Taming A Texas Heartbreaker - Katie Lane

Chapter One

She despised him.

She despised the superior tone of his voice when he instructed her on when she could clean his room, what foods she could make him to eat, and what hours he did NOT want to be disturbed. She despised the way he walked around her garden as if he owned it and how his mahogany brown hair defied the strong Texas winds and always fell neatly back into its styled perfection. She despised his tall, lean body without an ounce of fat on it and the black he always wore that made him look like a villainous gunslinger in an old Western. Even his underwear was black—something she knew because she washed and folded them every week.

But mostly, she despised the way his golden gaze seemed to sizzle right through her and make her feel like the most inept person on the face of the planet.

And inept was not a word anyone in Simple, Texas, had ever used to describe Reba Dixon. She might not be pretty. She sure wasn’t skinny. But she was smart, determined, and competent. Her daddy always said she was the definition of a multitasker. She wasn’t about to let some arrogant writer of psychological thriller novels make her feel like she was beneath him. She might not have a lot of money or a big fancy job, but she was a savvy businesswoman who ran a successful hotel.

Or maybe not successful, but one that was getting by.

Barely.

Which was the main reason she hadn’t already told Valentine Sterling where he could shove his constant complaints. Every time she carried up his breakfast or supper tray, he had a new one.

“Good morning, Ms. Dixon. I hope my poached egg isn’t as overcooked as yesterday.”

“Good evening, Ms. Dixon. Do you understand what lightly starched means?”

“Good morning, Ms. Dixon. Do you always sing while you garden? Perhaps you could save it for the shower. It’s extremely distracting while I’m trying to write.”

“Good evening, Ms. Dixon. You’re three minutes late.”

After he’d complained about one thing or another, he would pause as if waiting for her to reply. Almost as if daring her to tell him off and kick his arrogant butt out of her boardinghouse. Oh, how she wanted to. The best day of her life would be when Valentine Sterling’s behind headed down the steps of the front porch for the last time. Reba planned to pop open the bottle of champagne she always kept on hand for boarders’ special occasions and celebrate.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to prompt Mr. Sterling to leave. Not when he had a huge following on social media and all it would take was one tweet saying how poorly he’d been treated at the Dixon Boardinghouse for Reba to lose much needed business. She had worked too damn hard the last two years since her parents gave her their share in the boardinghouse to let it all go down the drain because she couldn’t control her half-Irish, half-Cherokee temper.

The boardinghouse wasn’t just a hotel. It was her life.

She had grown up in the big, sprawling plantation-style house. She had broken her arm sliding down the polished mahogany bannister. Played Gone with the Wind with her best friend, Evie Gardener, on the wide wraparound porch. Learned how to cook all the family recipes from her grandmother in the homey kitchen. And hunted for the ghost of her great-great-great-great grandmother in the wildflower garden. All while trying not to tick off her great-aunt Gertie.

Something Reba seemed to do anyway.

Aunt Gertie owned the other half of the boardinghouse. While Reba lived in the caretaker’s cottage behind the house, Aunt Gertie lived in the same room of the boardinghouse where she’d been born. And she intended to die in that room. Something that wasn’t far off. While Aunt Gertie refused to give the exact date of her birth, the family estimated that she was at least ninety. Watching out for her ninety-something-year-old aunt was just one more thing on Reba’s long list of responsibilities.

“Reba!” Her crotchety aunt’s voice rang out from the direction of the dining room.

Leaving the egg she’d been poaching in the water, she hurried out of the kitchen and almost plowed right over her frail aunt. Reba quickly sidestepped, but her hip bumped Gertie’s hot pink walker, sending it clattering to the floor. Luckily, the hairless Sphynx cat sitting in the attached basket jumped clear.

“How many times do I have to tell you to slow down, Reba Gertrude Dixon?” Aunt Gertie snapped.

“Sorry.” Reba