Slow Talkin' Texan

“I might not be home till late, but I’ll let you know.”

Porter noticed the frown that suddenly doused Bonnie’s smile, but he didn’t comment on it. Not only did she love to clean house, but she loved to cook. If he didn’t have so much land and so many cattle to care for, he’d have to watch his waistline.

A few minutes later, Porter climbed into his fancy truck and headed toward the store, knowing he should be in the pasture mending that south fence. He would take care of that tomorrow if Joe, his foreman, didn’t get to it.

With the business and the ranch, there never seemed to be enough hours in the day, especially because he always tried to make time for Matt. That was a must. His son would always come first, no matter what.

His son.

What a perfect thought on a perfect summer day, he told himself, as he swung into his parking slot at the store a short time later.

“Morning.”

Porter climb out of the cab and watched as his friend and manager, George Hays, limped toward him. George was another person he couldn’t imagine doing without. In his late fifties, George had been injured in ’Nam. Even with a badly mangled leg, he was a workhorse. The store was an awesome responsibility, and George handled it and the customers like a pro.

But unlike him, George needed to watch his waistline. In fact, he needed to go on an outright diet, Porter thought, worried that his friend might have a stroke. Although he didn’t drink beer, George had the proverbial beer-belly.

“Don’t say a damn word,” George grumbled as they walked into the building and made their way to the coffee room at the back.

“I don’t recall opening my mouth.”

George glared at him before filling a cup with coffee. “But you were thinking it.”

Porter grinned, then filled his own cup. “Hell, don’t climb all over me. You know what you have to do. The doctor’s already warned you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Porter shook his head, sat down at the round table and remained silent, while George followed suit.

“So what else is on your mind?”

Porter narrowed his gaze. “What makes you think there’s anything?”

“’Cause I know you.”

“You old coot, you just think you know me.”

“Let’s have it.”

Porter lifted the cup and blew on the liquid, his eyes on George. After taking a sip, he said, “I met a woman.”

George harrumphed.

“I’m serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“After Wanda, I was under the impression you’d sworn off women.”

“I had. I have, I mean.”

“You can’t have it both ways.” George didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

George chuckled. “Okay, you’ve got my curiosity roused. Who is she?”

Porter told him, then listened as laughter bent George double. “So Matt christened her real good. And in the church, too. What a hoot!”

“That he did, and that it was.”

George chuckled again. “So what’s next?”

“Don’t know.”

And he didn’t. After Wanda left him, he had indeed sworn off women. So far, he’d kept that vow. But after meeting Ellen Saxton, he was having second thoughts—big time. Under the circumstances, what man wouldn’t? He was convinced she was the prettiest woman he’d seen in a long time, with her strawberry blond hair, periwinkle eyes and a body that made him sit up and take notice whether he wanted to or not.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I’d like to see her again, but she’s as uptight as she is pretty. Unfortunately.”

“Too bad. Them uptight women are hell to handle.”

“You’re telling me. I seem to have a knack for getting involved with prissy, independent women.”

“Then leave her alone.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not? If you’re hankering to play again, this town’s full of easy women.” George winked. “If you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean, all right. But there’s something about this particular one that’s special, that intrigues me.”

“And you’re hell-bent on finding out what that something is.”

“You got it.”

George stood and peered down at his boss. “Want some advice?”

“Nope.”

“I’m gonna give it anyway.”

“Figured you would.”

“No matter how intrigued you get, keep your damn fly zipped. Okay?”