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Shameless
Kimberly Raye
Deb Strickland has her hands full–keeping her small newspaper in the black and her hands off hunky Jimmy Mission. The seriously sexy rancher has come home to settle down–and that's definitely not in Deb's plans. But faced with Jimmy's killer cowboy charm, Deb's awfully tempted to settle in with him for the duration…Jimmy is looking for a wife–really. Only he can't seem to keep his mind off sassy city gal, Deb Strickland. He knows Deb wouldn't be much good on a ranch–but he'd bet she's incredible in bed! And as much as he wants the sexy, smart-mouthed beauty, he knows he'll never find out–unless he makes Deb an offer she can't refuse. An offer that's absolutely shameless…



“By the way—” Nell’s voice followed him “—you’ve got company waitin’.”
“Company? Who—” The back door slammed and Jimmy had no choice but to find out who his guest was for himself. He popped the tab on his beer and headed for the partially open study door. It was nearly ten at night, and the sidewalks in town rolled up at five. Who in the world—
She was sitting on his desk, her long legs stretched out, her three-inch red stilettos tapping an impatient tempo.
Jimmy smiled as his gaze shifted, skimming up slim calves, shapely knees and thighs that disappeared beneath the edge of her black leather coat. A coat? In July?
Green eyes met piercing blue as Deb Strickland got to her feet, her hands going to the belt that held the edges of her coat together. Jimmy’s grin faltered.
“So, are we going to do this, or what?” Deb asked in a husky voice.
Before he could reply, the edges of the coat fell open and Jimmy got an up close and personal view of the woman who’d haunted his nights for the past year.
Only this time, the woman was real. And she was here, she was naked and she was his.
For the next two weeks, anyhow.
Dear Reader,
Writing books for the Blaze miniseries is like a dream come true for me. I love hot, intense stories that aren’t afraid to push boundaries and explore the sensuality buried deep down inside all of us. I’m thrilled to be back this month, and next, bringing you two steamy reads that feature the wickedly handsome Mission brothers.
For those of you who read my first Blaze novel, Breathless, you might recognize bold, passionate Texas bad boy, Jimmy Mission. He’s back, and he’s hot on the trail of city gal, Deb Strickland. Jimmy and Deb are the least compatible people in Inspiration, Texas. The trouble is, they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. When they decide an affair will sate their mutual lust, the result is nothing short of shameless….
Next month, get set for another Texas bad boy. When Jack Mission returns home to Inspiration, he promptly turns prim and proper Paige Cassidy’s life upside down. Divorced from a man who swore she could do nothing right, Paige is on a major self-improvement kick. And sexy, restless drifter Jack Mission is just the man to give her lessons in love. Look for Restless in August 2000.
For those of you who wrote asking for Deb and Jimmy’s story, I hope you enjoy Shameless. I truly appreciate your encouragement and excitement!
Happy reading,
Kimberly Raye
P.S. I’d love to hear from you! You can write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9, or visit me on-line at www.kimberlyromance.com.
Shameless
Kimberly Raye


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my mother, for always being there.
You’re the best!

Contents
Prologue (#u0d183c1c-0de6-5862-a484-52cb8642f361)
Chapter 1 (#uf4cd479e-39fa-50f6-be6e-a9d65d18bdda)
Chapter 2 (#ufc0243b4-b849-5bf8-a40f-458031e2a6a3)
Chapter 3 (#uf4ae51d9-d9ad-5ffb-9c08-0a8ef4e80511)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue
HE TASTED as good as he looked.
Warm. Wicked. Hungry.
Firm lips flavored with a hint of raspberry—as if he’d just had a drink at the nearby refreshment table—ate at hers, nibbling, coaxing, taking their own sweet time despite the swarm of carnival goers and the line of men, dollar bills in hand, who waited behind this tall, delicious cowboy for a kiss of their own.
Yes, there were more men to kiss, more dollars to be had. Inspiration’s only elementary school needed new books for the library. A worthwhile cause, and the main reason Deb Strickland, owner and editor of the small Texas town’s only newspaper, had agreed to man the kissing booth in the first place. That and the fact that she had a bad reputation to uphold, even if it was all fiction and little fact. No healthy, single, red-blooded, dare-anything city gal would turn down the chance to play lip lock with the town cuties.
Cute being the operative word. As in nice, friendly, like the widower Mitchell from the feed store who gave her a stick of gum every time she stopped by, or Marty from the diner who gave her extra French fries on her lunch plate, or Paul from the gas station who blushed every time she looked at him. “Filler” men in the big newspaper of life.
This guy qualified as a lead story.
He’d looked the typical cowboy with his straw Resistol, faded denim shirt and jeans and dusty brown boots. But there’d been nothing typical about his bright green eyes, as vivid as a stretch of rich pasture on a summer day, or his full sensuous lips that had curved into a teasing grin just as he’d stepped up to her in the booth. He was blond and beautiful and hot. Definitely hot.
She wondered briefly why she hadn’t seen him around before. She’d been living in Inspiration for over six years now and she made it her business to know every handsome man within a fifty-mile radius—a self-proclaimed wild woman always knew the available pool of men even if she didn’t get her feet wet.
She was drowning now, she realized, lost in a wave of heat and passion and him. He sought a deeper connection, and Deb did something she hadn’t done since she’d taken her place in the booth. She opened her mouth and kissed back.
His tongue stroked and teased hers and everything faded. The whirrr of the cotton candy machine, the ding of the Shoot-n-Hoop, the whine of a Tammy Wynette record blasting at the cakewalk next door.
Her thoughts centered on the mouth melding with hers, the strong hand cupping the back of her neck, the callused thumb stroking the curve of her jaw, the five o’clock shadow that rasped her tender skin.
Mmm…. The tantalizing scent of leather and sawdust and sexy male filled her nostrils and kicked up her heartbeat. Her nipples sprang to life, pressing hungrily against the lace of her bra, wanting…just wanting. Heat pooled low in her belly, spreading, licking at the insides of her thighs the way his tongue licked at her mouth.
Her body hummed and heat sped along her nerve endings until she burned and ached, and at nothing more than his kiss. His touch. Him.
“Hurry it up!”
“We ain’t got all day!”
“Give another fella a chance!”
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the voices finally pushed past the pounding of her heart and tugged her back to reality, to the smell of popcorn and the cry of a fiddle and the all-important fact that her hands were gripping the table edge, her knees were trembling and her lips were locked with a total stranger’s, and all in front of an impatient audience.
Not a stranger, a small voice whispered, a sense of familiarity creeping through her. As if she’d known him before.
Crazy.
She was crazy. And her hormones were desperate. For all the men in town who’d claimed to have scored with “Daring Deb,” few had ever made it past first base. It had been a long time since Deb had felt a man’s touch.
Too long, she thought as she pulled away and concentrated on gathering her composure, which wasn’t nearly as easy as it should have been. Not with him so close, his green eyes fixed on her, mirroring her own disbelief, as if he also was stunned by the past few seconds.
Say something, her brain screamed.
I really liked that. Can we do it again?
And again?
And more?
“Here,” was all she managed as she handed back the dollar bill he’d given her.
He glanced at the money. “What’s this for?”
“I should be the one paying you.”
He grinned and the sight was almost as heartstopping as his kiss. “I think the kids need it more than I do.” He placed the dollar into her palm and curled her fingers around it, his skin brushing hers, setting off a wave of tingles that shimmered through her and made her nipples throb. “Speaking of kids.” He glanced at his watch, a frown sweeping away his dimples. “I’m due at the dunking booth right about now.”
“You’re a volunteer?”
He nodded. “Maury Hatfield suckered me into sitting in his oversize fish tank for an hour.”
“At least you’ll be getting wet for a good cause,” she managed, her lips still vibrating from his kiss. She blew out a deep breath and wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple.
“Hot?” His eyes twinkled and she knew he wasn’t just talking about the weather. More like lips touching and tongues dancing and her body responding….
