Texas Fever

by Kimberly Raye

  She had to set them straight.

  That’s what she told herself when the doorbell rang a few minutes later. Just open your mouth and set the record straight.

  She reached for the doorknob.

  4

  “I CAN’T TALK about how to please a man,” Holly said as she opened the door.

  “No problem.” Sue—from the saloon on Friday night—stood on the front porch. “I’m really good at following written directions.” The woman wore an old Texas Rangers jersey, tan shorts and flip-flops. Her hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes looked red-rimmed. Dark shadows puddled beneath, as if she’d tossed and turned all night. And cried. She’d definitely been up crying.Concern welled inside Holly and her own anxiety fled. “I’m really sorry. I thought you were one of the Juliets.”

  “I guess I am now. I am single.” Sue tried to smile but the expression didn’t quite touch her eyes. “I don’t mean to barge in on you, but I had to say thanks. It was really nice of you to see me home on Friday night.”

  “Glad I could help. I know you’re hurting right now, but things will get better. Especially if you try to stay busy. Find a way to occupy your free time.”

  Holly knew that firsthand because she’d done so after the breakup of her only romantic relationship. She’d thrown herself into school after breaking up with Don whom she’d dated a whopping four months during her first year in college.

  She’d approached the situation with reservations because she’d always made it a habit of keeping her distance when it came to any type of relationship. But Don had been so sweet and she’d been so vulnerable. She’d never had a real boyfriend and the temptation was too much to resist since she knew she wouldn’t be picking up and leaving anytime soon—she was only a freshman on a full academic scholarship to the University of Houston. She hadn’t counted on the fact that Don would party too much, flunk out of school and be forced to return to his home in Alabama.

  She’d been so hurt, she’d eaten her way through an entire bowl of fudge batter—chocolate helped sate her lustful cravings, but fudge soothed any hurt. She’d also cried and wallowed in her self-pity, but then she’d picked herself back up and focused on her life. On beefing up her defenses and moving on.

  Her gaze went to Sue’s red-rimmed eyes and her uncertain expression, and Holly’s chest tightened. She’d only been in like with Don. She couldn’t imagine the hurt if she’d let herself fall in love with him.

  “You should definitely keep busy,” Holly went on.

  “I’m glad you said that because I have something to ask you.” The woman pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin as if to summon her courage. “I want to work for you.” Before Holly could reply, she rushed on, “I’m single and I hate it, and the only way to change it is to make some changes.” Uncertainty flashed in her gaze before she seemed to gather her confidence. She squared her shoulders again. “I’m going to turn myself into a sex kitten and lure my Bert Wayne back home. I figure I’ll have to work on my looks and go on a diet. While I’m doing that, I want to beef up my know-how when it comes to pleasing my man. I know the nuts and bolts, of course. It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. But I was hoping you could teach me the extras.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re an expert.”

  “I’m afraid the only thing I can teach you is the difference between whisking and beating.”

  Sue seemed to think for a second. “I’ve never really been into any sort of bondage, but I guess I could give it a try. And I’ll work really hard. I won’t even take a lunch break. I’ll be so dedicated you won’t regret giving me this chance. I swear.”

  “I’m not in the pleasure business,” Holly said, determined to set the record straight before she found herself committed to private lessons in addition to a speech on the subject. “I mean, I am. I please the taste buds. I don’t please men.”

  “But the word around town is that you give the best orgasms around.”

  “I don’t give orgasms. I make them.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I make them in my kitchen.” She motioned Sue inside and led her into the kitchen. Picking up a mouthwatering confection, she turned to the woman. “Meet my Ultimate White Chocolate Orgasm, also available in milk chocolate.”

  “It’s a dessert.”

  “Not just any dessert. It’s a dessert for lovers. An aphrodisiac dessert meant to tantalize your taste buds and spice up your love life. So you see, while I am in the sex business, I’m not in the sexual act business. What I do is not nearly as exciting.” She eyed Sue, noting the woman’s suddenly bright eyes and trembling lips, as if Holly had snatched away her last hope.

  “But I could use some help,” Holly heard herself say. “I had a full-time baking assistant back in Houston. I haven’t had a chance to post any want ads for some kitchen help, but I’m definitely hiring. If you’re interested.”

  “I won’t get to sleep with anyone?”

  “Not during working hours.”

  “And I won’t get to learn all those fancy hand job techniques that supposedly make a man beg for more?”

  “The only thing your hands will be doing is running a mixer and pouring ingredients. But I do offer a nice dental plan and decent health insurance.”

  “Paid vacation?”

  “One week after the first six months. And you get all the free desserts you can eat.”

  Sue eyed the various goodies spread out on the massive table. “Aphrodisiac, you say?” At Holly’s nod, she added, “Well, it does hint at sex. Sort of.” She shrugged. “I guess making sexy desserts could be almost as sexy as selling my body.” She inhaled, her nostrils flaring at the scent of chocolate that filled the air, and a grin tugged at her lips. “You know, I actually do feel sexy.”

  “The smell of chocolate releases pheromones in the brain that trigger a sense of well-being.”

