Big Bad John (Bigger in Texas Series) Read Free Page B

as she could remember, it had been neglected. Her dad used to say that fixing up the place had been her mother’s dream. When she left, she’d taken that dream with her. Holding onto the land was all that mattered to him after that.
    The building they used as a garage was open now, revealing two brand-new, sparkling-clean trucks, three motorcycles and one dirt bike, all carefully lined up and gleaming. Jefferson took better care of his toys than he did the family home. She felt the need to lecture, but who was she to talk? She was a stranger here now.
    The rusty old fifty-five Chevy truck they’d always used on the property was out in the middle of the driveway, its hood up and a toolbox beside its front tire. Someone was forever working on that piece of junk. Trudy smiled, remembering her father swearing and cooing at it as if it were a skittish colt.
    Someone was working on it now. She slowed her car as she caught sight of a pair of long, thickly muscular legs covered in faded denim sticking out from beneath the truck. One was bent, a dusty boot tapping in time to music she couldn’t hear, and one straight, letting her know that whoever it was, he was tall.
    Those legs belonged to John Brown. Her body’s reaction left no room for doubt.
    She parked beside the Chevy and took a deep breath. Maybe he wouldn’t notice their arrival. Maybe they could sneak past him and into the house, avoiding this reunion until she could cool off and refresh her war paint. Until she could change into something that wasn’t wrinkled and damp from the heat and travel.
    When she opened her car door, she immediately heard the ringing of a cell phone and looked over the hood of her rental car in time to see the boot stop tapping.
    “What now?” His voice was deep and rasping, exactly the way she remembered. She leaned against the door when her knees turned to Jell-O.
    There was a long pause and then. “Good to know. Yes. No, I don’t think so. I’ll get right on that, boss.”
    Caroline had stepped out of the car and Trudy forced herself to walk around the hood to join her as the shirtless man slid out from beneath the Chevy and sat up. John looked up at them in silence for a moment, a slow subtle smile lighting his eyes and transforming his rugged features as he focused in on her. “Welcome home, Trouble.”
    Caroline’s whispered, “Oh my,” was difficult to hear with her heart pounding so loudly in her ears. Trudy’s memories had been detailed. Graphically detailed. But they still hadn’t done him justice.
    John was…
    Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
    And everybody knew you didn’t give no lip to Big John
    Damn that song anyway. She didn’t need it to remind her that he was perfect. Strong. That she wanted to do so much more to him than give him lip. She squeezed her thighs together as he pushed himself to a standing position, shoved his phone and mp3 player into his pocket and strode closer.
    He was impossible to avoid. The definition of the word masculine should have his picture beside it in the dictionary. He was broad–shouldered. Well-muscled in a way that came from hard work and genetics, not gyms and protein shakes, and tan from working the land rather than from an expensive spray at the salon. His chest was lightly covered with damp dark blond hair, glistening with sweat and streaked with grease, and Trudy had to fight the instinct to press herself against him and inhale his scent. To stroke that strong jaw covered in light brown stubble, to trace those sharp cheekbones. To run her fingers through the wavy blond hair that curled wetly around his ears and swooped over his forehead, untamed. The only soft thing about the man was his lower lip. She wanted to suck it. Wanted to taste him.
    She’d missed him. She’d had no idea how much until now.
    She tried to breathe and focus on regaining her swiftly disappearing control. Her reaction to him had always been a primal one. A submissive one, she knew