“You can’t even imagine.”
His strong fingertip caught the slow glide of perspiration down her neck and slid up, over the curve of her jaw. “Oh, I think I can.” His thumb swept her still trembling bottom lip. “Damn straight I can.” His voice grew huskier, deeper, meant for her ears alone. “Meet me at the dunking booth when you’re done here, Slick, and we’ll see what we can do about cooling off.” Then he gave her a slow, lazy wink and disappeared into the crowd.
Slick. The word registered in her head, pulling and tugging at a long ago memory, of a shy, quiet fourteen-year-old who’d come to spend yet another summer vacation with her granny.
Deb had treasured those times with her granny Lily. The few precious days when she’d been able to eat and sleep and breathe without asking permission. To smile and pretend that all was right with the world, that her last name wasn’t Strickland and her future wasn’t already mapped out for her.
She hadn’t known it at the time, but that fourteenth summer would be her last in Inspiration for a while, and her most memorable. Particularly one hot July day when she’d been in town shopping. Granny had gone into Shelly’s Boutique while Deb had lingered outside the Mr. Freeze, struggling with the strap of one of her new sandals, a low-heeled, hot pink number she’d bought behind her ultraconservative father’s back.
“Hey, Slick. You just gonna stand there, or you gonna put those fancy shoes to good use and come on in?”
Her head had snapped up. Her fingers faltered on the leather strap as her gaze collided with a pair of deep, green eyes. The owner, maybe seventeen or eighteen, was the stuff teenage fantasies were made of with his crooked smile and tall, athletic body. He held the door open for her. Music and laughter drifted from inside the ice-cream shop, enticing her as much as the boy’s smile. Almost.
But Deb had lived with her father’s rules much too long to be seduced that easily. She managed to shake her head.
“That’s a shame.” He grinned. “Maybe next time.”
And then it had happened. Her first wink from a real boy, and not just any boy. The boy.
“Jimmy Mission,” she murmured as her pounding heart came to a shuddering halt.
Deb had moved to Inspiration six years ago to discover Jimmy, town golden boy and star running back for the local high school, had joined the marines right after graduation. Other than the occasional brief visit to his folks, he’d never looked back. Thankfully, because at that time Deb hadn’t needed the added complication of facing the one and only man who made her feel like that shy, insecure fourteen-year-old she’d been so long ago.
But that girl was history. She’d buried her insecurities, her past. Now she was bold and brassy Deb Strickland. Independent. In control. Completely immune to men like Jimmy Mission with their easygoing, cowboy charm.
Or so she’d told herself when she’d heard he’d come home a few months back, just days after his father had passed away. Since then he’d been running the ranch, caring for his grief-stricken mother, and, rumor had it, looking for a wife.
Deb fought down a wave of disappointment. Of all the men to kiss her pantyhose off, it had to be hardworking, family-oriented, marriage-minded him. Was there no justice in the world?
“Pucker up, missy.” An old man with a handlebar mustache shoved a dollar at her and leaned forward.
“Sorry, Cecil. We’re closed.”
“Since when?”
“Since I’ve got a date at the dunking booth.” Deb fished into her pocket, pulled out a few twenties so the kids didn’t miss out on the money from the kisses she was about to decline, stuffed the cash into the till and flipped on the Out To Lunch sign. A quick adjustment of her blazing red jacket and silk blouse, and she rounded the table and headed through the crowd of people.
When she reached her destination, her heart stalled at the sight of him, clad only in jeans, sitting up on the raised platform. Blond hair sprinkled his chest and funneled to a thin line that bisected a rippled abdomen. The tanned muscles of his arms flexed, bulged as he gripped the edge of his seat and dangled his bare, tanned feet in the water.
The girl at the head of the line tossed the ball and missed, her gaze hooked on him rather than the bright red target just to the left. Deb could sympathize. He was buff and beautiful, with a wicked smile and brilliant eyes and…
The thought died as his gaze caught hers and she felt an answering warmth deep inside. His lips curved, a dimple cut into his right cheek, and the warmth turned to full-blown heat.
Deb, heart racing, hormones chanting, body wanting, did the only thing she could. She traded her money for a stash of balls, aimed for the target and let the first ball rip.
Marriage-minded Jimmy Mission had husband written all over him and the last thing, the very last thing Deb Strickland wanted was a husband. She’d come too close to making that mistake once before.
Never again.
No matter how good he kissed.

1
One year later
JIMMY MISSION wasn’t sure what bothered him most about Deb Strickland.
The fact that she was pleading her innocence to the judge, even though the entire lunch rush at Pancake World had seen her back into the front end of his Bronco.
Or the fact that with every deep breath she took, her low-cut silk blouse shifted and a heart-shaped tattoo played a wicked game of peek-a-boo with him.
“Four thousand dollars? For a little dent? Why, with a hammer and five bucks worth of spray paint, I could fix the blasted thing myself!”
“Six hundred is for the dent.” Skeeter Baines, the oldest judge in Inspiration and an ex-fishing buddy of Jimmy’s late father, pointed a bony finger at her. “The rest is for poor Jimmy’s pain and suffering. Maybe you’ll think twice before you go ramming that fancy sports car of yours into an innocent man’s truck.”
“Innocent? Judge, it was his bumper that was sticking over the line into my spot. I couldn’t help but tap him.”
“Three times?” the judge asked.
“It was twice.”
“Aha! So you did ram him.”
“Tapped him, and my insurance will cover the damages. As for the pain and suffering—”
“I’ve made my decision. Now take your seat.” The judge slammed his hammer down and Deb blew out an exasperated sigh.
The tattoo flashed Jimmy in full, heart-shaped splendor—a vivid red against a backdrop of pale, satin-looking skin—and his mouth went dry.
“This is a terrible miscarriage of justice,” she declared, pivoting to face the handful of people clustered in the tiny courtroom—the bailiff, the court reporter, the police officer who’d responded to the accident call and three nosy file clerks. “Grossly unfair.” Another deep sigh, a quick flash of red, and Jimmy’s groin tightened.
The only thing unfair was Jimmy’s reaction to the brunette stomping around the defendant’s table in three-inch heels, a tight red skirt and a clingy white blouse.
This was Deb Strickland, he reminded himself. Ten percent soft, warm, female, ninety percent ballsy attitude, and the woman responsible for causing him so much grief. He rued the day he’d had the misfortune to lay down good money for an all-too-brief kiss that had started out their renewed acquaintance with such sweet promise. After she’d dunked and damned near drowned him that same fateful day, things between them had only gone downhill.
“What is unfair, Miss Strickland,” Judge Baines snapped, “is that you purposely damaged Mr. Mission’s property.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Jimmy Mission has been hounding me for an entire year. Every time I turn around, there he is.”
“This is a small town, Miss Strickland.”
“I’m fully aware of that, but he’s not only there, he’s doing things—like parking in my spot every time he comes into town, sitting in my seat at my table during the YMCA charity barbecue last month, signing up to be my partner during the wheelbarrow race at the Senior Citizen Olympics.”
“Attended that barbecue, myself. Sounds like Jimmy was just being charitable and looking out for his own, which is more than I can say for present company.”
“This is about Cletus Wallaby, isn’t it?” When the judge’s expression hardened, Deb added, “You can’t hold that against me, Judge. Cletus Wallaby was a crooked councilman and the people of this town deserved to know it. It was my journalistic duty to expose him.”
“Cletus was born and raised here. Spent his whole life struggling to make the town better when you were just a gleam in your rich father’s eye.”
“Homegrown or not, he stole money from taxpayers and that makes him crooked.”
“He may have fudged on his expense sheets for the town, but he’s a damn good family man and a helluva fisherman, little missy, and you’d do well to remember that some folks don’t take too kindly to outsiders spreading rumors.”
“Every one of my facts was documented and proven. That’s why he was fired last year. Fact, not rumor.”
