Texas Heat

“We’re done. Chuck and Tom will finish the last booth.” His voice came from behind her.

“Good.” She started to turn but then stopped to stretch a kink out of her neck. “Gotta admit, I was ready to call it—”

He’d taken off his shirt. His smooth bronzed chest and broad shoulders gleamed with moisture, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember what she was about to say. She tried to look away, but instead her gaze swept to the low ride of his jeans on his lean, narrow hips. His belly was flat and ridged with just enough muscle to make the view interesting.

She forced her attention upward before he noticed she was staring, and was relieved to find him using his shirt to wipe his face. She took another quick sip of water to relieve her parched throat.

He took a final swipe with his shirt, met her eyes and smiled. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Ah, nothing.” She shrugged. “Just that I was going to throw in the towel.”

He nodded. “Kate reminded me that you’d flown all night. I apologize for using and abusing you.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. I was happy to help.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. Supper should be ready soon.”

She really wished he’d put his shirt on because she could hardly trust herself not to stare like a starstruck schoolgirl. Instead, she concentrated on the pinkish-orange clouds that streaked across the slate-blue sky, courtesy of the sun sitting low on the horizon behind them. “What time does it get dark?”

“In about half an hour. We cut it close, though we could’ve strung up some lights if we had to.” They walked close together, their shoulders sometimes touching, and she tried to ignore the little shiver of pleasure the contact produced. “Tomorrow morning we’ll set up the two tents and picnic tables,” Clint continued. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

“I can help.”

He snorted. “I think the boys and I can handle it. Only a few hands have regular chores assigned tomorrow. The rest will be free to help out with the party if they’re needed.”

“I should be of some use. It seems I’m much better with a hammer than most of you.”

He stopped, and gave her a long, drawn-out look of astonishment. “You are really something else, you know that?”

“It’s nothing to be shamed of. Just because you have a penis doesn’t automatically make you a carpenter.” She shrugged when his look of disbelief turned into a glare. “I’m sure you guys are probably great at rounding up cattle or whatever it is you normally do. I volunteered with Habitat for Humanity for two summers and learned how to use a hammer.”

His jaw set, he again started toward the house, balling his shirt in a tight fist and squeezing. She had a feeling he’d have preferred it were her neck.

“Nothing personal,” she said, hurrying to keep up with his accelerating pace. “But I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. Sometimes I forget how fragile the male ego is. Not just in humans. You’ll find in every species that—”

He stopped abruptly and faced her. “Can’t you for once act like a girl?”

She blinked, trying not to show how much his words had stung. It didn’t matter that regret immediately flooded his features. Or that she was well aware of her lack of feminine appeal.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He passed a hand over his face, briefly covering his mouth. “I can’t believe I said that.”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay. Really. I get it.”

“No, I was rude.” He touched her arm. “You were great today, and you don’t deserve me being a—”

“A pig,” she finished sweetly.

He tugged down the brim of his hat so that she could no longer see his eyes. “Not what I was gonna say, but yeah…I guess that’s appropriate.”

Damn right. “Forget it. Like you said, dinner is probably waiting.” She didn’t care. Not really, she thought as she continued toward the house. It was a beautiful evening. She was thrilled to be able to spend some time with the gang after not seeing them for so long. They’d have a nice dinner, and then gab until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. Just like the old days. This was their weekend. She refused to give Clint another thought.

BY THE TIME IT WAS Dory’s turn to use the bathroom she shared with Jessica, the small room was hot and steamy, and for a second she felt as if she were back in Cambodia. Except in the jungle there was no hot shower, no privacy and no worrying about how you looked when you finally sat down to fill your belly.

She liked her job, and the guys she worked with were all top-notch in their field, as well as being a good bunch to hang out with. But she wondered if the prolonged isolation she endured wasn’t skewing her view of social correctness.

After shampooing and rinsing her hair, she wanted nothing more than to linger under the soothing warm water, but that would make her late for dinner. So she dried off, wrapped herself in the luxuriously plush pink towel, and stood in front of the fogged mirror. Perfect. She didn’t want to have to look at her reflection, anyway.

Annoyed with her attitude, she grabbed the comb from her carry-on and dragged the teeth through her wet hair. Normally she’d let it air-dry but she knew darn well Jessica and Lisa would be getting gussied up tonight. Normally that wouldn’t matter to Dory, but she didn’t want to seem uncouth, either. After all, they were adults, not indifferent college kids anymore, she thought as her gaze rested on the makeup Jessica had left in her corner of the white-tiled countertop.

Dory had tried eyeliner and eye shadow once. The experience had been a total disaster. She generally stuck to mascara, and only when she remembered that she had a tube in her backpack. Luckily, with the amount of sun exposure she received from working outside, she never worried about foundation or blush.

