Crawl in Bed With Ann B. Harrison

Crawling Into Bed With 
Ann B Harrison
And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton? Cotton, I slide around too much on silk.

What are you wearing? My favorite old t-shirt until things get too hot and then, well nothing.

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight? Fresh fruit with greek yoghurt to dip. I'm a healthy person. I want to live forever, there is so much to do in life.

If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find? he he, take a look if you're brave enough.

Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? Kick off, I like to spread out.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up? Sure so long as I can slip my cold hand somewhere warm on your body.

What are we reading? Taming the Outback


The four-wheel drive truck pulled up behind her, and the driver's door opened. She couldn't see the occupant until he stood right in front of her, towering over her in the dim light. He was dressed in dusty work clothes and jeans, which sat snugly on broad hips. A thick cotton work shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows showed off strong, tanned arms. An old, worn hat was pushed down over short hair, hiding his face as he stood looking down at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a deep voice that rolled over her, triggering something familiar deep in her brain.

"No, my car overheated, and now it won't start." Libby sighed as she followed him to the front of the vehicle.

He shone a flashlight at the hood and told her to release it. He lifted it and stuck his head beneath. Muttering and cursing drifted back toward her ears. He slammed it back down and turned to her.

"You have a broken radiator hose," the stranger said. "The top one has completely blown, and the bottom one is on its way out. Don't you check your car at all? It's a bloody mess under that hood."

"My car runs fine normally." Libby straightened her spine. LSo much for country charm; Mr. Personality, you aren't. "But thanks for looking at it anyway. I won't hold you up any longer."

"Testy little thing, aren't you?" He pushed his hat back on his head as he came closer to her, his face barely visible in the fading light. "We don't leave women on the side of the road out in this country."

"What are you doing here?" Libby asked as she recognized the lawyer who had made such an impression on her at Aaron's.

"I live here. The question should be what're you doing here?" He sneered before walking away from her.

"I think you know the answer to that question. It's such a shame our first encounter is enough to upset you." Libby kicked at the dirt, knowing her softly spoken words had gone unheard.

At least he's easy on the eyes; pity his attitude isn't as nice.


Leaning on the back of his dust-covered truck, Nathan pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and punched in a number. He glanced over at Libby pacing back and forth while he waited for someone to pick up.

He'd known she was due soon, but he didn't expect to meet her out on the highway, broken down.

"Tom, it's Nathan, I'm out on the side of the road at the highway end, just before the turnoff. I think I have something which belongs to you." He grimaced as he looked back toward the women watching him. "You had better bring the truck out. Yeah, sure, I'll wait with her. Don't be too long. She's a little bit fiery. Sure, 'bye."

"So..." he drawled, walking back to stand before Libby. His heart was thumping, and a thin sheen of sweat was making his face heat up as he let his gaze run over her body from her pert nose to her long, bare legs. He noticed the blush on her cheeks while he scrutinized her under the flashlight beam. Damn you, Uncle Aaron. Cute and fiery. Too dangerous out here. If circumstances were different, or even another time and place, he could get attached to this woman—at least, physically. "You're the city chick who's going to take Quincy Station into the black, eh? I wonder if you know what you're taking on, sweetheart?"

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me, mate. It's Libby. Libby Holland, and yes, I am the city chickwho's taking over my great-uncle's farm." She glared at him in the torchlight.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

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To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955