Chapters (40)
- Cover
- Half Title Page
- Books by Jody Hedlund
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Epigraph
- Chapter1
- Chapter2
- Chapter3
- Chapter4
- Chapter5
- Chapter6
- Chapter7
- Chapter8
- Chapter9
- Chapter10
- Chapter11
- Chapter12
- Chapter13
- Chapter14
- Chapter15
- Chapter16
- Chapter17
- Chapter18
- Chapter19
- Chapter20
- Chapter21
- Chapter22
- Chapter23
- Chapter24
- Chapter25
- Chapter26
- Chapter27
- Chapter28
- Chapter29
- Chapter30
- Chapter31
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
Engaged? What in the blazes had he said to this woman last night? No doubt he’d gone and made her promises about marriage and love and a future together. And no doubt she’d gone and believed every blasted word he’d uttered.
Shucks.
Dylan shoved off the covers and stood. In the same motion, he swiped up his clothes and began to don them, heedless of the fact that the woman on the bed behind him was watching him.
“Where you going?” Her voice contained a note of worry.
He hopped into one pant leg, then the other, trying to get the wheels inside his brain rolling, even if sluggishly. That slow motion was all it took for shame to well up and nearly strangle him. He’d done it again. After he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, he’d somehow ended up with another woman. “I’ve got to get to work this mornin’, darlin’.”
“It’s Sunday, the Lord’s Day.”
As he slid a suspender over his shoulder, he paused. The Lord’s Day? He released a scoffing breath. The Lord wouldn’t want anything to do with the sorry likes of him. Not after the complete mess he’d made of his life.
“Stay with me for a little while, Dylan.” The woman’s beckon was low and sultry.
He slapped his other suspender up. She knew his name, but he didn’t remember hers. In fact, he didn’t remember much of anything about the previous evening, and now all he wanted to do was hightail it out of wherever he was and try to forget about the night and this woman.
That made him the worst kind of lowlife scum. He wouldn’t deny it. And he wouldn’t deny how much he loathed himself either.
“Wish Chicago criminals took Sundays off.” He snatched up his gun belt. “But seems they have a hankerin’ for getting into trouble every day of the week. Course now, somebody’s got to go out—even on the Lord’s Day—and make sure pretty ladies like yourself are kept safe.”
“That’s true.”
At the resignation in her tone, he released a notch of tension in his back. He hated when the parting with a woman got ugly. It was one of the reasons why he’d tried to do better since Bliss left last autumn and went back to Colorado with the intention of marrying Ivy.