The Taming of the Bachelor Read Online Free Page B

kids could use a break, too.
    “The kids are sleeping. I need to wake them,” she said quietly. “But we’ll be there soon.”
    “Sorry, Paige.”
    “Not your fault, Flo. It’s my diner, my problem.”

    I t was just after eight o’clock on Saturday morning and Dillon’s head hurt. Bad.
    How much had he drunk last night? How many shots with Reese? The fact that he couldn’t quite remember might explain the awful thumping in his head.
    Queasy, he slumped lower in the booth at Main Street Diner, eyes narrowed to block out as much light as possible, hat pulled down low, as if he could muffle the diner noise.
    He would have bailed on this morning’s meeting with the writer, Shane Swan or Sean Finley, or Shane Sean Finley, or whatever his real name was, if he could have found Shane/Sean’s number, but Dillon couldn’t. So here he was, at the diner, waiting for a meeting to discuss the logistics of renting out the Sheenan ranch house for the next six to nine months to the East Coast writer.
    Dillon still wasn’t sure just who had told the New Yorker about the Sheenan ranch, but Shane/Sean had successfully tracked Dillon down and said he’d heard through friends that the old log cabin might possibly be vacant since Dillon was returning to Texas and Trey and McKenna lived in town, and would the family possibly consider renting it for six to nine months?
    The call had come out of the blue and at first Dillon thought it was a prank call, but Shane insisted he was serious and he threw out some figures for the rent that made Dillon take notice. Even better, he’d prepay the first six months rent up front, in advance, as Shane was a writer, on deadline, and he wanted total peace and quiet to finish a book. He added that he was single, so there wouldn’t be a lot of people in the house, and he understood it was still a working ranch so he expected that there would be activity on the ranch during the day, which wouldn’t be an issue since he did most of his writing late at night.
    Dillon said he’d need to talk to his brothers and hunted down Trey, who’d just finished carting hay out to one of the lower pastures, and filled him in.
    Trey wanted to talk to McKenna, and McKenna was intrigued. She looked the writer up but couldn’t find anything on him, so Dillon called Shane back, and found out his name wasn’t S-h-a-n-e but the Irish Sean, and his pen name was Sean S. Finley.
    Sean S. Finley was legit, with a website and an impressive list of books, both fiction and non-fiction, with several hitting bestseller lists and winning big awards. McKenna told Taylor, Troy’s fiancée, and Marietta’s newest librarian, and Taylor was thrilled that a big name author might be moving to Marietta and living on the Sheenan property.
    Now Dillon was waiting for Sean Finley to appear so he could make sure that Sean wasn’t a crazy ax-murderer and okay to have living in the house and just wanting the meeting over so he could head back to the ranch, get the most essential chores done and then maybe catch a nap before tonight’s Bachelor Auction, because he had to show up tonight. He couldn’t bail. This was a big deal to Lindy and Molly and everyone else that cared about little Josh.
    But damn that tequila.
    And the beer.
    And the whiskey.
    And whatever else he had drunk.
    Dillon winced as the skillets and frying pans continued to bang in the kitchen, and dishes clanked against the counter. Every scrape and ping of cutlery was like nails on a chalkboard, testing his nerves, making his stomach churn.
    Stupid to have drunk so much. Stupid to have not eaten anything before bed.
    He shifted lower in the booth, shuddering at the smell of corned beef hash and pan fried trout and scrambled eggs as a waitress flew by with steaming plates stacked up her arm, heading towards the table of newly retired Judge McCorkle, currently holding court in the corner.
    Judge McCorkle was not his favorite person but at least the judge’s booming voice