Free Lucky in Love by Kristen Brockmeyer Page A

There was no way I was going out there with the creeptastic cornfield. Chance could be standing outside my window naked, beckoning to me with chocolate bonbons in one hand and a frosty bottle of beer in the other, and I still wouldn't go out there.
    "Suit yourself," he shrugged. He turned the car off, and got out.
    I sat there for about twelve seconds, listening to the ticking of the engine and absorbing the fact that it was probably 3:00 in the morning and there was no moon to conveniently light up anything that might be skulking towards the Buick. I didn't know what was worse—the stalk- stubbled ground illuminated by the headlights or the complete absence of light. I threw open the door and jumped out, running smack into a solid figure. A short scream escaped me and I started flailing with my fists. Strong hands manacled my wrists and a deep laugh penetrated my hysterical moment of piss-yourself fear.
    "Damn it all, Chance, you scared the shit out of me!"
    "Calm down," he said, pulling me to his side and draping an arm heavily over my shoulders. The weight was comforting. "I know about your cornfield phobia, remember? I wasn't going to leave you out here all by yourself."
    He opened the door to the camper. "You got a flashlight in here?"
    I was mad at him for scaring me but I wanted to get the hell out of the open.
    "Yeah," I said, reaching around him to the side of the doorframe, where I'd mounted a flashlight to the wall. It was a big steel mag-lite style torch, vintage, of course, and I shook it to make sure I'd remembered to put batteries in it. Flicking the switch, I breathed a sigh of relief when the beam shone out brightly.
    The flashlight easily lit up the small space that felt even smaller with Chance pressed in behind me. To the right was a bench seat that pulled out into a double bed. To the left, a kitchenette, with a tiny sink and doll-sized stove. Against the far left wall, a dinette booth that could comfortably seat a couple of children. In front of us, an itty-bitty closet held a few spare outfits. Everything was covered in cheerful chrome, blonde veneer, glossy baby blue paint and vintage-inspired cotton prints. As a kid, I'd always wished I could shrink down and live in my dollhouse. As a grown up, I'd found a way to do it. 
    "Girly," was all he said.
    I climbed up, the floor shifting a little under my feet. If this trailer's rockin'… I thought, and smothered a punchy giggle.
    Chance moved up behind me. In about a half a step, he was on the other side of the trailer, looking very big and masculine against the kitschy owl-print curtain behind him. The side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. "It suits you."
    I flushed a little. "We're going to have to bunk together," I said. "Accommodations are limited." I pulled the bench out and adjusted the cushions into a mattress. The cupboard above held blankets, and I pulled down a few warm Pendleton wool ones. The temperature was chilly and it wasn't going to get any warmer.
    Or maybe it was. My mouth went a little dry as I watched Chance kick off his boots and strip off his jacket. In jeans and a white t-shirt that hugged muscles in his chest that had only been hinted at in high school, he was gorgeous. Except for the shoulder holster with the mean-looking gun he was currently unbuckling. I shivered, and he misread it.
    "Hurry up—you're cold."
    I quickly turned my back and took off my knit cardigan, slipping out of my red Converse flats. Ooh, sexy, I thought to myself wryly, glancing down at my black ankle socks with the white stars all over them. My wide-legged sailor jeans and black and white striped top were old-Parisian cute, but definitely not pin-up material.
    "You take the inside," he said a little gruffly. "I'll be close to the door in case of any trouble."
    Nodding, I climbed into bed, pulling one of the plaid blankets over myself. The wool was scratchy, but warm.
    The wooden legs of the pull-out bed creaked a little as Chance settled in beside me