"Check engine?" Matthew Valentine stared at the glowing orange warning with a wave of panic. He glanced out of the windows of his rented Lincoln Town Car at the vast emptiness of the Texas landscape. There was absolutely nothing as far as the eye could see. It probably wouldn't be so hot in the Lone Star state if it at least had trees.
The car jerked and chugged.
"C'mon. Don't die on me. Not now." He looked around. "Not here."
The image of a red battery joined the collection of glowing lights on the dashboard. There was a loud pop and the car wobbled on three good tires. Matthew pulled off the two-lane road just as the car gave one final chug and a long hiss.
"I don't believe this!" He hit the steering wheel and then jumped when the horn blared back. "What the hell are you so sensitive about? I'm the one stuck out here in the middle of nowhere." He attempted to restart the engine, but apparently it had gone on to meet the big mechanic in the sky.
Matthew stepped out of the car and into the sweltering heat. Digging out his cell phone, he discovered satellites didn't roam in the boondocks. He glanced both east and west on the lonely highway and wondered where the other drivers were. How far was it to the next exit?
"A missed plane, a lousy rental car and now I have to walk through the Sahara. This is the worst day of my life."
Three broken plates, two jerks sitting at table seven and one massive migraine had Chanté Morris contemplating burning Sam's Café to the ground. A great deal of her frustration came from trying to be a full-time student at Kissessme College while still pulling a full forty-hour workweek, however, it made her feel a lot better to blame her bad mood on the customers.
"Hey what does a man have to do to get a refill around here?"
"Oh, bite me, Earl," Chanté snapped back, grabbing the coffeepot.
"Anytime, baby. Just bend over," Earl retorted with a playful wink.
"I got seconds," Rufus shouted from the other end of the counter.
"I call thirds," Henry, another regular, jumped in.
Chanté shook her head and sloshed burned coffee into Earl's cup.
"You know," he said, leaning forward. "If you just agree to go out with me—"
"Sorry, Earl, but I haven't given up on the human race just yet."
"Ooh," the men at the counter chorused.
"That goes for the rest of you yahoos," Chanté tossed in with a wink.
"You can't keep saying no forever," Rufus chuckled. "One of us will wear you down eventually."
"Nope. I'm sticking to my plan. No time for romance."
Her afternoon fan club bobbed their heads and clicked their coffee cups together as if wishing one another the best of luck in winning her hand.
"Twenty bucks says she'll be the next Mrs. Miguel Rodriguez."
"What's wrong with the current Mrs. Rodriguez?" Chanté asked.
"She ran off with my brother José last week. Left me with eight kids." His eyes raked over her curvy figure. "You have some nice child-bearing hips. How do you feel about children?"
"It ain't gonna happen, Miguel."
Miguel just smiled and laid down his twenty bucks. The other men followed suit.
Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and removed her apron. "Sam, I'm going on break."
Sam, the café's owner and cook, poked his head up from behind the counter. "What? You still have three orders coming."
"Sorry. I have a test to cram for." She glanced at her watch. "It's not my fault Jenny is running late…again." She grabbed her sociology book from under the counter. "Be back in twenty."
"Chanté, we have waiting customers," Sam shouted. When she didn't turn around, he added, "I have a good mind to fire you."
Chanté's fan club booed and hissed.
She smiled and shook her head as she stepped out of the café and into the hot Texas sun. Usually she liked studying in the small confines of her ten-year-old Honda Civic, but today she might actually bake if she attempted such a thing.
She started to turn around—maybe she could curl up next to the time clock—but then something caught her eye off in the distance.
A man.
A tall man with broad shoulders and a confident gait.
Chanté shielded her eyes and squinted against the sun. Was he wearing a suit? Either morbid curiosity or sheer fascination kept her rooted before the café's door and staring at the approaching stranger.
The closer he came, the more Chanté liked what she saw. Tall, broad shoulders and a lean waist. When he was within fifty feet, she added handsome to the growing list.
Karankawa, Texas, was nothing more than a pinprick on a map and Chanté took great pride knowing just about everyone within the town's limits—and she certainly didn't know this man. They didn't grow them this fine in her neck of the woods.
When the stranger was within twenty feet, his dark brown eyes entrapped her own. She didn't understand what was happening. Was the man some kind of hypnotist? Why was her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest?
Ten feet.
She noted the seductive plumpness of his lips.
