A woman with brown curly hair pulled into a side ponytail that flowed past her shoulder. A lush mouth in an angular face. Light-colored eyes that reflected the same blindsided attraction he was feeling.
All Conn could do was hold his hat to his stomach, which was flipping end over end, crackling with the tremors dancing through it. It was as if a bright light was blazing over his sight, a lightning strike that illuminated that night again.
White sheets on a bed ⦠a woman lying down on them, her hair curled over the pale linen. Come here, cowboy, she whispered â¦
Sheâd been in St Valentine.
She was the reason he was here. Somehow he knew that without a doubt.
When his vision cleared, she was still staring at him.
Something inside him told him that this had never happened before.
But how could he know for sure?
Dear Reader,
Thank you for returning to St Valentine, Texas, with me!
This time around, youâre going to meet Connall Flannigan, a Texas rancher who has returned to town for one reasonâafter an accident he lost his memory, and he keeps having flashes of St Valentine ⦠as well as a woman. When he finds her, Conn, a former playboy, discovers that he broke her heart.
Not the smoothest start to a courtship, huh?
However, in spite of all his former playboy ways, this ânew Connâ only knows how he feels about Rita Niles now, and heâs got a lot of winning over to do if heâs going to regain her affection and trust â¦
I hope that youâll drop by my website (www.crystal-green.com), where I always have a contest running. I would love it if youâd join me on Twitter, too, at @CrystalGreenMe!
All the best,
Crystal Green
About the Author
CRYSTAL GREEN lives near Las Vegas, where she writes for the Mills & Boon® Cherish⢠and Blaze® lines. She loves to read, overanalyze movies and TV programs, practice yoga and travel when she can. You can read more about her at www.crystal-green.com, where she has a blog and contests. Also, you can follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/people/Chris-Marie-Green/1051327765 and Twitter at www.twitter.com/ChrisMarieGreen.
Daddy in the
Making
Crystal Green
To my fantastic writer buddies, Ann, Ara, Cheryl, Janet, Judy, Lorelle, Mary and Sylvia.
Eternally onward!
Chapter One
âAre you sure youâre ready for this?â
Connall Flannigan didnât answer his brother at first. He just kept staring at the three-story, gray-wooded St. Valentine Hotel with its lacy curtains peeking through the windows.
How many times had he seen flashes of this place in what was left of his memory?
As a few obvious tourists brushed by him, Conn looked down at his hand, where heâd been palming a necklaceâgolden, shiny, with a pendant in the shape of an R that separated into two pieces that never seemed to fit together. Itâd been found in his pocket after the car accident, and heâd come to St. Valentine to find out why it mightâve been significant, and to fill the holes in his memoryâthe gaping spaces from the amnesia.
Conn wrapped his fingers over the necklace. âIâm not sure about much these days, but this?â He nodded. âIâm sure.â
Emmet, who had the same blue eyes and black hair as Conn did under their cowboy hats, looked wary. âI donât know what you think youâre gonna find here when the family can tell you everything you need.â
Conn shook his head. What he needed was something to jar his mind back to where it should beâa place where he would be forced to completely remember just what had happened right before the accident and even previous to that.
A place where he could find himself again.
Once more, the flashes came back to him: this hotel. The name âSt. Valentine.â A truck bearing down on his pickup just before the world went into a tailspin. And â¦
He held his breath, waiting for the most puzzling and heart-clutching image of all. A woman. Dark brown hair, curling over her bare shoulders. Gray eyes full of affection as she looked up at him from where she was lying on the bed, her arms reaching up for him â¦
According to Emmet and his other two older brothers, Conn had enjoyed his share of women in the past. Heâd never been the type to settle down, they said. Footloose, fancy-free and raising hell whenever possible. One woman on this livestock trip, another on that one.
Yet here he was, in search of this one woman whoâd haunted his thoughts since the accident four months ago, flash by provocative flash.
But if thereâd been so many women, why her in particular?
And why did he ache every time he thought of her?
âI just want to see whatâs in here,â he said to Emmet, gesturing toward the hotel. âThereâs got to be a reason Iâm remembering this place more than any other. And a reason Iâm recalling â¦â
âHer,â Emmet said just before he chuffed.
Conn sent a sidelong glance to him.
âIâve told you,â Emmet said. âSheâs just one of many, Conn. Your time would be better spent on the ranch with your family, relaxing, not running off to a little town that you drove through one night.â
âSo youâve told me.â Over and over. Connâs brothers in particular had been pointedly direct with him about his habitsâall the flirting, all the disappointed women heâd left behind. They told him that, even though heâd always made it clear that he wasnât in anything for the long haul, heâd always managed to make the ladies think that they were the ones, only to break their hearts in the end.
Conn had a hard time imagining he could be that callous, even if he was friendly enough about loving âem and leaving âem.
âWell,â Emmet said, planting a booted foot up on the boardwalk. âIf thatâs how you want to go about this, the sooner you get this done, the sooner we can go back home.â
Conn grabbed onto the image of home, as if he was afraid of losing that, too. Home was the cattle ranch he ran with his brothers about a hundred miles away from St. Valentine, Texas. They told him that he went on business trips, such as for selling and replenishing livestockâthe type of trip heâd been on when heâd had the accident. Heâd felt a connection to home when heâd returned there, although thereâd been something else, as well, along with the comfort, a yen to go somewhere beyond the ranch. And, months later, itâd turned out to be St. Valentine, for whatever reason.
He stepped onto the boardwalk, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. His heart was beating a mile a minute.
Brown hair ⦠gray eyes â¦
At the flash that kept coming to him every once in a while, his pulse jerked to a pause before jumping to a start once again.
He