Sons of Chance
Book 10

A cowboy in search of a do-over…

Last Chance wrangler Nash Bledsoe lost everything in his divorce. But at least he’s free of his ex-wife’s slavish devotion to author Bethany Grace’s sickening mantra happiness is a choice. He’s back in Wyoming, eager to leave his miserable marriage and Bethany Grace in the rearview. Then smoke from a neighboring ranch brings him face-to-face with his nemesis. The best-selling author who claims happiness is a choice muscled her late father’s recliner outside and torched it.

Bethany’s itching to sell the rundown ranch she once called home, the place she avoided as her father drank himself to death. Although not at her best when Nash shows up, she’s self-confident enough these days to flirt with her former classmate. Until she learns he despises her books. But he’s interested in her ranch. And she’s ready to bargain, especially when negotiations spark a fiery attraction.

Nash always dreamed of owning a ranch. Will he close the deal and lose the girl?

NOTE: This title was formerly released as I CROSS MY HEART


Bethany had wondered if she and Nash would have anything to say to each other over dinner. Just because he was built like a Greek god didn’t mean that he could carry on a conversation. Turned out he was excellent at it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much during a meal.
They sat catty-corner from each other at the large oval table. She’d arranged the place settings that way because it had seemed friendlier, and from the easy way they’d talked to each other during the meal, anyone might think they were old friends.
They reminisced about Jackson High School and teachers they’d had. They shared a lot of the same opinions about who had been great and who should have been fired. She discovered that Nash had a degree in animal science and they had a lively debate on the differences between animal psychology and people psychology.
“If animals could talk, we could settle this once and for all,” Bethany said. She took a sip of her wine and wondered why there was still so much left in her glass.
“Thank God they can’t!” Nash leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass, which was as full as hers. His plate was empty, though. “I lost my virginity in a barn. I’m sure the stallions would have razzed me about my technique if they’d been able to comment during the event. Plus I’d snuck out there with the school superintendent’s daughter, and naturally I didn’t want that information spread around. I could have been expelled.”
Picturing Nash having sex, even virginal sex, was having a predictable effect on her. She hoped he’d attribute her flush to the wine. She glanced at the bottle and discovered that it was empty. It dawned on her that Nash must have refilled their glasses at some point and she’d been having too much fun to notice.
“I hadn’t thought of animals being tattletales,” she said. “I guess it’s a good thing they can’t talk. I lost my virginity to my then-boyfriend when his parents weren’t home, and as I remember, there was a cat lying on his desk. She probably saw the whole thing.”
“Kinky.” He grinned at her. “Are you one of those women who likes having an audience?”
“No, I most certainly do not! It was a cat, not a person. And frankly, it sort of freaked me out when I noticed her staring at us.” She took another swallow of wine and realized she was feeling extremely mellow. And all this talk of sex was turning her on. “Do you like an audience?” If he did, that would help cool her off. She wasn’t into that.
Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling hot in the first place. And she’d never bothered to record her long-term goal in her day planner, either. The double whammy of wine and sexy conversation made her wonder why boinking Nash would interfere with having her own television show someday. The extremely boinkable Nash Bledsoe was looking yummier by the minute.
“I prefer privacy when I’m making love to a woman.” His voice had lowered to a sexy drawl and his blue gaze held hers. “I don’t like the idea of being interrupted.”
Oh, Lordy. She could hardly breathe from wanting him. “Me, either.”
He put down his glass and leaned toward her. “I have a confession to make.”
“Me, too.”
“Okay, you first, then.”
She took another hefty swallow of wine, for courage. “You know when I claimed that this nice dinner wasn’t supposed to be romantic?”
“I lied.”

Copyright 2001-2022 Vicki Lewis Thompson