Sonoran Nights

By Carré White

She was the half-breed daughter of the town drunk who never knew her mother, but that didn’t stop Wind Whitebear from riding her motorcycle and fantasizing about high school quarterback Tyler McCormick. He was the richest kid in town and totally out of her league.

Her father’s unexpected death forces Wind to return to Gunstone, Arizona, where she finds herself embroiled in a mystery. As she unravels secrets, a chance encounter with Tyler opens the door to a connection that might have begun before, yet was never realized… until now.

As their attraction heats up, a threat materializes that no one suspected, and the truth is revealed with shocking consequences. But first, Wind must conquer her fear and trust the only man who has the power to break her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love Lust Story
• Release date: Nov 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536548136

Carré White

  Carré White is the author of Sonoran Nights, a book that is set in the same small town in Arizona that she grew up in. After marrying, having children, and traveling, she settled in Colorado, enjoying nearly 350 days of sunshine. The Colorado Brides Series, which follow the lives of adventurous frontier women, who traveled west in the 1850's to find love is available now.

Book preview

Prologue

I had taken up my usual position in the back of the room, eyeing everyone like the voyeur I was, while drawing circles upon circles on the edges of my notebook. Mr. Sparks rambled on about what he expected on the final essay, but I was only half-listening, preferring to stare at Tyler McCormick instead. He was infinitely more interesting than Comparative Government and Politics. I had been staring at him for years, since grade school, and it had become a secret obsession.

Mr. Sparks paced before us, his countenance thoughtful, as he stared downwards. He bent, retrieving a wad of paper from the floor. Okay, where was I? Right. Their constitutionality was well established by the United States in the nineteenth century before...

I wasn’t listening; instead I focused on Tyler’s arm, which rested on the desk, the outlines of muscles protruding beneath tanned skin. He’d always been athletic. His brother, Gage, had been the school’s star quarterback, and, after he gradated, Tyler had followed in his footsteps, earning nearly a godlike status as the player who had orchestrated the most touchdowns in a single season. He was worshipped, celebrated, and basically given the keys to the school, if not the entire town. To add to these achievements, he was also incredibly smart. Most of his classes were advanced placement, and he was rumored to have accepted a full scholarship to Stanford. There was talk that he was considering Austin, Texas, but none of that mattered, because Gunstone’s golden boy would succeed no matter where he went.

I’m giving everyone the chance to re-take the last test. If you’re borderline, and you know who you are, I suggest you take advantage of this opportunity.

My future wasn’t quite as shiny or as pretty as Tyler’s, although my grades had earned a decent scholarship, which I would be taking advantage of shortly. I couldn’t wait to get out of this miserable little, one-horse town and escape to California; I’d live with my uncle while I went to school. The day I left would be the happiest of my life. I was nearly crawling out of my skin with impatience, my tolerance for all things Gunstone having worn thin.

And not all politics are like this, mind you, but things seem to be heading in that direction...

I nibbled on the end of the pen, gazing at Tyler. His profile revealed a Greek-like nose and strong jawline, which was topped off with messy, sandy-colored hair. He must have sensed my interest, because he turned slightly, eyeing me. I quickly glanced at the notebook; the words I had written were blurred, as hundreds of doodlings danced before my eyes. His appraisal was lengthy, and I could feel his interest; his body had shifted in my direction. I’d caught him looking at me before, and it was always the same: the pings of recognition, the tingles in my belly, and the feelings of elation.

Mr. McCormick. What’s so fascinating at the back of the room?

What?

Something’s got your attention, and it’s not my lesson.

Ah...sorry.

Mr. Sparks resumed his pacing. So the function of the courts has basically been to protect human rights. Without laws...

Tyler cast a glance over his shoulder, and our eyes met. This cat-and-mouse game had been played for years, and the feelings it provoked were as confusing as they were exciting. In my sophomore year, our lockers had been next to each other, and the proximity had set me on edge in pleasurable ways, as we fiddled with our padlocks and retrieved our things. We’d come face-to-face dozens of times, and no one had ever said anything; although once, right before Homecoming, it had seemed as if he wanted to ask me something, but his brother had approached, shattering the moment.

He was dating Kaylee Wexler now, who was thin, blonde, and gorgeous. Her pedigree included being Homecoming Queen two years in a row and runner-up to Prom Queen last year. She had made captain of the cheerleading team, among other equally astonishing achievements. She was outgoing, charismatic, and practically bursting with school spirit. This bundle of energy even bounced when she walked. Kaylee was everything I would never be, the stereotypical image of what success in America looked like. I, on the other hand, being part Navajo and of dubious parentage, was the antithesis of what was considered desirable, especially considering my father’s infamous reputation.

