Texas Heat. Debbi Rawlins

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