Page 3 of Sweet Temptation (Honeysuckle, Texas #3)

Marching over, Garret insinuated himself between the blonde and the first guy.

“Come on…” Crud, he had no idea what her name was, then again, these two yahoos probably didn’t know it either.

“Mary, it’s time to go home.” Taking hold of her arm as delicately as he could while still forcing a woman to go with a man she’d never met before in her life, he looked her in the eyes and prayed she could see he had no untoward intent.

“Wh…at…” she slurred.

Oh, definitely time to save her from herself. “We’re going home.”

“Home?” For the first time since he’d been watching her, he saw the hint of a genuine smile.

“Yes. Home.”

She almost melted against him, though she may have been on the verge of passing out. With no choice, he looped his arm around her waist and started moving forward when one of the two bozos grabbed his arm.

“Hey man, she’s with us.”

Garret gave the man a glare that should have cut him to his knees. Thankfully, it worked; not one but both of the men retreated.

He’d barely made it across the room to the door when one of the waitresses came running up to them. “Honey, don’t forget your purse.”

Purse. Thank heaven for that. He was about to walk off with a woman he didn’t know, and take her who knew where.

“Thanks.” He nodded at the woman.

Outside, she gasped at the fresh air and then wobbled beside him.

Not sure quite what to do now, he took her to his car.

Settling her in the front seat, he opened her purse and muttering an apology, ignored her phone—most were locked with a pass code—instead, he pulled out her wallet.

Jacqueline. Such a pretty name. He took a second to look at the woman squinting at him.

“That’s mine.”

“Yes, it is. Jacqueline.”

She leaned her head back and smiled. “My mom loooved, Jackie……Ken, kennnn.”

“Kennedy?” he finished for her, looking back at her license for an address. Houston ? What the heck was a gal from Houston doing in a dive like this in the heart of a small West Texas town? “Jacqueline, where do you live now?”

“Home,” she muttered softly, her eyes drifting closed.

“That’s right. Where is home?”

Nothing.

“Jacqueline?”

No response. Marvelous. Going back to her purse, he searched for something else.

A key fob from a car rental agency. Holding it up, he clicked the fob.

Nothing. She might have been parked too far away.

Didn’t matter. She was in no condition to drive, and where was he going to take the car and her anyhow?

One more scan. What was it about a woman’s purse that gave every man on the planet the heeby jeebies.

The odds of a rattle snake biting him were beyond impossible, and yet, a woman’s purse was a mysterious world he really wished he didn’t have to rummage through.

Noticing a thin pocket, he unzipped it and bingo. A hotel key. Or motel. But where?

The downside of modern technology was that the generic cards rarely had a hotel name or room number. The upside, of course, was that lost keys couldn’t lead to burglaries. Neither of which helped at the moment. So, the question facing him was: now what?

Fighting to open her eyes, Jackie wondered when her arms got so heavy. Doing her best to lift her head, the slightest movement made her stomach roll. What the hell had she done to herself?

Blinking, the neon sign shone down on her. She was dancing. Drinking. Trying to forget. Forget that the man she’d hung all her dreams on had actually been her worst nightmare. “Married.”

“What?” a male voice sounded close. Very close. “Jacqueline, what hotel are you staying at?”

Jacqueline . Was she in trouble?

“Do you know the name of the hotel?” The voice was low and deep and patient.

“Brad?”

“No. Where are you staying?”

Of course it wasn’t Brad. His voice might have been smooth as carrera marble, but there was nothing patient about it. “Wife,” she muttered.

“Should I call Brad?” that same voice asked. “Do you have a phone number?”

No. She didn’t have Brad, she didn’t have anything. Nothing. Her eyes were so heavy. She couldn’t move her legs. How was she going to dance if she couldn’t move her legs?

Out cold. Again. No matter how hard Garret tried, there was no way Jacqueline was going to sober up soon enough to tell him where she lived.

All he could do was hope that if she was Brad’s wife, the guy was going to appreciate Garret saving her and not kill him.

Though what he’d like to know is what had this character done to her to send her off to a drunken escape in a pick-up joint like Bronco’s.

Placing her purse in her lap, he fastened her seat belt for her and closed the door.

He didn’t have much choice. His phone in hand, he texted his sisters Rachel and Jillian, to let them know he wouldn’t be home tonight.

Knowing neither kept their phones by their beds so he wouldn’t wake them, at least no one would worry in the morning.

Driving through town, he pulled into the first decent motel he came across. Leaning over, even though she was out cold, he told Jacqueline he’d be right back.

It took about ten minutes to pay for two rooms and return to the car. Driving around the building to the appropriate numbers, he parked. Realizing she wasn’t going to be in any shape to move on her own steam, or maybe even stand on her own steam, he opted to unlock and open her room door first.

The room open, he hurried back to the car, opened the door, unclasped the seat belt. “Jacqueline?”

Nothing. Not a blink, not a mumble, nothing.

“We’re at the motel. You need to get up.” He knew she wasn’t going to respond, but he had to try before helping her out.

No surprise, she was pretty much dead weight.

Sliding her legs out of the car, he tried not to notice how shapely they were.

Even though it had been obvious to everyone at Bronco’s that she had an hourglass figure, he still tried not to think about it.

Tugging her to her feet, she almost fell against him.

It was clear he was going to have to help.

Slipping his arm around her back and the other under her knees, scooped her up into his arms and walked her to the room.

Inside, he kicked the door shut and carried her to the bed.

Gently laying her down, he took off her shoes, then went hunting through the closet and pulled out a spare blanket to spread over her.

Convinced she was as comfortable as he could make her—short of stripping her out of her clothes to tuck her in, and he was most definitely not going there—he went back to the car and grabbed her purse.

Setting it and her car key fob on the dresser, next he went in search of paper and pen.

He scribbled a brief note hoping it didn’t sound too stalkerish and left it by her purse and keys, and pulling the door tightly behind him, left her to sleep. Alone.

Inside his own room, he tossed his keys on the dresser and emptied his pockets. Kicking off his shoes, he settled on the bed. In no mood to climb under the covers, he merely threaded his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

In the room behind him, through the paper-thin wall, he could hear the person coughing away. Probably a smoker. That or the person had no business being away from home.

Thinking back on his night, he chuckled softly to himself.

This was not what he’d planned for his evening out.

One more failed effort at finding a one-year wife to help keep the ranch.

But at least there was one thing he felt good about; he’d rescued a drunk girl from a bad situation, and now she was in her room, sleeping, alone.