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Books – Cowboys Don’t Sing



Buy Now at Siren Publishing

**Available in expanded distribution August 2013

Book 3 in the Riding Western Series

preceded by Book 2: Heart of a Cowboy

Book 3: Cowboys Don’t Sing



The talented country music singer Loretta Brooks is going through a scandalous divorce, and the media are eating up every dirty detail. All she wants is an escape from the reporters camping on her lawn and a vacation from her life. That and maybe to be able to forget her ex and feel loved in the arms of a real cowboy or two.

Two sexier than life cowboys come to her rescue and whisk her away to their working cattle ranch. Roland and Esteban Carter don’t try to impress Loretta with lies or songs. They are determined to give the space and time she needs to heal, but when she comes on to them they realize this may be the one woman they can love and share their hearts with. She is a perfect fit in their arms and in their home.

None of the young lovers expect the outside world to understand or respect their newfound love, and the secret passion is like a ticking time bomb. How long can it last before the world tears their happy threesome apart?




Copyright © 2013 by Missy Lyons


Chapter One


The sea of reporters on her lawn made Loretta Brooks do a double take.

Where did all these people come from?

Loretta gasped sharply and stepped away from the window. She quickly closed the curtains. Her heart jumped into her throat and hammered. This shocked her system quicker than a cold shower could, and she was awake now, where a moment ago the cobwebs of sleep still muddled her brain. Somebody leaked her location to the press. This was supposed to be her safe house. The cabin was so secluded it didn’t have an actual address, and it was off the grid. No electricity, no Internet, and no phone.

This was her sanctuary to be alone and get away from the world—and yet the entire world was camped out on her front lawn.

“What the hell is wrong with people today?” Loretta grumbled on the way to her front door. “People got no respect for a lady’s privacy.”

The remote cabin didn’t have the security measures her home in the city did. She didn’t bring anybody to help with that kind of thing either. No security staff. No friends or family. She was so far out in the boonies that the cabin didn’t have emergency services common to most cities.

If she needed an ambulance, she’d have to drive herself, or find herself a boy scout. If the house burned down, she was her own fire department, and if she needed a cop, well, she had a rifle hanging over the fireplace. Nobody was going to respond to her calls for help. There were no iron gates to keep out strangers and no cameras. Nothing to help her in a time like this, but never in all the years she had worked in the entertainment business did she expect to have her whole world turned upside down and her husband leave her for the first floozy to invite him into her bed—or whatever the hell was the truth. That man told her so many lies over the years she couldn’t tell the difference between the truth or lies when it came out of his lips.

The reporters didn’t give a damn about her. The media craved drama, and she understood she was just a dollar sign to them. Rumors and celebrity scandals sold papers. They lived for scandals, and she was at the top of their A-list. Every paper and television station in the nation wanted the latest updates about her delicate emotional condition after her husband screwed her over.

Screw that.

When they confronted her like this, she felt like a delicate freaking time bomb just waiting for a time and a place to explode.

Loretta threw open the door prepared to fight, stomping loudly with every step of her fuzzy slippers across her covered front porch. The flashes momentarily blinded her. Stunned, she raised an arm over her face and blocked the lights with her hands. She probably should have thought about this more before charging out to see the press. She was alone and dressed to impress no one in her fuzzy pink rabbit slippers and her heart-covered Valentine pajamas. This morning’s picture would be about as good as a mug shot. Great. She had not even brushed her hair yet. She screamed in self-defense, “Hey, stop that!”

If my picture ends up on the front of every gossip website by this afternoon, I am going to be burying a few hundred bodies out here in this forest.


Interested in finding out more? Please visit my publisher for more information about Cowboys Don’t Sing.

Siren Publishing or visit the link by copying the website into your browser http://www.bookstrand.com/cowboys-dont-sing