Page 2 of One Heated Summer

I gritted my teeth. I hated asking but was out of options. "Fine. But don't think this means I owe you anything."

Jensen hopped out of his truck, his grin as wide as the Texas sky. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, darlin'. A little Southern hospitality never hurt anyone and far be it for me to expect some in return."

He pulled a cellphone from his pocket, dialed a number, and gave whoever was on the other end the details of my broken down truck.

Chapter Two

The tow truck was in worse shape than Betsy. A battered behemoth smelling of oil and regret, it was driven by a wiry old man named Earl, who seemed more interested in chewing tobacco and complaining about the government than actually towing Betsy. I could have hooked up my truck in half the time…if I’d known what to do of course. Jensen, meanwhile, leaned against his own truck, watching me with those infuriatingly knowing eyes.

“So, Harlyn Johnson, the city girl,” he said, once Earl had finally managed to hook up Betsy. “What brings you to our little slice of heaven?”

“My grandfather passed away,” I confessed, my voice tight. “I inherited his ranch—Hazy Downs. In answer to your earlier question, I arrived at the ranch a week ago.”

Jensen’s expression softened, just a fraction. “Old Man Johnson. Good man and my neighbor. His foreman, Elijah and ranch hands, Cash, Penn, and Ward are damn good at their job and run the ranch with expert precision. I’m sorry about what happened and for your loss.”

I didn’t want to delve into the details. My grandfather’s troubles were his and I wasn’t about to discuss them with this…this walking stereotype of a Texan god.

"I intend to restore it," I said, lifting my chin. "Bring it back to its former glory with the help of his…mymen."

Jensen chuckled. "That's a mighty ambitious plan. The Johnson Ranch hasn't seen glory in a good long while."

"Then I guess I have my work cut out for me," I retorted, folding both arms over my chest.

The tow truck lurched into motion, and Jensen fell into step beside me as we walked the short distance toward his truck.

"So," he said, after a comfortable silence, "you gonna be raising cattle, planting cotton? Trying your hand at the cowboy life?"

"I'm a biologist/ecologist and have been doing intensive study of coral reefs for the past eight years," I informed, a hint of a smile playing on my lips when the expression on his face showed his disbelief. "I’m pretty sure my life isn’t meant to involve cows, at least not for any length of time. I’ll leave the ranching stuff to my men. I want to restore the house to some sort of order and sell."

"Coral reefs?" Jensen asked, his brow furrowing. "In Texas?"

"No," I laughed, the sound I made was light and surprisingly genuine. "I was born, bred, and until recently, living in Farrer, California where I owned a dive business with my now ex-partner, Finn. While he took tours and instructed in diving, I researched the reefs off the coast. We had a messy breakup a few weeks before I was informed I’d inherited my grandfather’s estate and I’m ready for a fresh start.” I had no idea why I was confiding in an arrogant and frustrating stranger but continued, “Maybe in between working on the house I can keep my ecologist hand in by researching the impact of drought on the local water ecosystems. I’ve noticed how dry and parched the land out here is at the moment."

Jensen's expression turned serious. "We’ve had an unusually hot summer. Water's getting even more scarce than usual and folks are worried. Ranching is our life and without water we can’t keep going."

I was surprised by the intensity in his voice. Maybe there was more to Jensen Thomas than a charming grin and condescending attitude.

We walked the last few steps in silence, the only sounds the sputtering rumble of the tow truck and the chirping of the cicadas. The sun beat down, but now, with Jensen alongside me, the heat seemed less oppressive, less lonely.

"Look," I said, placing a hand on Jensen’s arm and bringing us both to a stop when we reached where his truck was parked in front of The Tantalizing Delights Bakery. "I appreciate the help. I…I owe you one."

Jensen leaned against his truck, his gaze unwavering. "Like I said, a little Southern hospitality doesn’t expect repayment."

He hesitated, then pushed himself off the vehicle. “Tell you what, Harlyn Johnson. I might be able to help you with that research project. I know this land better than most and could show you around some dry creek beds and stagnant ponds. You’d see the real impact of this drought and the ridiculous laws city people force on us without bothering to speak with anyone out here.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “And what would you expect in return?”

Jensen grinned, that familiar flash of arrogance returning. "Just your company. I'm thinking a city girl like you might need a little…protection, maybe education in the ways of the Texas wild."

I considered his offer. Jensen seemed genuinely knowledgeable about the area and the effects of the drought. Besides, spending time with him was a guaranteed way to get under his skin and aggravate him as much as he had irritated me.

"Fine," I said, extending my hand. "But don't think this means we're anything other than neighbors."

Jensen took my hand, his grip strong and warm. Calluses generated by hard work rubbed against my soft skin. "Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'."

His thumb brushed across my palm, sending a jolt of electricity through every cell in my body. I quickly pulled my hand away, blaming how I’d felt on the Texas heat. But deep down, I knew it was something else entirely. Something I wasn’t ready to admit, even to myself.

This would be no more than a neigborly arrangement. A way to get a little research done, keep my hand in so to speak, and get my grandfather’s ranch back on its feet…Nothing more.

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