“I’ve got to stock up at Walmart,” she answered as she slathered butter on her cornbread. “Basics like cleansers, and I’m going to buy five books today because I can put them on my bookcase and not have to donate them to the next library.”

“Why couldn’t you keep them before now?” he asked.

“I’ve lived with my mother in a fifth-wheel trailer my whole life. We don’t have room except for the necessities. I was twenty-five this past August and was thinking about getting my own trailer. I already have a truck big enough to pull it, and I can have a riggin’ put in the bed to hook up to with no problem. But Uncle Haskell left me his land, and I’m talking too much.” She blushed.

“I love to hear your voice, so talk away, but I do want you to know that I would still buy that land anytime you want to sell,” Raylen said.

“It’s not for sale,” she said.

“I understand, but remember to call me if you change your mind and decide to buy that trailer. So, what did you think of the café? Are you going to really take a waitress job?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It’s tough work,” he said.

“I’m a tough woman,” she said.

Raylen chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Liz had a fork full of okra headed toward her mouth, but it stopped mid-air.

“You don’t look so tough,” Raylen said.

“Oh? What can you tell about me just by lookin’?” she asked.

He started at her forehead and scanned all the way to where the top of the table stopped his eyes, then leaned back, looked under the table, and let his eyes travel down the length of her legs to her black high-heeled shoes. She started to tell him that he was being rude and crude, but she had challenged him.

He reached across the table, picked up her hands and turned them over to look at the palms. He took his time studying them, and then said, “You don’t work with your hands. They don’t have calluses like someone who works hard for a living. They’re also not dry and wrinkled like someone who’s done a job that involved lots of water like dishwashing. You are fit, so that means you either work out at an expensive gym or exercise on a regular basis. I’d say you come from a wealthy background and don’t know jack squat about keeping house or taking care of twenty acres of land. How’d I do?”

He still had her hands in his when someone stopped at their table and laid her hand possessively on Raylen’s shoulder. “Well, hello…” A stranger to Liz drew both words out in a long Southern drawl. “…Raylen O’Donnell. Where have you been keeping yourself, darlin’? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Raylen dropped Liz’s hands. “Been busy, Becca.”

Liz liked the way her small hands had fit into Raylen’s big old rough cowboy hands, and she’d sure liked the sparks that shot every which way when he touched her. Liz wished that Becca, whoever she was, would drop dead right there in the café. The woman pushed back her blond hair but didn’t take her hand off Raylen’s shoulder. Liz had asked if he was married, and he’d stuttered like a ten-year-old who’d got caught with a Playboy magazine. But she hadn’t asked if he was engaged or had a girlfriend.