LITMIR.BIZ

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that had been slicked back with pomade. His handlebar mustache twitched and she knew he was smiling even though she couldn’t actually see the expression beneath the elaborate do on his top lip.

      “You’d do well to stop droolin’, too,” he added. “We got enough mud puddles around here already. A few shit piles, too.”

      “I wasn’t—”

      “Drooling?” he cut in. “While I ain’t the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, I know drooling when I see it and, lemme tell ya, it ain’t attractive on a fine upstanding public servant like yourself. Then again, you ain’t actually the mayor yet, so I guess I should be talking to your uncle when it comes to serious public-health issues.”

      “Uncle E.J. already left for Port Aransas. He and my aunt just bought a house there.” Her brow wrinkled as the impact of his words hit. “A public-health issue?” The notion killed the lingering image of Jesse and snagged her complete attention. “What health issue?” A dozen possibilities raced through her mind, from a city-wide epidemic of salmonella to a flesh-eating zombie virus.

      Okay, so she spent her evenings watching a little too much cable TV since Charlie had moved into the dorms at the University of Texas last year. A girl had to have some fun.

      Anxiety raced up her spine. “It’s mercury in the water, isn’t it?” Fear coiled and tightened in the pit of her stomach. “E. coli in the lettuce crops? Don’t tell me Big Earl Jessup is making moonshine in his garage again.” At ninety-one, Big Earl was the town’s oldest resident, and the most dangerous. He came from a time when the entrepreneurial spirit meant whipping up black diamond whiskey in the backyard and hand-selling it at the annual peach festival. Those days were long gone but that hadn’t stopped Big Earl from firing up last year to cook a batch to give away for Christmas. And then again at Easter. And for the Fourth of July.

      “You got bigger problems than an old man cooking up moonshine in his deer blind, that’s for damn sure.”

      “Big Earl’s cooking in his deer blind?”

      Eli frowned. “Stop trying to change the subject. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

      “Which is?”

      “Fake cheese on the nachos. Why, the diner used to put a cup of real whole-milk cheddar on all the nacho platters, but now they’re tryin’ to cut costs, so they switched to the artificial stuff.”

      “Fake cheese,” she repeated, relief sweeping through her. “That’s the major health concern?”

      “Damn straight. Why, I was up all night with indigestion. As the leader of this fine community—” he wagged a finger at her “—it’s your job to clean it up.”

      O-kay.

      “I’ll, um, stop by the diner and see what I can do.”

      He threw up his hands. “That’s all I’m askin’, little lady.”

      Her gaze shifted back to Jesse, who now stood on the other side of the arena talking to two men she didn’t recognize. They weren’t real working cowboys but rather the slick, wealthy types who flew in every now and then to buy or sell livestock. With their designer boots and high-dollar hats, they probably intimidated most men, but not Jesse. He held his own, a serious look on his face as he motioned to the black bull thrashing around a nearby stall.

      “That boy’s too damned big for his britches sometimes,” Eli muttered.

      Her gaze dropped and her breath caught. Actually, he filled out said britches just right.

      She watched as he untied his chaps and tossed them over a nearby railing, leaving nothing but a tight pair of faded denims that clung to him like a second skin, outlining his sinewy thighs and trim waist and tight, round butt—

      “It’s mighty nice of you to come out and warn him.” Her gaze snapped up and she glanced at the old man next to her. “Even if he don’t realize it.”

      “It’s fine.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I stop by every day.”

      Not anymore.

      But for those blissful three weeks before they’d graduated, she’d been a permanent fixture on the corral fence, watching him every afternoon after school. Snapping pictures of him. Dreaming of the day when she could leave Lost Gun behind and turn her hobby into a passion.

      She’d wanted out of this map dot just as bad as he had. Then.

      And now.

      She stiffened against the sudden thought. She was happy with her life here. Content.

      And even if she wasn’t, it didn’t matter. She was here. She was staying. End of story.

      “Still, you didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Eli went on.

      “Just looking out for my soon-to-be constituents.” No way did Gracie want to admit that she’d come because she still cared about Jesse. Because she still dreamed of him. Because she still wanted him.

      No, this was about doing the right thing to make up for the wrong she’d done so long ago. She’d had her chance to warn him the first time, and she’d chickened out for fear that seeing him would crumble her resolve and resurrect the wild child she’d been so desperate to bury.

      She’d lived with the guilt every day since.

      “Tell him to be careful.” She took one last look at Jesse, fought against the emotion that churned down deep and walked away.

      * * *

      “THAT MAGAZINE ARTICLE was right about you. You sure put on one helluva show.” The words were followed by a steady clap-clap-clap as Billy Chisholm, Jesse’s youngest brother, walked toward him. Billy was four years younger and eagerly chasing the buckle Jesse had won just last year. “I particularly liked that little twist you did when you flew into the air.” He grinned. “Right before you busted your tail.”

      Jesse glared. “I’m not in the mood.”

      “I wouldn’t be either if I’d just ate it in front of everyone and the horse they rode in on.”

      But Jesse wasn’t concerned about everyone. Just a certain buttoned-up city official with incredible blue eyes.

      He barely resisted the urge to steal one last look at her. Not that he hadn’t seen her over the years when he’d happened into town—across a crowded main street, through the dingy windows of the local feed store. It was just that those times had been few and far between because Jesse hated Lost Gun as much as the town hated him, and so he’d kept his distance.

      But this was different.

      She’d been right in front of him. Close enough to touch. To feel. He could still smell her—the warm, luscious scent of vanilla cupcakes topped with a mountain of frosting.

      Sweet.

      Decadent.

      Enough to make him want to cross the dusty arena separating them, pull her into his arms and see if she tasted half as good as he remembered.

      Want.

      Yep, he still wanted her, all right. The thing was, he didn’t want to want her, because she sure as hell didn’t want him.

      He’d thought so at one time. She’d smiled and flirted and rubbed up against him, and he’d foolishly thought she was into him. He’d been a hormone-driven eighteen-year-old back then and he’d fallen hard and fast.

      He was a grown-ass man now and a damn sight more experienced. Enough to know that Gracie Stone was nothing special in the big scheme of things. There were dozens of women out there, and Jesse indulged in more than his fair share. And while they all tasted as sweet as could be at first, the sweetness always faded. The sex soon lost its edge. And then Jesse cut ties and moved on to the next.

      “...can’t remember the last time you bit the bullet like that,” Billy went on. “What

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