A Taste of Texas. Liz Talley

problem.” Then he smiled, causing her heart to do little flippy things. Damn it. She had to stop thinking about his smile, his naked chest, the thought of being literally tangled up in him. The man had hurt her. Remember the Alamo. Or rather, the Oak Stand Literary Night circa 1994.

      She moved toward the stove, picked up a wooden spoon and her control over her hormones. The soup looked perfect, nice and tomatoey. Rich and creamy. Her taste buds rioted for a little nip. She ignored them and instead added the chopped basil sitting on a cutting board beside the range. “So you happened to have a kid’s book lying around?”

      She saw his hand move toward one of the muffins and smiled. Men. Boys. They all were alike. Hungry. “Well, I like all kinds of books.”

      “Yeah, I saw the Debbie Macomber on the shelf. And, yes, you can have a muffin.”

      “Thanks,” he said, cramming it into his mouth. “Mmm. I like these. Oh, and that was my mom’s book. Don’t know how it got on my shelf.”

      “But a kid’s book?”

      He licked his fingers and made her think of things other than food. “Well, I coach kids. The lessons in those books relate to kids. Or something like that.”

      “Oh. Well, thanks for letting Henry borrow one.”

      “He can keep that copy. I have a few others, so if he likes that one, he can borrow another.”

      She stirred the soup, scooping enough to taste, and slipped the spoon in her mouth. It needed a pinch more sea salt and then she could dish it up for Meg and Aunt Fran to sample. “That’s nice of you.”

      “I can be a nice guy. Sometimes.”

      Rayne looked over her shoulder. “I remember.”

      “Yeah,” he said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping his hands. “I gotta run. Tell your aunt I’ll be back in the morning. Early this time because I got some work to do at the Harpers’ in the afternoon. Send Hank over in about thirty, okay?”

      Then he stepped out the back door before she could say anything else. Before she could remember how nice he’d been once. How sweet and vulnerable. So different than what others thought about him. And at one time so absolutely perfect for her.

      She washed her hands and allowed the memories to follow the water right down the drain. It was easier that way.

      BRENT JOGGED TO HIS PARENTS’ house to let Apple out and realized he’d forgotten and left her asleep on his bed. After grabbing their mail and stacking it on the counter and riffling through the too-thin Oak Stand Gazette, he hurried across the backyard, thinking about the repercussions of handing Henry one of his earlier books. He hadn’t thought about it seeming strange that he’d have copies of a children’s book lying about his house. He’d thought only of finding something Henry would actually enjoy reading, something that would hook him and have him turning pages.

      Lucky he could think fast on his feet. It was a good ability to have.

      Apple trotted up to him, carrying a decorative pillow she’d capriciously ripped apart. Fluffy white clouds covered his rug. Damn it.

      “Apple, you dumbass dog. I ought to punt you to Houston, you stupid mutt.”

      The Boston terrier dropped the pillow his mother had painstakingly cross-stitched with his initials at his feet and smiled up at him. Then she barked.

      He nudged her with his work boot and picked up the half-flattened pillow. “Damn it.”

      Apple barked again before clamping her mouth onto the torn pillow for a game of tug-of-war.

      “Stop it,” he said, pulling the pillow. Apple growled and shook her head.

      “Talking to the dog again?”

      Brent dropped the pillow and propped his hands on his hips. “Hey, Tamara. Yeah, stupid dog tore up that pillow Mom gave me when I moved in here.”

      Tam stepped inside, shut the door and propped her bottom on the armchair. He could smell her perfume as it wafted toward him, curling into his nostrils. He glanced at her. She looked fine sitting there, with her golden hair tumbling down her back and her glossy lips ready to be plundered. She wore an itty-bitty dress that tied under her breasts and high-heeled sandals that made her legs look long and tanned.

      “I see,” she drawled, and he could tell she had more on her mind than a cross-stitched pillow or a dog. “You wanna go over to the Dairy Barn for a burger tonight then maybe head out to Cooley’s? It’s two-for-Tuesday.”

      He picked up the stuffing and repried the pillow from Apple’s mouth. “Nah, I got baseball practice.”

      “Oh, yeah,” she said, rising and smoothing the flimsy cotton against her upper thighs. “I forgot you coach a team.”

      He opened the door and whistled. Apple trotted outside, then spied a squirrel and gave chase. He closed the door as Tamara’s arms curled round his stomach.

      “I thought maybe we could try to fix that problem you had the other night,” she whispered against his back. Her fingers smoothed themselves across his stomach. Unwillingly, he felt himself harden, but he grabbed her hands and disengaged them.

      He turned. “I don’t think we have time for that kind of therapy, Tam. Though I do thank you for the offer.”

      She smiled. Her two canines were slightly longer than her other teeth, giving her a vampy, cute smile. Two dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Well, you know, I do work for agriculture extension. It’s my job to make things grow.”

      He chuckled, before bringing her hands to his lips. “And I appreciate the dedication you bring to your work.”

      “Oh, heck, Brent. I had to go somewhere. Liv’s with Mark. They’ve been driving me crazy with all their talk of the upcoming wedding. I’m sick of tripping over bridal magazines and all the damned invitation sample books. I can’t believe she’s taking the plunge.”

      Liv Wheeler was Tamara’s roommate. He’d dated her once upon a time. She was a sweet girl, not much of a conversationalist, but then again, they hadn’t talked much. The relationship had lasted about a month. She came from a good family and had a sweet disposition so he’d hoped it would evolve into something serious. But it turned out they had little in common. Liv only watched reality television, and the only books she’d ever read were The Baby-sitters Club series when she was twelve. No conversation, only action, which had been fine for a while, but really, he was more than a piece of meat, no matter what everyone liked to say.

      “Mark’s a good guy. You need to find a guy like that.”

      She tugged at his waistband. “Maybe you. You’re a good guy.”

      “No, I’m not.” He removed her hands again and grabbed the remote control. He’d left the station on ESPN and the opening day baseball scores scrolled along the bottom of the screen. He clicked it off.

      “What’s wrong, Brent? You’re always good for a quickie,” Tamara teased, propping her hand on one hip. “Or at least you were.”

      Her words ruffled him. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. He was a man. Hell, he’d gotten hard staring at Rayne lick the spoon out of the soup earlier, so he knew there wasn’t anything wrong with the equipment. It was something else altogether that had him stepping away from Tamara. Something new and different wriggled inside him. A desire to be taken seriously. A wish to give up the fabled, carefree, eye candy image he’d fallen into long ago…and stayed in. He was tired of that life. And the woman before him was another piece in the puzzle of dissatisfaction.

      But Tamara wasn’t the sort of girl who took no for an answer. Her tenacity had served her well in the past. Usually she got her man. But the digital clock on the microwave beyond her shoulder told him it was six-thirteen. It took ten minutes to get to the ball field. He still needed to gather up the catching equipment and fill up the watercooler.

      “No