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Fourth of July at The Corral

Fourth of July at The Corral

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Fourth of July at The Corral

88 Seiten
1 Stunde
3. Juni 2016


When United States Marine Tyler Collins is injured in the line of duty and sent home, the first thing he does is to go see the girl he left behind. He wants peace and to escape from the memories of violence and war. Instead, what he finds might change his life forever. Their time together was supposed to be a fun summer fling, but in the three years since Tyler's been gone, he's never far from Pam Foster's thoughts or heart, even though the last thing she did before he left was lie to him. She has to right the wrong, but can a man with such integrity and honor forgive her? Especially when she hasn’t forgiven herself. Is rekindled love enough, or will the secrets of the past ruin any hope of a future together?
3. Juni 2016

Über den Autor

Debra St. John has been reading and writing romance since high school. She always dreamed about publishing a romance novel some day. Her dream came true when she started writing sultry contemporary romance with sexy heroes and spunky heroines for The Wild Rose Press. Although she's a country gal at heart, she lives in a suburb of Chicago with her husband, who is her real life hero.


Fourth of July at The Corral - Debra St. John


I need to tell you something.

Tyler looked at her with those clear blue eyes. Okay, but me first. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I just want you to know that I thought about you every single day when I was over there. Every time I was home on leave I had to fight the urge to come here to see you. As badly as I wanted to see you, I also wanted to protect you from the chaos and uncertainty of my world. When I got out of the hospital, I wasn’t strong enough to resist anymore. This was the only place I wanted to be. I needed you. The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip.

Pam’s pulse raced. Her breath caught. An odd combination of anguish and joy surged through her.

I can’t believe I’m really here. With you. It’s like nothing’s changed. His mouth quirked. I know I promised I wouldn’t try anything, but…I can’t help myself. I missed you. His lips claimed hers in a tender kiss that ignited her body and melted her heart.

Kudos for Debra St. John

Ms. St. John’s book, ONE GREAT NIGHT was awarded First Place in the 2015 IDA Contest, Short Contemporary category.


Other Books in the Holidays at The Corral Series

available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.:



And from the original Corral Series:




Fourth of July

at The Corral


Debra St. John

Holidays at The Corral Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Fourth of July at The Corral

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Deborah Rittle

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information:

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2016

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0761-9

Holidays at The Corral Series

Published in the United States of America


To the men and women who day in and day out

put their lives on the line to ensure our freedom.

Your honor, commitment, and sacrifice

are not taken lightly.

A humble thank you is not nearly enough, but I offer it.


To John:

Thanks for patiently answering

a million and one military questions.

(Any errors are purely my own

or were contrived to fit the plot of the story.)


Semper Fi

Chapter One

Would she remember him?

Tyler Collins stared at the wooden sign outside the bar: The Corral—Steakhouse and Saloon. He’d traveled back to Texas for one reason and one reason only. Did she still work there? Over three years had passed. Three years during which he thought about her every day.

More than likely she didn’t remember. After all, their time together had been brief. Less than two months. Filled with idyllic moments of sunshine and laughter before he deployed for hell. Memories he cherished and held close even now. The memories had gotten him through the worst times of his life, gave him something to hold onto when the rest of the world turned to chaos and violence and destruction.

Every detail was etched into his memory. His heart. His very being. The dark chestnut of her hair. The light, soulful brown of her eyes. The way her lips went soft and pliant beneath his.

She had to remember. Because they’d also shared a few moments of nerve-wracking anxiety wondering if the entire course of their lives had changed forever. No one could forget something like that.

Only one way to find out for sure. With a deep breath, he shoved open the door to the Jeep and stepped onto the gravel parking lot. The small rocks crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the entrance.

Grow a set, Collins, he muttered. You’ve faced way worse shit than this. He gave a wry chuckle. Mortar shells exploding within spitting distance he took in stride. Talking to a woman he hadn’t seen in three years made his knees go weak. He ran a hand over the short stubble of his hair, threw back his shoulders, and walked in.


Pam Foster nearly dropped the tray of drinks balanced on her right palm.

She’d never forget those blue eyes. One, because even three years couldn’t erase the vivid memories of that summer from her mind. And, two, well, she looked into eyes identical to his each and every day.

Tyler—yes, it really was him—strode toward her. Her brain ordered her to flee. Hide. Anything to avoid the conversation she prayed she’d never have to have. But her feet wouldn’t budge. So she could only suck in a tiny gasp of breath as he drew near, his gaze never wavering from hers.

He stopped in front of her, close enough to touch. Pam curled her free hand into a fist to resist the urge. Then he smiled, that slow, lazy curving of his lips, and her heart tripped so fast in her chest the beats blurred together.

Hello, Pam. I hoped I would find you here.

The voice, his voice, was even better than her memories conjured at night. Because it was real. He was real. Standing before her looking so darn good she nearly dissolved into a puddle at his feet.

His reddish blond hair was buzzed short. Long lashes of the same color framed his oh-so-blue melt-you-where-you-stood eyes. Broad shoulders strained a white T-shirt: a tattoo adorned the bulge of toned muscle stretching the sleeves. A silver balled chain hung around his neck and peeked from the collar.

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