Matthew should have anticipated a slap, but he certainly didn't expect the left hook Chanté hurled his way, nearly knocking him to the pavement.
"Asshole!"
"No, wait."
Chanté jumped back behind the wheel and nearly severed Matthew's fingers when he tried to stop her from slamming the car door.
"C'mon, Chanté. I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he shouted the lie through her window as she started the car.
Struck with the ingenious idea of launching himself onto the hood of her car to prevent her from driving off, Matthew again, reflectively, should have anticipated that this spitfire would buck him as if they were at a Texas rodeo.
Even as he lifted his bruised body from the cracked concrete to stare after a pair of glowing red taillights, he was still fairly certain that he was in love. He just had to figure out a way to get Chanté to realize that she was, too.
Without becoming a stalker.
* * *
Chanté tossed and turned throughout the night. Not because she was angry with Dr. Matthew Valentine, a man that she had known a total of one day, but at herself. Not only had she allowed a complete stranger to kiss her senseless, not once, not twice, but a mind-blowing three times—the last time she'd even allowed him to feel her up!
Maybe her sex drought had turned her into a desperate harlot looking for any sort of cheap thrill. It didn't hurt that Mr. Thrill was fine as hell and had great taste in clothes. Hell, that sweaty suit he'd had on earlier today was probably worth more than she made in a month. Not to mention the way he talked and carried himself shouted that he was not just from the opposite side of the railroad tracks, but he was from a completely different set.
Why the hell would he be interested in her?
Chanté sat up in bed and glanced around the small bedroom she'd had her entire twenty-eight years. Her parents still slept across the hall. It had always been just the three of them, pulling together, scratching out an existence in a small Texas dust bowl.
"I have to stick to my plan," she whispered to the comforting dark. The moment she settled back into bed and closed her eyes, she was instantly transported back to the college parking lot, but instead of slapping Matthew for his indecent proposal, she said yes.
* * *
The Buckeye's Motel, the only motel in a ten mile radius, looked as if it was built as a homage to the Bates Motel and decorated by someone who was clearly color-blind. And until Matthew figured out a way to win Chanté Morris's heart, it was home.
"I blew it," Matthew admitted to his oldest brother, Scott, over the phone. "I know I made fun of you when you said it was love at first sight with you and Barbara, but I'm a true believer now."
"She's that amazing?" Scott asked.
"You can't imagine." Matthew strolled across the puke-green carpet and tried to squint through two inches of dirt on the windows. "But you have to help me. How did you convince Barbara that you weren't some raving lunatic?"
Scott, a famed psychologist in his own right, chuckled at Matthew's dilemma. "You know, there's a thin line between persistence and being a stalker."
"So I've been told." Matthew turned away from the window and sighed. "Every time I'm around her, my words don't come out right. Me. A psychologist who talks to people every day and who just landed a major book deal."
"Love does that to you, bro."
"You don't understand. I've all but called the girl a two-bit prostitute. I can only imagine what she thinks of me."
"Calm down, Matt. If she is as amazing as you say, then dust yourself off and try again."
* * *
The minute Chanté pushed through the doors at Sam's Café, her regular lunch crowd was already there and grinning at her like a pack of wolves. "You guys are here early."
Earl folded his meaty arms and winked. "We wanted to see if you'd look different this morning."
"Different?"
"Yeah." He glanced around at his friends. "I, uh, dropped Dr. Valentine off at your school last night for a little reunion."
Chanté's face burned hot with embarrassment. "So you dropped him off. That doesn't mean—"
Rufus jumped in. "My nephew, Bobby, takes night classes at Kissessme. Said you and the young doctor was tonsil boxing in of front the whole school."
Damn. She hated living in a small town.
"Looks like the good doctor is going to win that bet after all," Miguel cut into the conversation.
Chanté suddenly felt as if she had been socked in the gut. "What bet?"
"You know." Miguel shrugged. "That twenty-dollar bet we all made yesterday."
"Only Dr. Valentine pitched in a cool hundred dollar bill," Henry added.
"Morning, everybody!" Matthew greeted as he entered through the doors, carrying a bundle of carnations.
Chanté rounded on him and literally slapped the smile off his face. "Asshole!"

"I take it you don't like the flowers," Matthew said numbly, blinking a few stars from his eyes.