Five feet.
How soft would his hair feel if she was to run her fingers along its short strands?
The stranger stopped before her. His warm breath rushed against her upturned face. Before she could remember how to speak, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.
This was no mirage.
The long walk beneath the blistering Texas sun had edged Matthew close to insanity. He'd lost count of how many times objects appeared closer than they really were or weren't even there at all, which was why he was certain that the curvaceous woman in a adorable pink-and-white outfit was nothing more than a beautiful mirage.
However, the sweetness of her lips and the magic of her tongue meant that either he'd died and gone to heaven or the woman in his arms was real.
Though her lips were pillow soft and her mouth intoxicatingly sweet, the kiss was hot enough to turn his blood into a fiery river of hot lava. Her light, flowery scent drugged his senses and when a breathy sigh escaped her lips, Matthew's body tightened in response.
His dream woman gently placed her hand against his chest, and he knew that she could feel his hammering heart. He deepened the kiss and ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. Her lips opened wider.
Chanté groaned as her body melted against the handsome man's. Without thought, her arms slid up and around his neck, but then, slowly, reason crept back into her mind. What in the hell was she doing kissing a complete stranger?
Reluctant, but with a great deal of willpower, she broke the kiss and sucked in a deep, ragged breath.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, her chest heaving from the effort.
"The same thing you're doing." He leaned forward. "And I want to do it again."
Chanté curved her back and pressed her hands against his chest in an attempt to avoid another taste of his addictive lips. "Get your hands off of me. I don't know you."
One final shove and Chanté won her freedom. Escaping into Sam's café, she crashed into a deafening wall of silence and was surrounded by wide eyes and gaping mouths.
"Hell, what does a guy have to do to get a kiss like that?" Earl asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as if preparing himself for the possibility.
"Down, boy." Chanté rolled her eyes.
"Hey!" Her mysterious kissing stranger bolted in behind her and then sighed dreamily. "Thank God. Air-conditioning."
Chanté shook her head.
"Wait. I didn't even catch your name," he called after her.
"What?" Rufus adjusted the bill of his trucker cap. "You two don't even know each other?"
"Actually, I'm just sort of passing through. I was on my way to a conference in Killeen, but my rental car broke down on the highway a few miles back. Is there a phone around here?"
Chanté turned to him. "This is a café, not AT&T."
Those full lips widened within the frame of his groomed goatee. "Well, I haven't tasted the food, but this place certainly knows how to make a guest feel welcome."
He jutted out his hand. "Dr. Matthew Valentine. And you are?"
She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business when everyone at the lunch counter answered for her.
"Chanté Morris," they chanted.
Matthew's mouth sloped into an uneven smile. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
"Oh, he's smooth," Rufus whispered.
"Order up!" Sam shouted. "That is, if you're finished 'greeting' our guest."
Everyone laughed. Everyone except Chanté.
"Not funny." Chanté stomped behind the counter, giving up any hope of trying to study.
"So what kind of doctor are you? Some kind of 'love' doctor, Dr. Valentine?" Earl chuckled and his fellow yahoos joined in.
Matthew moved to a vacant stool at the lunch counter. "Actually, that's pretty close. I'm a relationship therapist."
Chanté's interest perked.
"Hey, Chanté," Henry piped up. "Ain't that what you're going to school for?"
"Shut up, Henry," she warned.
"So what does a man have to do to get a drink around here?" Matthew asked. "Water, preferably. A jug if you have it."
Chanté poured his glass of water. "Twenty-five cents."
"For water?"
"Need I remind you again that this is a business?"
Matthew's pulse quickened. Judging by the fire in her eyes, Chanté could take him in any boxing ring…and win. "Look, there's no need to beat yourself up because you're attracted to me."
"What? I'm not— Just because I kissed— You don't know what you're talking about."
Matthew smiled and reached for his glass.
Chanté moved it away from his reach. "Twenty-five cents."
"Oooh," the men at the lunch counter chorused.
Still smiling, Matthew reached for his wallet and removed a hundred dollar bill. "This should cover the water…and that wonderful greeting."
"Aaah," the counter of spectators responded.
Without warning, the gorgeous waitress drenched him with the icy water. "On the house."
This time all the patrons in the café exploded with laughter.
"Actually, that was quite refreshing," he admitted. "May I have another? This time, if it could remain in the glass, I'd appreciate it."