  She inhaled again and her expression turned into a full-blown smile. “This turning over a new leaf is going to work, I just know it. Bert will be begging to come back in no time.” She rubbed her hands together and glanced around. “Where do I start?”

  “You follow this recipe and start a batch of Ooey Gooey Ecstasy in mixer number two.” Holly handed her a folded apron from a nearby countertop and a pair of gloves. “The pecans and ginseng are in that cabinet over there. The rest of the stuff I have laid out on the countertop. I’m going to head to town and pick up some emergency bags of flour at the Food-o-rama to tide us over until the UPS guy comes.”

  “You might want to buy out the store. I saw Duke’s truck go by here when I pulled in the driveway. He’s the UPS contractor for this area. FedEx, too. He makes all the deliveries and judging by the direction he was heading, I don’t think you’ll get yours until sunset, at the earliest.”

  “But it’s supposed to be delivered by noon.”

  “Yeah, well, Duke isn’t one for following the rules when it comes to outsiders. Marge Jacoby moved back here from Centerville last year and waited damned near six months before she started getting her Home Shopping Club orders when she was supposed to.”

  “Is she getting them on time now?”

  Sue smiled. “Now that you’re here and someone’s taken her place as the resident outsider. But don’t worry. When someone else moves in to town, you’ll be out of the hot seat.”

  “In six months.”

  “Or longer. We don’t exactly have a population spurt going on right now.”

  Holly shook her head. “I am so screwed.”

  Sue shrugged. “Come now, things could be worse. The Food-o-rama could be closing early today like they do on Mondays, on account of Wilson Jamison—the owner—is the head moose over at the lodge and Monday is poker night.”

  “It is Monday.”

  “Oh.” Sue shrugged. “I guess you really are screwed then.”

  HOLLY PULLED into the parking lot of Romeo’s only grocery store five minutes before closing time and let l
oose a sigh of relief.

  The Food-o-rama was a medium-size building located on the corner of the only significant intersection in town. It looked fairly new, with a paved parking lot, a shiny glass storefront and a huge sign with the name Food-o-rama in red script letters. The entire place would probably fit into the customer service department of a Wal-Mart Supercenter, but in the small town of Romeo, it seemed massive compared to the small businesses that lined nearby Main Street.Climbing from her SUV, Holly snatched up her purse and rushed into the store. She grabbed a basket, dodged her way past several shoppers and found the flour with three minutes to spare.

  Six bags languished on the shelf next to several empty rows.

  Six? Six bags wouldn’t get her through the order from Timmons Caterers, much less a full day’s production.

  Frustration started to well, but she quickly tamped it back down. She could deal with this. Surely, Duke would make the delivery before dark. She could work through the night thereafter. She normally shipped out her desserts on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But she could adjust her schedule and ship early tomorrow morning. Duke didn’t do refrigerated items and so she’d found a shipping center in nearby Cherryville that could ship out her desserts. As for supplies…she’d anticipated having them sent directly to her house but she might have to rethink that plan and pick up her shipments in Cherryville if Duke didn’t come through in the future.

  But she intended to give him a chance first and, in the meantime, make due with the six available bags… Make that five.

  Her mouth dropped open as a thin, frail arm reached past her and snagged one of the bags.

  She turned to see a small, fragile-looking woman with snow-white hair, a rose-printed dress and white patent leather pumps.

  “Wait,” Holly blurted as the woman set the flour in her cart. “I really need that.”

  “I beg your pardon, dear?” She reached for another bag.

  “I’m a professional baker and I haven’t got my shipment of flour.”

  “What a small world. Why, I’m a baker, too, of sorts. I mainly brew tea right now, but I’ve decided to try my hand at making some homemade scones to go with my special recipe Earl Grey.” She snagged a second bag of flour before Holly could protest. “There’s nothing like homemade scones to make a person extra thirsty. Say—” She adjusted the thick bifocals that perched on the tip of her nose and fastened around her neck via a shiny gold chain. “You wouldn’t be that there baker who’s set up shop out at Rose’s place?”

  “You’ve heard about me?”

  “It’s a small town, dear.”

  “I mean, of course, you’ve heard about me. But you obviously heard the truth.”

  “That’s because I listen with both ears instead of just hearing the juicy parts. I’ve never been one for gossip. Gossip poisons people, that’s what my Lester used to say.” Sadness flashed in her eyes before she managed another smile. “He was never much for gossip, either, which is why we fit like two peas in a pod. Or we used to until he passed on about five years back.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be, child.” She patted Holly’s arm. “We had a lot of years together. And shared a lot of tea. He always loved my tea, and so I opened up shop a few years back and what do you know? Half the town loves my stuff, too. I’m Martha Reynolds.” She held out her hand. “I own Miss Martha’s Tearoom over by the courthouse.”

  “Holly Farraday. I own Sweet Sinful. My business is primarily Web-based, so I work out of my home.”

  “The Farraday Inn?”

  “Rose left it to me. She was my grandmother.”

  “Of course she was, child. Why, you’re the spitting image of her.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Everyone in town knew Rose. So you’ve turned the Farraday Inn into a bona fide bakery, have you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her gaze dropped to the flour in Miss Martha’s cart. “I’d be willing to pay you for those bags.”

