Watch Me Fall

By Cherrie Lynn

Starla Kimbrell might be on the worst date of her life, but she didn’t expect to find herself walking home alone on a dark dirt road after her latest mistake leaves her in a cloud of dust. Luckily, salvation comes in the form of Jared Stanton—single dad of two, sexy cowboy, blue eyes like whoa. If she isn’t careful, she might just let him become the latest in her string of amorous disasters.

Jared doesn’t consider himself on the market. His first love left his heart in pieces that even a marriage to someone else couldn’t salvage, and now that he’s divorced and focusing on his twin daughters, he isn’t looking to put another woman in the shadow of the one who crushed him. Still, the stranded tattoo artist intrigues him, while her unstable ex-boyfriend makes him worry for her safety. Is the guy just a mouthy jerk, or is Starla in real danger?

Starla quickly learns that not everyone in her life is thrilled with her new interest in Jared. Their cautious courtship is rocked when tragedy strikes and the world as she and her coworkers know it is shattered. Faced with a situation she can’t handle, she turns to the only man who has ever made her feel truly safe, even as she learns that Jared’s protective instincts might be destructive enough in their own way to rip them apart for good.

Each book in the Ross Siblings series is STANDALONE:
* Unleashed
* Rock Me
* Breathe Me In
* Leave Me Breathless
* Light Me Up
* Take Me On
* Watch Me Fall
* Breathless

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jul 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640632387

Cherrie Lynn

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Cherrie Lynn has been a CPS caseworker and a juvenile probation officer, but now that she has come to her senses, she writes contemporary and paranormal romance on the steamy side. It's *much* more fun. She's also an unabashed rock music enthusiast and lives in East Texas with her husband and two kids. You can visit her at http://www.cherrielynn.com She loves hearing from readers!

Book preview

For my dear friend Melanie, the strongest person I know. I love you!

Chapter One

Have you ever thought about how close to death we are at every moment?

Starla Kimbrell’s fingers froze midtext. A chill lifted the fine hairs at her nape, but she did her best to huff out an exasperated sigh and look unaffected. Max glanced over at her from the driver’s seat of the older-model Mustang currently hurtling down a dark ribbon of Texas farm road. Well, have you?

Don’t start your shit tonight. I’m not in the mood.

Seriously, Star. Look. My hands on the steering wheel, for example.

She side-eyed the subject of his attention, debating whether she should finish her text to Janelle with a quick last will and testament. Not that she had much to leave to anyone.

The ground on either side of the car dropped away as they crossed onto the Perkins Creek Bridge, and Starla squirmed a little in her seat. She hated bridges on a good day. She found she hated them even more when the driver of the car she was in started talking crazy. "Just one tiny yank a couple of inches to the right…" To demonstrate, Max gave the wheel only a tiny yank. The car lurched to the right and quickly back to center. She gasped, her hands shooting out to either side, meeting door and center console as if that would somehow protect her if he decided to do something stupid.

We’re on a fucking bridge, Max.

I know. That’s my point. See this eighteen-wheeler coming toward us? A yank in the opposite direction and we’re worm food. One little twitch of my muscles. It’s all over. It’s fuckin’ weird when you think about how easy it would be.

She stared at those approaching headlights until they blinded her, heart thudding. But they rocketed safely by, and she finally allowed herself the breath her frozen lungs had been denying her. Not that she really thought Max would do something like that.

Hell, sometimes she didn’t know.

We didn’t go into the light after all, he remarked, teeth gleaming as his lips curled in a grin.

That’s beautiful. And this was over. Starla drew another shaking breath. That was two. She was on a roll. Stop the fucking car.

Max finished his swig from the beer bottle he’d been keeping nestled between his legs before swinging his head around to look at her. Huh?

I said, stop the car. I’m getting out.

Yeah, right. With a scoff, he switched on the blinker to turn down Old Harris Road, a labyrinthine county road barely wide enough for two cars and the unfortunate route they’d have to take to reach the party he’d insisted on going to tonight.

