Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes Read online

  ANN MAJOR

  “Engaging characters, stories that thrill and delight and captivating romance. Want it all? Read Ann Major.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts

  “A romance reader’s delight, Ann Major provides the very best in reading entertainment.”

  —Romantic Times

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  “Appealing characters, comfortable pacing and plenty of passion demonstrate just why Christine Rimmer is such a fan favorite.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Christine is romance. Nobody does it better.”

  —Georgia Bockoven, author, The Beach House

  BEVERLY BARTON

  “Beverly Barton writes with searing emotional intensity that tugs at every heartstring.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

  “Ms. Barton masterfully delivers excitement, adventure and romance.”

  —Romantic Times

  Ann Major loves writing romance novels as much as she loves reading them. She is a proud mother of three grown children. She lists hiking in the Colorado mountains with her husband, playing tennis, sailing, enjoying her cats and playing the piano among her favorite activities. Readers can contact her at her author Web site www.annmajor.com.

  Christine Rimmer came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a salesclerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.

  Beverly Barton has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated book of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker, aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of over thirty-five books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and has made the Waldenbooks and USA Today bestseller lists.

  ANN MAJOR

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  BEVERLY BARTON

  LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB: THE DEBUTANTES

  CONTENTS

  JENNA’S WILD RIDE

  Beverly Barton

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  REINVENTING MARY

  Christine Rimmer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  FRANKIE’S FIRST DRESS

  Ann Major

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  JENNA’S WILD RIDE

  Beverly Barton

  To everyone

  in the Harlequin/Silhouette office in New York:

  Thanks for surviving!

  Chapter 1

  Jenna Wilson felt like doing something wild and crazy, something totally out of character for the sweet, obedient good girl she’d been all her life. As the only child of a wealthy, socially prominent couple who waited until midlife to start a family, Jenna had been spoiled. On the other hand, extra pressure had been put on her to please her parents—something she had obediently done since childhood. Somehow she’d always sensed that her parents’ happiness depended upon her actions. A weighty burden to place on a kid’s shoulders, but one Jenna had felt even more acutely these past two years since her father’s death. Her mother expected so much from her; and God knew she tried to please Nelda Wilson in every way possible. She’d even given up her own plans to attend Texas A&M in Corpus Christi in order to carry on a family tradition and attend Tensley College, her mother’s and grandmother’s alma mater. And next month after she graduated, with a double major in History and English, she’d be expected to join all the right clubs, attend all the right parties and begin the extensive search for the proper husband. No doubt her mother would have a hand in choosing her husband; after all, it wouldn’t do for Nelda Wilson’s daughter to marry beneath her. And what would be so different about her mother choosing her mate? Hadn’t her parents always made all her decisions for her? They had chosen her friends, her boyfriends, her high school and college classes and even her extracurricular activities.

  God, how she hated her life! She was twenty-one, wasn’t she? Legally an adult. She should be free to live her own life, to do whatever she truly wanted to do. Hadn’t she promised herself that once she graduated, she would confront her mother and at long last take charge of her own life? And that’s exactly what she intended to do.

  If only she’d already had that all-important talk with her mother, then maybe she wouldn’t be facing the nightmare event planned for May 11. When her mother had told her about the plans for her to participate in the debutante ball at the Lone Star Country Club, why hadn’t she vetoed the idea of her “coming out” along with girls several years her junior? Why hadn’t she simply said, “I don’t want to do it. It doesn’t matter that I had to miss out on the ball when Daddy got sick and died. I’m too old now to be parading around in a big, white pouffy dress. With final exams and graduation so close, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” But of course she hadn’t refused. What defense did she have against her mother’s reminder that it was a tradition in her family for the young ladies to be presented to society at this annual ball? For heaven’s sake, her great-great-grandmother Rose had been a debutante!

  Jenna flopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Even this apartment and her two roommates, Katie Boyd and Dana Lewis, had had to pass inspection and receive the stamp of approval from Nelda. Both girls were from good families and their mothers were part of Nelda’s social circle. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Katie and Dana—she did. But neither girl was any more liberated than she was. Wasn’t that why Nelda had chosen them? Because they were under their mothers’ thumbs, just as she was.

  So what made Jenna think that she would finally have the courage to break free once she graduated from Tensley? Wouldn’t she simply look her mother in the eye, as she’d done in the past, then open her mouth to speak and be struck dumb? Probably. And if that happened, she would wake up one morning a few years from now married to some stodgy banker or lawyer, whom she didn’t love, and find herself reliving her mother’s life instead of living her own.

