Texas Heat

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“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.”

6

BY THE TIME CLINT had made sure the stage was ready for the first band that was scheduled to begin playing at noon, the rides were running and the dunking booth operational, he was itching for another shower and a cold drink. Barring any unforeseen problems with the lighting for tonight or the half barrels they’d set up for the barbecue, his job was done and he could enjoy the festivities. He did have one thing left to do…find a replacement for Dory. He’d left her sitting under that umbrella longer than he’d intended, and felt badly about the inconvenience, but he planned to make it up to her.

He headed toward the house and the makeshift ticket booth set up close to the driveway. But as he got closer he saw a teenage girl with a mass of curly red hair now selling tickets. He was glad someone had relieved Dory, but where was she? He spun around, scanning the crowd, starting with the group of people gathered around the lemonade stand. There were still more kids than adults milling about. All that would change in the next hour, but for now she should have been easy to spot.

Several cowhands had lined up at one of the booths, but she wasn’t among them. When Clint shaded his eyes, he saw that she was behind the counter, collecting tickets. Who the hell put her there? Kate was gonna kick his ass if she thought he’d made her friend work the entire weekend. Sighing, he strode toward Dory. But stopped dead in his tracks when young Sam Taylor leaned over the counter and laid a big sloppy kiss on Dory that sent the whole line of men to hooting and hollering.

Dory threw her head back and laughed. “That counted as two, cowboy,” she said, holding out her palm. “Hand over four more tickets.”

Grinning, Sam dug into his pocket and slapped a handful of yellow tickets into her hand. “That’s enough for two more,” he said, nudging his hat back and leaning toward her.

“You had your turn, you ornery young buck, now git to the back of the line if you want seconds.” Curly’s protest was joined by several of the other men, apparently from neighboring ranches because Clint didn’t recognize them.

Of course he hadn’t paid much attention to the men. He was still too stunned over the fact that Dory was manning the kissing booth. He took off his hat, and used the back of his sleeve to wipe his eyes. Dory looked different. For one thing, she wasn’t wearing a T-shirt but a denim blouse with the top two buttons left undone, showing a little skin and hint of cleavage. Nothing too revealing, just enough to whet a man’s appetite. Her hair was down, too, a bit wild and wavy around her face, and he was pretty sure she was wearing makeup.