Texas Fever

“I didn’t do her. We’re just friends. At least, I thought we were up until last night when she asked me if I liked the name Jason. I said yes and she said good because it’s the name she’s picked out for baby number one. I haven’t even kissed her and she’s talking babies, for chrissake. I can’t have a kid right now. I mean, someday, sure. But now? And when I do, I’m sure as hell not going to name him Jason. It’s an all right name, but my boy is going to be a junior—”

“Whoa, back up a second. You and this teacher are just friends? As in order a pizza, watch the game and share a few beers?”

“This is the Black Hills, bro. I’m smack-dab in the middle of a five-thousand-acre ranch centered around a small town, population eight hundred. The closest pizza place is a good three hours away. She offered to cook.” When Josh let loose a loud whistle, Mason added, “Look, it’s not like that. At least I didn’t think it was like that. I see her every now and then when I go into town. She knows I’m from Texas and she likes the Houston Texans. We talk football. At least we did talk football until last night.”

“What did she cook?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Well, if she served you a Hungry Man, I’d say you’re probably overreacting. TV dinners don’t require the same commitment as real food.”

“She made stew.”

“Uh-oh.”

“And home-baked rolls.”

“You’re totally screwed,” Josh told him. “Unless you clean the slate right now. Turn down the next dinner date.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already said yes. I started to say no, but then she looked like she was going to cry and I buckled. Christ, I need to hurry the hell up and get out of here.”

“How much longer?”

“We’re inseminating the last batch of cattle next week. After that, it’s just paperwork and planning. I should wrap everything up in about three to four weeks. Five at the most. What am I going to do?”

“Get used to the name Jason.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Josh laughed. “It’s good to see the stress hasn’t affected your charm.” An idea struck just as he said the words. “That’s it, bro.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re stuck in this situation because you’re not looking at this woman as a woman. I’m assuming she’s nowhere near Triple B status.”

“She’s a brunette. Brown eyes. Good sense of humor. Smart. I’m not sure about her figure because she wears these loose, overall type dresses like Ms. Crenshaw.” Ms. Crenshaw had been their third-grade teacher. She’d worn thick, chunky black shoes and said, “Sit up straight!” in a voice that had made even the McGraw brothers snap to attention. “She might have a decent chest. I don’t know. I don’t think of her like that.”

“So start. She obviously thinks you’re this nice, professional, mild-mannered sort of guy who likes animals. While you do like animals, you’re also capable of acting like one.”

“I never really thought about it like that. It’ll take some effort—she actually told me to sit up straight at dinner last night—but I can do it.”

“And do it fast.”

“You anxious to leave already?”

“I’m anxious for a good night’s sleep. I’ve got Uncle Eustace and Aunt Lurline arguing down the hall every night.” And one sweet, sexy-as-hell woman now haunting his thoughts.

“Just keep your pants on and I’ll be there soon.”

Too late, Josh thought as he punched the end button and slid the phone onto the dashboard. Too friggin’ late.

A HALF HOUR after closing the door on Josh, Holly eyed the rich fudge dessert she’d just removed from the oven. She’d run out of flour halfway through the recipe and so the cake had turned out more ho-hum than extreme. The edges sagged and the middle had caved in enough to give it a lopsided look. She pinched the edge and popped it into her mouth.

Rich chocolate exploded on her tongue and tantalized her taste buds for a long, heart-pounding moment. Not bad for ho-hum. Then again, she wasn’t an adequate judge at the moment, not with her senses still buzzing from a certain tall, dark and delicious cowboy.

His image pushed into her mind and heat swept through her body. Her hands trembled and her insides went all tight and itchy.

She turned toward the mixing bowl where she’d whipped up the concoction a half hour ago. Rich batter still coated the sides and her stomach growled. She grabbed a spoon and scraped one side before taking a bite. Where one was usually enough to kill any frustration eating away inside her, she had to scrape the entire bowl and lick both beaters before she felt even marginally satisfied.

She ate another spoonful for good measure before setting the empty bowl and beaters in the sink. The doorbell rang just as she turned to her computer to track her supply order.

“Finally,” she breathed as she hauled open the door to find a handful of women standing on her front porch.

“Welcome to Romeo,” they announced in unison.

“I’m Lolly Mae Langtree,” said the thirtysomething blonde standing in the middle. “President of the Juliets. We’re the organization for the single women in town. We coordinate with the Elks and the other men’s groups to plan mixers and give our members a chance to get out and meet Mr. Right.” She handed Holly a large, white, wrapped box decorated with a big, pink bow. “On behalf of everyone, I’d like to welcome you to Romeo.” She gave Holly a fierce hug. “We are so excited to have Rose’s very own granddaughter with us. It’s such a shame how the townsfolk used to treat her—the women, I mean—but you don’t have to worry a thing about that. This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore and we don’t sit around doing needlepoint and blaming Rose for the lack of commitment-minded men in town like the Juliets before us.”

“That’s right. We’re really into quilting now, and we aren’t the least bit threatened by your know-how.”

“What Marcia Renee is trying to say,” Lolly offered, “is that we respect you on a professional level.”

“That’s right,” one of the other women chimed in. “We know you’re not here to drain the pool of available men.”

“What Cookie Michelle is trying to say,” Lolly added, “is that we know you’re here in a purely professional capacity.”

“I make aphrodisiac desserts,” Holly said. “That’s my profession.”

“Of course, it is,” Lolly told her as she moved past her into the living room, a look of awe on her face. “So this is it.” She turned. “It doesn’t look a thing like I expected.”

“There isn’t an ounce of crushed red velvet anywhere,” another of the women said, her gaze open and excited. “Jennifer Susan Fitch,” she told Holly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her attention traveled the room. “I always thought there’d be crushed velvet. There’s always crushed velvet in all of the old Mae West movies.”

“True, but how can you tell it’s red crushed velvet?” another woman asked. “It could be orange or purple or even blue. The films are all in black and white, so there’s no way to really know.” She perched on the edge of the plastic-wrapped sofa just delivered yesterday.

“Red is risqué,” Jennifer said as she followed the woman’s lead and seated herself. “It has to be red.”

“You only say that because you just redecorated your bedroom in red and you’re hoping it’ll work on Charlie.”

“I am not. First off, Charlie and I have only had two dates. He certainly hasn’t seen my bedroom at this point. But when he does, he’ll be swept away with passion because red is a sensual color. Red says sex. Hot, vibrant, exciting sex. The apple in the garden of Eden was red.” Her look said so there.

“How do you know it was red? Maybe it was a Granny Smith?”

“What woman would forfeit eternity for a Granny Smith?”

“Maybe it was a Gala,” another woman offered.