Page 18 of His Texas Claim

“Is it alright?” Stetson was asking.

“It’s fine, it’s waterproof⁠—”

“Don’t want you to lose that call recording⁠—”

“It’s really okay⁠—”

I paused, looking up at him.

“I kissed you.”

He let out a startled laugh. “I was uh…just thinkin’ I kissed you.”

I blinked. “Okay.”

“I don’t do that,” he said.

I did a double take. “Are you…trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”

“No,” he said, cheeks turning red under his beard. “No. Not at all.”

“You have a lot of experience then?”

“You—” He stopped, laughing in disbelief. “You have this way of filling the silence, don’t ya?”

“Someone has to.”

“If you say so.”

I reached down to slip the wristband for my recorder over my hand, then tightened it so it would actually be secure. Only then did I look back up at him—raising my hand to grab onto his shirt.

I didn’t say anything this time. Waited him out for once.

“I’m…” He paused, all gruff and broad-shouldered and annoyed. “I don’t kiss people I’ve known two days. Don’t bring strangers on family land. Don’t sit at a fire and end up talkin’ more in one night than I have in a year.”

“So I’m special.”

“That’s one word for it.”

The rain was tapering off, as were the calls. All of this was on the recording.

“Did you want to kiss me?” I asked.

“Hmph. Don’t do much of anything I don’t want to do.”

“So…that’s a yes.”

He grunted again. “Want me to do it again to prove it?”

“Yes.”

He did.

This time he took his hat off; held it one hand, put his other hand on my lower back to pull me in. Stetson Holt kissed me slow and deep as we stood in that creek in the rain…and I let my body mold to his, fit his shape, let him hold me as the frogs sang.

We finally broke apart when the rain stopped completely, sun cutting through the clouds in patches. Stetson kept his forehead against mine a second longer, breathing steady.

"We should get you dry," he said. “Can’t be standing here with your stitches still fresh.”