Samantha's Cowboy
Samantha Cartwright was fit to be boiled down to glue—that said a lot for a woman who intended to run a sanctuary ranch for neglected horses.
She swung her Chevy Silverado pickup into the no-parking zone in front of First Place Tower at 15 East Fifth Avenue in downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma. Three o'clock on a Friday afternoon and not a soul in sight. The mid-July hundred-degree heat wave had sent the city's business professionals home early.
Charles Dawson's ornery backside better be in his office.
No sooner had Sam's dusty Ropers hit the pavement than a security guard materialized out of thin air. Sucking in his baby smooth cheeks, he pointed to the sign at the curb. Sam fumbled with the floor mat until her fingers found the fifty-dollar bill she kept hidden for emergencies—empty gas tanks or bribes.
"The… sign… says… No… Parking." The young man emphasized each word as if Sam was slow on the uptake.
She willed herself not to react to the insult. He couldn't know that her uptake was indeed problematic at times. "I'm not parking here." She slapped the keys and the money into his palm. "You're taking my truck for a spin around ... read full excerpt from: Samantha's Cowboy ebook
