Book Title: Never Enough
Author: Kelly Elliott
Release Date: December 10, 2019
Publisher: Montlake
Summary
Longing to forget the pain of his wife’s death, Brock Shaw has immersed himself in the one thing that lets him escape the guilt. Bull riding. But life on the road means leaving his young son at home with his parents. They want him to give up his career and be a father to his child, but Brock needs the adrenaline to get through each day . . . or so he thinks.
Lincoln Pratt needs a fresh start. As a top interior designer in Atlanta, she has everything she could ever want, but she’s always at her father’s mercy. Something’s missing, and Lincoln knows she’ll only find it somewhere far away—like the rolling pastures of Hamilton, Montana, where she meets the irresistibly mysterious Brock.
In Brock Shaw, Lincoln sees the part of her that’s missing. In Lincoln Pratt, Brock sees the part of himself he thought he’d lost. But the pain of his past binds him. Can he let himself love again?
Excerpt: Never Enough
Betty Jane handed me a set of keys. “Here, these are his. Make sure he gets out of here and safely home.”
My hand instinctively took the keys, and I sat there for a few moments, stunned. When I finally realized Betty Jane was putting me in charge of getting Brock home, I jumped up and followed her over to the bar.
“Wait! Ty said you would make sure Brock got to his truck and slept it off. He didn’t say anything about making sure he got home.”
Betty Jane loaded up empty beer bottles onto her tray. It was then I looked around the bar and noticed it was almost empty.
“What time is it?” I asked, reaching for my phone. “It’s almost one!”
She laughed. “Yep, it’s been real fun watching you give dirty looks to Lee for the last hour. I figured I’d help a girl out and get rid of her for you.”
When I looked back at the table, Brock had his head on it.
Good grief. Is he sleeping?
“What do you mean, get rid of her?” I asked, still trailing behind the waitress, who honestly looked to be just a few years older than me.
She stopped and faced me. “I’ve been doing this job since I was eighteen. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that you’ve got a thing for our Brock. I can’t blame ya, really. He’s a looker. Those blue eyes and dimples. Not to mention the way the man can fill out a pair of Wranglers. Throw in he’s a professional bull rider and worth some money, and you’ve got yourself one sought-after cowboy. He doesn’t normally come in here and get drunk like this, so I’m going to guess he’s had a bad day and he’s trying to drink away his problems.
“Now, the way I see it is, he seems to be smitten with you, and you’re smitten with him. So, it only makes sense that you get him home safely. What happens after that is your business, but just know that the rest of the town will most likely find out within seventy-two hours—unless you’re discreet about it.”
I stood frozen in place. What in the world is this lady talking about?
“Okay, I didn’t really understand half of that, but you’re very wrong on one thing. Brock Shaw is not . . . smitten . . . with me. It’s really the opposite. I don’t think he can stand me.”
Betty Jane winked. “Ralph will help you get him out to his truck.”
“But . . . I . . . my . . . I’m not . . . wait!”
Placing her hand on her hip, she rolled her eyes. “Listen, I’ve got to finish cleaning up and then kick everyone out of here. Just spit it out, would ya?”
“My car! I have my car here. I can’t leave it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about it being left here. It’s perfectly fine.”
She turned and walked away. When I called out for her again, she ignored me.
I turned around and walked back over to the table to find a sleeping Brock. Burying my face in my hands, I mumbled, “Oh my God! Why me?” Poking his shoulder, I said, “Brock! Brock, wake up!”
His head popped up, and I let out a little yelp.
He turned to look at me, and instead of frowning, he smiled for once. “Hey, pretty little thing.”
He’s so drunk he doesn’t even know who I am.
“Um, hey. Listen, I need to get you home, so could you maybe stand and walk out to your truck?”
Brock smiled bigger, and his dimples seemed to scream out at me.
Oh. Holy. Hell.
This guy was beyond good looking. I mean, I didn’t think I’d ever seen a guy smile and look so damn sexy, despite his highly intoxicated state. Even with his cowboy hat all crooked, he looked handsome as hell.
“I can stand,” he grumbled out as he slowly stood.
I slipped my arm around his waist. After doing a quick scan of the table, I reached behind me and felt for my phone. I had my license and credit card tucked into my phone case, and I had my keys in my pocket.
“Okay, let’s get you to your truck.”
His head dropped forward, and I was pretty sure he was falling back asleep.
“Brock!” I shouted, making his head jerk up. “Walk to the door.”
“What do you adore?” he asked, taking a few stumbling steps next to me as I guided him.
I chuckled. “No, I said, walk to the door!”
“I am walking to the door, woman!”
With a roll of my eyes, I focused on keeping this man upright. It wasn’t an easy task. His stocky frame was heavy. With the way my arm was around him, I couldn’t help but notice his muscles flexing as we walked . . . no, stumbled along. I let my silly mind wander to what he would look like without a shirt on.
Stop it right now, Lincoln Pratt!
Betty Jane opened the door for us and winked at me yet again as I walked by. “Have a good night, and don’t worry about your car!”
I mumbled under my breath about being set up and then stepped out into the cool night. A shiver ran up my spine as I searched the parking lot. I’d only seen Brock’s truck once, and the only thing I remembered was that it was silver.
“Where’s your truck?” I asked, glancing at three trucks still parked in the lot.
Brock lifted his head and looked around. “My truck is the best damn truck in the parking lot.”
“That doesn’t help, Shaw. What’s your license plate number?”
Brock turned, his big, drunk blue eyes gazing down at me. “You want my number, Lincoln? I thought you didn’t like me.”
My mouth dropped open. “Um, excuse me, but you’re the one who’s been shooting daggers at me all night long. Not to mention how rude you were to me earlier today.”
“You didn’t catch me at my best, sweetheart.”
My stomach dipped at the endearment. No one had ever called me anything like that. Not baby, babe, sweetie, or sweetheart. I was always just Lincoln. Every guy I’d ever dated called me by my first name. Even in bed, I was always Lincoln.
It pissed me off how much I liked hearing that come from Brock’s mouth. I liked it a lot . . . more than a lot.
Damn it. What is it about this guy?
“I didn’t ask you for your phone number, you drunk fool. Your license plate number on your truck.”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know the license plate on your own truck?”
“Nope!” he said, popping the p in the most adorable way.
I found myself smiling up at him.
“It’s the silver one on the far right!” Betty Jane called out.
I looked behind me, almost losing my grip on Brock. “And I don’t suppose you’d help me get him there . . . or Ralph, maybe?”
She laughed. She actually laughed before turning and walking back into the bar.
“Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled as I guided Brock over to the truck.
