Don't Mess With Texans

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Peggy Nicholson. Don't Mess With Texans

Don’t Mess with Texans. Peggy Nicholson

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“She pay with cash or check?” Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY SIX Copyright

“Something better, Doc. She said she was fresh out of cash.” Carol Anne plucked something shiny from a drawer and dropped the tiny object into his palm. “Here’s how she paid. She said to send her the change care of this address—” she waved a piece of paper at him “—once we’ve hocked it.”

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On the other hand, one of his personal principles was that you didn’t kiss a cornered woman. Not the first time, anyway, before you knew how she felt about it. He helped her to her feet, stood looking down at her. Her eyes weren’t blue in this light, but violet. “If you’re from Texas, then what’s a blue norther?” He remembered puzzling over the phrase in a paperback western he’d read that summer he’d spent locked up in reform school.

She laughed. “Big winter storm, comes whoopin’ down out of the Panhandle. The whole sky goes purply blue and the horse trough freezes over. Why?”

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