"She likes red roses," the men at the lunch counter informed him in unison.
"I'll keep that in mind." He rubbed at his smarting jaw. "That's quite a hand you got there."
"You tried to get me in bed last night to win some bet?"
"No. I tried to get you in bed because I thought we'd have a good time." That didn't come out right.
Chanté's hands whipped across his face again.
"Ooh," the men chorused.
"Seriously, you need to start slapping me on the other side. You're going to knock a tooth out on this one."
Following his direction, she slapped him on the opposite cheek.
"Damn!" The men jumped in their seats as if they'd taken the blow themselves.
Matthew wished they had because he was clearly in the ring with someone who going for a total knockout. "Okay. Seriously. Psychology 101—hitting is not okay."
"You have some nerve! Is this how you treat women where you come from?
"Where does he come from?" Rufus asked.
After a pregnant pause, Matthew filled in the gap. "New York."
"New York City?" they shouted like the cast of a salsa commercial.
Chanté shook her head, clearly disgusted. "Just get out of here. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?" She turned and then disappeared behind the door marked Employees Only.
Matthew's shoulders slumped in despair. "Well, that went well."
"Better luck next time, sport," Earl chuckled and then mumbled under his breath. "Easiest hundred bucks we've ever made."
Matthew had his answer on who'd told Chanté about the bet. "When will my car be ready?"
"Sometime this week. Have to order an oil pump. I'll bring it to the motel when it's ready."
"Good. That will give me plenty of time." Matthew turned and exited the café with his tail tucked between his legs—for the moment.
* * *
Eight o'clock the next morning, he promptly returned to the café. This time with a single red rose he'd purchased from the gas station a mile down the road. Chanté showed up a half an hour later, spotted him and then proceeded to ignore him.
The same thing happened the next day.
And then the next.
By the time Friday rolled around, he sensed he was weakening her resolve. The only thing he had to base that notion on was the fact that she was now giving him refills on his coffee.
On Saturday, he finally received his food order just as he requested it. No burnt toast or running eggs or under*****d sausages.
* * *
Chanté found herself going from annoyed to slightly flattered. Every morning, she expected the persistent doctor to give up his quest to win her over finally and take his butt back to New York. Yet, there was a wonderful thrill at seeing him each morning in the corner booth with his red rose.
He was even becoming quite popular with the locals.
It didn't help that at night, all she could think about was being back in his arms and relishing the taste of his kiss…and enjoying a few other things, as well.
Dr. Valentine wasn't like the other men in her lunch-counter fan club. He was handsome, intelligent and articulate. Plus, there was something about the way he would look at her that made her weak in the knees.
"You know, I'm off on Sundays," Chanté finally said late Saturday afternoon.
"Oh, really?" Matthew perked up in his chair. "And what do you like to do on your day off?"
She shrugged. "Go to church with my parents and then we cook a big Sunday dinner."
"Sounds nice."
"It is." She splashed a little more coffee into his cup. "You should come."
Suddenly the café fell silent and Matthew looked around to see that all eyes were trained on them. "Is this a joke or a real invitation?"
"Well, if you don't want to go…" Chanté turned sharply from the table, feeling like a fool.
"No. No. I didn't say that." Matthew bounded out of his cheap wooden booth and raced to stand in front of her. "I'd love to come."
Chanté bit her lower lip, wondering if she had made a mistake, but then finally said, "First Baptist Church. Two miles down the road. Service starts at eleven." She smiled and maneuvered around him.
* * *
Matthew watched as she disappeared behind the Employees Only door before jabbing both hands into the air in victory.
"Don't get too excited, Dr. New York. Church with the family means you'll be meeting her father."
"So? I've met plenty of fathers."
The lunch crowd erupted with laughter.
"You haven't met anyone like this one. We call him Shotgun Leonard around here. And he's never missed a mark yet."

It was a humid Saturday night when Chanté joined her mother on the porch swing to snap beans for Sunday supper. This comfortable routine gave the women a chance to catch up with their busy lives. Alice Morris had been a nurse's aide at First Baptist Hospital for the past thirty years. The pay was lousy but she found the work rewarding.
"So when are you going to tell me about this young man from New York?" Chanté's mother asked out of the blue.
In truth Matthew's name was just on the tip of her tongue, but the question startled Chanté so she just stared at her mother, openmouthed.
