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Informationen zum Autor A. Destiny is the coauthor of the Flirt series. She spends her time reading, writing, and watching sweet romance movies. She will always remember her first kiss. Emma Carlson Berne is the author of Never Let You Go , Still Waters , Hard to Get , and Sunset Ranch . She lives in Ohio with her family. Klappentext First crush! first love! first kissNin this addition to the sweet and clean Flirt series! Chloe finds that there's more than just horses waiting for her at a Colorado dude ranch this summer. Sunset Ranch Chapter One I hitched my backpack higher onto my shoulders and brushed back my hair, which already felt ickily greasy. My flight out of Cincinnati had left at six a.m., so I’d skipped a shower. My guitar case seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and I was beginning to question the wisdom of hauling it all the way out here. As I made my way toward the baggage claim through the cavernous, glass-ceilinged terminal, I tried not to stare as men in actual cowboy hats and boots strode by. Air force soldiers in sleek navy uniforms shouldered big blue duffels. Families with long zippered ski bags struggled past. Out the huge picture windows the mountains hulked, white and blue-gray against an impossibly azure sky. I shivered a little and grinned to myself—this was really Colorado. I was really here, thousands of miles from home, for three months. I wanted to sing my way down the terminal. I followed the river of people out of the main terminal, stepped onto a down escalator, followed a long underground passage to an up escalator, then allowed myself to be swept along to another up escalator. I was wondering just how much longer I’d be trailing around this airport when the escalator deposited me in front of several baggage carousels. I hurried over to the nearest one and scanned the conveyor belt for my khaki-green army surplus duffel. Mom had been so proud when she found it for only five dollars at the thrift store. There it was, riding around and around, looking like an abandoned stuffed animal in the midst of all the black rolling suitcases surrounding it. I elbowed through a scrum of random passengers and reached forward, managing to snag the strap just as the bag moved past. Puffing slightly, I dragged it toward me and let it thump to the floor. “Hey, thanks for getting my bag,” someone said in a southern drawl. I looked up into the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen. A tall boy about my own age was standing beside me. He had a backpack too, and he wore a gray T-shirt that read PACIFIC FOOD CO-OP and frayed khaki shorts with sandals. His black hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were startlingly light against his tanned skin. He smiled, showing sparkling white teeth. A leather band circled one broad wrist and a narrow silver chain glinted under the collar of his T-shirt. I closed my mouth, which had fallen open slightly, and cleared my throat. “Ah, sorry. This is my bag.” I tried to sound cute and casual, though I think it came out sounding more strained and weird. He didn’t even blink. “It was probably a long flight, huh? You’re just a little confused.” He flashed me another grin and looped his hand under the strap. “Anyway, like I said, thanks for getting it for me. See you around.” “Hey!” It came out louder than I intended, and several people turned to look. “Excuse me! I don’t know who you are, but that’s my bag. Put it down. Please.” The boy studied the duffel, looked at me for such a long moment that I flushed, then looked back at the duffel again. A slow grin spread across his face. “Let’s see. My bag was my dad’s, from the army....