  Her dreams hadn’t mattered to anyone, least of all her parents. Her mother had scoffed at the idea of her attending A&M to seek an art degree, then moving to Chicago or New York, getting her own apartment, working at one of the museums to earn a living while pursuing her goal of becoming a professional artist. Her parents had allowed her to paint as a hobby, but according to them, the only true profession for a lady—even in the twenty-first century—was being a society wife. But Jenna knew she would suffocate and die if she
were to live that sort of life.

  Oh, what she’d give to break free, to go out and howl at the moon, to kick up her heels and do something—anything—totally outrageous. Tonight. Now. Right this minute! What she needed was just one wild ride of excitement and adventure.

  Jenna shot straight up, hopped out of bed and flung open her closet door. Flipping through her wardrobe, she found absolutely nothing that wasn’t “suitable” attire. For what she had in mind, she’d need something sexy, something that announced to the world that the woman wearing it was ready for a good time. Just as she’d given up on finding something, she spotted a pair of faded jeans that she’d stopped wearing because they were a size 4 and she was now a size 6. Perfect choice, she thought. Skintight, accentuating every curve of her lower body. After yanking the jeans off the rack, she tossed them onto her bed. On to Step Two of her plan.

  Rushing out of her bedroom, she called to her roommates. “It’s Friday night and none of us has a date. Why don’t we do something together?”

  “We are doing something together.” Dana, her dark brown eyes half-hidden behind silver-framed glasses, glanced up from where she sat at the small flat-top desk in the living room, charts and graphs spread out before her. “We’re supposed to be studying. Finals are coming up in a few weeks and if I’m going to graduate, then I—”

  “You’ll ace the exams,” plump, green-eyed Katie said as she emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of ice cream. “You and Jenna both. I’m the one who has to worry. I don’t have a 4.0 grade point average.”

  Patting herself on the chest, as if having heart palpitations, Dana moaned sarcastically. “Oh, no, you have only a 3.8.”

  “Let’s face facts. We’ll all three ace those finals and we know it. We’ve worked like demons for the past few years to keep up our grades to pacify our parents.” Jenna went over to Katie and took the bowl of ice cream out of her hand, then placed it on the table atop Dana’s papers.

  “Hey, watch it,” Dana complained.

  Jenna reached down, grabbed Dana’s hands and pulled her to her feet. As she grabbed Katie around the waist, the girl gasped. Jenna held tightly to both of her roommates. “We’re not going to study tonight and we’re not going to stay here while the rest of the world is out there having fun. Just because our parents stuck us in a women’s college doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of men out there.”

  Dana’s black curls bounced around her face as she shook her head. “I just want to know one thing—what have you done with my friend Jenna Wilson? Are you her clone? Or did you simply take over her body?”

  Jenna laughed, loving the very thought that she wasn’t acting like her usual logical, well-behaved self. “Come on. Where’s your spirit of adventure? Haven’t you ever wanted to go somewhere you shouldn’t, and do something forbidden, with someone really bad?”

  A warm flush colored Katie’s cheeks as she smiled. “Yes, I have. But I’ve never had the guts to do it.”

  “You’ve both lost your minds,” Dana said, but when she tried to pull away, Jenna held even tighter. When the two looked squarely at each other, Dana conceded, “Oh, all right. Yes. But I’m not the kind of girl who…well, let’s face it—I’m the bookworm type, the girl who’s had one sexual experience in her whole life.”

  “That’s one up on me,” Katie said.

  “Me, too,” Jenna admitted.

  “Oh, great,” Dana said. “So what are you suggesting that two virgins and a semivirgin do to get in trouble?”

  With a wicked smile on her lips, Jenna danced her friends around the room. “I say let’s put on the most slutty outfits we can pull together and drive over to Mission Creek to the Saddlebag Bar. I hear that place is really wild. Lots of cowboys drinking, shooting pool and looking to get laid. We can drink and dance and flirt like crazy.”

  “And what will our parents say if they find out?” Dana asked.

  “Why should they find out?” Jenna said. “Besides, that’s part of the fun—doing something that our mothers wouldn’t approve of.”

  “I’m game if y’all are,” Katie said.

  “Oh, all right,” Dana told them. “Count me in.”

  Brent Jameson downed the last drops of his beer and set the empty bottle on a nearby table before taking his turn in the game he was playing with Clay Hargett, one of the other ranch hands who worked with him at the Carson Ranch just outside Mission Creek. Brent was taking a working holiday away from his job in Chicago as a commodities analyst. His specialty was the cattle industry, but he’d lived away from his hometown of Kansas City, Texas, for ten years and felt he needed a refresher course in being a cowpoke. What better way to stay on top of things in the cattle industry than by doing some firsthand research?

  “Six ball in the side pocket,” Brent said as he took his shot. He wasn’t a professional by any means, but he was a damn good pool player and won more games than he lost up against the guys here at the Saddlebag Bar.