"Chanté!" the cook shouted.
Matthew reached for the silver napkin dispenser when he noticed a stack of twenties on the counter. "What's this?" he asked the men next to him.
"Oh, we have ourselves a friendly little bet going on who'll win Chanté's heart."
"Is that right?" Matthew cut a gaze over at Chanté, who was being berated by the cook. Matthew picked up his soaking wet hundred dollar bill and placed it on top of the stack of twenties. "I'll take a piece of that action."
Matthew had never been a gambling man, but he was smart enough to know that this was one bet he couldn't afford to lose. However, Rome wasn't built in a day and conquering his fiery water-slinging waitress was going to take a little more time, too.
Time he didn't have.
But all wasn't lost. Rufus, Miguel, Henry and Earl took him up on his bet and actually seemed to be rooting for him. So much so that Earl, the town's only auto mechanic, offered to tow Matthew's rental car to his shop.
Matthew agreed, though he was sorry to leave the café—or more accurately, Chanté.
"She's a nice girl," Earl yelled over the loud rumbling of his truck's engine. "Seems to have taken a liking to you."
Matthew rolled his eyes and kept his doubts to himself.
"'Course, I've had my eye on her since she broke up with my nephew, Kevin, a few years back. They'd dated in high school. When he finally got around to popping the big question, she said no and hit the road." Earl shook his head. "Young folks. Always thinking the grass is greener on the other side."
"You're trying to date your own nephew's ex-girlfriend?"
Earl turned his head from the road to lock gazes with Matt. "A good woman is a good woman."
The seriousness in the man's gaze left no room for argument so Matthew politely nodded his head. But after a mile of silence, his curiosity got the best of him. "So she's never been married?"
"Nah. Not much of a dater, either. 'Course that might have something to do with the way her father always cleans his gun whenever someone arrives to pick her up."
Matthew lifted an inquisitive brow.
"Don't worry. I doubt you'll get that far."
Chanté was going to fail her sociology test.
Ten minutes left on the clock and the only thing she could remember was how to spell her name. The rest of the time, her mind kept replaying that wonderful kiss outside Sam's Café earlier in the day.
When she closed her eyes, she could still taste him: warm, sweet and intoxicating. Hell, the man had made her toes curl. That had never happened.
Ever.
Again, she shook the disturbing images out of her head. The kiss had to be some kind of fluke, or maybe the stress of juggling work and school had finally got to her and she'd imagined the whole thing to be better than it really had been.
"Time's up!" Her instructor, Mr. Reid, snapped his pocket watch closed and glanced down at her blank paper. "You do know this test is worth fifty percent of your grade?"
Chanté sighed. "I guess this means I'll see you next semester."
She gathered her things and shuffled her way out to her car. All the while, her mind kept returning to that kiss.
That wonderful damn kiss.
If she were lucky, Earl had fixed Dr. Valentine's car and he—and those heavenly lips—were a million miles away from Karankawa, Texas. A man like that could make a woman forget about her goals, dreams and even her celibacy vows.
Five years and counting.
The funny thing was, when she made the decision to abstain from sex, Chanté didn't feel there was any real threat of breaking it. Most of the men in her hometown were carbon copies of one another, each just looking to tie her down and pump her full of babies.
Well, she had no intention of being tied down or living the rest of her life in a town that wasn't marked on most road maps. She had it all planned out. Another year of college and then she was moving to one of the big cities: Dallas, Houston or maybe even Austin. She was going to be a psychologist and make something of her life, no matter how many jobs she had to hold down in the process.
"Long class."
Chanté's head snapped up at the hauntingly familiar voice.
"Matthew."
Surprise lit Matthew's eyes as he pushed himself away from her Honda. "You remembered my name."
How could she ever forget it? The sweaty suit was gone, replaced with casual khakis and a luminous white shirt. In short, he looked like a black Adonis beneath a half-moon and a blanket of twinkling stars. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" He stopped before her. "I came to see you."
He didn't touch her, but his gaze had a way of caressing her face and causing regions of her body that had long been declared as No Men zones to tingle.
"You know there is a word for this sort of thing—stalking."
Matthew tossed up his hands and took a step back. "Whoa. That's not the vibe I'm trying to send."
"Oh, really?" Chanté cocked her head, amused despite everything. "And what sort of vibe were you going for?"
