Taming a Texas Devil
Bad Boy Ranch, Book 5
Katie Lane
Taming a Texas Devil
Copyright © September 2020 by Katie Lane
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination. All rights reserved. Scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected] Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work and livelihood.
Cover Design & Interior Format by The Killion Group, Inc.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Sneak Peek!
Also by Katie Lane
About the Author
To Margie Hager, for her love, support,
and beautiful book-loving spirit
Chapter One
“You’ve got exactly two seconds to drop your weapon and reach for the sky, Mister, before I fill you full of more holes than a pair of fishnet stockings.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Dixie Leigh Meriwether lowered the gun and stared in complete and utter annoyance at her reflection in the mirror. “Fishnet stockings? Good Lord, Dixie Leigh, do you think a criminal is going to take you seriously if you start talking about women’s hosiery?”
She narrowed her eyes, lifted the gun, and tried again. “You’ve got two seconds to drop your weapon and reach for the sky before I blow your bee-hind to smithereens.” She rolled her eyes and did a little foot-stomping dance of frustration. “Bee-hind? Dirty Harry would not say bee-hind! Come on, now. Concentrate. You got this.”
She shook out her shoulders, adjusted her tan felt cowboy hat at just the right jaunty angle, then took a nice deep breath and slowly released it like she did before she stepped out on a beauty pageant stage. Except this time she wasn’t playing the part of a perfect southern lady vying for a crown. She was playing the part of a steely-eyed deputy hoping not to get shot.
Although getting shot by a criminal in this town was extremely unlikely. Which is why Dixie had chosen to become a deputy here. Simple had one of the lowest crime rates in the state of Texas. Probably the world. Still, her mama had always taught her to expect the best, but prepare for the worst.
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection and was about to deliver her line once again when she noticed the red bump on her chin. “What in the name of Sweet Baby Moses is that?” She lowered the gun and leaned closer to the mirror. “No . . . just no. A pimple!” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a pimple. Probably at thirteen, right before her mama had started her on a daily skin care regimen that Dixie had stuck to religiously ever since.
As her mama always said, “The Lord was nice enough to bless you with a gift as precious as the human body, so you need to take good care of it.” And Winona Meriwether believed in taking care of her body. At almost sixty, Dixie’s mama was still mistaken for her older sister. Winona had great hair, great teeth, great nails, and great skin due to her diligent care—and the diligent care of an experienced team of hair stylists, dermatologists, dentists, and plastic surgeons. Dixie intended to be just like her mother.
Although it was hard to find a team of professionals in a town that didn’t even have a nail salon. And the hair salon they did have didn’t exactly meet Dixie’s high standards. Which was why, in the last six months of living in Simple, Dixie had been forced to handle her own personal crises.
Holstering the gun, she walked to the Miss USA tote bag that hung on a hook by the door and searched through it until she found the skin-tightening facial mask she’d ordered from Amazon. Since she wouldn’t have anything else to do while she let the mask do its job of exfoliating, she also pulled out her pedicure kit.
“Alexa, play me some Kelsea Ballerini,” she called to the black cylinder sitting on the filing cabinet. But as soon as “Miss Me More” came on, the white Persian cat sleeping on the purple satin pillow on the desk got to her feet and started arching and hissing. Dixie looked up at the ceiling in silent prayer. “Fine, Queenie! Alexa, play Luke Bryan.” When “Drunk on You” started playing through the Echo speaker, Queenie stopped hissing and nestled back down in her pillow and closed her eyes contentedly.
Dixie sat in the chair behind the desk. “I don’t know what you have against women singers, but you need to get over it. No one likes a catty woman who can’t get along with other females. I won the title of Miss Congeniality twice because I followed Mama’s golden rule—‘Don’t let misters get in the way of sisters.’” She took off her hat and tossed it onto the desk before she opened the mask package. “Although I must admit that I do love me some Luke. Did I tell you I met him when I was at that pageant in Memphis?”
By the time Dixie finished retelling the story her face was covered in the mask that left only her eyes and mouth uncovered, and her feet were propped up on the desk getting a coat of pretty coral nail polish. Luke had moved on from his speakers going boom-boom to knocking boots.
“Shoot!” Dixie said as she once again got polish on her toes. Coloring within the lines had never been her strong suit. She grabbed a tissue to wipe it off when a sharp rap sounded on the office door.
Dixie froze in stunned surprise. No one ever came to Sheriff
