By Lisa Wingate
Giant Lizard Bottoms-where getting hitched is a neighborhood industry-is now not anyplace Lindsey Attwood, a play-it-safe paleontologist who is sworn off romance, ever anticipated to discover herself. She's the following posing as a horse psychology scholar to aid get better dinosaur tracks stolen from a neighborhood visitor ranch. After just a day on the ranch, issues commence spiraling uncontrolled. Her horse-therapy horse hates her, she's been followed through a major stray puppy with a foul recognition, and there is this neighborhood rancher who has her all moonstruck. After years of digging round some time past, Lindsey's pondering if it is eventually time to work out what the current has to provide.
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Additional info for Over the Moon at the Big Lizard Diner (Texas Hill Country Series #3)
Sample text
Just . ” Backing away, I hatcheted a hand between us, my emotions being sucked down a backwash now that the immediate crisis was over. I felt ridiculous, exhausted, confused, suddenly unsure of myself. It was hard to tell what was real anymore. “You know what . . Never mind. No blood. No foul. The dog is fine. ” I didn’t care what his explanation was. I just wanted to get out of there. My emotions were sliding out of control again. I had a feeling I’d just made a complete fool of myself. Ten fifteen.
Here you go,” I said finally, surrendering the remaining burger bit as we came to an enormous live oak tree that Collie had listed on the map. Next to the tree was a historical marker. I coasted slowly past, reading a few lines of text before the sign drifted out of sight. THE LOVER’S OAK Mentioned in the diaries of the earliest settlers, The Lover’s Oak is said to have been considered a sacred matrimonial site by Native Americans. According to legend, young couples passing beneath these branches would be destined for true love and .
The intensity of his regard was unsettling. If he hadn’t been a dog hater, he would have been . . well . . good-looking, in a rugged sort of way. “Bet that shook you up a little bit,” he commented with apparent concern. His gaze shifted past me to something else. The dog was . . climbing into the passenger seat, a huge mass of white hair squeezing past the console, filling the front of the Jeep, turning around and around in the cramped space before finally stopping. He was looking at us, I thought, but at this distance, it was hard to tell one end from the other.