"Oh, c'mon, Chanté. You know there are no secrets in this town. He broke down on the highway this past Monday and Earl has been stalling on repairing his car. He's a doctor, isn't he?"
Chanté finally found her voice. "So he says."
"You don't believe him?"
"Yeah. I believe him. It's just that…well, we didn't initially hit it off."
"That's not what I heard." Alice continued snapping beans, her face devoid of emotion.
Chanté's blazed with embarrassment. How did she not think this information would get back to her parents?
"Does Dad know?"
"I haven't asked him."
Chanté slumped in relief.
"But he was cleaning his shotgun this evening."
"Damn."
Alice stopped snapping beans.
Chanté quickly remembered her manners. "Sorry."
Her mother just stared at her. "This one is different, isn't he?"
Chanté resumed snapping beans and avoiding her mother gaze.
"This…doctor…has gotten under your skin."
It wasn't a question this time, but Chanté answered it just the same. "I can't stop thinking about him, though he infuriates me and almost always says the wrong thing."
"Sounds normal. Men always stick their foot in their mouth." Alice met and held her daughter's gaze. "Do you love him?"
"C'mon, Mama. I haven't known the man a full week. How could I know something like that?"
Her mother just smiled warmly. "Don't try to rationalize love. Leave your head out of it. What does your heart say?"
* * *
"I just need you to come looking for me if you don't hear from me after tomorrow," Matthew told his brother over the phone.
"You don't really believe the old man will shoot you, do you?"
"I laughed it off until one of the guys told me about one boyfriend who'd gone hunting with Shotgun Leonard only never to be heard from again."
"C'mon. They're just trying to spook you," Scott laughed.
"Yeah, well, this is Texas. Kick up a little dirt if I come up missing."
"You got it, bro," his brother chuckled. "Let me ask you something. Is this woman really worth all of this?"
"That's just it, Scott. She is."
* * *
All eyes were on Matthew when he walked through the doors of the First Baptist Church of Karankawa, Texas. And it wasn't just his imagination. He could hear his name being whispered by parishioners as the ushers led him to his seat.
His mood lightened considerably when he spotted Chanté and then the equally attractive woman next to her who could only be her mother. However, the tall, formidable gentleman standing next to the women and giving him the evil eye wiped the smile off Matthew's face. When they clasped hands, Matthew had no doubt that Shotgun Leonard could crush his hand with little effort.
"Valentine."
"Mr. Morris."
They stood in a stalemate until Chanté whispered to her father that he was making a scene. Mr. Morris released Matthew's hand and then made room for him in their pew. Throughout the service, Matthew could feel Mr. Morris's gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.
Judging by the smile on Chanté's face, she was getting a big kick out of all of this.
He survived the service, the whispers and the constant eyeballing to make it to the Morrises' humble home just on the edge of town for Sunday dinner.
"I don't think your father likes me," Matthew managed to whisper to Chanté before she left the two men alone in the living room.
"Don't worry. He won't shoot you on the Lord's day." She patted him on the back and then scrambled into the kitchen to help her mother set the table.
Leonard Morris, however, headed over to his gun cabinet. Five minutes later, there was enough artillery laid out to outfit a small army.
"So what are your intentions with my baby girl?" Leonard asked, rolling up his sleeves and eyeing a nine-gauge.
"Well," Matthew swallowed the large lump in his throat and rolled up his sleeves, as well. "Assuming we actually get around to going on a date, I intend to put my best foot forward and make her fall hopelessly in love with me."
Leonard stared him down.
"I mean, if that's all right with you."
"Love, huh?" He sat down and reached for his cleaning kit. "You probably think that she wants to just settle down and pump out a houseful of babies."
"No." Matthew followed his lead and began cleaning one of the guns. "It's apparent your daughter is working real hard to earn her degree. She has dreams and aspirations. I admire that. Falling in love with me doesn't mean she has to give that up."
The men engaged in another staring contest, before a smile finally hugged Leonard's lips. "Sounds good, but I think you need to tell her that."

Honey, you can't plan falling in love," Chanté's mother advised casually as they set the table.
"Who said anything about falling in love?"
"You didn't have to. There's enough electricity flowing between you two to set the state of Texas on fire. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
Normally Chanté would have a sharp retort or a smart-aleck reply ready, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
"I have school."