Starla watched the headlights illuminate the trees as he made the turn, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy and more than a little sick. Deftones’ Digital Bath droned from the Mustang’s speakers. She listened for a moment, drawing steady breaths through her nose to build her strength before speaking again. I’m serious, Max.

So you want out. What the hell for? Did I scare you? You should be scared. We should all be scared.

You are so weird. She lifted her phone again, focusing on the lighted screen and ignoring how it shook in her hand. "So fucking weird."

He nudged her with his right elbow. She jerked away from the touch. That’s why—hey, come on! That’s why you like me.

She liked weird, yeah. Psychotic? Not so much. And the more time she spent with this dude, the more he leaned toward the latter.

I gotta get the hell out of here, she quickly texted Janelle. And shit’s prolly about to hit the fan.

She really didn’t want to hear her best friend’s reply, though. Jan had tried to warn her. They’d all tried to warn her—Ghost, Brian, everyone who even vaguely knew Max had told her he was not good news. Well, to be fair, fucking whacked-out freak had been Ghost’s exact words. And, naturally, that had only intrigued Starla more. Coming from Ghost? Yeah. Curiosity had spiked to the stratosphere.

So she had only herself to blame. If she weren’t such a sucker for black hair and blue eyes, mystery and weirdness, if she weren’t the type to want to touch the fire even when she knew it would burn…

Dammit! she erupted, spurred by her own internal frustrations, trying to shut them up. I said let me out of the fucking car, Max.

Where you gonna go, huh? Calm down. Muttering crazy bitch under his breath, he took another drink of his beer.

She was the crazy bitch? Anywhere that’s away from you.

He stepped on the brake so hard, she pitched forward. Her right hand scrabbled for the door handle, but ironlike fingers clamped around her left arm, and she swung around to glare into Max’s outraged blue eyes. You’re not getting out of this fucking car in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I don’t care. You’re getting drunk, and you’ll be drunker by the time I’m ready to go home. I shouldn’t have come. So let me out, and I’ll call someone to come get me.

Her cell phone chimed with an incoming message, most likely Janelle’s reply. The last thing she wanted was for him to see it.

Who? he demanded. Whose dick you plan to suck tonight?

She jerked the door handle, popping the door open. Damn sure not yours.

Oh yeah? Fuck you, then. Get out. He shoved her hard in her shoulder. She nearly tumbled out onto the ground, but that would’ve been fine. Anything, anywhere, by any means, as long as she was out of that car she never should’ve gotten into. Catching herself, she vaulted to her feet and had enough time to flip him off before he snatched the passenger door closed.

He made sure to return the gesture, then straightened and sped off, spraying her legs with dust and gravel. A moment later, his taillights disappeared around a curve up the road.

Good. Fucking. Riddance.

Except…shit! Her purse was still somewhere on his floorboard. Luckily, she still had her phone clutched in her hand. Raising it to her face, however, showed that the screen was cracked. She must’ve slammed it onto the ground trying to catch herself in the fall. But it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t read the text. Janelle wanted to know where she was. Unfortunately, the touchscreen was cracked badly enough that she couldn’t reply or maneuver to a point where she could call.

Perfect, she muttered, looking around to take stock of her situation for the first time. She was surrounded by banks of tall trees on either side, the road stretching between them to her left and her right. She couldn’t reach anyone, and Janelle was probably going to think she was dead in a ditch somewhere. Her best bet was to head back to the main road, she supposed, and walk the six long, lonely miles back to town. In the dark.

Jesus.

Maybe she’d slightly overreacted? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d let her temper get her into a messed-up situation. Most likely she and Max would’ve made it alive to the party, then she could have slipped away and called someone to pick her up.

Right. Then he could’ve discovered what she was doing, thrown a tantrum, caused a scene, accosted whoever her rescuer turned out to be, gotten several people into a fight, and she would have that weighing on her conscience. Any more weight on that particular part of her psyche, and she might buckle under the burden of it.