The shrill ring of the bell snapped me out of these unpleasant musings, as I grabbed my things, tossing a backpack over my shoulder. I followed the crowd from the room, where we went our separate ways, hurrying down air-conditioned corridors lined with lockers. I flung the metal door open, seeing my reflection in a small mirror attached by suction cups. It was the end of the day, and my olive toned skin was slightly shiny. A small smudge of ink marred my cheek. I licked a finger and erased the offensive mark. How long had that been there? Removing a hair tie from around my wrist, I collected my long, dark hair and secured it into a ponytail. I snatched a helmet and withdrew keys from a pocket. Whatever homework I needed was already in the backpack.

A blast of hot hair hit me, while pushing open the door at the end of the hall, exiting the building. I headed for the parking lot. Reaching my bike, I straddled the seat, inserting the key. I nearly burned myself on the metal surrounds. The sun had baked the leather, and the heat seeped through the material of my jeans. The five-speed transmission, with an electric starter, needed only the push of a button to spring to life, but, as I lifted the kickstand, the sluggish movement of the Honda Rebel sent my spirits plummeting. I had a flat tire.

I gazed at my surroundings suspiciously, spying Tony Brock and Lenny Spalding loitering near the corner of the art building. They were looking at me, and I got the distinct impression that they were laughing, the smug bastards. I was anything but popular and only a step above disdain for most of the students, who had known me since I was a child. Those boys were notorious troublemakers. I had been victimized for years: gum in my hair, my locker spray painted, art projects shredded, the name-calling, taunts, and harassment; it never ended...and now this. I knew they had been responsible for the flat tire.

Shit! I muttered, getting off the bike. How would I get home? I couldn’t call my father, because he was always drunk by this time of the day.

What happened? Tyler McCormick stood before me. Things had just gotten even worse.

Flat tire.

You got a way to get home?

Um...not really.

I could give you a ride.

Just the fact that he was speaking to me was a shock. I stared at him, not quite believing that after eight years of almost zero communication, here we were in an actual conversation.

Thanks, but that’s okay.

How will you get home?

I shrugged. Dunno.

Come on, he laughed, his eyes glinting. Let me give you a ride. We can throw the bike in the back of my truck.

It’s like three hundred pounds!

He grinned. Well, you gotta help me.

My dad had the equipment to make the necessary repairs: the tire stand, air compressor, and valve core remover. This could be accomplished with relative ease, providing he was sober, and that was a huge if.

All right.

Great. Be back in a sec.

He disappeared into the parking lot, and, a moment later, a gleaming, new-looking vehicle approached. His family owned a car dealership, so this was no surprise. I left my things on the sidewalk, and we wrangled the motorcycle into the back, laying it on its side. Our hands were filthy, and he handed me a wet wipe.

Thanks.

No problem.

I got in, and he closed my door. He strode around the front of the truck, his jeans molding to the firm globes of his bottom. Won’t your girlfriend be angry?

That I’m helping someone? He got in and shut the door.

A female someone. The cold air from the vent felt wonderful. I don’t want you to get in trouble.

It’s not a federal offense to give somebody a ride.

Thank you so much.

He grinned. Not a problem.

We pulled out of the parking lot, heading east on Springer Road, which was the main thoroughfare through town. We sped by several fast food restaurants and a car dealership with the words McCormick Chrysler Dodge emblazoned on a large sign. Tyler was your stereotypical rich kid; his family owned several businesses in town. I cringed, thinking that he would now get an eyeful of how the other half lived.

You mind if I turn the radio on?

Go ahead. It’s your car.

He pressed a button, and music played. You leaving after graduation?

Yep.

What school are you going to?

UCLA.

Oh, awesome.

Where are you going?

It’s a toss-up between Stanford and Texas. I gotta make a decision this week. I’ve put if off too long already.

I can’t wait to get outta this town.

He nodded. I know what you mean. We were idling, waiting at a red light. What’s your major?

Liberal Arts. What’s yours?

Business. He seemed to know where I lived, which was interesting. What kind of job are you going for?

I don’t know. I need to figure it out.

My parents want me to eventually run some of the businesses.

So you’re coming back after you graduate?

Jeez, I hope not. I’m looking at a sports career. It better be years before I’m trapped in some office.

We had reached one of the bigger intersections that connected with the highway. There were opposing grocery stores on each side, flanked by shops and restaurants. I lived further down this way on a dirt road, that we were fast approaching. Mountains spanned the horizon in all directions. Our altitude of forty-six hundred feet allowed for clear views straight into Mexico, which was a little over a half hour away. The vista was spectacular. The sunsets were typically pink and copper in color, and the vegetation was sprinkled with prickly pears, Saguaros, Ocotillo, and an endless supply of hardy mesquites.