“And the fact here,” the judge snapped, obviously set in his opinion despite the proof, “is that you damaged Jimmy’s property.”
“But he was taking up half my space—”
“Try two inches,” Jimmy called out, adding fuel to the already out-of-control fire that blazed between them. “I was barely two inches beyond the line, Judge.”
She turned blazing blue eyes on him and what he’d discovered to be her most intimidating glare.
Only Jimmy wasn’t easily intimidated or put off. He could handle women, even an ornery one.
He gave her the slowest, laziest grin he could manage with just a hint of a wink, an expression he’d become notorious for since he’d first used it to con Mary Sue Grimes into the bed of his daddy’s pickup when he’d been fifteen. Jimmy didn’t really understand the effect of “The Grin” on women, just that it never failed to turn the tide his way.
She glared. “Two inches is about the size of things, from what I hear.”
“Now, Slick.” His grin widened when her gaze narrowed. “I didn’t think you listened to hearsay. If you want to check your facts, I’d be mighty happy to show you and set the record straight.”
“I just bet you would,” she snapped.
Deb Strickland didn’t, wouldn’t respond to “The Grin.” Aside from the moment they’d kissed, she hadn’t responded in any positive way to him since he’d come home to Inspiration over a year ago and found her running the town newspaper in place of her granny Lily.
He’d been surprised. Not because Deb had taken the old woman’s place at the In Touch, but because she’d grown from the scrawny young city gal who used to keep her granny company a few weeks every summer into one fine-looking woman who, folks said, kept company with every eligible man in town.
Every man, that is, except for him.
It puzzled the hell out of Jimmy, not only because of her initial response to him, but because women, all women, just plain liked him. It was a fact of life, like the sun rising and setting, his mother baking her famous Christmas cookies, his Black Angus bull walking away with first prize at the Austin County livestock show. Jimmy smiled and women smiled back. He flirted and they flirted back.
And some did more, he thought, eyeing the platter of petit fours sitting in front of him, courtesy of the court reporter, Justine something or other, and Daring Deb’s Fun Girl Fact for the week—Go get ’im with gourmet goodies! He thought about the drawer full of silk underwear—not his own—he had at home due to last week’s Seduce him with silk! He pictured his cabinet overflowing with everything from biscotti to croissants, smoked oysters to sardines, all surefire aphrodisiacs according to Loosen him up with love potions!
He glanced down at the folded newspaper and today’s words of wisdom. Nothing says come and get me like pineapple-flavored body glaze!
This was a small Texas town. Most of the women hadn’t even heard of flavored body glazes, much less seen a tube of the stuff, which was exactly the point of the column. To bring some city-savvy love advice to the single women of Inspiration.
Jimmy had nothing against women being savvy when it came to love, he just didn’t want all that savvy directed at him when he wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Most of the women he knew wouldn’t get all spruced up for a man unless he’d already handed over the ring, and Jimmy hadn’t even narrowed down the candidates, much less decided on the future Lady Mission.
He knew Deb had started the column to push him away, to draw the line between them and remind him that she wasn’t the sort of girl a guy could take home to his mama. But damned if she didn’t come back every few weeks with some short, serious article. Like the one she’d done on Cletus Wallaby who’d cost the good citizens of Inspiration major tax dollars because of his falsified expense reports, or the one she’d done to rally support for the local animal shelter.
It was those serious, caring articles that never failed to cool his anger and stir his admiration. And they also made him wonder exactly how many rumours regarding Deb’s bedroom exploits were rooted in fact and how many were pure speculation based on the sophisticated, worldly image she portrayed and the fact that this was a small town and gossip a favorite pastime. He knew she’d dated all of the twenty or so eligible men in town. What he had trouble swallowing was that she’d bedded all of them, because as turned on as she’d been by his kiss, he’d sensed her surprise, as well.
“Don’t you have better things to do than harass innocent women?” Deb’s voice drew Jimmy back to the here and now and the fire flashing in her blue eyes.
“Sure do. Today, I’m teaching a lesson to a guilty woman. You break the law, you have to pay.”
“But you parked in my spot on purpose.”
“Barely.” He shrugged. “I’m not too good at parallel parking.”
“Well, neither am I. So sue me.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, a wave of red crept up her neck and fueled her cheeks.
“That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”
And in a big way. He’d counted on the fact that Judge Baines, still soured over Deb’s exposure of Cletus, the judge’s longtime fishing buddy, would go for the maximum judgement allowed. Having his early weekend fishing trip put off by a Friday morning hearing didn’t help matters. Deb didn’t stand a chance, which was exactly why Jimmy had hauled her into court.
Not that he needed the outrageous judgment. This wasn’t about damages. It was about finishing what they’d started.
She wanted him. He’d felt it, seen it, even if she had spent the past year denying it. He’d no more been able to forget the taste of her—warm woman and sweet peppermint and sinful promise—than he’d been able to shake the urge to breathe. Over the past year, reading her articles, seeing her around town, talking to her, hell, even arguing with her, had intensified the attraction. She was in his head, under his skin, in his blood.
At first, he’d tried to deny the chemistry between them. He’d been so damned mad after the dunking booth incident, which had been her intention all along. To push him away, piss him off, keep distance between them. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him because she, like every other female in town, knew he had marriage on his mind. If there was one thing he’d learned about Deb Strickland, it was that she was single and proud of it.
Good. While Jimmy did have marriage on his mind, he wanted a strong, solid woman who knew her cattle better than her cosmetics. One who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to give one hundred percent to a thriving ranch that demanded so much.
Too much.
He shook away the thought. The ranch was his life now, and he would do what he had to do. For his mother and father. For the future of the Mission spread. Duty called, and so he didn’t, couldn’t want a woman like Deb Strickland, with her fancy clothes and painted nails and city-slicker persona, in his life.
But in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile and some pineapple-flavored body glaze…now that was a different matter altogether.
Deb huffed, the heart flashed, and Jimmy’s body gave an answering throb.
“I’m begging you to rethink this, Judge Baines.”
“No time, missy. I’ve got a great big catfish with my name on it out in Morgan’s Pond and you’ve made me as late as I’m gonna get.” The gavel slammed down as the judge stood up. “I rule in favor of the plaintiff for four thousand dollars.” He shrugged off his robe to reveal a plaid shirt and blue jeans, and grabbed the rod and reel propped in the far corner. “Good day and happy fishing.”
Jimmy barely had time to stand before the three file clerks and the court reporter closed in on him.
“Congratulations, Jimmy.”
“You deserve it.”
“How’d you like that sardine sandwich I made you last week?”
By the time Jimmy smiled and talked his way past the women, Deb Strickland and her tattoo had disappeared.
He should have been thankful.
She was sure to come at him, guns blazing, ready to rip his head off and mount it on the wall above her desk over at the In Touch. He’d waited this long to make his proposition. A few more days, maybe even a couple of weeks wouldn’t make much difference. Besides, Jimmy had always been a patient man where women were concerned, which was why he’d invested so much time in pursuing a woman with such a hands-off attitude.
He had work waiting—a plowed over fence in the north pasture, a pen full of cattle needing vaccinations, and Valentino, his stud bull, was due in Austin tomorrow to be photographed for a layout in Texas Cattleman featuring prize livestock.
He needed to get things settled, to pack. He didn’t need a confrontation to take up more time when he was already running short.
But damned if he didn’t want one.
DEB FOUGHT to keep from shedding even one of the tears burning her eyes as she headed down the hallway. Deb Strickland didn’t cry, no matter how grossly unfair Judge Baines’s verdict.
Four thousand dollars. Where was she supposed to come up with that kind of money?
With barely two thousand left in her own savings account—a quarter of which she’d already planned to transfer to the newspaper account to help cover Wally’s salary—she was scraping bottom already. She had three hundred open on her Visa, eighty bucks in her checking account, Granny Lily’s decrepit house, a car that wasn’t even halfway paid off, a lifetime supply of Go Girl cosmetics she’d won back in a magazine competition in college and a newspaper that barely generated enough revenue to cover expenses.
