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It takes two to tango, but three to do the two-step with these Texas cowboys…
Londoner Maryann Morrissy finds the companionship she’s missing by making friends on the Internet with fellow rodeo fans in the States. Her fiancé Robert doesn’t understand her new obsession. His mocking is just one more thing in a long list that convinces Maryann he’s not the man for her. Perfect timing, because Maryann is flying to Texas where two rodeo cowboys are waiting to show her the ropes.
Annoyed he has to pick up his sister’s British online buddy from the airport, tie-down roper Wes Griffin drags his best friend Shooter with him. Misery loves company until Wes sees Maryann get off the plane. When her sexy accent makes his heart do the two-step, Wes begins to wish he’d kept Maryann all to himself because Shooter is just as intrigued.
After the nasty end to Maryann’s engagement, she’s ready to take both cowboys on, but is Wes willing to share?
EXCERPT (rated G)
“What do you think she looks like?” Shooter surveyed the new arrivals in the terminal, the torn piece of cardboard Wes had made into a sign resting in one hand and propped against his chest.
Wes still couldn’t believe all it had taken to convince his friend to hold that stupid sign was the promise of an extra beer out of the twelve-pack they’d be sharing. The one that Ellen hopefully had already put in the fridge to chill for him while they waited for Brit Chick to arrive.
Shooter’s question was one Wes had already asked himself the moment he’d been assigned this task so he had an image of Maryann Morrissy already firmly planted in his head. “I’m picturing one of those British nannies like you see on TV. You know the ones I mean?”
“No, not really. What kinda television you watching any way? Ain’t no British nannies on the hunting channel, that’s for sure.” Shooter frowned.
“Come on. You’ve seen them. The ones with their hair pulled back into a really tight bun. They wear glasses and they’ve got thick ankles and wear big, ugly shoes. They could be old, could be young, but you can’t tell. They could be skinny, or could be fat, but you can’t really judge that either because they wear dresses that look like they were made outta a burlap sack.”
“Hope you’re wrong, man. I think this British chick is going to be really hot, like the ones you see wearing those corset things in movies about Henry the Eighth. You know those low-cut tops where all the goods are pushed up and out.” Shooter used his free hand to mime pushing up his imaginary boobs.
Wes shook his head. “You’re crazy. Even if corsets were still in style, I seriously doubt she’d be wearing one on the flight.”
His friend shrugged. “A man can dream, can’t he?”
“Yeah, keep dreaming there, buddy, because I’m pretty sure this is her flight and I don’t see any of Henry the Eighth’s wenches in corsets coming through that door.” What Wes did see was a slew of businessmen in suits looking like they were late for something somewhere, a mother with too many kids to handle alone, and a middle-aged women who smiled in his general direction to reveal crooked, yellowed teeth. Was this Brit Chick Maryann? “No corset there, thank God.”
“No corset, but she’s hot enough, she don’t really need one.”
Wes frowned at Shooter. “Hot? Her? What the hell are you talking about?”
Then he followed his friend’s gaze and saw what Shooter had seen. Coming through the other door, also smiling in their direction was a woman about their own age and looking like nothing he’d imagined Brit Chick would look like.
“Hello. I’m Maryann.” The lilt in her sweet voice shot straight through Wes, right down to his groin. Down below, Little Wes woke up to take notice and was apparently enjoying Maryann’s British accent from inside Wes’s jeans.
Shooter’s face lit up with a wide, goofy grin. “Hey, Maryann. I’m Shooter. Welcome to America.”
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