Still staring at the intimidating assortment of cosmetics, she nibbled her lower lip. It wouldn’t hurt to take another stab at it. Jessica wouldn’t care if she used any of this stuff, in fact, she’d probably be elated. She’d always tried to get Dory to make more of her appearance.

Can’t you for once act like a girl?

His words reverberated in her head like the grating sound of a bird’s screech bouncing off canyon walls.

Why was she letting his thoughtless remark get to her? If anything, she shouldn’t have let him off so easily. She should’ve made him define girl and watch him squirm. So what if Dory wasn’t a Sara Lynn. She wouldn’t apologize for that. For the past two years she’d worked exclusively with men, the only woman for hundreds of miles and still hadn’t sparked an interest in any of them. She never questioned it. Never gave it a thought. Until now.

Was she really that hopeless?

Furiously, she wiped the mirror until there was a small area clear enough to see her reflection, and then started grabbing the various compacts of eye shadow, liner sticks and lip pencils. This was going to be tricky, drying her hair and deftly applying the unfamiliar makeup in a short period of time. Briefly she thought about calling for Jessica who Dory could hear moving about in the adjoining room, but she wasn’t up to the inevitable bombardment of questions. Until this morning, they hadn’t seen her for five years. Maybe if she showed up wearing makeup, they’d believe she’d changed.

She went to work, first drying her hair, though leaving it damp, and then tackling the face paint. She felt clumsy but worked quickly and within minutes, blinked at the garish face that stared back. Her confidence crumpled. The black around her eyes made her look like a raccoon, and the gray shadow resembled one of those goth chicks that hung around the mall. The pale pink lipstick was okay, but that was it. Pretty sad.

So much for acting like a girl. Disappointed yet annoyed with her foolishness, she plucked two tissues from the box and started to wipe her face, careful not to end up with black streaks on her cheeks. By the time she was done, something miraculous had happened. The residual makeup that remained was perfect. The smudged smoky color around her brown eyes made them look bigger and more exotic. The difference was subtle yet totally amazing.

She nervously licked her lips, totally screwing up the lipstick, and had to reapply it after slipping on a clean pair of jeans and one of the denim blouses she’d brought. After a final check in the mirror, she left her room and headed toward the sound of Kate’s and Lisa’s laughter. They were coming from the kitchen, carrying platters of sliced chicken and beef and veggie trays.

“Just in time,” Kate said, catching sight of her and motioning with a tilt of her head for Dory to follow. “Because the kitchen has been tied up all day, we’re just having sandwiches. And then sinfully rich chocolate cake.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m so hungry I’d even eat eggplant at this point.”

Making a sound of disgust, Jessica came from behind with a pitcher of water and a bottle of red wine. “That’s pretty desperate.”

“What can I do?” Dory asked.

“I heard you’ve been busting your fanny all day.” Lisa slid her tray onto the oak dining room table and then looked up, her blue eyes widening. “Whoa, welcome to the age of glamour.”

“What?” She hadn’t meant to sound peevish. Oh, God, when the other two turned to stare at her she wanted to crawl under the table.

Kate’s slaw-jawed surprise didn’t help. “You look terrific. When did you start wearing makeup?”

She shrugged. “A couple of years ago.” At the ridiculous lie, heat crawled up her neck, and she turned, pretending to be looking for something. “Should I get silverware?”

Jessica got in her face and grinned. “I’m so proud. Our little girl is all grown up.”

“Very funny. Now knock it off.” So much for subtle. She glanced toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms. If Clint showed up now and heard all the teasing, she’d just die of embarrassment.

Although she couldn’t seem to hide her amusement, Kate gave the other two a warning look and then dug into the drawer of an oak china hutch that matched the table. Producing a stack of beige linen napkins, she handed them to Dory along with a handful of forks and knives. “You can set these out.”

Lisa passed out dinner and dessert plates, while Jessica went to get water glasses.

Kate laid serving forks beside the platters of meat and sliced tomatoes, and then remembering that they needed mayo and mustard, returned to the kitchen.

After completing her task, Dory glanced at the grandfather clock near the stairs. Where was Clint, anyway? Or Kate’s other brother, for that matter.

“Let’s get the wine poured,” Lisa said, and popped the cork. “Pass me some glasses, will you?”

The other two returned, and they all took their seats. Kate started passing the food, and Dory realized only four places had been set. Good thing she hadn’t gotten all made up for Clint. Clearly he’d decided to bail on dinner.