Most of the time, it didn’t, which was why she’d nearly depleted the nest egg Granny Lily had left her.
She fought back the urge to turn around, stomp back into the courtroom and punch the plaintiff’s infuriatingly handsome face.
She would have done in a second except she’d traded Sonia at the beauty shop a month of free advertising for a French manicure just yesterday. She wasn’t about to waste a precious nail on some pigheaded cowboy, even if said cowboy was Jimmy Mission.
Especially because it was him. He was completely off-limits. Cowboy non grata. The more distance between them, the better.
“Hey, Slick, wait up.” His deep voice rumbled behind.
“Get lost.” She picked up the pace.
“I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to strangle you, but lucky for you my personal beauty regime prohibits physical violence. Go away.”
He stopped, but his voice followed her. “Why are you so dead set on running away from me?”
The question rang in her ears, prickling her ego and she turned on him before she could think better of it. “Why are you so dead set on ruining my life?”
“Last time I looked, you hit me.”
“You parked in my spot intentionally. You’ve been doing it for months just to tick me off.” Eleven months and fifteen days to be exact, since their first and last kiss, not that Deb was counting….
Oh, God, she was counting.
She glared at him. “You’ve been hogging my spot on purpose.”
“And you’ve been avoiding me on purpose, that or trying to piss me off.”
She managed a laugh but could hardly feel mirthful since, even though a few feet separated them, the scent of him reached her. The enticing aroma of leather and male and that unnameable something that made her think of satin sheets and champagne and…Forget it. Forget him. Forget the kiss. Forget.
She tried for a steadying breath. “Look, I realize you’re very popular, but unlike the other members of your fan club,” she motioned to the group of women clustered outside the courtroom, their gazes hooked on Jimmy. “I’m too busy to spend my valuable time thinking about ways to piss you off.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You know what I think?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I think,” he said, stepping toward her, “you’ve been pushing me away on purpose, hoping I’d back off because you’re scared.”
“Scared? Of what? You? The day I’m scared of you, buster, is the day Myrna Jenkins—” known to the entire town as queen of the coiffure “—goes to the Piggly Wiggly with her hair in rollers.”
“Not me, Slick.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. “Us.” The word trembled in the air between them.
She craned her neck and stared up at him. “There is no us.”
“We were good together.”
“For about five seconds.”
“It was more like ten.” His gaze narrowed. “But a kiss is just a kiss, right? A little fun?”
He’d obviously read her article, just as she’d intended. She’d written the piece right after she’d finished up at the carnival and gone home to an empty house, disappointed and frustrated because Mr. Kiss-of-the-Century had turned out to be Mr. Jimmy Mission. Inspiration’s most eligible husband prospect was completely off-limits to a woman like Deb who’d sworn off marriage and family when she’d left Dallas. So she’d written one of her most powerful editorials, entitled Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, which had led to her weekly and ever-popular Daring Deb’s Fun Girl Fact.
“Not every woman’s out to find herself a husband,” she told him.
“And not every man’s out to find himself a wife.”
“But you are.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone in this desperately small town.” She eyed him. “So what’s the scoop? Are you or are you not looking for a wife?”
“Not at this moment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That, yes, I’m keeping my eye out for the future Lady Mission. I’m thirty-two and it’s time to settle down, but until I find her—and your column hasn’t made things any easier by turning half the women around here into pushy—”
“Assertive,” she cut in. “Fun women are assertive.”
“And convinced that being a good wife means rubbing herself down with pineapple-flavored body glaze and doubling as a Christmas ham.”
Despite the heat and the tension, a grin tugged at her lips. “Actually, a very good wife rubs herself down with pineapple glaze and doubles as a Christmas ham.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, honey. A very good wife doesn’t waste her time on foolishness. She steers a tractor, rides fence and pitches hay right alongside her husband. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m talking about something a lot more basic. If a girl can have her fun, so can a guy.”
She peeked around him and eyed the women still gathered in the hallway. “I say take your pick and go for it.”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the alcove behind a nearby stairwell.
“What are you doing—” she started, the words drowning in the lump in her throat as he whirled her around and cornered her.
“I pick you.”
She stared up at him, wishing he wasn’t so tall, so handsome, so…close. “I’m not ripe for picking.”
His eyes darkened and she realized she’d said the wrong things…or the right thing depending on the part of her doing the thinking. From the heat pooling between her thighs she’d lay down money it wasn’t her head.
“I’d say you’re definitely ripe, honey.” His thumb grazed the nipple pressing against her blouse and heat speared her. “Damn near ready to burst.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She summoned her most nonchalant voice. “You should really save your energy for a nice girl who’s into the tractor thing.”
“The whole point is to expend a little energy.”
“So do it with the future Mrs. Jimmy Mission.”
“I would, but I haven’t found her yet.”
“Then expend energy with one of your fans out in the hallway.”
“I’ve known each one of them nearly all my life, and while they’re having a good time reading your articles and playing at being savvy singles, they’re really only after one thing—a husband. The morning after, I’m sure to find an anxious father waiting on my doorstep with a loaded shotgun, and Preacher Marley standing next to him. I’ll end up hitched whether I’ve found the right woman or not.”
“What makes you think the same won’t happen with me?”
“You got an anxious father waiting at home?”
Once upon a time…She shook away the thought and fought back a wave of guilt. “No.”
“You know Preacher Marley?”
“He’s an In Touch subscriber.”
“How likely is he to step in and defend your honor?”
She stiffened and met his stare. “For your information, I can defend my own honor.”
“There was never a doubt in my mind.” He touched her then, skin to skin, the tip of one finger at her collarbone, and heat bolted through her from the contact. “You’re something when you get all stirred up.” He traced a path lower, until his fingertip came to rest atop the tattoo peeking from the vee of her blouse. “This drove me crazy all morning.”
Before she could form a reply, he dipped his head and the tip of his tongue flicked over the sensitive area. A moan caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, the pleasure sweet, intense, overwhelming.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all year,” he went on. Sexy green eyes caught and held hers. “You’ve been haunting my dreams. You and your red lips and that damned kiss and this heat between us.”
Amen. While Deb had heard about chemistry and animal attraction and how, sometimes, things just sparked between two people, she’d never felt it. Sure, she’d been attracted to men, but the pull had never felt so…desperate. Like if she didn’t have him, she’d die. Right here. Right now.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we stopped all this nonsense?” he asked.
Boy, did she ever. She caught the words before they could pass her lips and drew her mouth into a tight line. “You want to talk about nonsense? That judgment. My insurance will cover the damages, but anything above and beyond is ridiculous.”
“And still your responsibility.”
“But you weren’t anywhere near that Bronco when I tapped you. Why should I pay you pain and suffering?”
“I’ve been in pain since the first moment I tasted you—” his fingertip skimmed her bottom lip “—and suffering every night since because I want to taste you again.” His gaze flicked to her mouth. “The law is the law. You owe me, Slick.”
“I don’t have four thousand dollars.”
“I don’t want four thousand dollars.”
Don’t ask. Turn. Walk away. Do anything but ask.
Something about the intense light of his gaze compelled her, however, almost as much as the need that suddenly gripped her body.
“What do you want?”
“This, for starters.” And then he kissed her.
Jimmy Mission tasted even better than she remembered. Hotter. More potent.
His hand cupped her cheek, the other splayed along her rib cage just inches shy of her right breast, his fingers searing through the fabric of her blouse. His mouth nibbled at hers. His tongue slid wet and wicked along her bottom lip before dipping inside to stroke and tease and take her breath away.
Now this…this was the reason she’d dunked him at the carnival.
Because she’d been a heartbeat shy of crawling into the dunk tank with him, throwing herself into his arms and begging for another kiss. No way could she have allowed herself to do such a thing with a marriage-minded man like Jimmy Mission.
