Wild Child (Boys of Bishop #1)
Author: Molly O'Keefe
Release Date: October 2013
Description:
Perfect for readers of Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Rachel Gibson,
this sizzling romance tells the story of a sexy small-town mayor and a
notorious “bad girl,” who discover that home really is where the heart
is.
Monica Appleby is a woman with a reputation. Once she
was America’s teenage “Wild Child,” with her own reality TV show. Now
she’s a successful author coming home to Bishop, Arkansas, to pen the
juicy follow-up to her tell-all autobiography. Problem is, the hottest
man in town wants her gone. Mayor Jackson Davies is trying to convince a
cookie giant to move its headquarters to his crumbling community, and
Monica’s presence is just too . . . unwholesome for business. But the
desire in his eyes sends a very different message: Stay, at least for a
while.
Jackson needs this cookie deal to go through. His
town is dying and this may be its last shot. Monica is a distraction
proving too sweet, too inviting—and completely beyond his control. With
every kiss he can taste her loneliness, her regrets, and her longing.
Soon their uncontrollable attraction is causing all kinds of drama. But
when two lost hearts take a surprise detour onto the bumpy road of
unexpected love, it can only lead someplace wonderful.
“Molly O’Keefe is a unique, not-to-be-missed voice in romantic fiction.”—New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen
NEVER BEEN KISSED, the next installment in the Boys of Bishop series, will be released July 1st, 2014.
PRE-ORDER NOW:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1qpWwn6
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Chapter 1
Six months ago
Jackson Davies knew
better. He really did. There were friends you could do free hard labor
for, and there were friends you couldn’t.
Sean Baxter was
decidedly a friend you couldn’t. And yet Jackson managed to be shocked
when Sean sat down to watch TV while Jackson was still sanding drywall.
“You’ve
got to be joking!” Jackson threw down the sandpaper. He was covered in
dirt and grime and sweat. He itched. Everywhere. Agreeing to help Sean
renovate his family’s old dive bar, The Pour House, had seemed like a
good idea four months ago—a little physical labor, some laughs with
friends.
But so far Jackson and Brody, Sean’s brother, were doing all the work.
Why are you surprised? It’s grade school all over again.
“I just want to see this clip on America Today.”
Sean’s
face mask was pushed up into his red hair, revealing a clean circle of
skin around his lips. No doubt Jackson and Brody looked equally
ridiculous. Jackson needed to shower before heading to City Hall.
“Monica Appleby is going to be on. You know, that writer—”
“You
know, I’ve actually got work to do. Real work.” Jackson took off his
tool belt. Behind him, Brody kept scraping away at the mahogany bar he
was refurbishing. Brody was in town for a week between jobs and he’d
committed to slave carpenter labor for that time.
Jackson couldn’t help the man.
“I’m sure Bishop will do just fi ne without you on a Friday morning.”
“I’m
mayor, Sean. I can’t just take the whole morning off.” And the truth
was, working out here at The Pour House was easier than going into City
Hall today and almost every other day.
Bishop, Arkansas,
was dying. Slowly, from a financial wound Jackson didn’t know how to
fix. And Jackson took a lot of pride in being able to fix anything.
At least sanding walls made him feel like he was doing something.
“I’m out,” Jackson said. “I’ve got a meeting with the city council, and . . .”
“Shhhhh, there she is!” Sean turned the volume up, and even Brody was forced to stop his relentless work and watch the screen.
Monica
Appleby sat on the couch in the America Today green room. The
reality-star-turned-author was everywhere these days. And every time
Jackson caught a glimpse of her on a magazine cover or TV show, he
thought the same thing: that girl is trouble.
Her
black-haired, purple-eyed beauty was diamond bright but lined in smoke
and sin. Something about Monica managed to put a spotlight on every
single wrong and dirty thing he’d abstained from in the last seven
years. Expensive bourbon, cheap tequila, beautiful women whose names he
didn’t want to know, steak dinners, the Las Vegas strip, unpaid parking
tickets—all of it.
She was the human and stunningly gorgeous personification of everything he wanted and couldn’t have.
It hurt to look at her.
“Remember her?” Sean asked. “From when we were kids?”
A terrified six-year-old, clinging to her battered mother’s legs.
“Of
course I remember her,” Jackson said. That girl’s brief nightmarish
stay in Bishop was a low point, for him and for the town. It had turned
them all into voyeurs, decent people with better things to do than
lining up outside the police station for a glimpse of Monica and Simone
Appleby and all their pain.
“I loved that show she was on with her mom,” Sean sighed.