Sighing, she shoved her damaged phone in her pocket and trudged up the road, wishing now that she’d put her gym membership to use. Six miles. Or so. Maybe seven. Maybe someone would have mercy on her and give her a lift. Maybe that person wouldn’t be a machete-wielding maniac. But with the way her luck ran lately, nothing would surprise her.

Was this her punishment? She supposed she should shut up and take it. Stop being so damned stupid. Stop looking for salvation in every guy that came along who somehow, even fleetingly, reminded her of…

Stop. You want to stop? Then just fucking stop. Don’t even think his name. Especially not now.

Easier said than done when she saw him on a daily basis, and every new day was an opportunity for new memories.

Fierce, furious tears stung her eyes, but she stared resolutely ahead at the dirt road, refusing to give in to them. It was terribly dark, no moon above to light her way. A security light here and there as she walked was her only illumination, along with the light from her fractured phone display. Security lights meant houses, but none that looked as if they’d be welcoming of a teary-eyed imbecile pounding on their doors in the dead of night.

She’d made her bed. She kept running around with creeps, so she’d suffer the consequences of running around with creeps. She was in love with someone she could never, ever have, someone who belonged to another, so she’d take every hurt, every sharp pebble under her shoe, every shard in her heart, and drive them all deeper if they could possibly eclipse the pain of that.

It wasn’t fair of her, and it wasn’t his fault, of course, but sometimes she could hate him for turning her into such a freaking idiot.

Starla was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the sound of a vehicle behind her and the brightening of the road ahead with the approaching headlights. Coming from the direction Max had gone. Oh crap, he was back. Stopping in her tracks, she looked wildly around for somewhere to duck and hide, but the foliage was so thick on either side, she dared not try it. No telling what lurked in that. Snakes, spiders… She shuddered and crossed her arms against the chilly early April night, stalking up the road with purpose now. She wouldn’t look back. She would ignore him. And if he attempted to get out and hassle her, she’d fuck him up. A well-placed nut shot would bring any bastard to his knees if it came to that.

Still, her heart thundered and the need to run burned through her veins. As the vehicle pulled alongside her, she whirled to plow through the trees no matter what horrors might await.

Hey, a male voice said. Not Max. Starla turned, wide-eyed. Not a car. A pickup. A dually, actually, huge and high off the ground due to its mud-grip tires. From what she could tell, it was red. A country song drifted mournfully from the interior. What she couldn’t tell was much about its driver in the darkness, especially since he appeared to wear a cap pulled low over his eyes. You having trouble? he asked, and the song’s volume decreased as he turned it down.

You could say that. When wasn’t she having trouble?

He leaned his head out a little farther, looking back at the road he’d just traveled. Are you broke down? I didn’t pass anything.

Did you by any chance meet a black Mustang?

Yeah, I did. Nearly ran me into the ditch.

"That’s the trouble I’m having. Or rather, the idiot driving it."

To her surprise, he opened the driver’s door. A heavy work boot came down on the truck’s single step, and he easily boosted himself down.

Out here, standing just at the edge of the shine of his headlights, she could see better. Tall. Broad shoulders that almost stretched the dark plaid of his shirt. Built. A scent wafted toward her, not cologne but hay, cut grass, fresh air, and hard work.

And, hello, beard.

He tipped his cap back a bit and appraised her closely with eyes of an indiscernible color. Whatever color it was, it was light.

Please, God in heaven, don’t let them be blue.

Are you all right? he asked, his assessment apparently yielding him nothing alarming.

Oh yeah, she said quickly, glancing down self-consciously at herself. Nothing much happened. I just made him let me out. Jerk. I did break my phone, though, so I can’t call anyone to pick me up. I was going to walk. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, debating. Not wanting to ask outright for any help, no matter how badly she needed it.

I’m on my way into town. I can give you a ride if you want.