A girl had to have her standards, and married men, engaged men, men who walked and talked and reeked of home and hearth and tradition, like Jimmy, were completely off-limits. No marriage for her. Just freedom and fun and…
The thought faded as his fingers crept an inch higher, closer to her aching nipple which bolted to attention, eager for a touch, a stroke, something…anything.
His fingers stopped inches shy, but his mouth kept moving, his tongue stroking, lips eating, hungry…so hungry. His intent was pure sin, and Deb couldn’t help herself; a moan vibrated up her throat.
He caught the sound, deepening the kiss for a delicious moment that made her stomach jump and her thighs quiver, and left no doubt as to the power of the chemistry between them.
She’d been burning for him all these months, the flames fed by memories and fantasies and his constant pursuit.
“What are you doing to me?” she murmured, dazed and trembling, when he finally pulled away.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Not even half of what I want to do.” His words made her shake and quiver all the more.
Shaking? Quivering? Over a man?
This man, a voice whispered, that same voice that had warned her off him so many months ago. The voice that kept her one step ahead of him because no way was Deb Strickland going to find herself trapped all over again. She was free now, and she was staying that way.
She pulled away, desperate to put some distance between them and find the common sense that seemed to desert her every time he was near. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Don’t even think about running now,” he cut in, his fingers tightening on her arm, his hold firm but not painful. His mouth grazed hers before she could tell him exactly where to get off. “I’m calling your bluff, Slick.” The words vibrated against her lips. “You say all you want’s a little fun. Well, that’s all I want. You. Me. Two weeks of fun. No strings attached. Then we’ll call it even.” He gave her another lingering kiss before letting go of her. “Think about it.”

2
“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
“That’s the dress?” Deb asked as she stared at the wedding gown Annie Divine, her best friend and star reporter—make that ex-reporter—had just pulled from a large white box.
“There has to be some mistake.” Annie’s frantic fingers rifled through the layers of tissue paper and white satin. “This isn’t the dress I ordered. Laverne!” she shouted past the drapes that hung over the dressing room doorway of Inspiration’s only bridal shop. “They sent the wrong dress!”
“They couldn’t have.” Laverne Dolby, proprietor of the dress store and president of the local Reba McIntyre fan club, shoved the curtains aside. “I’ve been here nigh on twenty-five years and not once…” Her words faded as she pulled heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses from her pile of Reba-red curls, and slid her second pair of eyes into place. “Land sakes, this is the dress my niece, Rita Ann, ordered.”
Hope lit Annie’s tear-streaked features. “So if I have hers, she has mine, right?”
“’Fraid not. Hers—I mean, yours is on back order. Won’t be in for another six weeks.”
“But my wedding’s in exactly three weeks. What am I going to do?” Annie turned stricken eyes on Deb.
Deb handed Annie a tissue and turned to Laverne. “We need another wedding gown.”
Laverne shook her head. “All of mine are special order. I’ve got a nice selection of bridesmaid dresses, some mother-of-the-bride, that sort of thing. As for wedding dresses…” Her gaze fell to the box. “Hey, I bet Rita Ann wouldn’t mind you wearing this one. Her wedding’s not for two months. I could let you have this one and get her another.”
Another glance at the dress and Annie burst into fresh tears.
“I guess this isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” Laverne said. “Lordy, this is a pickle.”
“A pickle?” Annie cried. “This is the worst day of my life! And here I thought I was finally going to have a happily ever after with Tack.” Annie Divine and Tack Brandon had been high school sweethearts. Tack had been the captain of the football team, handsome and popular, and Annie had been invisible. Somehow, and Deb felt certain it was because Annie was as sweet and understanding as Texas was big, she and Tack had gotten together. They’d been right in the middle of a hot high school romance when Tack’s mom had died in a tragic accident. He’d left the Big B, a large ranch bordering the Mission spread, and spent the next ten years racing the motorcross circuit. Finally, he’d come home for good and set his sights on Annie who’d been working for the In Touch, aspiring to be a big-time reporter.
Annie had tried to resist him, but her love, still alive after all these years, had won in the end. She’d decided she’d be happier freelancing for magazines and making babies than working for a major newspaper.
While Deb wasn’t too keen on the baby part—her own mother had passed away when she was three and she’d never really experienced the nurturing-mother phenomenon up close, much less developed a craving for it—she still wished Annie every bit of happiness.
“I should have known something would go wrong.” Annie’s words faded into a series of sniffles and choked sobs.
Sympathy tears burned Deb’s eyes and she blinked frantically. “Laverne,” she snapped, dashing away one lone, traitorous tear before anyone could see, “why don’t you go dig up some bridesmaid dresses for me while I talk to Annie in private?” Before the woman could respond, Deb hustled her toward the doorway, yanked the curtains closed behind her. She turned to Annie.
“I’m sorry,” Annie blurted. “I’m not usually such a mess.” She wiped at her face. “It’s just that I’ve still got to find a photographer and a florist, pick out and mail the invitations and find a caterer and a baker. And Tack’s racing friends are coming in next Saturday. I don’t have time to drive to Austin and look for another dress.”
“We’ll figure something out.” Deb studied the gown. “You know, this material’s not half bad.”
“How can you tell with all that stuff on it…?” Annie’s words faded as her gaze locked with Deb’s. “I know what you’re thinking and you can just forget it. This dress is awful.”
“That’s because it’s just lying there. Formals always look that way. Then you put them on, and voilà, it makes all the difference in the world.”
A moment of thoughtful silence passed, punctuated by a huge sniffle. “You think?” Deb nodded and Annie seemed to gather her courage. “You know, you’re probably right. I’ll just try it on and maybe it won’t be so bad.” Minutes later, she turned her gaze to the surrounding mirrors and burst into another bout of tears. “Forget it. It’s horrible.”
“It isn’t horrible. It’s just…different.” Deb searched for the right words as she stared at the rows of beaded roses, the miles of tulle, the myriad of white silk ribbons and appliqués of all shapes and sizes. “Busy.”
“It’s worse than downtown Houston during rush hour.”
“True, but we can fix it. We’ll cut here, rearrange there, take off the bows and the overabundance of sequins and beadwork and it’ll be perfect.”
“Laverne can handle hems, but this is major—”
“I’ll do it.”
“You?”
Deb fingered the lapel of her champagne-colored suit. “Who do you think made this?”
“I was thinking Saks or Gucci.”
“Way out here in Timbuktu, Texas?”
“They have catalogues. And you do drive to Austin every now and then. I thought maybe you did some power shopping.”
As if she had the cash for that. “Granny Lily taught me everything she knew and left me her sewing machine to keep me company.”
Annie eyed the gown. “You really think you can do something with this?”
“Girlfriend, I know I can.” Deb wiped at Annie’s smudged cheeks with a tissue. “Now cheer up and let’s get on with this fitting.”
Annie sniffled and looked hopeful as she glanced into the mirror. Her expression fell as she surveyed her reflection. “Forget it. This is white.”
“What’s wrong with white?”
She gave Deb an “Are you kidding?” look.
“Oh, please, Annie. If you think everyone who wears white in this day and age is as pure as the driven snow, guess again.”
“It’s not that. It’s just…Tack and I have been living together the past few weeks and—”
“If anyone deserves to wear white, it’s you,” Deb cut in. “It’s your first wedding with your first and only true love. I don’t care how long you’ve been living together or what wicked things you do in the privacy of your own bedroom.”
Annie grinned. “Or the barn.”
Deb arched an eyebrow. “The barn?”
“Then there was that time down by the river.”
“The river?”
“And on the back of Tack’s motorcycle.”
“A motorcycle?” Deb shook her head. “Goody-goody Annie Divine has done it on the back of a motorcycle, and I can’t even find a decent date. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“You tell me.” Annie peeled off the dress and handed it over to Deb. “You used to be out every night dusting the floor down at BJ’s with some hunky cowboy. Lately, the only vehicle reported after hours at your house belongs to the pizza delivery boy.”