Jackson
did not want to get into the reality-television horror show that Monica
and Simone Appleby had inflicted upon the world, years ago. Monica had
been a nightmare teenager, and Simone’s inability to control her had
made for hugely popular though short-lived television.
Simone had her own show now, by all accounts equally bad.
“I gotta go,” Jackson said.
“See
you later?” Brody asked, his black hair held back with a bandana. He
looked badass, as much as his brother looked like a leprechaun with
drywall dust in his hair.
“I’ve got to pick up Gwen after school. She’s got an interview down at Ole Miss.”
“I can’t believe your sister is old enough to go to college,” Brody said.
She wasn’t. But she was smart enough. And he was just desperate enough to let her go.
“Can you guys cut the chatter?” Sean asked. “I’m trying to listen here.”
“We’ll
talk with Monica Appleby right after we discuss one CEO’s effort to
bring industry back to small-town America,” said Jessica Walsh, the
America Today host.
“Oh, Jessica, I always knew you were a tease,” Sean said, and he grabbed the remote to turn down the volume.
“Don’t,” Jackson said. Industry and small-town America were kind of his current obsessions. “Leave it.”
Riveted,
Jackson stepped closer to the TV, as a handsome man with sharp blue
eyes and shaggy blond hair that made him look like a cross between a
surfer and a movie star filled the screen. His teeth were like pearls.
Little white Chiclets.
“Dean Jennings, CEO of Maybream
Crackers, makers of Crispity Crackers and Maybream Crème cookies, is
moving his factory from South America back to the United States,”
Jessica said, managing to make crackers sound sexy.
“Those cookies are gross,” Sean said.
“I like them,” Brody answered.
“You would.”
Jackson grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume.
“But
that’s not all,” Jessica said, working her long blond hair like a
stripper dancing around a pole. “He wants to bring his factory back to
small-town America. Can you tell us about that decision, Dean?”
“Maybream
was started in a small factory outside of New York. Twenty years ago we
moved it down to South America.” Dean’s earnest-salesman charm played
well on the screen—Jessica could barely keep her eyes off the man. “But
all across America right now there are factories lying empty and
American workers are without jobs. And I just realized . . . I couldn’t
stand by and watch American industry vanish, not when I could do
something about it. Now, I’m a small company and I can’t change the
economy, but I realized I could change one small town by bringing the
Maybream Cracker headquarters and factory back to America.”
“This
is all really exciting,” Jessica said. “But I think the most exciting,
and frankly, PR savvy, part about it is that you are teaming up with us,
America Today .” Jessica smiled into the camera. “And you, our viewers,
get to choose the lucky town.”
“It is exciting and I
don’t know about savvy, but I thought it would be fun.” Dean made it
sound like saving a small town was a trip to the seashore.
“Tell
us how it works.” Jessica leaned forward across the desk, hanging, it
seemed, on Dean’s every word. Or perhaps just hypnotized by his teeth.
“The
application to nominate a town is available online, and my staff and I
will look through every entry,” Dean said. “We will pick six that best
match what we need in a factory and community. Once we have our six
semifinalists, America Today will travel with me to take a good, hard
look at those towns.”
“That’s an interesting aspect of this contest,” Jessica said. “What are you looking for in a community?”
“Well,”
Dean sighed. “Since we’ll be moving our headquarters and staff, we need
a place where people would want to raise a family. Someplace wholesome
but forward-thinking, with opportunities for kids and parents. With a
factory.”
Oh, God, it was like the man was singing Jackson love songs!
“That guy wouldn’t know wholesome if it bit him in the ass,” Sean muttered.
Jackson shot a scowl over his shoulder.
“What?” Sean cried. “The guy’s a sleazeball—anyone can tell.”
Behind him, Brody was nodding.
Jackson dismissed them both, because his heart was about to burst.
We’re wholesome, we’re forward-thinking.
And
best of all, Bishop had a factory: an okra-processing plant that had
been closed for five years. It just sat there, empty, on the south side
of town. A reminder of what this town used to be. A graveyard to nearly
one hundred lost jobs.
Jackson had been trying for three
years as mayor to bring in new business, new industry that would keep
this town afloat—but he’d never dreamed of getting the factory open
again.
“After I narrow down my choices from six to three
and make sure the top three have factories that can be retrofitted for
Maybream Crackers,” Dean said, “I’m going to let America vote which town
wins. And together we will change that town’s future.”
“Deadline
for applications is the end of the month,” Jessica pointed out. “So if
you know a town that you think would be a good fi t for Maybream
Crackers, check out our website.” A website address scrolled along the
bottom of the screen.