  “But I haven’t bought them yet.”

  “Then I’d be willing to pay you not to buy them.”

  The woman smiled, her face scrunching into a mass of wrinkles. Her pale blue eyes lit with amusement. “What if you can’t afford me?”

  “How much are you asking?”

  She seemed to think for a moment. “A free dessert?”

  “I’ll make it two.”

  “I s’pose I could just pick up a package of tea cookies on the next aisle and try my hand at baking some other time.”

  “My treat.”

  “In that case, I think these are yours.” She handed over the flour and led Holly over to the cookie aisle.

  Minutes later, Holly stood in front of the Food-o-rama, handed over the two boxes of Danish Butter Cookies she’d purchased and thanked Miss Martha again.

  “Don’t be silly, child. In this town, we business owners stick together. Speaking of which, the Romeo chamber of commerce meets every Monday night and sometimes Friday afternoons. You might consider stopping by and introducing yourself. We handle the occasional business matter—field complaints from citizens and the like—but mostly we work on various charity projects. We’re organizing a school clothing drive for some of the needy families in the area. It’s a good way to meet people and get involved in the community.”

  “I’m really very busy,” Holly started to say before she caught herself.

  She was busy, which had always been a good excuse to keep to herself. She’d been too busy doing homework to stay after for cheerleader tryouts in the seventh grade at one of the three intermediate schools she’d attended. And she’d been too busy preparing for her SATs to attend her junior year prom with Marshall LaFoy, a pimply-faced boy who’d had a crush on her the eight months she’d been a student at Harborstown High School on Chicago’s East Side neighborhood. And she’d been too busy working a part-time job at the Diamond Bakery to join the senior girls’ club or attend any of the numerous graduation parties the spring she’d turned eighteen, graduated from Washington High School and left the foster care system for good.

  She was always busy.

  But things were different now. She was different. Or she would be just as soon as she stopped keeping her distance from everyone and everything and actually settled in for the long haul.

  “I’ll be there,” she told Miss Martha. “And thanks again. I’ll get your desserts to you as soon as possible.”

  “No hurry, child. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Neither am I, Holly thought and smiled to herself as she walked to her Navigator to head back to the Farraday Inn. Neither am I.

  JOSH WAS GOING straight to hell. No stops or detours.

  The notion rooted in his head as he stood outside the feed store and watched Holly Farraday load her grocery bags into the back of her Lincoln Navigator. Hell because the only thing he thought of when he looked at her was the way she’d felt and tasted when he’d kissed her.He hadn’t given the property a second thought, much less brainstormed any persuasive means to get her to sell.

  It seemed he didn’t want the land half as much as he wanted to slide into her hot, sweet little body.

  The trouble was, sex would only sate the lust burning him up from the inside out. It wouldn’t do a damned thing for his conscience.

  He watched the Navigator as it pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared up the road. The minute she was out of sight, he realized he’d been holding his breath. He blew out an exasperated sigh and drank in enough oxygen to jump-start his common sense.

  What was he doing?

  He was a grown man, not some horny teenager who couldn’t keep from staring or lusting or hurting at the sight of a woman. He had maturity on his side. Experience. Wisdom.

  A bona fide hard-on pushing tight against the zipper of his jeans.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, forcing his attention to the large pile of feed sacks sitting on the curb beside his truck. He yanked the tailgate down and hoisted the first sack into the truck bed. H
e had a pile of work waiting for him. He didn’t have time for this, for her, and so he vowed not to even spare a glance at her place when he passed by a few hours later after finishing his errands in town.

  Instead, he made a mental list of all the chores he had waiting, the phone calls he’d yet to make, the meetings he needed to attend. What with all the responsibilities that came with running the biggest horse ranch in the state, he barely had time to breathe, let alone think. Fantasize. Wonder.

  If another long, slow lick of Holly Farraday would taste half as good as the first.

  The fading white farmhouse caught the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. He turned and caught a glimpse of her as she passed in front of the kitchen window. His gut tightened and his stomach hollowed out, and he knew.

  She would taste even better. Richer. Sweeter. More sinful.

  The knowledge haunted him all the way back to the ranch where he unloaded the feed and checked on several of the mares scheduled for breeding in the coming week. The Iron Horse ran cattle for the most part, but they also bred some of the finest cutting horses in the country. While Josh had been away from the ranch over fifteen years, it didn’t make him any less capable. He’d lived and breathed the ranch like his father and grandfather before him while growing up and so he fell into his old role as if he’d never left.

  As if it were his destiny.

  Josh pushed away the thought and focused his attention on saddling his horse. He spent the next several hours rounding up strays on the back forty until his muscles ached and exhaustion tugged at him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until he was too tired to do anything but fall into a deep sleep.

  By the time Josh rode back into the barn and unsaddled his horse, it was well after dark. The only light came from the inside of the barn and the full moon that shimmered overhead. All of the ranch hands had long since left or retired to the bunkhouse where several bedded down during the week to avoid the long drive to and from town.