The Wild Rose Press
Fall 2008
| Reviews |
Excerpt |
Reporter Annie Wylde and Mother Nature are lifelong enemies, but she signs up
for a Maine canoe trip to honor a promise to her friend who was murdered by a
serial killer dubbed the Hunter. When she meets the wilderness guide,
hunky former Major Leaguer Sam Kincaid, a look from him makes her toes curl, but
she wants nothing to do with an ex-jock like her former lover. Retired from baseball because of a hand injury, Sam
finds Annie a sexy challenge but believes he's a failure and they're too
different. When the
Hunter plays stalks the group in order to get Annie, Sam and Annie must
borrow from each other's strengths to defeat him.
Coming soon!
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“You worry too much, bro,” Sam Kincaid said. He polished off his
third cup of coffee, then deposited the mug on the desk. Tucking packets
of crackers and cookies in his shorts pockets, he headed for the
Moosewoods Resort office door. “A little bushwhacking and paddling with
the flatlanders will suit me better than rehab in the Minors. I updated
my certifications. I know the territory. I have the food stocked and the
activities planned.”
If only he believed
what his mouth spewed.
“I have ten other
activities I can schedule you to lead. Fly casting lessons. Kayak
safety.” Ben Kincaid rubbed his nape and cast a skeptical eye at Sam. “I
can send one of the other guides. Maybe Dad.”
Sam scowled even more
at that suggestion. He snatched the clipboard with its client forms from
Ben’s hand. “I’m not so over the hill that I’ll turn it over to the old
man. The bases are loaded. It’s two outs and a full count. I gotta hit
this pitch. I won’t screw it up. I left the Johnny Walker back in
Boston.” He extended his left hand palm down to demonstrate his control,
more for himself than his younger brother.
Ben’s eyes crinkled
with sympathy. He clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Go for it then. I
wanted you to be sure.”
Sam suppressed a sigh
of relief as they exited the resort’s office.
A short gravel path
led them to the dock. “Whoa, Nellie! Who’s the hot brunette in the
bubblegum-pink hat?” Lush lips, mink-brown hair and curves that wouldn’t
quit. Hot was right. Sam’s temperature climbed like an ace’s salary.
“Whoa is
right.” Ben stopped his brother in his tracks by shoving the clipboard
against his chest. “Remember their safety’s in your hands. Don’t let
your hormones get in the way or land us a lawsuit by a scorned female.
Even if it might undermine your rep as a major-league stud.”
Sam mentally kicked
himself. “Hell. You’re right. Ethical lapse. Won’t happen again.” Too
bad. A few bouts of steamy sex would chase down the solid sleep that
currently eluded him. Creature comforts, sex among them, were high on
his list of priorities, but leading a successful expedition had to come
first. He wouldn’t, couldn’t let a leggy brunette distract him from that
goal. He skimmed the contracts on his clipboard.
“I’m counting on you,
Sam.” Ben snapped his fingers and dug a pink note from his shirt pocket.
“That guy Laurence called again from the Sox. Fourth time. Could be
important.”
Sam shoved the note in
a pocket. “Unless they want a batter who can’t bat and an outfielder who
can’t catch, it can’t be important enough. No more office work for me.
I’ll call him when I get back.”
“I’ll leave you to it
then. I’m off to man the Activities Desk.” Ben wagged his head as he
strode away.
Sam ambled out to meet
his campers.
Annie narrowed her
eyes at the last man who’d joined the campers on the dock.
Except for the caramel
color of his hair and sexy mustache, right down to the dimples winking
in his cheeks, he was a dead ringer for Magnum P.I. All
six-foot-two-plus of him. His hibiscus-flowered shirt flapped open to
display a torso as hard hewn as a Maine white pine. His cargo shorts
outlined sleek thigh muscles.
Having two
testosterone-pumped brothers, she knew the male of the species well. She
sure knew this type. Thought they were God’s gift, masters of the
universe. Jocks and cops were too much alike. She’d grown up with two
and nearly married another before she wised up and left New York.
Of course, Ian had
been much worse than her brothers. They were merely clueless. This jock
would be on the receiving end of her Arctic shoulder from the get-go.
She hated the
automatic heat in her belly at the man’s powerful maleness.
She noticed another
detail on Faux-Magnum that had escaped her at first. A well-worn leather
sheath hung from his belt, and from it extended the black handle of what
was probably a wicked-looking hunting knife like Thomas carried. She
squinted at what the man held in his hand.
Faux-Magnum carried a
clipboard.
“Oh, Lord, please no.”
“What now?” Thomas
pulled himself away from ogling the yacht and scanned the dock for what
had distressed her.
“So much for a checked-shirted geezer, that’s what. Moosewoods Safaris’
guide wears Hawaiian shirts, baggy shorts and flip-flops.” The travel
section would bill it Surfer Swaps Board for Backwoods Canoe. “He
probably knows more about a California beach than the Maine woods.” Was
he supposed to be the chef too?
Excerpt from Primal Obsession
By Susan Vaughan
The Wild Rose Press
©Susan Hofstetter Vaughan, 2008
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