I just love a good cowboy story! And this one is all about second chances. Looking forward to reading this one.
When Kris Cerny walks back into Two Spirits, the art gallery he owns with Josh McPhee, all he wants is a clean break. Austin’s booming real estate market means the building he bought years ago is worth a fortune, and with the sale, he and Josh can finally go their separate ways. They won’t be reconciling, right? Josh may be sober now, but an addict is always going to be an addict, and Kris can’t take that chance again.
Josh isn’t willing to sell. Not yet. He’s discovered a new artist in Santa Fe he knows will put Two Spirits in the black, and if he can just make a success of the gallery, maybe he can earn Kris’s respect, if not recapture his love. He needs Kris to give him time for one more buying trip, one more gallery show. Josh wants nothing more than a final chance to make things right. Kris agrees to let Josh have this last ditch effort on one condition– he wants to go along for the ride. On the way Josh hopes they’ll find the next big thing in the art world as well as peace, forgiveness, and a love he thought was lost forever.
Josh sat there in the office that had been his for seven years, two months, and three days, looking at the cowboy who he’d thought, once upon a time, was going to be his one and only, feeling a little like he was drunk.
He rolled the five-year-sober token between his fingers, letting it settle him. Not drunk. Not even a bit.
“What? What did you say to me?” He left off the you sorry son of a bitch part.
“We got a buyer for the gallery.” Kris stared at him, calm as could be, one hip settled on the edge of his desk.
“The gallery isn’t for sale.” He owned half, dammit. Still.
Kris nodded easily. “Frankly they just want the building. Quite an offer. I don’t see how we can pass it up.”
“The gallery isn’t for sale.” He was fairly sure the words were succinct enough for Mr. Business.
“The neighborhood has changed, Josh. It’s not a boho, arty area anymore. It’s all high-priced condos and tapas bars.” Kris’s expression softened just slightly. “I think it’s time to let it go.”
This wasn’t about the gallery. This was about them. Him and Kris.
“Josh, please at least look at the offer.” Kris stood, straightening his fancy cattleman’s. God, he looked like a stuffed suit. Kris looked better in beat-up Wranglers.
“I’m not interested.” Josh felt like sitting down and pounding the floor with his fist. This wasn’t right. None of it. He knew he was a fuckup. Had been a fuckup. But he was working his shit out.
The gallery was back to breaking even, if not making a profit. Josh thought he deserved a chance to get some good new artists in for a show.
“Then are you going to buy me out?” Kris asked.
Fuck. Kris knew he couldn’t do that. The business finances were an open book. Josh wasn’t even taking a salary for another three years to pay back Kris’s initial investment.
“I don’t have to. We’re equal partners. All I have to do is say no.”
Kris frowned, dark brows drawing together over his bright green eyes. “Dammit, Josh, how long are you going to pretend this is going to work?”
He touched the coin again. Five years. Five years sober. Five years proving he could be trusted. Five years and it wasn’t enough.
“This gallery is my life.” Simple as that. He had no friends anymore, no one. He came to work and went to meetings. He hadn’t gone out to dinner with Kris since…. Christ. Christmas? Maybe? Had they even done Christmas?
“Then what do you want me to do? The building is really the only asset.”
“I’m going on a buying trip. Santa Fe area. Why are we even talking about this?” Why are you even here? Go find another project.
Kris was, like, the king of finance now or something. He had investments all over, could probably walk away from the gallery without even taking a money hit.
“Buying? With what? Your good looks?”
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About the author
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing porn sites in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife (still amazing to say that), Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has gone to the high desert mountains and fallen in love. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery ménages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
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