"One that tells you how much I'm really into you." His gaze caressed her again. "One that tells you I'd like to get to know you better."
Chanté tilted her head back and gazed into his dark eyes and swore her soul was being pulled from her body. Was it possible to look at a man and actually feel as though you've found a part of yourself? It sounded strange, but that's exactly how Chanté felt at the moment. "What happened to your big conference?" she asked in a shaky whisper.
"I'm not going to make it." He gently brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "I'm much more interested in kissing you again. Any objection?"
Any objection? The question floated around Chanté's head and in the very back of her brain came a shout of yes, but she quickly snuffed it out. "No," she answered in a breathless whisper.
She wanted another kiss—needed it, in fact. She hoped that it would be as wonderful as the first.
Her eyes drifted closed the moment his lips pressed against hers. Instantly, she was lost in a slow, deep, melting kiss that wiped her brain clean of all rational thought.
This kiss was better than the first.
This kiss—the touch of her hand, her tongue's silky caress and the way her curves fit against his body—confirmed what Matthew had suspected: he'd found his true soul mate. No doubt she could feel the strain of his arousal and knew that he had more on his mind than a moonlight kiss.
Suddenly Chanté broke away and panted, "I'd better go."
"What…?"
Chanté rummaged through her purse to find her car keys. "Look, I can just imagine what you must think of me, and I probably could never convince you that I don't just roam around kissing strangers, but—"
"No. No." Matthew rushed over to her as she opened her car door. "I—I don't think badly of you. I think you're wonderful."
Chanté lifted an inquisitive brow. "Maybe I should be asking whether you make a habit of shoving your tongue down strange women's throats."
"What? Me? No."
She lifted her second brow dubiously. "So I was your first?"
"As a matter of fact you were." He leaned against the car.
She studied him. "I'm tempted to believe you."
"You should." His confidence returned, and he smiled. "There was just something about you."
Chanté rolled her eyes. "I've had a long day." She slid in behind the wheel. "Good night." She reached to close the door, but Matthew held on to it.
"Wait. Don't go."
"Look, Dr. Valentine. Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested. I work forty hours a week in a grease trap while trying to put myself through a school I should have gone to ten years ago. But I was like most women in this town and thought I just wanted to get married and have children. Then one day I realized that's not at all what I want. I want more and now I have a small window of opportunity to actually do something with my life, and I don't plan to screw that up. I have to work, and I have to work hard, just to catch up."
Matthew met her determined gaze and was more than a little turned on by her passion. With only the best of intentions he said, "Maybe I can help. Maybe I can take you away from all of this." He watched in dismay as her eyes narrowed and she climbed back out of the car.
"Is there a For Sale sign stamped on my forehead that I don't know about?"
"Uh, no. I didn't mean to imply that—"
"What? You think you can just blow into town and buy the first girl you come across?"
"Calm down. I didn't mean that the way it came out."
Chanté crossed her arms. "Then how did you mean it to come out?"
"I meant that…well, that I'm a pretty wealthy guy and as my… You know, there's just no way for this to come out right."
"I'm not for sale, Dr. Valentine. And despite living in a poor town, I don't need you to rescue me. I can do that on my own."
"Smart, strong and independent."
"Is that a problem?"
"It's a turn-on."
Once again, Chanté met his gaze and felt that strange pull in her soul. "Dr. Valentine—"
"Matthew." His smile widened. "I like the way you say my name."
She blushed.
"Now that's definitely a smile I see."
"You're trying to get all charming on me."
"Is it working?"
It was working but she held her tongue. "Matthew," she corrected. "I don't know you—"
"That's why we should go out. So we can get to know each other."
"Let me finish," she said, then took a deep breath during the requested silence. "I don't know you and I don't want to know you."
"Why?" he challenged. "Are you afraid of your feelings?"
Chanté opened her mouth, but Matthew cut her off quickly.
"Are you going to lie and tell me that you don't feel anything when I kiss you?"
That was exactly what she was going to do.
Matthew smiled. "I know I can be pushy—but only when I see something or, in this case, someone I want."
Before she knew it she was back in his arms without resistance. Moaning against his lips, Chanté accepted his probing tongue with an eagerness that surprised even her.
Matthew stroked a hand down the length of her body, slipped it beneath her pink cotton top and trailed his fingers across her soft skin.
