Page 8 of Haunted Spurs

2

Cowboy Wanted (Serious Inquiries Only)

Selene

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I stare at my Mac screen, my eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

The Duke wrapped his fingers around Lady Elara’s throat, the lace of her gown tearing beneath his grip…

No. Too melodramatic. Too over-the-top.

“A Pumpkin Spice Latte for Sloane!”

Ivy’s cheerful shout from behind the counter briefly drowns out the hum of the espresso machine and the background chatter of the shop.

I shift my gaze past the top of my laptop. Ever since moving back to Elm Hollow, this little nook by the front window has become my sanctuary. The Pumpkin Spice Café is the definition of cozy: warm-toned walls, the constant scent of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans in the air, and a smutty bookstore connected directly to the café. A bookstore that, for the record, has dedicated an entire mortifyingly prominent display table to my novels.

Ivy, the owner, is the sweetest person on the planet. The other day she even suggested hosting a book club in here, with none other than Sebastian Devereaux as the official narrator for the read-alouds. And I have to admit, the idea has a certain dark appeal. That man’s voice is so raspy, deep, and sexy that the women of Elm Hollow collectively lost their minds when, during Summer Lovin’—the summer reality show that set this little town on fire—people found out he reads my monster romances.

Tap. Tap.

Back to my Duke and Lady Elara.

The Duke growled, tightening his grip as he dragged her into the darkness…

I huff. I press and hold the Backspace key. The words vanish instantly, swallowed by the blinking cursor. The blank page mocks me, empty and sterile.

This is exactly why I came home. It’s been a chaotic few years: endless book tours, signings, flights, hotels, and crowded book conventions all over the country. I’ve churned out one book after another, pushing myself to the limit to hold my spot on the bestseller lists, and now… I feel drained. Empty. My well of dark ideas and kink desperately needs fresh inspiration. I was hoping that returning to the slow, familiar pace of Elm Hollow would help me find my footing again. But so far, the only result is a stubbornly blank page.

The sharp hiss of the milk steamer makes me jump.

Pop.

My phone, sitting face-up next to the keyboard, lights up.

Jessica: Did you see this?

Jessica: [Attachment: Digital Flyer - HAUNTED SPURS CASTING CALL]

I roll my eyes.

Me: Hard to miss. Do you have any idea what Elm Hollow is like? It’s practically the only thing people are talking about.

Jessica: Okay, then let’s cut to the chase: you need to apply.

I let out a heavy sigh and lock my phone, flipping it facedown on the table with a sharp thud.

Jessica. My agent. Also my former college roommate. Also the biggest, most persistent thorn in my side that karma ever saddled me with.

The phone buzzes against the wood. Once, twice, three times. I ignore it.

I reach for the ceramic saucer next to my laptop, pick up my pumpkin dark chocolate-chip muffin, and take a generous bite.

God…

I close my eyes as the moist, spiced batter melts on my tongue, cut by the rich, bitter depth of dark chocolate. It’s heavenly. Yeah, Ivy could absolutely, without a doubt, become my favorite person in Elm Hollow.