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An old woman with bright red hair and a ratty-looking fur coat sat at the window table. “Who cares about how many cars a truck can roll over? What you should be wantin’ to see, Coach Denny, is our high school football team winning another state championship. They flat-out sucked last season.”
“Now, Ms. Stokes, it’s not my fault the kids today just don’t have the same talent as they used to.”
“Don’t blame it on the kids, Denny!” the woman behind the counter snapped. She was a big gal with a long black braid and full bosom that stretched out the words Check out my muffins printed across her pink T-shirt. “If a team loses, there’s no one to blame but the coach.”
Coach Denny’s face turned bright red. “I’ve won two state championships!”
“That had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Jace Carson,” Mrs. Stokes said before she started coughing like she was going to cough up a fur ball . . . or a lung.
Jesse moved closer. “You okay, ma’am?”
“Give her a minute.” Coach Denny waited until the woman had finished coughing before he spoke. “Lord, I miss Jace.”
“He’ll be back,” Mrs. Stokes said. “He was too much a part of this town to leave it forever.”
“Let’s hope so,” the woman behind the counter said before she turned her attention to Jesse. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I heard this place makes the best muffins in Texas.”
She beamed. “Then you heard right.” She spread her arms over the display case. “Just pick your poison. I bake them fresh every mornin’.”
He looked at the wide array of muffins from Cinnamon Monkey Swirl to Pea-Nutty Buddy. From Sour Lemon Poppy to Everything but the Kitchen Sink. It was a little overwhelming. “Any suggestions?”
The woman studied him intently. “You look like a Cocoa Java Junkie if ever I saw one.”
He grinned. “You read my mind, darlin’.”
Five minutes later, he was sitting at a table sipping the best cup of coffee he’d ever tasted and munching on a dark chocolate and coffee muffin that dreams were made of. Everyone in the café seemed to be watching him. He knew they were curious, but they didn’t bombard him with questions. Instead, they just watched.
He finished off the muffin and wiped his mouth. “That was the best darn muffin I’ve ever had in my life.”
Everyone grinned with pride as if they were the ones responsible.
“Damn straight,” Coach Denny said. “No muffins beat Sheryl Ann’s.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” Jesse got up and threw away his napkin and handed his coffee mug back to Sheryl Ann. “Thank you, Sheryl Ann. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try that Red Velvet Valentine.”
“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Stokes said. “So you’re staying around here?”
He knew she wanted details, but he’d heard the gossip around town about the evil Corbin Whitlock taking the Holidays’ ranch and he figured it would be best for everyone if he kept his answers vague.
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and walked out the door. As he headed down the street to the bank where he was supposed to meet with Hank Holiday, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder. Everyone in the café was crowded in the window watching him. He smiled and waved.
God, he loved small towns.
Since he was a good fifteen minutes early, he figured he’d be the first one to arrive for the meeting. But when he stepped into the bank, the receptionist informed him that Mr. Holiday was waiting in the conference room.
At least that’s what he’d thought she’d said. But when he got to the conference room, he didn’t find a mean-looking rancher who had a bone to pick. He found a stunningly beautiful woman with long ebony hair and eyes the exact color of the dew-drenched meadows he’d seen in Ireland.
Jesse knew instantly that this was the woman he’d skinny-dipped with the night before. He didn’t know how he knew it. He just did. He was struck speechless by her beauty and he had never been struck speechless in his life. While he stood there staring like an idiot, the receptionist made the introductions.
Two words snapped him out of his stunned daze.
Liberty Holiday.
Chapter Three
The bright smile Liberty had pinned on her face faded when she saw the man who had followed the receptionist into the conference room reserved for the meeting. She had been expecting Corbin Whitlock. But unless Corbin had gotten reconstructive surgery, shrunk a few inches, and done a whole helluva lot of working out, this man wasn’t Corbin.