Unable—unwilling—to stop him or herself, Chanté moaned again and pressed closer to him. Matthew continued his lazy exploration until he cupped a firm breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Admit it," he said, breaking the kiss but forging a trail of smaller ones near her left ear. "You're attracted to me."
"I—I'm…"
"And you want to get to know me better." He nibbled on her ear.
Quivering and unable to speak, she nodded.
Matthew lifted his head and gazed down into her clear brown eyes. "You know this is just the beginning. I can make you feel so much more," he said. "Come back to my hotel. Stay the night."
Matthew should have anticipated a slap, but he certainly didn't expect the left hook Chanté hurled his way, nearly knocking him to the pavement.
"Asshole!"
"No, wait."
Chanté jumped back behind the wheel and nearly severed Matthew's fingers when he tried to stop her from slamming the car door.
"C'mon, Chanté. I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he shouted the lie through her window as she started the car.
Struck with the ingenious idea of launching himself onto the hood of her car to prevent her from driving off, Matthew again, reflectively, should have anticipated that this spitfire would buck him as if they were at a Texas rodeo.
Even as he lifted his bruised body from the cracked concrete to stare after a pair of glowing red taillights, he was still fairly certain that he was in love. He just had to figure out a way to get Chanté to realize that she was, too.
Without becoming a stalker.
Chanté tossed and turned throughout the night. Not because she was angry with Dr. Matthew Valentine, a man that she had known a total of one day, but at herself. Not only had she allowed a complete stranger to kiss her senseless, not once, not twice, but a mind-blowing three times—the last time she'd even allowed him to feel her up!
Maybe her sex drought had turned her into a desperate harlot looking for any sort of cheap thrill. It didn't hurt that Mr. Thrill was fine as hell and had great taste in clothes. Hell, that sweaty suit he'd had on earlier today was probably worth more than she made in a month. Not to mention the way he talked and carried himself shouted that he was not just from the opposite side of the railroad tracks, but he was from a completely different set.
Why the hell would he be interested in her?
Chanté sat up in bed and glanced around the small bedroom she'd had her entire twenty-eight years. Her parents still slept across the hall. It had always been just the three of them, pulling together, scratching out an existence in a small Texas dust bowl.
"I have to stick to my plan," she whispered to the comforting dark. The moment she settled back into bed and closed her eyes, she was instantly transported back to the college parking lot, but instead of slapping Matthew for his indecent proposal, she said yes.
The Buckeye's Motel, the only motel in a ten mile radius, looked as if it was built as a homage to the Bates Motel and decorated by someone who was clearly color-blind. And until Matthew figured out a way to win Chanté Morris's heart, it was home.
"I blew it," Matthew admitted to his oldest brother, Scott, over the phone. "I know I made fun of you when you said it was love at first sight with you and Barbara, but I'm a true believer now."
"She's that amazing?" Scott asked.
"You can't imagine." Matthew strolled across the puke-green carpet and tried to squint through two inches of dirt on the windows. "But you have to help me. How did you convince Barbara that you weren't some raving lunatic?"
Scott, a famed psychologist in his own right, chuckled at Matthew's dilemma. "You know, there's a thin line between persistence and being a stalker."
"So I've been told." Matthew turned away from the window and sighed. "Every time I'm around her, my words don't come out right. Me. A psychologist who talks to people every day and who just landed a major book deal."
"Love does that to you, bro."
"You don't understand. I've all but called the girl a two-bit prostitute. I can only imagine what she thinks of me."
"Calm down, Matt. If she is as amazing as you say, then dust yourself off and try again."
Earl folded his meaty arms and winked. "We wanted to see if you'd look different this morning."
"Different?"
"Yeah." He glanced around at his friends. "I, uh, dropped Dr. Valentine off at your school last night for a little reunion."
Chanté's face burned hot with embarrassment. "So you dropped him off. That doesn't mean—"
Rufus jumped in. "My nephew, Bobby, takes night classes at Kissessme. Said you and the young doctor was tonsil boxing in of front the whole school."
Damn. She hated living in a small town.
"Looks like the good doctor is going to win that bet after all," Miguel cut into the conversation.
Chanté suddenly felt as if she had been socked in the gut. "What bet?"
"You know." Miguel shrugged. "That twenty-dollar bet we all made yesterday."
"Only Dr. Valentine pitched in a cool hundred dollar bill," Henry added.
