Patricia Rice - Small Town Girl

SMALL TOWN GIRL

Patricia Rice

Contents

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Epilogue

Praise for the novels of

Patricia Rice

Carolina Girl

" Carolina Girl is full of the warmth, humor and poignancy that make Rice's books very special."

Romantic Times

McCloud's Woman

"Intriguing and passionate."

Booklist

Almost Perfect

"Brilliant and riveting, edgy and funny."

Mary Jo Putney

Impossible Dreams

"Patricia Rice shows her diverse talent as a writer in Impossible Dreams [It] will leave readers with a smile on their faces."

Murray (Kentucky) Ledger & Times

Blue Clouds

"Totally engrossing! Fast-moving, great characters, suspense, and lovea must-read!"

The Literary Times

Also by Patricia Rice

Published by Ivy Books

GARDEN OF DREAMS

BLUE CLOUDS

VOLCANO

IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS

NOBODY'S ANGEL

ALMOST PERFECT

McCLOUD'S WOMAN

CAROLINA GIRL

CALIFORNIA GIRL

SMALL TOWN

GIRL

A Novel

PATRICIA RICE

IVY BOOKS NEW YORK

Small Town Girl is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An Ivy Books Mass Market Original

Copyright 2006 by Rice Enterprises, Inc.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

Ivy Books and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

ISBN 0-345-48260-3

Cover illustration: Ben Perini

Printed in the United States of America

www.ballantinebooks.com

To Robin and Linda, who gave me a chance to write this book, sight unseen. To say I'm thrilled with your trust would be an understatement of cataclysmic proportions.

And to Charlotte! Your patience in the face of authorial nervous breakdowns is deeply appreciated.

Chapter One

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His badass days were over . Flynn Clinton rubbed his whisker stubble with his damaged left hand and gazed over the dance floor of lithe, gyrating bodies. He might be bad, but he sure the hell wasn't young enough to make an ass of himself anymore.

The thick smoke of the bar seared his eyes and throat. He'd forgotten that North Carolina was tobacco country. Smoke never used to bother him. Hell, he wouldn't have noticed a bomb exploding when he had music pounding through him. Like a narcotic, music had blinded him. Withdrawal hurt, but he could see clearly now. Music was as addictive as cigarettes, more lethal than narcotics.

He was here because he didn't know a better place to start searching for the writer who'd scribbled that unforgettable rhyme on the envelope he carried in his back pocket. He was just about positive the scrawl didn't belong to his two-timing partner. He had to know the depth of the crook's dishonesty, even if it set his gut on fire thinking about it.

But he didn't know how to be a detective, which was why he was fretting over losing his sexy instead of taking care of business.

Surreptitiously, Flint brushed his hand over his hair to reassure himself that it hadn't receded farther. He even had friggin' gray threading through the chocolate brown the ladies had once run their hands through.

At least months of working out his frustration in a gym had kept him wiry, even if he hadn't been able to punch bags while wearing the cast. Maybe he'd grow a paunch to prove he was a staid old man. Then his kids would really laugh at him.

He winced, remembering the painful scene at his parents' house earlier today. He supposed he deserved every bit of their castigation. His sons had totally ignored him while his parents had laid out the ground rules for getting the boys back into his life.

Basically, if he wanted his sons to come home, he had to change his ways.

He definitely wanted his sons back. He remembered each of their births with shocking exactitude, the awe and responsibility and love that had welled up in him the first time he'd held those tiny lives in his wicked hands. He'd made promises then that he hadn't kept too well.

Looked like fate had caught up with him, and he had no choice except to grow up and start keeping those promises. Flint turned his back on the stage and the bright lights and signaled the bartender.

Once upon a time he would have been in the center of that crowd of hot bodies performing mating rituals to the music of a rocking band. He would have had a beer bottle in hand and been howling along with the songs as he two-stepped with the best-looking lady in the bar.

He took a long pull on the cold beer the bartender set in front of him. Dirk was an old friend who'd known him back in the days, but like any good friend, Dirk had the good sense to keep his tongue in his head.

"How's Betty Sue?" Flint asked to open the conversation. It wasn't as if he were here to have fun. Dirk's bar was a place to start searching for answers. Flint fully expected the answers to be painful, but shouldering responsibility was part of his new maturity.

He had a feeling he wasn't going to like adulthood.

"Betty went back to school and sells real estate now. Hardly ever see her." Dirk dried a wineglass and set it on the rack. "What are you doing back in these parts?"

Flint wasn't much inclined to share his troubles, so he shrugged and took another swig. Tomorrow, he was moving to a dry town to become the staid owner of a coffee shop, if he could pry the hooks of his old life out of his hide. "Got tired of the city lights, I guess. I've got two boys to raise, and I want them to grow up with a simpler life."

Dirk snorted. "I think they're building snowmen in hell these days. Tell me another one. Did the rebel finally find a cause?"

Flint contemplated the possibility for all of a second before shaking his head. "It's complicated. Melinda dying sudden like that tore the kids to pieces. Even at their age, they understand alcohol and driving don't mix. The counselor says they're feeling rejected as well as grieving."

Another reason why they thought he was a major asshole. He didn't blame them. He'd never had a problem with alcohol until the divorce. According to his mother, his drunken accident on top of Melinda's had robbed the boys of all security.

Currently, the kids liked it right where they werewith their yuppie grandparents who provided a fancy house with a big rec room, video games, and soccer. In addition, his parents provided a stable home that didn't include two screaming semi-adults who used to spend most of their time anywhere but with their offspring.

That was going to change. He couldn't bring back Melinda, may she rest in peace, if peace was what she wanted. And he wasn't about to bring back the open lifestyle they'd shared. This time, he was taking a different route. Somewhere in this wide world had to be the maternal sort of woman who would provide the nurturing his kids needed. He'd woke up and smelled the coffee, so to speak.