Where the Heart Leads Read Online Free

careful. Rocky’s a damn good shot.”
    Travis grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t know how it is, bro. Rocky’s after me again to hang up the band. Hell, all I need is a decent break and I could hit the big-time, maybe make the Grand Ole Opry.” His face lit up. “Hey, how about you corralling Miz Farrar and bring her out to Omar’s Good Times tonight so she can hear me? That woman has showbiz connections out the wazoo, and I want to be in her address book.”
    “Don’t think she likes me, Trav.”
    “Rafe, every woman on the face of the earth likes you. It’s those damned eyes of yours. You hypnotize them.” He glanced around as the light changed, and the traffic started moving behind him. “Gotta go before I get myself rammed up the ass.”
    Rafe stepped back from the curb. “Later, cowboy.”
    Good Times. It just might work for him as well as Travis. He’d tell Moira he needed to discuss her ideas for the show, and maybe Omar’s beer and ribs would warm up Hollywood’s ice princess for him.

Chapter Two
    M oira picked up a late lunch at Hardy Joe’s, a hamburger drive-in down the highway that sported a neon fisherman on its roof—she’d never seen that in Pasadena—and made the turn into Lynnwood, an upscale subdivision to the east of the Bosque River. Two streets down, one street over, and she’d be at the brick-fronted ranch-style house that had come with the job.
    Johnny Blue may have left Quark Kent high and dry, but he’d continued to keep tabs on his little robot girl, checking on her from time to time when she was in college, and even after she married Colin. Then, when the Bosque Bend opportunity came up, he’d not only negotiated a nice salary for her, but also persuaded the board to throw in a three months’ lease on a partially furnished house.
    Located at the back of a cul-de-sac, the residence was about ten years old, in relatively good condition, and wired for Internet. The appliances weren’t stainless steel and the floors weren’t hardwood, but the living room had a couch and an armchair in it, and the family/dining area came equipped with a Formica table and four matching chairs. On the other side of the house were two full bathrooms, a laundry room, and three nice-sized bedrooms. And most amazing to Moira, who’d lived her whole life in Pasadena where land was at a premium, there was a huge fenced backyard.
    She eased into the double-car garage and cast an evil eye on the pile of luggage and household items that she and her sister had unloaded from the U-Haul trailer when they drove in yesterday evening. God, now they’d have to schlep it all into the house. But maybe a little manual labor would help her clear a certain redheaded Texan out of her head.
    Damn! Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Rafe McAllister?
    His eyes, of course—the irises looked like they’d been pieced together out of shards of sparkling glass—and the sweet way he interacted with his daughter, and not that she was in the market, but the man was a walking pheromone.
    She got out of her car and slammed the door shut as hard as she could to end the matter.
    A joyous fanfaronade of barking broke out in response.
    God, no. She knew what that meant. Somehow, within twenty-four hours of their arrival, her sister had acquired a dog—probably a flea-bitten mongrel that would give them both the mange. The barks grew more frantic the nearer Moira got to the kitchen door, and she opened it to high-pitched yaps of canine excitement.
    Astrid stood just inside, holding a large, golden-furred, black-faced dog on a bright pink leash.
    “Ivanhoe! No! Don’t bark at Moira! Sit! ”
    Ivanhoe sat. Of course, he did. Canines always obeyed Astrid. It was as if she were goddess of the hunt. And she certainly looked like it in those skinny pants and long leather vest. Tall, slender, and dark-haired, just like their mother, Astrid made anything she put on look good.
    Moira deposited her portfolio on