  “I see now that I’m going to lose my twenty bucks.” Clay smiled in his good-natured, easygoing way.

  Brent had found that he enjoyed the hard work and the simple, down-to-earth rest and relaxation guys like Clay experienced. The physically draining job on a ranch, as well as the rough and ready downtime, was addictive. But Brent knew that nothing could ever be as exciting, as exhilarating, as satisfying as his job and his lifestyle back in Chicago. As much as he enjoyed playing cowboy, it wasn’t the life for him. After two weeks on a ranch outside Laredo, owned by one of his father’s old friends, he’d moved on to Mission Creek, where he was working incognito on the Carson Ranch. Flynt Carson had been a business associate for several years and readily agreed to hire Brent on a temporary basis.

  After his stint in Texas, he’d return to Chicago, to his tailor-made suits, his expensive condo and his sleek, silver Jaguar convertible. The first thing he would do when he went home was telephone one of the lovely ladies he knew. Any one of a dozen would do just fine. Cheryl, with her mane of black hair and legs that went on forever. Or maybe glamorous redheaded Erica, who liked to play rough. Or Stephanie, with the cantaloupe-size boobs, who knew every trick in the book. Oh, yeah. He had his first night back in Chicago planned. He would take the lucky woman to dinner, to the theater and then to bed.

  He’d been too long without a woman. Although he was considered something of a playboy, he didn’t customarily have one-night stands. He was always careful in every way a man needed to be careful when it came to sex. And that’s all it was for him—sex. He wasn’t ready for some woman to rope and brand him. Fortunately, he had yet to meet the female who could wrap him around her little finger.

  Sinking the eight ball into the corner pocket, Brent ended his third game with Clay, winning their twenty-dollar bet. Just as he shook hands with his opponent, he heard somebody let out a long, low and very loud whistle that instantly gained his attention. He and half the men in the Saddlebag Bar visually searched the room, seeking the object of that hungry wolf whistle.

  And there she was. My God, what a beauty. Petite but voluptuous. No more than five-two, with a to-die-for body. Young and luscious. Her skintight faded jeans hugged her trim hips and firm, round butt. A skimpy, white tank top left little to the imagination, revealing the swell of her large, full breasts and the tiny span of her bare waist. Her long, straight, baby blond hair caressed her naked back as she walked.

  Just looking at her gave Brent a hard-on.

  Jenna had never felt so self-conscious in her entire life. Her heart beat ninety to nothing, pounding so loudly that she could barely hear the band. All sounds blended together into one big roar inside her head. Katie and Dana followed her, somewhat reluctantly. They had ended up taking pieces from their own wardrobes, along with items borrowed from fellow Tensley students, to put together their ensembles. Admittedly, Jenna’s outfit was the most provocative, but she loved feeling seductive. Her new and heady sense of power pleased her greatly.

  A country and western band played loud, she
-done-him wrong music, which mixed with the drone of talking, laughing and occasional cursing. Smoke created a thin haze, a transparent gray sheen coating the interior of the roadhouse. Huge ceiling fans swirled and whined softly. Couples clung to each other on the dance floor and others made out in darkened corners. A section just off the dance floor held numerous small tables, with a variety of customers seated in the wooden chairs. Men and women congregated around the four pool tables in the back of the roadhouse and the crowded bar area was filled to capacity.

  When someone let out a loud whistle, Jenna instinctively knew the guy was whistling at her. She’d had boys following her around like lovesick puppy dogs ever since she’d outgrown her training bra, but her parents’ tight rein on her social life had curtailed any chance of romance. That was why she was a twenty-one-year-old virgin.

  Dana grabbed Jenna’s arm. “He’s whistling at you!”

  “He looks mean and dirty,” Katie said. “Oh, gee, I wish we hadn’t come here.”

  “We should leave now, before we get in trouble,” Dana said.

  “No. We aren’t leaving,” Jenna told them. “Remember why we came here. Fun. Excitement. A walk on the wild side.”

  “I don’t think I have a wild side.” Dana dug in her heels—her red, four inch spike heels she’d borrowed from a friend—and refused to budge.

  “Have you ever seen so many hot, sweaty men in your life?” Katie scanned the honky-tonk, her eyes wide with wonder, like a kid in a candy shop, overwhelmed by the abundance of goodies.

  “There has to be a guy in here for each of us.” Jenna surveyed the bar, where the man who’d whistled at her stood. He waved at her and grinned. No, not him, she thought. He wasn’t what she was looking for—a little too old, probably thirty-five, and skinny as a rail. “It’s just a matter of zeroing in on what we want. We might have better luck if we separate and scout out the area.”