Read Online Billy Bob Walker Got Married by Lisa G. Brown - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa G. Brown
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solidly right between the legs with every ounce of strength she had.
He gave a strangled cry of agony and crumpled back to the carpet, clutching himself, making a retching sound in his throat.
The ring box lay right at her hand as she rolled away a second time, and in a blaze of glory she threw it at him.
"Take it—and get out!" she screamed, then she herself ran for the door and escape.
Once outside, the fragrant night air hit her bare skin. Realizing too late her state of undress, she plunged into the dark garage, locking herself inside the Porsche, lying flat in the darkness, shaking, raying, and sick.
His own car had been standing in the drive in the front of the house; maybe it was minutes, or maybe it was hours, before she heard it pull off into the night.
All she knew was that Michael Sewell was gone, and she hated him.
Then she crept back inside the house and threw up in the downstairs bathroom.
When Shiloh awoke, the sun was sinking behind the heavy stand of pines at the far end of the yard, and a slightly chilly twilight breeze brushed across her bare arms from the French door.
Michael was with her for a flashing instant as she struggled up out of sleep, and she gave a hard, frightened jerk that knocked pillows onto the floor.
Shiloh sat up abruptly and shivered. How long would it be before she forgot what happened last night?
Putting her hand to her mouth to stifle the moan, she came up off the bed in one quick motion.
Laura was right: she had to tell Sam. He wasn't heartless, and he was her father; surely she could make him understand. She would tell him tonight at supper.
In the shower, the warm, soothing water sluiced over her, washing away the memories she'd spent the afternoon with, and she toweled herself dry roughly.
When she sat down in front of the mirror, she could find no trace of fear or anger in her face. It looked like always: smooth skin, with a touch of brown rather than pink in it; wide brown eyes above high cheekbones; a nose that wasn't quite perfect—it had a tiny tilt at the bottom instead of being elegantly classic; a wide mouth; and a wild cloud of wine-brown hair that nearly—but not quite—touched her shoulders.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, to inspire passionate love nor ugly lust that she could see.
They said that she looked like Caroline, all the people of Sweetwater, and that Caroline had been a raving beauty when she was young. Shiloh could barely remember her then; her mother had left when she was five. Once, though, she had seen a picture in the attic and she'd stared at it with all the hungry fascination of a twelve-year-old. It had lasted until she realized what she was doing. Then she'd dropped the picture like a scorching coal and had gone running out of the attic.
She remembered enough about Caroline and her leaving to want no part of her.
The girl in the mirror swallowed. Her mother had had an effect, even gone. Shiloh had stayed away from men. She'd never even flirted with one until she was eighteen, and then it had started so easily and felt so right she'd been involved with him before she knew it.
Billy Bob Walker.
Shiloh winced and closed her eyes as his face floated into her mind. It was Michael's face—but no, not quite. Funny, but when she'd first started dating Michael last fall, his resemblance to Billy Bob had only enhanced his appeal.
Now just the opposite happened.
Billy had brown streaks in his hair, hair too shaggy and too long. Michael was more purely blond, his hair clipped close to his head and styled neatly. Billy's face was thinner, one tooth was slightly out of line, his eyebrows were brown, the planes of his cheekbones high and smooth beneath his long blue eves. He had a beautiful nose, straighter and more exact than Michael's. And where Michael was square and muscular, Billy was lankier and longer. He looked like what he was—a farmhand.
She could remember Sam's fury when he found out, although she never knew who'd
He gave a strangled cry of agony and crumpled back to the carpet, clutching himself, making a retching sound in his throat.
The ring box lay right at her hand as she rolled away a second time, and in a blaze of glory she threw it at him.
"Take it—and get out!" she screamed, then she herself ran for the door and escape.
Once outside, the fragrant night air hit her bare skin. Realizing too late her state of undress, she plunged into the dark garage, locking herself inside the Porsche, lying flat in the darkness, shaking, raying, and sick.
His own car had been standing in the drive in the front of the house; maybe it was minutes, or maybe it was hours, before she heard it pull off into the night.
All she knew was that Michael Sewell was gone, and she hated him.
Then she crept back inside the house and threw up in the downstairs bathroom.
When Shiloh awoke, the sun was sinking behind the heavy stand of pines at the far end of the yard, and a slightly chilly twilight breeze brushed across her bare arms from the French door.
Michael was with her for a flashing instant as she struggled up out of sleep, and she gave a hard, frightened jerk that knocked pillows onto the floor.
Shiloh sat up abruptly and shivered. How long would it be before she forgot what happened last night?
Putting her hand to her mouth to stifle the moan, she came up off the bed in one quick motion.
Laura was right: she had to tell Sam. He wasn't heartless, and he was her father; surely she could make him understand. She would tell him tonight at supper.
In the shower, the warm, soothing water sluiced over her, washing away the memories she'd spent the afternoon with, and she toweled herself dry roughly.
When she sat down in front of the mirror, she could find no trace of fear or anger in her face. It looked like always: smooth skin, with a touch of brown rather than pink in it; wide brown eyes above high cheekbones; a nose that wasn't quite perfect—it had a tiny tilt at the bottom instead of being elegantly classic; a wide mouth; and a wild cloud of wine-brown hair that nearly—but not quite—touched her shoulders.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, to inspire passionate love nor ugly lust that she could see.
They said that she looked like Caroline, all the people of Sweetwater, and that Caroline had been a raving beauty when she was young. Shiloh could barely remember her then; her mother had left when she was five. Once, though, she had seen a picture in the attic and she'd stared at it with all the hungry fascination of a twelve-year-old. It had lasted until she realized what she was doing. Then she'd dropped the picture like a scorching coal and had gone running out of the attic.
She remembered enough about Caroline and her leaving to want no part of her.
The girl in the mirror swallowed. Her mother had had an effect, even gone. Shiloh had stayed away from men. She'd never even flirted with one until she was eighteen, and then it had started so easily and felt so right she'd been involved with him before she knew it.
Billy Bob Walker.
Shiloh winced and closed her eyes as his face floated into her mind. It was Michael's face—but no, not quite. Funny, but when she'd first started dating Michael last fall, his resemblance to Billy Bob had only enhanced his appeal.
Now just the opposite happened.
Billy had brown streaks in his hair, hair too shaggy and too long. Michael was more purely blond, his hair clipped close to his head and styled neatly. Billy's face was thinner, one tooth was slightly out of line, his eyebrows were brown, the planes of his cheekbones high and smooth beneath his long blue eves. He had a beautiful nose, straighter and more exact than Michael's. And where Michael was square and muscular, Billy was lankier and longer. He looked like what he was—a farmhand.
She could remember Sam's fury when he found out, although she never knew who'd
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