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“I’m not finished with my sandwich.”
“I’ll wait.”
And so he did.
* * *
The velvet skystretched before them, stars winking like strings of lights on the Christmas tree. A full two minutes passed before Georgia glanced over at Reed. “I just left my car parked in front of Tumbleweeds.”
How much of a dumbass was she? Totally embarrassing to get so hot and bothered she’d forget her car.
“We’ll call this a nice walk then,” Reed said, sliding those bluebonnet eyes her way, a knowing smirk at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look so Mr. Nice Guy right now. He looked... seductive.
Her blood sang, her body hummed. She wanted to take Reed up to her room, tie him to the brass bed, and show him why no one would call her a nice girl.
But there was that mantra she’d been repeating.
No Cowboys. No Cowboys. Keep your pants on, sister.
But technically Reed wasn’t a cowboy. Sure, he looked sexy as hell in his Stetson and well-worn boots, but he didn’t rope, ride, and spend all day on a horse, so she wouldn’t be betraying her mantra. Of course, her personal credo for this trip wasn’t about not sleeping with a guy. No, it was about avoiding anything that might penetrate the grudge she held against Holly Hills.
Because even though she professed to hate Texas, she missed it. In fact, she spent some of those frigid Boston nights dreaming about walking barefoot in the creek, the warm sun on her shoulders, the sight of cows chewing cud in the pastures, and the sweet burst of a dewberry on her tongue.
“The town looks pretty, huh?” Reed said, swiveling his head as he took in the crisscross lights and happy wreaths on each lamppost. “Makes me feel festive.”
So much for sex.
“Yeah,” she said, acknowledging the soft glow of the town decked in holiday cheer. Each business had a tree glistening in the storefront, a fluffy wreath wired to the door. Even the historic county courthouse shone like an airport landing strip. “Looks better than I remember.”
“Mayor Campbell went to a convention in Florida and came back determined to create nostalgia. Seems small-town charm is all the rage.”
“No kidding?” she couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her words.
“Yeah. Ever since Claire returned home, she’s been helping him. Tourism is a big focus.”
“Why?”
“In today’s world of being overly connected, people crave simplicity and solitude. For example, the Triple W offers lodging packages, hayrides and riding lessons, and the Imperial offers a down-home spa package complete with skinny-dipping in the mineral springs.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. And Annie Jackson and her daughter started selling preserves and salsa. Awesome Annie’s supplies gourmet stores and restaurants all over the country. There’s a great farmers market, and the town just voted in a dog park and walking trail.”
“A dog park? In Holly Hills?”
Reed smiled, and Georgia felt it in her girl parts. The man could bottle his sex appeal. Awesome Annie’s ought to talk to him about that. “Yeah, next thing you know we’ll have a Starbucks at the Stop-n-Shop.”
“Why do you like it here so much?” she asked.
He stopped in front of Tom Riggers’s barbershop with the frosted glass made to look like snow. A dancing polar bear spun in the display. “Because this is where I belong... this is what I’ve always wanted—a nice spread, a warm fire, and a family waiting.”
“Then why aren’t you married?” She sounded accusing. A golden band would nip temptation in the bud. She wouldn’t be having weird dreams about Reed’s naked chest and something about chaps, spurs, and a stray cat. Yeah, Freud would have a field day with her dreams.
He made a face. “Guess I haven’t found the right girl yet. But I have her in mind. She’ll hang curtains in my living room, eat ice cream with me on the porch, and know how to fry chicken.”
Georgia snorted. “Have fantasies much?”
“Well, why aren’t you with someone?”