“Give me a pencil,” Jackson said, holding out his hand toward his friends. “Now. Now before it’s gone.”
“Christ, man,” Sean said, slapping a small oblong carpenter’s pencil into his hand. “You can google that shit, you know.”
Jackson
scrawled the information on the wall he’d just been sanding. It would
be painted over, but that didn’t stop Sean from moaning as if Jackson
were defacing the Taj Mahal.
“Dean,” Jessica continued,
“thanks so much for coming in today and partnering with us on this great
project. I hope more American companies take note and bring their
factories back to U.S. soil.”
“Me too, Jessica. Thanks for having me.” One last movie-star smile and Dean Jennings was gone.
The show cut to commercial, and Jackson turned down the volume before facing his friends.
Their wary expressions bounced right off his ebullient mood.
“Did
you hear that? It’s like he was talking about Bishop!” He punched the
air in victory. It felt so good, so right, that he did it again. There
hadn’t been a whole lot of reasons for fist-pumping these days. “This is
it!” he cried. “This is exactly what Bishop needs.”
“A TV show?”
“Someone
to reopen the factory. Bring back jobs. New jobs. For Bishop!” Jackson
was light-headed with relief and excitement. “Oh my God, can you believe
that? It’s perfect.”
“It’s a long shot,” said Brody.
“I believe in long shots,” Jackson said. “I am the king of long shots.” Not entirely true, but he was riding a wave here.
Sean, who made being a cynic his life’s work, frowned.
Now Jackson’s good mood was dented.
“Just because you don’t like the guy after a clip on television—”
“Guys who look like that can’t be trusted. It’s a fact. They get everything they want,” Sean said.
“Bishop is dying, Sean. Dying. We need this.”
“But a TV show?” Sean asked. “And letting America vote? That shit is always rigged.”
“You
want people coming into The Pour House?” Jackson asked. “Not just the
regulars, but new business? Young people? Hot girls?”
“Hot girls would be nice.”
“You want your kids—”
“I don’t have kids.”
“But
you will someday, and you’re not going to want to bus them to school an
hour away, are you? If we don’t change our tax base, we lose the
schools. That’s it. A chance like this might not come again. The town is
in a bad way, Sean. A third of our population has left—”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Sean held up his hands in surrender, but he didn’t lose that scowl.
“Then what’s your problem?”
If
Jackson were the punching kind, he would have punched Sean Baxter years
ago. In kindergarten, maybe. And probably another hundred times since.
For that face alone. Always the doubting Thomas. Always the fly in the
soup.
“Remember when we played baseball in high school?”
Jackson shot a “can’t you help me here, he’s your brother?” look at
Brody, who only went back to sanding.
“Of course I remember, Sean. We had the worst record in the state.”
“We sucked. It’s true. But you know what I remember about you?” Sean asked.
“I can’t even imagine.”
Sean
leaned over the bar, through sunlight and a snowstorm of dust in the
air, catching Jackson in the crosshairs of his light blue eyes.
“You
swung for the fences, every time. Even when a base hit would have
sufficed, you went after that ball like it had insulted your mother.
Like the fate of the world rested on you knocking the leather off that
damn thing.”
“That’s why I led the team in home runs.”
“And strikeouts.”
True.
“What’s your point, Sean?”
“I
thought you were nuts when you decided to run for mayor, but I
supported you. But this show . . . this idea . . . It feels like you’re
swinging for the fences.” Jackson stepped forward and poked his old
friend in the chest. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Sean. And
I’m doing it right now.”
He glanced at the wall and memorized the website he’d scrawled there.
The
whole texture of his day had changed. He had to get on that application
process, and quick. He wasn’t even sure who had keys to the factory.
Shelby Monroe’s mother used to run it; maybe she had the keys. He
grabbed his wallet from the windowsill where he’d left it and walked out
of the bar into the bright Arkansas morning.
As mayor of
Bishop, population 4,200, he’d been working hard to fix what was wrong
with the community, all so that he could leave it.
And this show might just be his ticket out of here.
Molly O'Keefe is the RITA Award winning author of over 25 books and
novellas. She lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband, two kids and
the largest heap of dirty laundry in North America.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Site - http://www.molly-okeefe.com/
Twitter - https://twitter.com/MollyOKwrites
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/MollyOKeefeBooks
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/223845.Molly_O_Keefe
WILD CHILD PURCHASE LINKS:
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Molly O'Keefe is the RITA Award winning author of over 25 books and novellas. She lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband, two kids and the largest heap of dirty laundry in North America.
AUTHOR 