Hmm. Punishment and blisters and achy feet versus heat and the comfort of a seat under her butt. No brainer. And she’d bet the meager contents of her bank account that this dude wasn’t a machete-wielding maniac. Although he could probably wield a machete, which would come in handy with idiots like Max.

Of course, stubborn thoughts like that were what always got her into these situations.

Chapter Two

Jared Stanton glanced over at his charge for the next few miles and puzzled over where he’d seen her before. She sat demurely against the passenger door, but he’d bet there really wasn’t a demure thing about her. She wore a black top with cut-out shoulders, enough to show that both her arms were covered with tattoos, and her jeans were ratty and torn enough to reveal her legs were no different. Shimmering blonde hair with pink and turquoise streaks spilled in large curls over her shoulders. She stared out the window, elbow propped on the door, silver-ringed fingers pensively at her lips.

Silence had filled the air ever since she’d hoisted herself into his truck. Ordinarily, he had no problem with silence, but this was a girl who looked like she had a lot to say. He only needed to look at her to see the tension thrumming under her skin.

You really look familiar, he said at last, then wanted to cringe at the banality of it. It was enough, though, to bring her head around. Feeling her stare him down, he figured it was no less than he deserved. He’d been doing the same to her.

Now that I think about it, you do too.

Interesting. But this wasn’t a big town, after all; he might’ve only seen her in passing. What’s your name?

Starla. She sat silently for a moment, but he still felt her gaze boring into him. Oh. Oh shit. I think I just figured out who you are.

And that was even more interesting, though he should have guessed what she was going to say before it came out of her mouth, should have prepared for the teeth-grinding misery of it. You’re Macy Rodgers’s ex.

Yeah. That was what he was known for, it seemed. Macy Rodgers’s ex. Since the catastrophe that relegated him to that position in life, he’d married someone else, had kids, divorced, and still, Macy Rodgers hung like a damn thundercloud over his head, forever to rain on his life. He and Macy had been an inseparable unit for so many years, though, with so many people expecting them to be together forever, he supposed that was inevitable.

Jared Stanton, he said, if only to prove to himself he had a name. He glanced at Starla again, the colorful hair, the tattoos, the little flash of silver he’d noticed on her tongue when she’d spoken to him outside his truck. I take it you’re acquainted with… He trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the guy’s nickname. It sat sour and unsaid on his tongue.

Ghost, she supplied. Yeah. I work with him.

Jared sat in silence, white-knuckling the steering wheel as the muscles in his chest tightened. It wasn’t that he could really blame Ghost for taking Macy and running. How could he? He’d tried to do the same, not once but twice. It was just that if Ghost hadn’t come along when he did, forever with Macy might have finally happened.

He’s a good guy, you know, Starla said, probably sensing his own tension had ratcheted up tenfold. "Don’t let him fool you with the crazy act. That asshole I was with tonight? That’s a bad dude. Ghost, he’s pretty awesome."

The last thing he needed was to hear the guy’s praises sung in his own truck. But he had to admit it was nice to hear Macy would be okay from a more objective source. She’d promised Jared that herself, but she was biased. Her parents had even promised him, but did they really know that guy? Ghost would be on his best behavior around them. Hearing that a coworker—whose opinions could run good or bad—thought highly of him was slightly more comforting.

That’s good, he said, hearing the strain in his words. So you’re a tattoo artist, then?

At Dermamania, yeah.

How’d you get into that?

She cleared her throat and rubbed her palms on her jeans while he wondered what about his question made her nervous. The guy who owns it, Brian? I’ve known him for…God, so many years. He kind of got me into it because I was always into art. Then he got me the job at Darwin’s old shop, you remember that place? And when he struck out on his own, he took me with him. She shrugged. Dermamania put Darwin’s out of business. That was never the intent. But here I am, still with it. She lapsed into silence for a moment. Do you have any tattoos?

Jared chuckled. No. No inclination either.

