My Give a Damn's Busted by Carolyn Brown

stopped him in his tracks. Her movements and even the short red silk pajamas covered with a fancy kimono robe screamed money. But no one with money would be living in a seventy-year-old house in Mingus, Texas.
    “Why’d you ever move here?” he asked.
    “You want the truth?”
    “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it,” he said.
    “I’d been hunting for myself in all the wrong places and couldn’t find peace or happiness so one day I quite literally pulled down a map of the United States, shut my eyes, turned around three times, and put a tack in the map. Then I moved to Mingus and that is the gospel, pure unadulterated, one hundred proof damn truth.”
    “You are crazy,” he said.
    “Probably. But I’m happy.”
    She brushed past him on the way to the bedroom. She looked up into his eyes but he blinked and looked away. The moment passed even though a flash of heat flickered between them. She wanted the kiss and felt cheated when he let the opportunity pass.
    His jaw gritted in anger. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, and even more, but he couldn’t, not until he knew who she was and why she was so attached to the Honky Tonk. Was he making the same mistake his father had made? Did it really matter if she owned a Honky Tonk? Did it matter that she’d found her niche in Mingus, Texas? What did it matter to Hank Wells?
    She hurriedly threw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts, cowboy boots that she’d used in the hay field, and a bright red tank top, then smeared sunblock on her face, arms, and legs and brushed her hair up into a lopsided ponytail. When she went back into the kitchen he’d already poured two cups of coffee and was sitting at the table.
    “What color are you going to paint the house?” he asked.
    “Turquoise.”
    He jerked his head around so fast that his neck popped. “What?”
    Larissa smiled. “I love the islands. Folks down there aren’t afraid of color. So I bought turquoise paint and the trim is going to be hot pink. It’ll be bright and make me laugh.”
    “This is not the islands. When and what islands did you visit?” he asked.
    “There’s lots of books in the library and I like the ones with pictures,” she said. “My mind is made up and the paint already custom mixed. I only bought one gallon of lemon yellow though. Don’t you think that’s enough for the porch posts and front steps?”
    He swallowed hard. The woman baffled him more than he thought possible.
    “And if there’s any left I’m going to use it to paint my kitchen chairs. One of each color and then I’ll buy some purple for the fourth chair.”
    “You don’t strike me as that kind of woman,” he said.
    She shoved a bagel into the toaster and got out the cream cheese. “What kind of woman am I?”
    “Classy. I could picture you in a little café in Paris having coffee and watching the people.”
    Her breath caught in her chest and it ached until she remembered to exhale. “Boy, I’ve got you fooled. What in the hell would make you think something like that?”
    “The way you carry yourself and hold your head. You’ve either been around people who were classy or else you come from money somewhere up the line. Did you lose your shirt with bad investments?”
    “Sorry to pop your sweet little bubble but I didn’t lose jack shit on any investments,” she said. “Want something to eat before we start? I figured we’d work until about three and take a lunch break down at the Smokestack. You fed me so I’ll feed you but I don’t have Oma living in my house to cook for us.”
    “Better give me a couple of those bagels. Got any espresso hiding in the house to go with them?” Hank said.
    “Sorry, plain old coffee is the fanciest thing I’m offering. No lox or caviar for the bagels either. This is not the Café de la Paix. I might rustle up some plum jam that Linda brought over last week.”
    He snarled his nose. “With cream cheese?”
    “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” she