Blame It on Texas by Christie Craig

livewith that.” Too late she realized how close he was, and how close she was to him. Her legs came between his, her right knee brushing the inside of his lower thigh. The feeling of being “too close” swelled in her chest.
    “Good.” His voice sounded deeper. His warm brown eyes met hers. He reached up and brushed another strand of hair that clung to her tear-dampened cheeks.
    She wasn’t a hundred percent positive, but the moment felt like that part in the movies when romantic music started playing and someone was about to get kissed.
    Something told her that giving in to that temptation wouldn’t be a good idea. And for more than one reason.
    Vulnerability: She simply wasn’t in the best emotional place to start a relationship.
    Geographical undesirability: She had to go home. In a few weeks she was back to ’Bama.
    Trust issues: She had no problem believing that Tyler hadn’t killed anyone. But that didn’t mean someone who looked like him didn’t crush hearts. People hurt people. People lie. Even good people. Even people she loved. People like her parents. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, his mouth was even closer.
    She jumped up. Fast. Toppled over the chair in the process, too. It hit the frayed carpet with a thud.
    Unsure what to say, she reached down to her knee and faked a moan. “Leg cramp.”
    Doubt filled his eyes. Faking had never been her strong point.
    Suddenly, she heard an odd kind of crack and then a strange clunk. The crack came again, only this time it was followed by some peculiar pings.
    “Shit! Get down!” Tyler yelled.
    The next thing she knew, he bolted from the chair and charged right at her. She landed, flat on her back, so hard that the impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. And when he landed on top of her, what little air she had left spilled out of her lips in a rush.
    She tried to push him off.
    “Stop! Someone is shooting at you!” he growled.
    Another crack sounded, followed by more crunchlike noises. His words hadn’t completely sunk in when Zoe saw a puff of dusty white Sheetrock rain down from the wall, leaving a round hole in the drywall.
    She stopped trying to get him off her. Not so much because he’d asked her to, or because it was the smart thing to do, but because sheer panic prevented her from moving. Someone was shooting at her. A scream lodged in her throat.
    He adjusted his weight so that it didn’t feel so smothering. She managed to suck air into her lungs. “Shit!” The one word eked out.
    “I already said that.” He looked back at the table. “I’m going for my gun. You stay down.”
    “No!” She flung her arms around him, pulled his chest flush against hers, and even locked one leg around his waist. “I don’t like that idea. Come up with another one.”
    He frowned. “You’re safe if you stay down.”
    “But what about you?” She tightened her hold on him and flung her other leg around his waist, tightening her thighs around him.
    He stared into her eyes. “Careful or I’m gonna think you like this position.”
    She scowled at him. “Seriously? You can think about sex right now?”
    “I guess I like the position, too.” He bounced off her and ran for the gun, just as more cracking noises filled the air.
    Tyler heard the shots and got two steps away from his gun when something hit him. Not a damn bullet but a five-foot-five redhead. Some part of her made a direct hit on the back of his knee, and he fell. On his way down, he turned and grabbed her to get her away from the window. When he hit the floor, she came down on top of him. Hard.
    “I told you to stay down!” he growled.
    She raised her head and rested her chin on his chest. “And I told you I didn’t like that idea!” Her voice quavered, and she had tears in her eyes again.
    It was the tears that took the edge off his anger. Growing up with three sisters, he should be immune to feminine tears, but something about hers cut right to his emotional quick.
    “I