"Morning, everybody!" Matthew greeted as he entered through the doors, carrying a bundle of carnations.
Chanté rounded on him and literally slapped the smile off his face. "Asshole!"
"I take it you don't like the flowers," Matthew said numbly, blinking a few stars from his eyes.
"She likes red roses," the men at the lunch counter informed him in unison.
"I'll keep that in mind." He rubbed at his smarting jaw. "That's quite a hand you got there."
"You tried to get me in bed last night to win some bet?"
"No. I tried to get you in bed because I thought we'd have a good time." That didn't come out right.
Chanté's hands whipped across his face again.
"Ooh," the men chorused.
"Seriously, you need to start slapping me on the other side. You're going to knock a tooth out on this one."
Following his direction, she slapped him on the opposite cheek.
"Damn!" The men jumped in their seats as if they'd taken the blow themselves.
Matthew wished they had because he was clearly in the ring with someone who going for a total knockout. "Okay. Seriously. Psychology 101—hitting is not okay."
"You have some nerve! Is this how you treat women where you come from?
"Where does he come from?" Rufus asked.
After a pregnant pause, Matthew filled in the gap. "New York."
"New York City?" they shouted like the cast of a salsa commercial.
Chanté shook her head, clearly disgusted. "Just get out of here. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?" She turned and then disappeared behind the door marked Employees Only.
Matthew's shoulders slumped in despair. "Well, that went well."
"Better luck next time, sport," Earl chuckled and then mumbled under his breath. "Easiest hundred bucks we've ever made."
Matthew had his answer on who'd told Chanté about the bet. "When will my car be ready?"
"Sometime this week. Have to order an oil pump. I'll bring it to the motel when it's ready."
"Good. That will give me plenty of time." Matthew turned and exited the café with his tail tucked between his legs—for the moment.
Eight o'clock the next morning, he promptly returned to the café. This time with a single red rose he'd purchased from the gas station a mile down the road. Chanté showed up a half an hour later, spotted him and then proceeded to ignore him.
The same thing happened the next day.
And then the next.
By the time Friday rolled around, he sensed he was weakening her resolve. The only thing he had to base that notion on was the fact that she was now giving him refills on his coffee.
On Saturday, he finally received his food order just as he requested it. No burnt toast or running eggs or undercooked sausages.
Chanté found herself going from annoyed to slightly flattered. Every morning, she expected the persistent doctor to give up his quest to win her over finally and take his butt back to New York. Yet, there was a wonderful thrill at seeing him each morning in the corner booth with his red rose.
He was even becoming quite popular with the locals.
It didn't help that at night, all she could think about was being back in his arms and relishing the taste of his kiss…and enjoying a few other things, as well.
Dr. Valentine wasn't like the other men in her lunch-counter fan club. He was handsome, intelligent and articulate. Plus, there was something about the way he would look at her that made her weak in the knees.
"You know, I'm off on Sundays," Chanté finally said late Saturday afternoon.
"Oh, really?" Matthew perked up in his chair. "And what do you like to do on your day off?"
She shrugged. "Go to church with my parents and then we cook a big Sunday dinner."
"Sounds nice."
"It is." She splashed a little more coffee into his cup. "You should come."
Suddenly the café fell silent and Matthew looked around to see that all eyes were trained on them. "Is this a joke or a real invitation?"
"Well, if you don't want to go…" Chanté turned sharply from the table, feeling like a fool.
"No. No. I didn't say that." Matthew bounded out of his cheap wooden booth and raced to stand in front of her. "I'd love to come."
Chanté bit her lower lip, wondering if she had made a mistake, but then finally said, "First Baptist Church. Two miles down the road. Service starts at eleven." She smiled and maneuvered around him.
Matthew watched as she disappeared behind the Employees Only door before jabbing both hands into the air in victory.
"Don't get too excited, Dr. New York. Church with the family means you'll be meeting her father."
"So? I've met plenty of fathers."
The lunch crowd erupted with laughter.
"You haven't met anyone like this one. We call him Shotgun Leonard around here. And he's never missed a mark yet."
It was a humid Saturday night when Chanté joined her mother on the porch swing to snap beans for Sunday supper. This comfortable routine gave the women a chance to catch up with their busy lives. Alice Morris had been a nurse's aide at First Baptist Hospital for the past thirty years. The pay was lousy but she found the work rewarding.