5

THE NEXT DAY STARTED OUT hot even before the sun inched up over the mesquite trees dotting the eastern slopes. Clint squinted at the haze of dust kicked up by his brother’s horse as he galloped south, intent on riding the fence line. Joe had always liked to stick to daily operations rather than get involved with the weekend’s festivities, but today he’d been particularly stubborn about putting distance between himself and the fray. Even after Clint had practically begged him to swap places with him.

He knew that facing Dory was inevitable, and that it wasn’t going to be easy. Shame had shadowed him the whole night, and he’d deserved every last minute of feeling as if a noose were tightening around his neck. Not that he thought she’d gone running to tell Kate what a jerk her brother was. He was pretty sure Dory was more the type to pretend the incident had never happened. Except he’d seen the hurt look on her face.

Figuring his presence at supper wouldn’t be welcome, he’d eaten with the men in the bunkhouse, and then drank beer and played Texas Hold ’Em until midnight. But because his mind hadn’t been on poker, he’d lost a couple hundred bucks. If that wasn’t bad enough, most of it had been to their foreman, whose irritating cackle and penchant for pointing out every dumb play Clint made had just about pushed him over the edge.

He downed his third cup of black coffee, relieved that the dull ache in his head from too much beer and too little sense was finally easing up. So far, only one of the tents had been erected and it was already close to eight-thirty. Last night’s jump start on the weekend’s festivities had put them behind schedule. Most of the men helping with the party preparations were slow moving, probably hung over, and he couldn’t say a word because he was such a damn poor example.

“Good morning,” Dory said cheerfully as she came from behind and stood beside him, her hands wrapped around an oversize blue mug.

He eyed her warily, but she didn’t give any indication that she was still upset. “Mornin.’ Sleep well?”

“Boy, did I ever.” She wore jeans, no holes this time, and a snug white T-shirt tucked into her waistband, revealing a narrow waist and curvy hips. “Though we stayed up too late talking.”

“I was up late, too,” he grumbled. “Losing money.”

“Poker?”

“Yep.” Was it really gonna be this easy? As if he hadn’t opened his big mouth and stuck his size-eleven boot into it. Had she already forgiven him?

She smiled. “Been there, done that. After work, and having read every book you can carry in with you, there’s not much to do in the jungle for months at a time.” She took a sip of coffee and then frowned at him over the rim of the mug. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Me?” He’d been staring at the tiny dimple that appeared near the corner of her mouth. Something else he hadn’t noticed yesterday. “Nothing. We’ve got some coffee brewing in the barn. Want a refill?”

“Sure. If you want, I can get some for both of us.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He handed her his mug. “Just black,” he called as she started to walk away, noting a slight natural sway to her hips. Interesting how different she looked with her shirt tucked in.

“What time you expect the kids to start showin’ Pete’s gravelly voice startled Clint out of his preoccupation with the way Dory’s jeans hugged her backside.

“I’d say about an hour and a half. We have to get the other tent up before then.” Clint pulled his hat brim down in deference to the sun. “I want the tools and equipment stored before those kids start running wild around here.”

“We could rope off the area if you think—”

A howl came from inside the barn. And then a scream. Clint and Pete exchanged glances, and then they both took off at a run. Clint quickly outdistanced the older man and entered the barn first. Newly stacked bales of hay blocked his way and obscured his view. He darted through the maze toward the kitchenette in back where they kept the coffee.

“Dory!”

“It’s okay. I’m all right.”

Following the sound of her voice, he found her near the coffeepot, standing with her back to him. “What happened?”

Without turning around, she brushed off the front of her jeans. “Whoever said everything is bigger in Texas wasn’t kidding. You have cats the size of Canada.”

Clint grinned. “That would be Sylvester.”

“What’s wrong?” Huffing and puffing, Pete shuffled in. He bent over to catch his breath, his gaze bouncing between Clint and Dory.

“Sylvester,” was all Clint had to say.

“Damn cat.” Pete snorted. “If he weren’t such a good mouser I’d have cut him loose up in the hills long ago.”

That was a lie. Pete wouldn’t admit it for all the chewing tobacco in Houston, but he loved that monstrous gray tabby. “Sorry about that. Sylvester can be territorial,” Clint said, wondering why she wouldn’t turn around. “I didn’t think to warn you.” He moved closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder at him. “I can’t believe I screamed.” She sighed. “Like a girl.”

Clint might have appreciated the joke more if he didn’t suspect something was wrong. He moved around to face her and saw their mugs lying at her feet. And then he noticed she was favoring her arm. The skin inside of her wrist had reddened where the hot coffee obviously burned her.

“Ah, Dory. We’ll put some ointment on it.”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ve had much worse.”

“What did that damn critter do now? Hope he didn’t scratch you.” Pete came to look, taking off his hat and peering at Dory.

She hunched her shoulders. “Please, it’s okay. I’m going to return to the house to rinse it off and change. Go back to what you were doing.”

