Love of the Game (32 page)
Authors: Lori Wilde
And working for his former platoon leader's personal security business in LA was a long sight better than crawling home to Twilight where small town minds had branded him disreputable years ago.
Pathetic.
He was twenty-nine years old, had been a decorated MP in the U.S. Army, and yet he couldn't shake the old childhood wounds, and the names he'd been calledâbad boy, punk, troublemaker, delinquent, thug.
Ah, his youth. Those were the days.
There was only one family in the whole town he gave a fig about, and that was the Cheeks. The family who'd taken him in when his father kicked him out and no one else would touch him.
His favorites of all the Cheeks was his best friend Joe, and the other was Joe's kid sister, Katie. He hadn't talked to Joe since his friend had moved back to Twilight to take over his ailing grandfather's Christmas tree farm that summer. And it had been two years since they'd seen each other in person, back when Ryder had crashed at Joe's place for a couple of months after he'd been discharged from the Army, and was struggling to get his act together.
And as for Katie?
In his mind she was still the gawky fifteen-year-old who'd flung herself into his arms and kissed him. And that had been the last time he'd seen her, but he couldn't help wondering what she looked like today.
Head in the game, Southerland. Katie ain't nothing but a fond memory.
He leaned farther over the balcony railing for a better look, watching the circular metal staircase that led to the second story exhibits. The party was in full swing. The band blasted Christmas songs. People packed in close dancing, drinking, eating canapés served by tuxedoed waiters passing through the throng.
The crowd was eclectic. Young and old, trendy and traditional, dressed down and dressed up, an equal mix of male and female. The majority of them were wealthy, or plus ones of the wealthy. Ironic, how much money was being spent raising funds to benefit the poor. Why not just give the money to the homeless?
He scanned the three exits he could see, each one manned by museum security, and finally caught sight of Messer trapped in a bottleneck near the entrance.
He counted off the attractive blondes in red dresses, one, two, seven, a dozen. Was one of them Ketchum's stalker?
Concerned, he glanced back at Ketchum. The celebrity and his woman of choice, who had shifted to the bench exhibit seating near the restrooms, were still in a lip-lock, hands all over each other. The second floor was reserved for special VIP sponsors, and Ryder was the threshold guardian to their domain.
From his peripheral vision, he caught movement at the top of the staircase. A blonde. In red. Hurrying.
Hurrying, hell, the woman was full-on running.
Immediately, Ryder tensed, and his hand touched the Taser at his hip. He didn't want to use it, or the concealed Sig Sauer in his shoulder holster. Discretion was a big part of his job. Diplomacy another.
Besides, she was a woman. He was big, and she was small. Body block, and choke hold ought to do it, and that was only if she was unreasonable.
He didn't want things getting messy.
In two long strides, he reached her, and for a split second, he was struck by the notion that anyone watching them might assume they were lovers rushing into each other's arms.
Except she showed no signs of slowing down, her gaze fixed to the spot where Ketchum sat kissing the redhead. This had to be the stalker, hyped up with rage, jealousy, adrenaline, and god knew what else.
Instinct, honed from numerous tours in the sandbox, took over and he reacted without hesitation. It happened during the space of a single breath. Grabbing her by the arm, flipping her onto her back, falling atop of her, pinning her to the floor in a four-point restraint.
“Stand back, people!” Messer shouted. Ryder felt rather than saw his colleague herding people down the steps. “Nothing to see here. Go downstairs and enjoy the party.”
Ryder's hands manacled her wrists. His cowboy boots locked spread-eagle around her ankles. The woman was panting.
And so was he, because he realized not only was she not Ketchum's stalker, but he
knew
her.
Ryder peered down into her face. A familiar face despite the fact it had changed a lot over the past twelve years.
Katie Cheek.
What in the blazes?
All the air exited his body in one hard puff.
Her features were softer, thinner, and prettier than ever. The glasses were gone, and so were the braces, and instead of frizzy untamable, dishwater blond curls, her hair was straight and lush and golden.
Yes, she'd changed a lot, but he would recognize her anywhere.
Yep. Katie Cheek, all right.
It was his high school buddy's kid sister, all grown up, and curvy in the most dangerous places.
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author LORI WILDE has sold seventy-nine works of fiction to four major New York publishing houses. She holds a bachelor's degree in nursing from Texas Christian University and a certificate in forensic nursing from Kaplan University. She is a member of the International Association of Forensic Nurses.
Her first
New York Times
bestseller, the third book in her Twilight, Texas series,
The First Love Cookie Club,
has been optioned for a television movie. The town of Granbury, Texas, upon which her fictional town of Twilight, Texas, is loosely based, honors Lori with an annual Twilight, Texas weekend each Christmas.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
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LSO BY
L
ORI
W
ILDE
The Stardust, Texas Series
L
OVE OF THE
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The Cupid, Texas Series
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The Jubilee, Texas Series
The Twilight, Texas Series
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HRISTMAS
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HRISTMAS AT
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WILIGHT
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ONTROL
OPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from
A Wedding for Christmas
copyright © 2016 by Laurie Vanzura
LOVE OF THE GAME.
Copyright © 2016 by Laurie Vanzura. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. For more information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
EPub Edition MAY 2016 ISBN: 9780062311443
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062311436
FIRST EDITION
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