"So when are you going to tell me about this young man from New York?" Chanté's mother asked out of the blue.
In truth Matthew's name was just on the tip of her tongue, but the question startled Chanté so she just stared at her mother, openmouthed.
"Oh, c'mon, Chanté. You know there are no secrets in this town. He broke down on the highway this past Monday and Earl has been stalling on repairing his car. He's a doctor, isn't he?"
Chanté finally found her voice. "So he says."
"You don't believe him?"
"Yeah. I believe him. It's just that…well, we didn't initially hit it off."
"That's not what I heard." Alice continued snapping beans, her face void of emotion.
Chanté's blazed with embarrassment. How did she not think this information would get back to her parents?
"Does Dad know?"
"I haven't asked him."
Chanté slumped in relief.
"But he was cleaning his shotgun this evening."
"Damn."
Alice stopped snapping beans.
Chanté quickly remembered her manners. "Sorry."
Her mother just stared at her. "This one is different, isn't he?"
Chanté resumed snapping beans and avoiding her mother gaze.
"This…doctor…has gotten under your skin."
It wasn't a question this time, but Chanté answered it just the same. "I can't stop thinking about him, though he infuriates me and almost always says the wrong thing."
"Sounds normal. Men always stick their foot in their mouth." Alice met and held her daughter's gaze. "Do you love him?"
"C'mon, Mama. I haven't known the man a full week. How could I know something like that?"
Her mother just smiled warmly. "Don't try to rationalize love. Leave your head out of it. What does your heart say?"
"I just need you to come looking for me if you don't hear from me after tomorrow," Matthew told his brother over the phone.
"You don't really believe the old man will shoot you, do you?"
"I laughed it off until one of the guys told me about one boyfriend who'd gone hunting with Shotgun Leonard only never to be heard from again."
"C'mon. They're just trying to spook you," Scott laughed.
"Yeah, well, this is Texas. Kick up a little dirt if I come up missing."
"You got it, bro," his brother chuckled. "Let me ask you something. Is this woman really worth all of this?"
"That's just it, Scott. She is."
All eyes were on Matthew when he walked through the doors of the First Baptist Church of Karankawa, Texas. And it wasn't just his imagination. He could hear his name being whispered by parishioners as the ushers led him to his seat.
His mood lightened considerably when he spotted Chanté and then the equally attractive woman next to her who could only be her mother. However, the tall, formidable gentleman standing next to the women and giving him the evil eye wiped the smile off Matthew's face. When they clasped hands, Matthew had no doubt that Shotgun Leonard could crush his hand with little effort.
"Valentine."
"Mr. Morris."
They stood in a stalemate until Chanté whispered to her father that he was making a scene. Mr. Morris released Matthew's hand and then made room for him in their pew. Throughout the service, Matthew could feel Mr. Morris's gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.
Judging by the smile on Chanté's face, she was getting a big kick out of all of this.
He survived the service, the whispers and the constant eyeballing to make it to the Morrises' humble home just on the edge of town for Sunday dinner.
"I don't think your father likes me," Matthew managed to whisper to Chanté before she left the two men alone in the living room.
"Don't worry. He won't shoot you on the Lord's day." She patted him on the back and then scrambled into the kitchen to help her mother set the table.
Leonard Morris, however, headed over to his gun cabinet. Five minutes later, there was enough artillery laid out to outfit a small army.
"So what are your intentions with my baby girl?" Leonard asked, rolling up his sleeves and eyeing a nine-gauge.
"Well," Matthew swallowed the large lump in his throat and rolled up his sleeves, as well. "Assuming we actually get around to going on a date, I intend to put my best foot forward and make her fall hopelessly in love with me."
Leonard stared him down.
"I mean, if that's all right with you."
"Love, huh?" He sat down and reached for his cleaning kit. "You probably think that she wants to just settle down and pump out a houseful of babies."
"No." Matthew followed his lead and began cleaning one of the guns. "It's apparent your daughter is working real hard to earn her degree. She has dreams and aspirations. I admire that. Falling in love with me doesn't mean she has to give that up."
The men engaged in another staring contest, before a smile finally hugged Leonard's lips. "Sounds good, but I think you need to tell her that."
"Honey, you can't plan falling in love," Chanté's mother advised casually as they set the table.
"Who said anything about falling in love?"
