Love Under Two Montanans [The Lusty, Texas Collection] by Cara Covington (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

back to sleep, even if that was what her lovers expected her to do. It was five thirty in the morning, another new day. The sun wouldn’t even be up for another hour and a bit. Out the window, it looked like nighttime. It looked the same as it had before she’d gone to sleep last night.

Parker and Dale had just left for work, but Jenny didn’t have to be at the roadhouse for another five hours yet. She only worked until seven tonight, which was fortunate. Jenny yawned, coming wider awake. Unless she was careful, she’d be spent before her shift was over.

Jenny tossed off the blankets and headed for the shower. In the hotter months, she liked two showers a day—morning and night. The enormous enclosure seemed both empty and lonely without her men. She made quick work of getting clean. Despite her hair being long, it was fairly easy to dry. Comfortable in her skin, she wandered, naked, back into the bedroom and searched the closet. No sense getting ready for work this soon. She chose an olive-green tee and a pair of tan capris.

Before heading downstairs, she made the bed and tidied the bathroom. On impulse, Jenny pulled Parker’s pillow into her arms, pressed her nose to the cotton, and inhaled deeply. Because she was an equal opportunity snuggler, she repeated the gesture with Dale’s pillow.

Just taking in their scents made her feel as if they were right there with her. She guessed she was pretty far-gone on them. She felt her silly grin and acknowledged that suited her just fine.

As she made a cup of coffee and poured out her cereal, Jenny’s thoughts tumbled around the information Adam had shared with her and her guys the night before. Apparently, there was a “plan” in place—a plan to keep her safe. Aside from the camera surveillance discussed at the “war council” held the day they moved into this house, Adam had drawn up a schedule of deputies to keep an eye on things around the town—and the roadhouse.

Jenny was trying to figure out why she didn’t feel as if she was in any danger.

Do you think just because you escaped a drunk driver when you were a few weeks old, and then ended up adopted instead of being tossed into the system, that nothing can touch you now?

The question from her own inner imp shocked her down to the bone.

She’d taken a sip from her coffee but set it aside. It didn’t taste good anymore. She shook her head, a negative response to that damned imp, even as she got up and paced. She sure as hell did not think she was some Teflon-coated woman who could thumb her nose at fate.

I’ve never thought that. I’ve never believed I’m entitled. Is that how others see me? Have they always seen me like that?

All her life, she’d worked hard, kept her head down, and done what had been expected of her. She’d gone to school and helped out at home. She’d behaved, and she’d never made waves. She’d always been grateful for the life she had, for the parents she had.

She never asked for much and rarely demanded anything. She’d been respectful, kind, generous, adaptable.

Adaptability is a positive personality trait?

Wasn’t it? She heard all the time about how it was best to just go with the flow, to get along, to…become invisible.

She wasn’t invisible, was she? Those two Benedicts certainly saw her. Jennifer paced some more. She felt…itchy. As if something was nagging at her, something that she needed to remember. Something she needed to understand.

Hells bells. This is one heck of a time to decide to have some sort of teenage angst episode. She’d never had one in all her growing years—not when she’d been a teen with hormones that set her off and certainly not when she’d been in grade school.

She’d seen what could happen when you let angst get the better of you. She recalled very well how her classmate, Petra, had been. She’d upset her folks and generally become a giant pain in the ass to everyone else who knew her. Convinced her adoptive parents had stolen her from a bright and shining future, she’d earned the nickname Petra the Pain. What Jenny remembered about her the most was how she was always getting into trouble at school. Petra had been convinced that her real family was looking for her, and when they found her, they’d lavish her with every single luxury her parents told her she couldn’t have.

That girl is just begging for a bad ending, if you ask me. She ought to just be grateful for the good life she has, for the probable heartache her parents saved her from.

Amen to that! She keeps that attitude up, I wouldn’t be surprised if her parents sent her back to where she came from. I sure as hell would.

Jennifer blinked. Where had those words come from? She closed her eyes…and the memory arose. She’d been…she couldn’t remember which grade she’d been in. The two women huddled together had been the classroom volunteers, two women she knew on sight but didn’t particularly care for. Since she’d been proficient in reading, she’d never needed assistance or attention from either one of them.

She recalled now they’d been talking about Petra, after she’d earned another time-out during recess. Mom had said Petra was feeling insecure and acted out as a way of asking for help. And then Mom had asked her if she felt insecure. Like Petra. But of course, she hadn’t. Everything was good. Everything was perfect. Jenny was happy. Jenny was nothing like Petra.

An internal light bulb lit up, and the shock of her personal epiphany reverberated throughout her body. Jenny was staring at a truth that had been living inside her all these years, a truth she’d never even guessed existed.

Everything had always been good, and she had always been happy. Always. And she’d never made waves, not a single one—because, deep down inside,