' spat here, ladies. Sorry to make you a party to it. I should have waited till Maggie locked up for the day.” He tipped his chin toward her. “But, hey, isn't she lovely? Hard to stay away till closing time.”

A quiet growl erupted from Maggie.

“As much as I hate to interrupt your shopping spree in Maggie's wonderful little shop,” he continued, “how 'bout you take a short break? Run on over to the Cowboy Grill and put your feet up. Tell Ollie that Brawley Odell sent you. Have a coffee or iced tea on me. Maybe a piece of his lemon meringue pie. My treat. Y'all order whatever you like. Give us a few minutes.”

“No! Don't go anywhere.” Maggie rounded on Brawley. “You can't come in here and chase my customers away.”

Instead of answering, Brawley walked to the front door and held it open. Hesitantly, throwing speculative glances at each other, the two women hung their items on the end of a rack and walked out the door, crossing the street to Ollie's.

The door had barely closed behind them when Maggie stamped her foot. “If I had Grandpa's shotgun right now, Brawley Odell, you'd be picking lead out of your useless, no-good hide.”

“My lucky day, I guess.”

“Ohhh! You think that attitude is going to do what? Make me apologize to you? I don't think so. If that's what you've come for, you might as well follow my customers right out of here.”

“You hurt me, Mags.” Though he kept his tone flippant, it was the honest-to-God's truth. A truth he hadn't meant to voice out loud. But there it was. “How could you make such an important decision, have something so monumental happen, and not tell me?”

“Hmmm. Could it be because you shut me out of
your
life years ago?”

“I didn't.”

“That's a matter of semantics.” She shrugged. “Why does it matter to you where I live? You don't live here, either, not in Lone Tree
or
Maverick Junction.”

“That's where you're wrong. I rented Dottie Willis's apartment today. Now that Sophie and Ty are married, the place is empty again. In fact, my new landlady is the one who told me you're leaving.”

“You're moving back to Maverick Junction?” She looked like a five-year-old who'd just learned there is no Santa Claus. “I don't remember you telling me about this.”

“I'm telling you now.”

“I see.” Her eyes narrowed. “So it's okay for you to make decisions and tell me about them afterward. I, on the other hand, have to report to you when I'm considering a change? Get your approval?”

“I never said that.”

“Sure you did. When did you decide all this?”

“I've been kicking it around for a bit now.”

“You're taking over Doc Gibson's practice.”

He nodded.

“I knew you'd been helping him out, but—” She spread her hands. “Gramps doesn't know yet.”

“About your line?”

“Oh, he knows about that, but not…”

“The fact you're moving to New York.”

“Yes.”

“Don't you think it would be better if he found out from you?”

She wrung her hands. “I can't find the right words. I don't want to hurt him. And I hate to leave him alone.”

“Then don't.”

“Oh, Brawley, I've wanted this as long as I can remember. This is my dream.”

“I thought this shop was.” His gaze wandered over the space she'd created from a dilapidated storefront that had seen better days. He knew for a fact she'd been the one to paint that soft pink on the walls, the chocolate brown on the crown molding and chair rail she'd installed. She'd hung the lace curtains at the windows, stenciled her name on the glass. In the middle of this butt-ugly, one-horse town, Maggie had created a veritable oasis.

The place even smelled like her. Feminine. Sexy. Secretive. Made him think of nights spent in a woman's arms. Of long-ago nights in
this
fiery redhead's arms.

“New York's a big city,” he said.

“Really?” She pulled an innocent face. “I didn't know that.”

He refused to rise to the bait, so he said nothing.

“Dallas isn't?” she asked.

“Isn't what?”

“A big city. Try to stay focused, Brawley.”

Brows furrowed, he thumbed back his hat brim. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She crossed to the jewelry counter and leaned against it. “Seems to me you ran off to Dallas and left everything and everyone behind.”

“This isn't about you and me, Maggie.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Good to know. I thought maybe we were in the middle of a repeat performance from ten years ago. You know, the one where you decide my future for me. The one where I have no input whatsoever.”

“I handled that night badly. I'll admit it. But everything I did, I did for the right reasons.”

“According to you.”

“Yes, according to me.”

A fleeting expression crossed her face. Not anger. Sorrow? But it was gone so quickly, he couldn't read it.

“So you're moving home,” she said. “Are you planning to bring a playmate along? One of your cheerleaders, maybe? Have you found one who'll put up with Maverick Junction's small-town way of life?”

“I've come home to work. To live.”

“And I'm going to New York to work…and live,” she countered. “Don't let the door hit that cute tush on the way out.”

She turned on those sexy-as-sin heels and walked into her back room, leaving him standing there—alone. Maggie didn't intentionally swing those hips, didn't intentionally make a man drool whether she was coming or going. She simply had that effect on men. She was Maggie. It was part of her DNA.

He took two steps to follow. Stopped. A wise man circled the wagons and regrouped before a second attack. He considered himself wise. Damned wise.

The bell over the door tinkled as he left. He supposed Maggie would take it as the white flag of surrender. She could safely come out of hiding.

As long as he was in Lone Tree, he might as well have a late breakfast. At the same time, he could give the ladies an all-clear and send them back to Maggie's.

He'd provided the gossips with plenty of ammunition for one morning.

He grinned.
I have a cute tush?

The busybodies were on their feet before Ollie's door had closed behind him. Like vultures, they smelled fresh fodder.

Brawley held the door for them. Doffing his hat as they passed, he said, “Have a nice day, ladies.”

“Oh, we will,” one of them answered before hustling across the street.

“I see you survived.” Ollie, wearing an egg-stained apron, set a steaming mug of black coffee in front of Brawley when he straddled a stool at the counter.

“Depends on your definition of survival. I made it out alive. Didn't gain a thing.”

“Trying to talk her out of leaving us?”

Brawley scowled. “Did everybody but me know about this?”

“Not her grandpa. Don't think she's told him yet. Made us all promise to keep it a secret.”

“Some secret.”

“Humph.” Ollie rolled his linebacker shoulders and lifted his chin in the direction the women had taken. “Ladies said you and Maggie were having yourselves a real knock-out, drag-down tussle.”

“The woman's got a temper.”

“And you don't?”

Brawley ignored Ollie's question and blew on his coffee. Taking a sip, he scalded his tongue and set the cup back on the counter. “It matches all that fierce red hair.” Hair he missed running his fingers through. Hair he missed having the right to touch. But then, he'd chosen to give that up years ago.

Did he really want to kick up all these feelings? Had they ever truly gone to sleep? For either of them?

Ollie was watching him closely. “And a mouth to match,” he finally said.

“Oh, yeah.” Brawley didn't even want to think about her mouth. Those full lips. The luscious taste of her. He readjusted himself on the stool, instantly uncomfortable in his snug jeans.

“How about you throw a big old steak on the grill along with a couple eggs?”

“You got it. Home fries?”

“The works.” He might as well satisfy one appetite.