“A girl’s gotta eat.” Deb avoided Annie’s curious gaze and inspected the dress. She’d get rid of the cupids and the extravagant beading.
“You’re not mopey because of my wedding, are you?”
“Believe me, it’s not that.” She would do away with the godawful bows.
“Because your turn will come one day.”
“I don’t want a turn.” The sequined butterflies were history.
“And you’ll be standing here in a big white dress of your own.”
“I hate white.” Adios beaded tulips.
“And you’ll walk down the aisle with the man of your dreams.”
“The man of my dreams avoids aisles.” The rhinestone ladybug buttons didn’t stand a chance.
“And you’ll both say ‘I do’ and it’ll be happily ever after and—”
“It’s not the wedding,” Deb cut in. “It’s…” She shook her head. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.” An understatement if she’d ever made one.
Think about it. It had been a full month since Jimmy Mission had murmured those words. During that time, she’d seen him only once, the evening following their day in court. She and Annie had been having drinks at BJ’s and he’d walked in. After a few heated glances and the usual bickering, she’d walked out. Actually, run was a more appropriate verb.
She’d been so sure he meant to get his answer then and there, and she hadn’t been up to giving him one. She’d been too angry and much too aroused after their second kiss to think clearly. But he’d kept his distance because Jimmy Mission had obviously meant what he’d said.
He wanted her to think.
To simmer.
“Is some man causing you trouble?” Annie’s voice drew Deb’s attention and she shook her head.
“Definitely not.” Jimmy Mission wasn’t causing trouble, he was trouble. He was too good-looking, too charming and she wanted him entirely too much.
She didn’t need to get involved with a man who had his sights set on marriage. Marriage led to family and family to sacrifice and sacrifice to misery. She knew because she’d spent the better part of her life sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of family, and being miserable because of it.
But, and this was the biggie, Jimmy didn’t have marriage on his mind; he wanted an affair. In a sense, he was offering to leave four thousand dollars on her nightstand, payment for services rendered.
The thought should have made her feel cheap. She should have exploded with righteous indignation at the suggestion, promptly refusing and made good on the judgment by offering him free advertising for his stud bull or a partnership in the paper. That’s what the proper, conservative daughter of newspaper mogul Arthur Strickland would have done.
But Deb had traded propriety for freedom a long time ago. She wanted her debt, however ridiculous, paid in full and quickly. Jimmy’s offer not only promised that, but much, much more.
“Deb?” Annie’s voice intruded on her thoughts and she shook away images of the more. Namely, Jimmy kissing her again and again and…
“Are you listening?”
“Hmmm?”
“There is something wrong.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“I just mentioned the word pastel and you didn’t react.”
“Pastel what?”
“Dresses.”
“Bridesmaid dresses, right?”
“There are no bridesmaids, just a maid of honor—you.” When Deb only nodded, Annie frowned. “Now I know something’s wrong.”
“Because I agreed to wear pastel for my best friend’s wedding?”
“Because you—Miss I’m-a-winter-complexion-and-I-only-wear-bold-colors—agreed to do it without any grumbling.”
“I’m grumbling.” Deb tapped her chest. “In here, where it counts.”
Annie eyed her. “You aren’t worried about the nominations, are you? Why, you’re a shoo-in.”
“I’m not a shoo-in, and it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Being nominated by the Texas Associated Press for Best Weekly newspaper is a huge honor, and after the year you’ve had and the headline articles you’ve done, you’re sure to garner a nomination. You’ll probably even win, so you’d better line up a formal and get ready for a major awards ceremony.”
“I don’t want a nomination.” Liar. “And I’m not going to any stuffy awards ceremony.” The last thing Deb wanted was to run into her father after she’d managed to avoid him for so long.
Another speculative glance and Annie asked, “Then you’re not still worried about that court judgment, are you?”
Damn but Annie had a sixth sense when it came to spotting trouble. “Hardly.”
“Because I know the In Touch isn’t making you rich.”
“I didn’t buy it to get rich.” No, she’d bought it to hold on to a piece of Lily. Sweet, caring Lily, who’d given her the best memories of an otherwise lonely childhood. Lily, who’d taught her to sew and encouraged her fashion design aspirations when her father had done little more than frown and bark “No” when she’d asked to go to design school. Lily, who’d always understood and never passed judgment.
Every time Deb walked into the tiny newspaper office, she could still smell the woman’s perfume. A mixture of vanilla and jasmine that sent a wave of peace through her. Lily had loved the In Touch, and Deb had loved Lily, and buying the paper, going there day after day, felt right.
“You know, I’m sure Tack would be willing to loan you the money.”
“I don’t borrow from friends.” From anyone. Deb Strickland paid her own way in life. That way her freedom was never compromised.
“Then talk to Jimmy. I’m sure you two can come to an agreement.”
“I will. Now stop worrying about me and let’s see about finding a maid of honor’s dress.”
They spent the next half hour cruising the racks in Laverne’s until Deb had accumulated an armload of possibilities. Annie went to the rear of the store to look at gloves, while Deb headed back to the dressing room.
She shed her jacket, shimmied out of her skirt and peeled off her silk blouse, then reached for a floor-length pink slip dress.
“Annie,” she called out through the open curtain as she fumbled to undo a row of tiny pearl buttons. “Come and see what you think about this.” She continued to struggle with the fastenings, silently cursing their impracticality.
“I think it looks great.” A deep, familiar voice slid into her ears and sent a prickle of heat to every erogenous zone—from her earlobes to her nipples, the backs of her knees to the arch of each foot, and many, many spots in between.
Her hands stalled and she became keenly aware of three important facts. Number one, she was almost naked. Number two, she was almost naked in front of Jimmy Mission who lounged in the dressing room doorway. Number three, she was almost naked in front of Jimmy Mission, and it made her very nervous.
Nervous? Since when did she get nervous in front of men?
She pushed aside the sensation and concentrated on the buttons rather than the handsome picture he made standing there wearing jeans and a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“Better than great,” he added. “That’s definitely my favorite dress.”
“But I’m not wearing it yet.”
A fierce green gaze swept the length of her in a leisurely motion that made her nipples pebble and press against the cups of her favorite Swedish lace bra. “That’s the point, Slick.”
“Do you mind? I’d like a little privacy.”
He grinned and stepped inside the room. The curtain swished shut behind him.
“That’s not exactly what I meant.” She put her back to him, as if that could shut him out. The room, set up like a giant octagon, had mirrors on all sides and she couldn’t escape his reflection. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to rattle me on purpose.”
His gaze captured hers in one of the mirrors. “But you know better, right?”
For a split second, she was fourteen years old again, staring into his green eyes as he held the door open, that damnable smile on his face as he waited.
That’s what he seemed to be doing now. Waiting. Watching.
She shook away the notion. She was a good fifteen years away from that painfully shy and sheltered girl, and she’d faced down men even better looking than Jimmy Mission.
Even so, her lips trembled around the next words. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting fitted for my tux. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m Tack’s best man.”
“I meant here. In the dressing room. My dressing room.”
“I saw Annie and she told me you were in here. I thought it was high time we talked.”
“I’d definitely say a month constituted high time.”
Green eyes twinkled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were mad.”
It was her turn to toss his words back at him. “But you know better, right?” He grinned and an echoing shiver went through her body. She turned to the dress and struggled with the buttons.
Before she could take her next breath, he stepped up behind her, his arms came around and his hands closed over hers. “I wanted you to have plenty of time to think,” he murmured as long, lean fingers helped her work the buttons through the openings.
She tried for a calm voice. “Of a way out?”
“A way in, Slick.” His deep, compelling voice vibrated against the shell of her ear. “It’s much better that way.”
“You’re not very funny.”
His hands fell away and he let her slide the last button free, but he didn’t step back. He simply stood there, behind her, close but not touching. “I’m deadly serious.”
That was the trouble.