"There are schools in New York."
"Whoa. We haven't even gone on a date and you already have me moving to New York?"
"You can date him after you marry him."
"Marry? Mom!"
"What?" Her mother laughed at her daughter's embarrassment. "I knew I was in love with your father the moment I laid eyes on him. I'm willing to bet the same thing happened to you. Why else would you let a complete stranger kiss you for ten minutes in broad daylight?"
"Ten— How did you know how long he kissed me?"
"We've been over this. Small town."
* * *
Dinner turned out to be a larger affair than Matthew had expected. Relatives and friends showed up in droves until the place looked like one big family reunion. All of them, it seemed, had questions for Matthew. By the time the evening was over, the Morrises knew more about him than his own doctors or parents did.
"I have to admit you handled yourself pretty well with them tonight," Chanté said, as she drove Matthew back to the motel.
Matthew smiled and glanced over at her. "Does that mean we can actually go out on a real date?" He watched as her smile widened beneath the moonlight. "You know. Just you and me…alone."
She pulled into the quiet motel's parking lot and avoided his question by asking one of her own. "Where's your room?"
Matthew pointed toward the corner end of the motel. "Well, looky there. My rental car. Earl finally fixed it." He laughed. "I was beginning to think he didn't know what the hell he was doing."
parked next to the Lincoln Town Car and shut off the engine. "Guess that means you'll be leaving soon?"
Matthew turned in his seat. "Not necessarily."
* * *
Chanté didn't meet his stare, but nodded and stared at the rental car. Stick with the plan: finish school, build a career, take care of her parents and then look to settle down.
Or was her destiny sitting beside her?
"Would you miss me if I left tomorrow?"
Stick to the plan. Her instant tears not only surprised him but her, as well.
"Hey, hey." He unbuckled his seat belt and inched closer. "What are these for?" His fingers gently erased the tracks of her tears.
Stick to the plan.
"Chanté, talk to me." He moved a few stray hairs from her face and then directed her chin toward him so their gazes could meet. "If you can't come with me, then give me a reason to stay."
"Free coffee refills aren't enough?"
His soft rumble of laughter broke the tension and allowed her to relax. Yet the voice inside her head remained firm. Stick to the plan.
"It just all seems like such lousy timing," she managed to say, pulling her chin from his grasp.
Silence trailed her words and filled the car. All the while she hoped he wouldn't reach for the door handle and she couldn't bring herself to ask him to get out. Then his hand found hers to give it an encouraging squeeze.
Stick to the plan, she recited in her head.
"I had an interesting talk with your father tonight."
She smiled. "The guns didn't scare you, did they?"
"No." He chuckled. "Well, not after a while." He squeezed her hand again. "Chanté, I don't want to mess up your plans."
She tensed.
"I just want a chance to love you."
"Love?" She pulled her hand back.
Matthew's gaze remained steady. "Yes. Love. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you, the moment our lips connected. Didn't you?"
Stick to the plan.
"Has it all been just my imagination?" he asked. "Should I pack my things and just go?"
Stick to the plan. More tears surfaced and Chanté's tongue thickened until it felt as if it was choking her.
"I see," he said, and reached for the door.
"Don't go."
Matthew turned.
"It's not just your imagination." She sniffed. "I've known since that first day, too. I just…there's just so much…"
"Shh." He slid close and gathered into his arms. "Loving me isn't that hard. It certainly doesn't cost your tears."
She smiled.
"Come inside with me." At her hesitation, he added, "I'm not going to force you. But if you come, it'll mean that you want to make love to me as badly as I want to make love to you. Plus, it means that you're willing to give love a chance." With that, he turned and got out the car.
Chanté watched him as he disappeared into his hotel room and she realized she was at a crossroads. Stick to the plan or take a chance on love. With her hand on the ignition and tears streaming down her face, Chanté made her life's choice.
* * *
At the solitary knock, Matthew opened the door to reveal a bed covered with red rose petals. "Welcome, my love. I've been waiting a lifetime."
Chanté leaped into his arms. "So have I, my love. So have I."
* * *
From the back of Earl's pickup truck, Chanté's lunch-counter yahoos all lowered their binoculars.
"I guess we lost that bet," Rufus declared.
Earl nodded. "Damn New Yorkers!"