To each his own. She sighed at her shattered cell phone, then tossed it to the side. And I suppose you don’t smoke either.

No.

Damn. I could really use one. I left my purse in Max’s frigging car.

If it’s any consolation, I would’ve asked you not to smoke in my truck anyway. Sorry.

Oh. Right.

He shrugged. My little girls are in here a lot, you understand.

Can I use your phone? she asked, nearly cutting off his explanation. I need to call off the dogs. I probably have a posse searching for me after the last text I sent my friend.

Jared plucked it from his shirt pocket and passed it over, then sat in dumbstruck awe as the strangest one-half of a conversation he’d ever heard played out.

"Jan… Yeah, I’m okay. I got a ride from someone, and I’m on his phone… Hell if I fucking know, or care… I made him let me out of the car… You. Did. Not… No, you did not! Oh my God. Oh, my fucking… I’m gonna cut your ass tomorrow, you realize that, right?… You told him?… No, they should leave it alone… Am I not humiliated enough for you already, you have to do this to me?… Jesus. Just let everyone know to stand the hell down. Bye."

As she hung up, she dropped her arm in her lap and the back of her blonde head met the seat. She banged it there a few more times with a groan of anguish. He caught himself stealing glances at her shadowed profile as the road allowed. Following the graceful curve of her forehead, down to the straight little nose, and finally the subtle pout of her lips. Sweet and classic, but with an edge.

Everything okay? he asked cautiously.

Can you keep driving? Can we just, like, keep going forever so I never have to face anyone again in my life? Start completely over, no past, no labels, no mistakes to haunt us?

No Macy Rodgers’s ex. Snickering, Jared adjusted the bill of his cap and gave her another sideways glance. It was a silly thought, of course, but he might as well humor her. Well, you’d have to face me.

Sure, but you aren’t privy to most of my fuckups. Just this one.

We all have fuckups.

Mine are just more colossal than most, I suppose. At least to me they are. Where would we end up if we kept driving, anyway?

If we kept going this way, we’d eventually hit I-35, and that would take us damn near to Canada. My ex-wife has family up in Minnesota, and we’ve driven it before. He shook his head. Worst trip ever.

The North Pole wouldn’t be far enough. Start with Mars.

Aw, it can’t be all that bad.

It could be worse, Jared, but it could damn sure be better too.

Wasn’t that the damn truth. His agreement with her statement, though, was almost immediately forgotten given the casual way she dropped his name in the middle. For whatever insane, logic-defying reason, the only thing he could think of was hearing her say it in his ear. Over and over.

Wiping a hand down his face, he shifted in his seat as his fly tightened uncomfortably. What the hell was wrong with him? Picking up damsels in distress and then imagining… Shit. Had he been so long without a woman that he was turning into a creep?

Starla certainly was no damsel, though, and he had the feeling any distress she found herself in was of her own making. He could relate. Still, it wasn’t gonna happen. The last time he drowned his loneliness and miseries in a woman, he ended up married to her and raising twin girls. Not that he had any regrets; Ashley and Mia were his world. And Shelly, their mom, had been sweet and loving, a good wife any way you looked at it.

But no Macy.

And until he could bar thoughts like that from entering his mind, he had no business breaking his self-imposed celibacy. None whatsoever. It wasn’t fair to whomever he was with to constantly compare her to someone else, and he couldn’t stop. Just…couldn’t stop.

Turn right up here, Starla said quietly. She’d settled considerably after her outburst, seeming small and crumpled, as if she simply didn’t have anything left.

And a disturbing thought occurred to him. Hey. This guy you were with tonight. He isn’t going to come back around and hassle you, is he?

Her face tilted minutely toward him, briefly catching a streetlight as he made the turn she’d indicated. I don’t think so. He was going to a party and was already well on his way to being drunk. He’s probably all the way by now.

Jared’s brow furrowed. She wasn’t sure, and he liked that about as much as he liked the idea of a drunk idiot careening down his road. All the more reason that he might do something stupid.