Trouble? Since when? He was a good-looking, virile man, and while she didn’t make it a habit of bedding everyone who fell into that category—despite her reputation to the contrary—she wasn’t exactly a virgin. She was attracted to him, and he’d conveniently wiped away the one barrier that had kept her from acting on her feelings. No strings attached.
“What if I say no?”
“I turn and walk away. We’ll work something out as far as the money goes and our business will be finished.”
He was giving her a way out.
One she would have taken in a heartbeat, except that their unfinished business had nothing to do with her debt and everything to do with the heat swamping her senses.
Since their first kiss, he’d become a part of her life. Jimmy Mission, with his wicked smile and his hungry lips, had become the star of her most erotic fantasies, the hero of her romantic dreams, the image that stole through her mind whenever another man smiled or flirted or merely tipped his hat.
One taste of him had led to a dangerous addiction that she desperately needed to kick, and sleeping with him would surely satisfy the curiosity his kisses had stirred. Surely. Then she could get on with her life, with running her newspaper and living each day on her own terms. No one dictating her every action, her every thought. No one stealing through her mind and working her hormones into a frenzy.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Slick.” His fingertip prowled along the slope of her bare shoulder and goose bumps danced down her arms. Her fingers went limp and the dress slithered to the carpeted floor.
She managed to swallow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He closed the heartbeat of space between them, his denim-covered thighs pressing against the backs of her legs, his groin nestled against her bottom so she could feel just how much he had been thinking about her. His cotton shirt cushioned her shoulder blades. The material brushed against the sensitive backs of her arms as he slid his hands around her waist. Strong, work-roughened fingertips skimmed her rib cage, stopping just shy of her lace-covered breasts.
It was highly erotic watching him in the mirror, his dark hands on her skin, his powerful body framing hers. It was even more erotic seeing her own response to him—the rosy flush creeping up her neck, the goose bumps chasing up and down her arms, the part to her lips, the plump of her breasts as her breath caught. It was almost as if she watched someone else, yet more intense because it wasn’t someone else. It was her. Him. Them.
“So pretty,” he murmured huskily as warm hands cupped her breasts.
“You like Swedish lace?”
“I was talking about this.” He fingered the tip of one dark nipple peeking through the scalloped pattern. “And this.” He touched the other throbbing crest, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Definitely the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
Heat speared her and she barely caught the moan that slid up her throat.
“You like this, Slick?”
“I…” Her answer faded in the swish of drapes. Jimmy’s hands fell away a heartbeat before Laverne’s familiar voice echoed around them.
“I found a couple more dresses you might like—” The words stumbled to a halt as the woman came up short in the doorway. Her gaze ping-ponged between Jimmy and Deb, and she frowned before a thought seemed to strike. “You two doing research?”
“Research?” Deb managed.
“For that there column of yours. You and Jimmy working on the next Fun Fact—”
“We are not doing research.”
“Not yet,” Jimmy murmured, his voice for her ears only. Then he turned a smile, bright enough to melt Iceland, on the shop owner. “I got lost.”
“Lost? In here?”
“Sure enough. You’ve expanded the place since I got fitted for my last tux. You remember that?”
A smile chased the suspicion from Laverne’s expression. “Your high school prom. You and Tack Brandon liked to turn my hair gray making me comb half the state looking for neon purple cummerbunds. You were every bit as sassy back then as you are now.”
“And you were every bit as pretty. Harold’s a lucky man.”
Laverne blushed a shade bright enough to match her dyed hair. “That’s what I keep telling him, but he listens about as well as he washes dishes.”
Deb would have laughed at how easy the woman was taken in by a little masculine charm, except that her own heart was still pounding ninety to nothing.
“Anyhow,” Jimmy went on, “I was trying to find my way to the men’s dressing room when I heard Deb, here. She needed help with her dress, and I’ve never been one to resist a damsel in distress.”
“The, um, buttons stuck,” Deb added. Oh, God. Was that her trembling voice? No way. Her voice didn’t tremble, not on account of some man.
She stiffened and snatched up the forgotten pink dress. “Come to think of it,” she snapped, “this thing has way too many buttons. Do you have anything with a zipper?”
Laverne glanced at the pile in her arms and fished a dress free. “Try this.” She handed over a buttercup yellow shift with a side zipper before turning to Jimmy. “You come on with me, sugar, and I’ll give you a personal escort back to the men’s dressing room.”
“I’d be mighty obliged.”
“By the way,” Laverne asked as she hooked her arm through Jimmy’s. “Did I ever introduce you to my niece, Lurline? Why, she’s the prettiest girl in the county and she knows her chicken feed from her horse grain, let me tell you. You two would hit it off perfectly and I just happened to mention that you were getting fitted today. She’s right outside….”
“We’ll settle this later,” he told Deb as the shop owner led him from the room.
Later, as in he was giving Deb more time to think.
To worry.
To fantasize. And now after their too close encounter a few moments ago, she had even more fuel for those fantasies.
Forget it.
“Yes,” she blurted and he stopped, the motion jerking Laverne back a step.
His gaze caught hers. “Yes to what?”
“The two weeks.” She took a deep breath and tried to slow the blood zinging through her veins. “I’ll do it.”
His grin was slow and heartstopping. “You mean, we’ll do it.” Then he winked, and did the last thing Deb expected.
He walked away.

3
HE’D WALKED AWAY.
That all-important fact replayed in Deb’s head later that day as she sat at her desk at the In Touch, the three-room newspaper office located right above Pancake World.
But he hadn’t walked. He’d sauntered, swayed, in that long-legged, sexy-as-hell gait that made an entire bridal shop full of women—most of them Laverne’s single cousins and nieces and even her great aunt who’d just happened to stop by—drop their jaws and visibly salivate.
And not just on account of his looks. Sure, Jimmy had it all put together right, but it was the entire package that made him the hottest catch in four counties. He was the green-eyed, blond-haired, handsome white knight every girl dreamed of. The charming, honest, loyal son-in-law mamas prayed for. The successful, salt-of-the-earth rancher every daddy wanted to see hitched to his little girl.
It was strictly Darwin’s theory at work. Society looked to the strongest, most appealing for procreating. While the dreaded P word was the last thing Deb had in mind, she wasn’t immune to Jimmy’s appeal.
In fact, his appeal had had her this close to wrapping her arms around him and begging for more of what he’d started with his warm hands and purposeful fingers.
By walking away, he’d dashed that impulse.
“Why are you frowning?” Wally, Deb’s devoted copyboy, had glanced up from his computer and was eyeing her.
“I’m not frowning.” She busied herself taking a sip of black coffee from the latest acquisition of her collection of designer Bitch mugs: I’ve Got The Itch To Bitch.
“You’re definitely frowning. Isn’t she frowning?” he asked the seventy-something woman who sat at a nearby table.
Dolores Guiness had eyes and ears as big as Texas, which was exactly why Deb had hired her on for a few hours a day to write the About Town section, aka the gossip column for the In Touch. The old woman made it her business to know everything about everyone.
She eyed Deb over a pair of black-rimmed bifocals as if she were a coyote sizing up a good rib eye. “Why are you frowning, dear? You can tell old Dolores.”
“I’m not frowning.”
“You sure are,” Wally persisted. “Isn’t she?” This time he turned to the petite redhead who sat at what had once been Annie’s desk. She wore an oversize white T-shirt that swallowed her small frame and a pair of blue-jean overalls.
“I, um, I guess so.”
“It’s okay to speak your mind,” Wally said. “She won’t bite you.”
“I definitely bite,” Deb told the timid Paige.
“Rumor has it she definitely has biting potential,” Dolores informed them. “But since said biter signs my paycheck, I’m keeping my opinion to myself.”
“Good girl,” Deb told her.
“She likes everybody to think she bites,” Wally went on, “but she doesn’t.”
“I bite, dammit.” Deb took another sip, slammed her mug down on her desk and glared at Wally. “And don’t you go telling anybody otherwise.”