The property had been in our family for nearly eighty years. The home was constructed in the adobe style, with a flat roofline and stuccoed exterior. There were several outbuildings, but everything needed repair and updating. The bathrooms belonged in a museum, as they were period pieces, circa the 1970’s. This included all the furniture. We owned thirty acres, which were paid for, but dad struggled with the tax bill. His inability to hold down a job had left us in the lurch more times than I could remember.

So you know where I live. We parked out front next to a dented, Ford truck.

I had a general idea. We used to party here. He left the engine running, his gaze lingering on me. We’d make campfires and drink and stuff.

You?

Yeah, me. I’m not as square as you think.

Don’t you have like a gazillion acres somewhere? The McCormicks frequently advertised land sales on signs off the highway and newspaper and radio advertisements.

I partied there too. We were in the town park a lot. What else is there to do here?

My social life was almost non-existent. Sounds like you had fun.

His expression was thoughtful. We’ve known each other since fourth or fifth grade, huh?

Yep.

We never talked.

Nope.

I always found you kinda interesting.

That confession was completely unexpected. My tummy flipped over in butterfly-like tingles. Really?

Yeah.

Why didn’t you talk to me before?

You seem...standoffish. You always look pissed about something.

Really? I did not realize this. Oh, man. That would explain a few things. Great.

You’re not really always pissed off, are you?

I glanced at him. No. I didn’t know I looked like that.

I just got the feeling you didn’t want to talk to anyone.

That’s not true. I...found you interesting too. I can’t believe I admitted that!

Really? Heat flared in his gaze.

I squirmed in the seat. Um...maybe not. We should get the bike down. Despite the air conditioner, I’d begun to perspire, as nervous knots twisted inside my tummy.

He stared at me; the wheels in his mind were spinning. Maybe I shoulda tried harder to get to know you.

Um...maybe. But it was too late. The school year was over, finals were next week, and then everyone would go their separate ways. Life was about to pull us in different directions.

Bummer. He just realized what I had concluded. I missed an opportunity here.

I shrugged. Story of my life. I opened the door, as a blast of hot air hit me. Let’s get the bike down.

Yeah. He got out and lowered the tailgate. Hop in and grab the front. I’ll get the end.

Wearing jeans that hugged my legs like a second skin, I scrambled into the truck, grasping the handlebars. I’m ready.

Okay. One, two, three, go! Together we managed to lift three hundred pounds of steel and fiberglass to the ground. Tyler released the kickstand. How’re you gonna change the tire?

My dad has the equipment for it.

I should’ve brought it to our shop. That was stupid. We could have waited for them to change it. He smiled. Why didn’t I think of that?

His solution was expensive. It was money I didn’t have. That’s fine. We can fix it ourselves.

He eyed a nearby shed, which was littered with discarded furniture, boxes, and motorcycle parts. You probably have what you need.

Yeah. He wasn’t in any rush to leave, and I certainly wasn’t inviting him in. Well, thanks again, Tyler. It was really nice of you to take me home.

His hands were on his hips, his t-shirt barely covering a chest filled with muscles, the slight bulges protruding beneath the thin fabric. I sensed his hesitancy, regret. It mirrored my own.

I guess I’ll be going then.

I’ll see you in class.

You need any help writing your paper?

I was flattered and more than a little flustered by the question. I’d love to spend time with him, in close quarters, working on an essay. Releasing my hair from its confinement, the glossy strands fell around my face, while I struggled to contain a smile.

Maybe I do.

The front door opened, and a man appeared, bedraggled, bleary-eyed, and slightly off-balance. Wind?

Oh, crap! Well, thanks again, Tyler. I flung the backpack over my shoulder. See ya later.

Hi, Mr. Whitebear.

My dad grimaced in the sun. Who the fuck are you?

He brought me home. My tire’s flat. I took the stairs, pulling on his arm, trying to get him into the house before he could embarrass me any further.

Tyler’s happy countenance had transformed into confusion, laced with a fair amount of worry. Is everything all right, Wind?

Just fine. Thanks again. See you later. I shoved dad towards the door. He reeked of whisky. Get in. I’ll make you some food.

Who the fuck is that?

A guy from school.

I closed the door, leaning against it, while cursing my lousy luck. Dad staggered into the kitchen, scratching his butt and mumbling. It reeked of stale air, laced with the moldiness of the swamp cooler. Tires crunched over rocks; Tyler was