HER WORKDAY OVER, Tuesday Eastwood turned the display lights up before locking her front doors. That’s when she realized how cold it was and flipped her collar against the wind with one hand while hurrying to where she’d parked her car.
As she paused to cross at the corner and look both ways, she caught sight of Ezra Hurley. It wasn’t one of those moments when you caught sight of a person and then realized who it was once they got closer.
No, she knew it was Ezra because for some befuddling reason she was hyperaware of him. He looked good as he waited for traffic, a grin on his face.
In the entirety of her life no one had ever made her belly feel the same quivery, excited swoop when she looked at him. At the rugged, masculine lines of his features. Like his brothers, yes, he was attractive. But he wore it differently than the other three brothers did.
Ezra Hurley was a Capital M Man. In that riding horses, baling hay, hands in the dirt, well-worn jeans way. Well-worn jeans that currently cradled a rear end that a sculptor would drool over. The kind of being who seemed to emanate utter capability.
How or why that was so hot to her Tuesday didn’t know. But it was.
Even in a wool cap and a peacoat he radiated that something special he tossed around like catnip. In addition to being a rancher, he was a rock star. A onetime hard-living, jet-setting, arena-filling rock star fallen to earth, crashing and burning.
The flames had left him imperfect. But no less compelling.
