Tall, Dark and Texan. Annette Broadrick

What are you trying to do, poison me?”

      She stopped at the doorway and looked over her shoulder. “Now there’s a thought. If you’re going to be a baby, then don’t drink it.” She closed the door softly behind her.

      Dan felt as though he’d awakened in some kind of nightmare. He didn’t remember leaving the bar last night. He didn’t remember coming back to the condo. And he certainly didn’t remember anyone like the woman who’d just walked out of his bedroom.

      She wore a pair of bright yellow shorts that revealed shapely legs, a yellow halter top that displayed more than a little cleavage and long earrings of brightly painted macaws. Her black hair was pulled back from her face in an intricate braid, and her black eyes seemed filled with amazing good humor.

      What the hell was going on?

      He forced himself to drink the steaming, and very bitter, herbal tea. Not that he wanted it or even needed it. Granted he had the granddaddy of all headaches this morning, but he was certain that was due to too much sun yesterday.

      He felt his way into his bathroom and stared into the mirror. Why had he slept in his clothes last night?

      Well, at least that reassured him about one thing—he hadn’t made love to the seductive stranger who seemed to have made herself at home in his place. Why couldn’t he remember her?

      With that thought he had a sudden image of sitting in the bar and watching an exotic-looking woman come in wearing a red, saronglike dress. That’s all he remembered—a brief burst of memory, like a camera flash.

      Maybe he’d had a little more to drink last night than he’d thought. He didn’t remember settling up his tab with Laramie, but he knew that wasn’t a problem. He could go back to the bar today, or pay it this evening when he was there. The place had become a hangout for him lately.

      Dan stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He needed something to get him going. Somehow he was going to have to explain to the unknown woman that whatever he may have said to her last night, she couldn’t stay with him.

      He’d never had much time for relationships, especially in the past few years. A broken engagement had taught him a valuable lesson—most women wanted more of his time and attention than he had available. He closed his eyes and let the spray hit him in the face.

      He hadn’t thought of Sharon in a long while. He’d been really shaken when she’d called off the wedding just a few weeks before the ceremony was to take place. The problem, he’d realized many months later, was that he had been unprepared for her sudden decision. She’d never hinted there was a problem. In fact, the reason he’d been putting in the long hours was because of the three-week honeymoon they’d planned to take.

      That’s when he realized how little he understood women. He could deal with them quite well in a business setting, but socially he hadn’t a clue what to say to them.

      What had happened to him last night that had caused him to brave rejection by inviting his visitor home with him? And why had she said yes?

      By the time he was out of the shower, he’d firmly resolved to get some of his questions answered. But first, maybe he ought to shave. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He could pass as Blackbeard the pirate at the moment. Not exactly what he’d had in mind for a dress code—even for his new vacation-style way of life.

      Shaving took longer than usual. Damn, he wondered how long it had been since he’d bothered?

      He also noticed his stomach growl a couple of times. He hadn’t been hungry in a long time. Maybe it had something to do with that horrible herbal drink.

      He returned to the bedroom and slipped into a pair of briefs and a faded pair of jeans. He grabbed a pullover shirt out of the drawer, one of the last clean ones, and reminded himself to wash some clothes today.

      When he opened the bedroom door he smelled the scent of bacon and coffee. A heavenly combination if he’d ever smelled one. He followed his nose into the kitchen area and discovered the small table there had been set for two.

      “My, don’t you look nice,” the woman said when he walked through the door.

      Dan rubbed his chin self-consciously. “Thanks,” he muttered. He looked at the table. “Uh, this is really nice of you, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

      “It’s no trouble.” She poured a glass of orange juice and handed it to him. “How do you like your coffee?”

      “Mmm, black.” Dan couldn’t figure this out. He could swear he didn’t know this woman and yet she was acting as though they’d lived together for years.

      He sat down and she placed a steaming plate of food in front of him. His stomach did a little flip and he closed his eyes. “I’m not sure—” he began, but she cut him off.

      “Eat. It’s the best thing for what ails you. You’ll be amazed how much better you’ll feel once you get something solid inside you.”

      He rubbed his forehead, where little sledgehammers still tapped rhythmically. He wasn’t up to the argument. He picked up the coffee as soon as she set it down and sipped.

      Ah, that definitely helped.

      When the woman sat across from him he forced himself to meet her eyes. He got caught up in their size and shape and color. Large and black and slightly tilted, which gave her a very exotic look. He gave his head a quick shake. What difference did it make what her eyes looked like?

      “I’m a little hazy about last night,” he finally muttered.

      She gave him a brilliant smile. “Oh, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Dan. You were wonderful! I’ll never forget it.”

      He leaned back in his chair and looked at her with irritation. “Wonderful, huh?”

      She nodded with enthusiasm and began to eat.

      “Exactly what did I do that was so wonderful?”

      That seemed to give her pause. She finished chewing, took a dainty sip of juice—which triggered another memory—of her sipping from a wineglass—before looking at him with eyes that sparkled in the morning light. “Well,” she said slowly, “I don’t know how I could single out one particular thing.” She gave a little wave of her hand.

      “Try,” he replied, deciding to nibble on a little of the toast and bacon. He took a bite and was relieved to find it not only tasted good, but also had a very good chance of staying down. He was encouraged.

      “Well, you just—sort of—swept me off my feet. I couldn’t resist you. I—” She paused and watched him munch on a piece of toast. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

      “Not a word,” he assured her, taking a bite of egg with bacon.

      “Oh.”

      “So what is this all about? Who are you and why are you here?”

      She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

      He finished off the egg and another piece of toast before he said, “I remember enough to know that I was neither irresistible nor able to sweep you off your feet. I was doing well to navigate with my own two feet.”

      She laughed.

      It caught him off guard. She had a delightful, husky chuckle that felt like little fingers running up and down his spine. He straightened and reached for another piece of toast.

      She jumped up and returned with the coffeepot, refilling both their cups.

      When she sat down again she leaned her chin on her hands and asked, “Do you remember Buddy Doyle?”

      He stared at her, for the first time wondering if she was a mental case. If so, he would have to handle her very carefully.

      “Buddy Doyle?” he repeated.

      “Uh-huh.”