Controlled Burn

Chapter 8

"I know. We've all been saying the same thing. We're so glad Ray Curtis moved back here from San Antonio to head up the fire department. You can't find a better chief anywhere. And that first-rate volunteer of his, Boone Crider. He could be a pro, he's so good." Patsy's lips curved in a smile. "Now, there's a man for you to take a look at."

Montana threw up her hands. "Mom? I'm not considering any man of any kind for a good long time."

Unless I happen to run into Mr. Hotstuff from last night.

Of course, the chances of such a thing happening were worse than slim to none. With her luck, he was already long gone from the area.

"Okay, okay. Well, take your time this morning. But if you feel like it, run into town and see Jeb and Darlene. You worked there all through high school, and they always ask about you."

"Maybe I can hit them up for a job as a waitress."

"I'm sure they'd love it, but your future can hold so much more." Patsy rose from her chair, walked over to Montana, and gave her a big hug. "Like I said before, take your time. There's no reason to rush."

Montana refilled her cup and carried it out to the back porch. Her mother was right. She needed time to get past the bitterness consuming her as well as the embarrassment at being so na**. And stupid. She still didn't know why Richard had put on an all-out campaign to woo her. Maybe because he'd figured a girl from a small Texas town would be na** enough not to know how he screwed around. And also would be so grateful for his attention and wowed by the lifestyle, she'd do whatever he told her. How stupid she'd been. She should have left when he'd started complaining about her work, telling her he'd married her so he could be her fulltime job.

Once bitten.

Then an image of Mr. Hotstuff flashed across her brain, and her body reacted at once. With no panties beneath her sleep shirt, she could feel the embarrassing wetness of her juices seeping from her p***y and the ache in her breasts. The muscles in her buttocks clenched automatically as his words came back to her-"If we ever get together again, I'm going to take you here."-and the feel of his finger at her opening.

Enough.

She needed to do something. Today was the first day of the rest of her life. She shouldn't spend it mooning over some guy she'd never see again. Okay, shower first. Then she'd drive into town and drop in at the diner. She wanted to make sure the Royals were okay.

As she drove down Main Street, she noted little had changed in all these years. Oh, stores had given themselves a facelift, keeping their facades fresh and new. The benches in front of places like Have a Cuppa, Book 'Em, Feed and Seed, and The Chuck Wagon had been replaced. Huge ceramic pots of flowers stood next to them, and colorful flags proclaiming Enjoy Life in Winslow hung from the lampposts.

The streets were busier than she expected for a Tuesday. Then she remembered a lot of people came from San Antonio and other cities to shop at the quaint stores for which Winslow was so famous. She saw three women walking into her mother's shop as she drove past and smiled.

The Sunrise Diner sat in a lot by itself about halfway down the street. It was a rectangular stucco building the Royals had decorated very attractively. When he was younger, Jeb and his sons had built a porch across the front where comfortable rocking chairs beckoned. People often took their lunch outside on a nice day. Navy shutters framed the windows, and more giant pots of flowers stood at either side of the two steps leading up to the door.

Montana took a moment to drink it all in, remembering the happy hours she'd spent here, even though she'd worked her ass off. As soon as she pushed the door open, a combination of delicious aromas hit her nostrils. The cinnamon buns for which the diner was famous, the breakfast casserole, the chili slow cooking in the kitchen for lunch. Montana's salivary glands went to work overtime.

About half of the booths were filled, as well as two of the stools at the counter, with people having a late breakfast or coffee and a cinnamon roll. Might one of them be Mr. Hotstuff from last night?

Dream on, girl. He's long gone from here, and you know it.

Maybe she'd go back to Pete's tonight. Or tomorrow night. Damn! For one insane moment, she wondered if it was possible to become addicted to s*x after one night. She really wanted to smack herself. This was so not like her. Of course, she'd been married for ten years to a real douchebag, so she wasn't sure what was like her these days anyway.

Forget about him. He's probably wiped me from his mind by now, anyway.