Free Texas Pride by Bárbara McCauley

good.”
    Pretty good? She wasn’t serious. She couldn’t be. She waved a hand at him. “Go on,” she said, “don’t be shy.”
    He decided to start with a biscuit. They looked safe, anyway. He reached for one. It was hot and steaming as he took a bite.
    And nearly broke a tooth.
    â€œI burned the first two batches,” she said. “I guess the third time’s a charm.”
    He managed to gnaw off a small bite. It had all the charm and chewability of a fence post. “Something wrong?” she asked sweetly as he attempted to chew.
    He shook his head and reached for his coffee. The hot liquid might soak the hard chunk in his mouth enough so he could swallow. He took a sip, then froze.
    Mistake. Big mistake.
    Mouth full, unable to speak, he narrowed his eyes and stared at Jessica. She stared back innocently.
    Enough was enough.
    Jessica saw the fury building in Dylan’s eyes, but she was having too much fun to care. Cheeks puffed out, he slammed both hands on the table and stood. She moved out of the way when he walked to the counter. She bit the side of her mouth to keep from laughing when he spit the coffee and biscuit into the sink.
    â€œReally, Dylan.” She folded her arms. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
    He reached for a cup in the cupboard and poured water into it from a carafe of water sitting on the counter. He rinsed his mouth and spit again, grounds filling the sink.
    â€œMy survival depended on it,” he returned sharply, spitting several more times.
    â€œIt was a little strong, I admit, but you’re exaggerating.”
    â€œI’ve seen tar pits that weren’t as thick as what I just drank.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and grimaced.
    She was loving every minute of this. Dylan, however, was growing angrier by the minute. “I’ll get better, I’m sure. A little practice is all I need.”
    â€œNot on me, you don’t. You’ve done enough experimenting for one day.” He stalked over to her, his gaze leveled dangerously on her. “Or maybe this is payback for last night, Jessica,” he said deeply.
    Her heart began to thud heavily against her ribs. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down from his steady gaze. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
    â€œReally?” He leaned close and she caught the scent of him, a mixture of soap and man. Her chest felt tight. Her skin felt tight.
    â€œMaybe that kiss rattled you more than you want to admit,” he said, “so you decided to poison me.”
    Dylan’s eyes darkened and he moved closer still. She held her breath, angry with herself because she wanted him to touch her as much as she wanted him to pull away.
    He stopped within inches of her, then reached around her, grabbed a biscuit and threw it to Hannibal. The dog picked it up, tossed it around in his jaws a few times, then dropped it back on the floor with a clunk.
    She lifted a brow. “Don’t say one word, Dylan. Not one.”
    He smiled slowly and moved toward the doorway. “The only thing I can say about those biscuits is that I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get hit with one.”
    â€œDylan.”
    He stopped and turned.
    The first biscuit caught him square in the chest, the second glanced off his arm. Eyes glinting, he started back toward her, but Hannibal intervened with a warning bark. Jessica smiled smugly.
    Stomach growling, Dylan clenched his fists, then turned and left, wondering if that bag of chocolate-chip cookies he’d bought in town was still in his duffel bag.
    * * *
    By the end of that same day, Makeshift’s transformation had begun.
    The crew had arrived shortly after the biscuit-throwing incident, and after a brief orientation, Dylan assigned the men their tasks. As Jessica had insisted, Dylan started work on the church first. Six of the eight men ripped down boards and carted trash to a central pile