“I don’t have to tell anyone anything. You already did it yourself when you led the fundraiser for those foster kids over at the church. And when you organized that bake sale to help Mr. and Mrs. Cootie pay funeral expenses for their uncle. Stuff like that speaks for itself. You’re definitely a nonbiter.”
“I’m the editor of the town newspaper. I like to stay in the thick of things. My reasons are purely self-motivated.”
“And we’re expecting a blizzard to blow through central Texas tomorrow. She’s like one of those Eskimo pies,” he told Paige. “Hard shell, soft filling.”
Deb glared. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“That depends.”
She pasted on her most intimidating frown. “On whether or not I’m firing you for insubordination?”
“On whether or not you really meant it when you said I could take over Annie’s duties.”
“Of course I meant it. You get Annie’s job. Paige gets your job. Dolores gets to dish dirt part-time.”
“Okay—” he rubbed his hands together “—if I’m now officially a full-fledged reporter, photographer—”
“—part-time printing press mechanic,” Deb cut in. At his frown, she added, “You know that old press better than anyone.”
“I hate that old press,” he grumbled, “but I’m willing to continue sweating blood over it if you’ll let me handle the This Is Your Neighbor interview this week.”
“That’s my column.”
“I know. I’ll just be filling in for you the way Annie used to.”
“She only did it twice when I happened to be overbooked. I’m not overbooked. I’ve already got the interview set up for tomorrow. Mary Jo’s going to do it poolside so she can show off the lifetime supply of western swimsuits she won when they crowned her Rodeo Queen. Do you know they actually sent her a thong bikini made out of rawhide leather? It’s got a fringe and a great big tassle right over the…” Her words faded as she noticed the gleam in Wally’s eyes. “I doubt she’ll wear the thong during the interview.”
He sighed. “A guy can hope.”
“Actually, based on how easy it was for Milton Kelch’s boy to get her to the Inspiration Inn last Saturday night, I think it wouldn’t take much for her to wear the thong,” Dolores said, her old grey eyes twinkling, “or nothing at all.”
Deb let Wally sweat for a full minute as she sipped more coffee. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “If you can finish reinking the press before you leave, you can have the interview.”
“Hot damn!” He winked at Paige. “I told you, an Eskimo pie.”
When the young woman looked at her, Deb meant to give her best frown. She had a reputation to maintain, but the look in the frail-looking redhead’s eyes struck a deep chord. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Fear.
Once upon a time six years ago, Deb had known all three.
She smiled, Paige’s expression eased, and a quiet settled over the office, disrupted only by the steady click of computer keys and the chug of the window unit pumping ice-cold air through the large room.
It proved to be an unusually calm Friday, more so because Deb found herself eyeing the phone on several occasions, a strange sense of expectancy in the pit of her stomach.
“Something’s definitely wrong,” Wally said when he accidentally handed Deb his herbal tea by mistake, and she drank it. “Let me guess, Jasmine couldn’t work you in at the beauty parlor and you’re having a bad-hair day.”
“It’s not my hair.”
“You used the last of your favorite tube of Vamping Red lipstick.”
“I’ve got half a tube in my purse.”
“Your cat ran away.”
“Camille is probably curled up on my sofa as we speak.” She sighed and fixed her gaze on her computer.
“The Texas Awards. You’re nervous we’re not going to be nominated for Best Weekly.”
“It’s not that.”
“I told you, it’s a done deal.”
“I could care less. Just get back to work, would you?”
Wally shrugged and headed back to the printing press, Paige practically disappeared in the pile of advertising copy on her desk, Dolores left for a supper meeting with her head gossip source—the beautician over at the beauty parlor—and Deb did her best to edit her latest piece on the need for a better nursing home facility in Inspiration.
Hours later, after everyone had left, Deb stabbed the button on her computer, flicked off her desk lamp and called it a night.
For the hundredth time, she glanced at the phone. As if she could compel the blasted thing to ring. A glance at her watch and she accepted the inevitable. He wasn’t going to call.
It seemed as if Jimmy Mission wasn’t all that excited about their deal. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d said yes. At the very least, a few details spelling out the terms of the agreement, such as when and where.
What she hadn’t expected was this…waiting. Deb wasn’t good at waiting, or wondering or worrying.
Maybe he was just busy. Jimmy was notorious for his commitment to the Mission Ranch. He lived and breathed the place, much the way she lived and breathed the paper.
Or maybe he’d changed his mind. Why give up four thousand dollars when he could have any woman in town for free?
Or maybe he’d been stomped to a bloody pulp by an angry bull—
Her thoughts collided to a stop when she exited the building and saw the young woman sitting on the curb near a worn ‘57 Impala, tears streaming down her face.
“Paige?”
The young woman’s head jerked up and fear flashed in her eyes as she wiped frantically at her face. “Um, hi. I—I was just…” The words faded in a frantic shake of her head. “What difference does it make?” She met Deb’s gaze. “You might as well know, I’m a loser. My life sucks, my car used to suck only now it’s dead, and I’ll completely understand if you want to fire me.”
“Fire you?”
She sighed. “Like my last boss. He said, leave your problems at home, Miss Cassidy. I tried, but my problem—my ex-husband, Woodrow—kept showing up at my work, and when Woodrow was upset, he didn’t care who heard him. I tried to do everything right. I’d leave his breakfast for him, his clothes laid out, but I didn’t cook good enough or iron good enough or do anything good enough.” Her shoulders shook with a deep sob. “It’s no wonder he left, and it’s no wonder this stupid thing died.” She kicked the tire. “I can’t change the oil and I never learned a thing about fan belts, and I don’t know how to fill the radiator with water, and I’ll totally understand if you tell me to take a hike. I mean, here I am, sitting in front of the office carrying on and such…. It’s shameful.”
Deb dug a tissue out of her purse, leaned down and gave the young woman a smile. “Honey, there’s no such thing.”
Paige took the tissue and cast hopeful eyes on Deb. “You mean, I’m not fired?”
“Do you like working for me?”
“Very much. I loved working on the paper back in high school, which is why I applied in the first place. I love to write and while I’m not actually writing a book or anything—”
“—this is the next best thing,” Deb finished for her. Paige nodded and Deb gave her a wink. “You’re not fired. That is, unless you don’t stop crying right now. Then it’s adios.”
Paige sniffled and wiped frantically at her eyes. “I’m embarrassing you.”
“Me? Girlfriend, you are new to town.” She indicated the tissue. “Dry up. You’re much too pretty to be sitting around moping over some man. Come on. I’ll give you a lift home. Tomorrow, we’ll have Wally take a look at your Impala.”
“That’s awful nice, but I couldn’t put you out. I live clear on the other side of Mulligan’s Creek.”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
“You’re really nice, Miss Strickland.”
The words sent warmth spurting through Deb. She frowned before the feeling could get the best of her. “It’s Deb, and don’t mistake kindness for purely self-motivated reasons. I’ve got a newspaper to run. You’re my employee and it’s my duty to look out for your welfare.”
“Whatever you say, Miss—um, Deb.”
They climbed into Deb’s fire-engine red Miata and pulled out onto the main strip through town. “So where is Mr. Wonderful now?”
Silence ticked by for several long seconds, as if Paige were trying to work up her courage. “Jail,” she finally declared. “He’s doing one to two for a dozen counts of check fraud.”
“Good. Let’s hope they give him some sensitivity training while he’s there. That, or a great big horny roommate named Bubba.” That drew a smile out of the young woman and Deb patted her hand. “Forget about him. Forget everything he did and everything he said. From what I’ve seen, you’re good at quite a few things. You’re a great copy editor, your writing skills are wonderful and you’re good at organizing things.”
“You think?”
“I’ve seen firsthand. Not only that, but you’re pretty, too. If this Woodrow wasn’t smart enough to realize what a big catch you were, then good riddance. There are plenty of cow patties in the pasture.”
“I keep telling myself that.”

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