Maybe. She sighed.

Is there a friend you can stay with?

I have a roommate.

Is that enough?

I’m sure it is.

Don’t be too proud to tell someone if you need help. You shouldn’t have to handle these things by yourself.

Far too many people know too much about my business. It’s embarrassing, and it’s my own fault for letting them in. Better to start shutting them out than showing them what new lows I can reach.

Yeah, but if this guy might hurt you—

Max is more bark than bite.

He was enough bite that you made him put you out on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. What would you really have done if I hadn’t come along?

Her voice sharpened, defensiveness rising. I guess I would be walking.

Lucky for you I live out that way. And I’m pretty sure I know where he was going to party, and it’s nowhere I’d ever want to hang out.

I hang out there all the time.

He clamped his mouth shut on a retort. If she did, then Macy probably did too. The music and shouting and craziness that wafted up to his house every other weekend from that place had brought him out on the porch more than once, contemplating driving down there to shoot out their speakers and tell them to shut the hell up. It bothered him most when his daughters were home, though, and he couldn’t very well do that with them around.

And now he’d obviously insulted Starla, so he let the conversation drop while she directed him through a few more turns, finally pulling to a stop in front of a simple A-frame house in a cul-de-sac. I so appreciate you picking me up, she said at last, after the truck had idled for a few seconds with neither of them speaking or moving. "Really, you have no idea how much. Hell, I probably couldn’t have walked all that way. I’m really not trying to be a bitch, but I’ve got it handled from here. All right?"

He couldn’t help but smile at the determined little jut of her chin, but it chilled on his face at the thought of someone hurting her. Do me one favor, at least?

Starla’s eyes met his in the dimness. He didn’t know why, but something seemed to take her aback the moment their gazes touched. Her eyes widened, the lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks. Wh— um. Ahem. What?

Not that you would, but don’t go out with that guy again. For any reason.

No, no, I wouldn’t. Ever. Promise. A nervous laugh flitted from her lips, then she collected her destroyed phone and turned for the door. One thing he could say about her: from her physical adornments to her attitude, she was certainly unlike any woman he’d ever been around.

Jared watched her climb carefully down from his truck, fighting the odd sense of regret at seeing her leave. Unfortunately, it won, forcing his mouth into motion again. Do you need help getting your purse back?

No, thanks! She slammed the door and scurried up to her front porch, hair twinkling incredibly in the security lights, without a single glance back. He watched while she banged on the door, while someone inside opened it, while she disappeared inside. Closing him out.

Damn.

That had been weird.

Chapter Three

Jared Stanton had the bluest fucking eyes she’d ever seen.

Even in his truck where it had been dark, she could tell. The overhead lights had caught them, making the color explode. Blue, painfully blue, blue as the damn springtime sky outside. She’d seen that color in her dreams all night, blue eyes, first Jared’s and then the cruel icy glint of Max’s and then—

Holy fuck! You look like shit, dude!

Ghost’s jubilant observation snatched Starla out of her reverie, and she snapped to attention as Brian Ross strolled yawning through the front door of Dermamania. What the hell was he doing here? After staring dumbfounded at him for a few seconds, she voiced that question.

Someone’s got to keep you slackers in line. He bumped fists with Ghost and turned his megawatt grin on Starla. She hadn’t seen him in so long, it was like a drop of cool water on a parched tongue, but immediately, she saw what Ghost meant. Poor guy looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in…well, three weeks. Which was the exact amount of time that had passed since Brian’s wife, Candace, gave birth to their son, Lyric.

Of course, the lack of rest hadn’t diminished his appeal at all.

Or dulled the blue of his eyes.

His olive skin was without blemish except for the slight shadowing under his eyes, his black hair as lustrous as usual if a tad longer and messier. He did look tired, he did look sleepy, but he looked happy. He looked at peace with the world, like he had all of it in the palm of his hand at last. Which was all she’d ever wanted for