Clint sensed her tension, noted the self-conscious posture. “Go on, Pete, I’ll take care of her.”

“I feel awful responsible, that being my cat and all.” Despite his words, Pete seemed as if he wanted to bolt.

“Pete, that tent has to go up now.”

“You got it, boss.” He jammed his hat back on his wiry gray hair as he backed away. “Sorry about that, miss.”

“Not a problem,” she said, and waited until Pete disappeared before lowering the arm she’d been cradling.

“We’ve got a first aid—” Clint lost this train of thought when he saw the front of her T-shirt.

Splashed with black coffee, the white cotton clung to her like a second skin. Her hardened nipples poked at the wet fabric. It looked as if she weren’t wearing a bra. But then he saw the faint pink outline. His body responded, and then shame set in. Guiltily, he snapped out of his inappropriate musings.

“How’s your chest?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up.

“You know what I mean,” he muttered, and went in search of the first-aid kit, which he found tucked in a lower cabinet.

When he came back around, Dory had pulled up her shirt and was inspecting her smooth flat belly. Nothing indecent about the amount of skin she exposed. But the view was more than he could handle. He handed her the kit, and got the hell out.

AN HOUR LATER, she’d changed her ruined shirt, ministered to the burn on her wrist, and still Lisa and Jessica weren’t dressed. Assured she wasn’t needed in the kitchen, Dory walked out the back door and saw that both tents were now up, canopying four long picnic-style tables, benches and chairs. Coming from the front of the house, she heard the shrieks of excited kids.

She shaded her eyes against the brilliant sun and noticed Clint gesturing wildly to a pair of cowhands, who immediately trotted toward the carousel. She guessed they hadn’t anticipated the early arrival of the children. Torn between staying out of the way and offering to help, the decision was made when Clint gestured for her to join him.

“Feel like selling tickets or manning one of the game booths?” he asked.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Come with me.”

She half jogged to keep up as his longer legs ate up the ground to the wooden folding chair and umbrella that was set up in front of the booths. On the chair sat a metal money box and a huge roll of generic yellow tickets.

“There’s change in the box and each ticket costs a quarter. The rides and games all require tickets. But everybody knows the drill, and frankly, no one will turn a kid away if they don’t have a ticket. Any questions?” He sounded business-like, yet when she shook her head, he gently touched her arm. “Let’s see,” he said, turning over her wrist so he could inspect the injured skin.

“See? It’s nothing.” Her pulse quickened when the pad of his thumb gently stroked her arm.

“Not bad.” He met her eyes and something unidentifiable and kind of scary passed between them.

She cleared her throat and pulled away.

“The chili cook-off starts shortly after noon,” he said, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “I’m gonna go check on the stoves in the contestants’ booths. I’ll be back to make sure someone relieves you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She picked up the metal box, sat down and set it on her lap, feeling somewhat shaky. Clint’s dark green eyes and gentle touches were tipping her off balance. It was crazy, and she didn’t know how to react to him. “Go.”

He started to leave, and then turned back to her. “You’re a good sport, Dory. Thanks.”

“Sure.” She shrugged, feeling a bit low suddenly. Pretending to acquaint herself with the money box and tickets, she kept her head bowed until he was gone.

Dory, the good sport. Dory, one of the guys. Dory, the dependable. None of those tags had ever bothered her before, and she hated that they did now. It wasn’t as if a man like Clint would ever be interested in her as a woman, but for just a few minutes, she’d felt a connection with him. Weird, because she was never foolish like this about men. She not only understood her feminine limitations, but in general, she truly lacked interest. What was it about Clint’s indifference that depressed her?

She blew out a frustrated breath and then was relieved to be distracted by her first customer, a cute little freckled girl of about seven. After making the child’s change and passing over her tickets, Dory’s gaze automatically scanned the growing crowd in search of Clint. He was clear across the field, but she spotted him right away because he was taller than most of the other men.

He was talking and laughing with someone, and Dory strained so hard to see who it was, she nearly fell off her chair. But she caught a glimpse of the tall, leggy blonde around whose shoulders he’d casually slipped an arm.

Checking on the chili cook-off booths. Right. She adjusted the metal box on her lap, and muttered when she accidentally ripped off a fingernail.

“Excuse me, miss.” It was the ranch foreman, whom she’d met yesterday.

“Hi, Silas. Need some tickets?”

“No, ma’am. Seems we’re in a pickle and Pete thinks I should talk to you.”

“Yes?”

“We need help in one of the booths.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Sure, but what about selling tickets?”

“I can do that for the time being,” he said, abruptly removing his hat and grinning. “But we need a pretty gal like yourself for the booth. The kissing booth.”

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