heaven texas by susan elizabeth phillips

They're paying you several million dollars to make your first movie with them.”

“Bobby Tom, the people at Windmill have a right to be worried. He'd not only been the most colorful wide receiver in the NFL, he'd also been the best, and when a disabling knee injury five months earlier in last January's Super Bowl had forced him to retire at the age of thirty-three, it was only natural for Hollywood to be interested in making him the newest hero of their action adventure movies. They knew that Bobby Tom was smart, driven, and as tough as they came. From the beginning of his career, television audiences had loved his country boy manner, but those who'd played against him weren't fooled by good ol' boy charm. With his magazine cover good looks, woman-eating grin, and imposing pair of diamond-studded Super Bowl rings, Bobby Tom Denton was pro football's most visible glamour boy. Still, Bobby Tom was proud of being a Texan, although his professional football career had forced him to spend most of the last decade living in Chicago. Some of his girlfriends swore he even made love wearing it, although Jack didn't quite believe that. The former wide receiver didn't go anywhere without a Stetson. Today Bobby Tom was dressed almost conservatively in white linen trousers, a lavender silk shirt, his purple lizardskin boots, and a light gray Stetson. Jack Aikens observed the man who was his most important client. “Well, maybe some of the ranchers do, but not other than that.” He folded his lanky frame into a leather chair, propped his boots on the desktop, and crossed his ankles. Everybody knows there isn't a single person living in all of Southern California who's got a lick of sense.” Bobby Tom straightened. The silver toes of Bobby Tom Denton's purple lizardskin cowboy boots flashed in the sunlight as the ex-football player stalked across the carpet and planted the heels of his hands on his attorney's desk. “Abodyguard!I don't need any damn bodyguard!”

Heaven texas by susan elizabeth phillips