"You didn't have to. There's enough electricity flowing between you two to set the state of Texas on fire. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
Normally Chanté would have a sharp retort or a smart-aleck reply ready, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
"I have school."
"There are schools in New York."
"Whoa. We haven't even gone on a date and you already have me moving to New York?"
"You can date him after you marry him."
"Marry? Mom!"
"What?" Her mother laughed at her daughter's embarrassment. "I knew I was in love with your father the moment I laid eyes on him. I'm willing to bet the same thing happened to you. Why else would you let a complete stranger kiss you for ten minutes in broad daylight?"
"Ten— How did you know how long he kissed me?"
"We've been over this. Small town."
Dinner turned out to be a larger affair than Matthew had expected. Relatives and friends showed up in droves until the place looked like one big family reunion. All of them, it seemed, had questions for Matthew. By the time the evening was over, the Morrises knew more about him than his own doctors or parents did.
"I have to admit you handled yourself pretty well with them tonight," Chanté said, as she drove Matthew back to the motel.
Matthew smiled and glanced over at her. "Does that mean we can actually go out on a real date?" He watched as her smile widened beneath the moonlight. "You know. Just you and me…alone."
She pulled into the quiet motel's parking lot and avoided his question by asking one of her own. "Where's your room?"
Matthew pointed toward the corner end of the motel. "Well, looky there. My rental car. Earl finally fixed it." He laughed. "I was beginning to think he didn't know what the hell he was doing."
parked next to the Lincoln Town Car and shut off the engine. "Guess that means you'll be leaving soon?"
Matthew turned in his seat. "Not necessarily."
Chanté didn't meet his stare, but nodded and stared at the rental car. Stick with the plan: finish school, build a career, take care of her parents and then look to settle down.
Or was her destiny sitting beside her?
"Would you miss me if I left tomorrow?"
Stick to the plan. Her instant tears not only surprised him but her, as well.
"Hey, hey." He unbuckled his seat belt and inched closer. "What are these for?" His fingers gently erased the tracks of her tears.
Stick to the plan.
"Chanté, talk to me." He moved a few stray hairs from her face and then directed her chin toward him so their gazes could meet. "If you can't come with me, then give me a reason to stay."
"Free coffee refills aren't enough?"
His soft rumble of laughter broke the tension and allowed her to relax. Yet the voice inside her head remained firm. Stick to the plan.
"It just all seems like such lousy timing," she managed to say, pulling her chin from his grasp.
Silence trailed her words and filled the car. All the while she hoped he wouldn't reach for the door handle and she couldn't bring herself to ask him to get out. Then his hand found hers to give it an encouraging squeeze.
Stick to the plan, she recited in her head.
"I had an interesting talk with your father tonight."
She smiled. "The guns didn't scare you, did they?"
"No." He chuckled. "Well, not after a while." He squeezed her hand again. "Chanté, I don't want to mess up your plans."
She tensed.
"I just want a chance to love you."
"Love?" She pulled her hand back.
Matthew's gaze remained steady. "Yes. Love. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you, the moment our lips connected. Didn't you?"
Stick to the plan.
"Has it all been just my imagination?" he asked. "Should I pack my things and just go?"
Stick to the plan. More tears surfaced and Chanté's tongue thickened until it felt as if it was choking her.
"I see," he said, and reached for the door.
"Don't go."
Matthew turned.
"It's not just your imagination." She sniffed. "I've known since that first day, too. I just…there's just so much…"
"Shh." He slid close and gathered into his arms. "Loving me isn't that hard. It certainly doesn't cost your tears."
She smiled.
"Come inside with me." At her hesitation, he added, "I'm not going to force you. But if you come, it'll mean that you want to make love to me as badly as I want to make love to you. Plus, it means that you're willing to give love a chance." With that, he turned and got out the car.
Chanté watched him as he disappeared into his hotel room and she realized she was at a crossroads. Stick to the plan or take a chance on love. With her hand on the ignition and tears streaming down her face, Chanté made her life's choice.
At the solitary knock, Matthew opened the door to reveal a bed covered with red rose petals. "Welcome, my love. I've been waiting a lifetime."
Chanté leaped into his arms. "So have I, my love. So have I."
From the back of Earl's pickup truck, Chanté's lunch-counter yahoos all lowered their binoculars.
"I guess we lost that bet," Rufus declared.
Earl nodded. "Damn New Yorkers!"
The End