Blame it on Texas by Amie Louellen Page B

out with the wedding party, eating and whooping it up for the last time.
    She hadn’t talked to him all day, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t crossed her mind. Crossed was a bad term. She baked cakes for a living. She could do it in her sleep. Even with three cakes on her to-do list, memories of Ritt had sauntered in and hijacked her thoughts for the day. Not long-ago memories, but new ones. More potent than the ones from years before.
    Last night, almost making love with him. She had to keep reminding herself that he’d been drunk. But that didn’t erase the scent of him from her mind. He should have smelled like a brewery, but he hadn’t. He’d smelled like…Ritt, and that alone was enough to make her forget all the things she had promised herself.
    And then he said the worst possible thing to her and the memories came crashing back. Not the good ones, but the ones that seared her straight through.
    Ritt’s truck was in the driveway when she pulled in. She didn’t worry about parking behind him; she’d be up and out the door long before he even stirred in the morning.
    She let herself into the house, surprised to see the flicker of the television as she set her purse on the kitchen table.
    “Home already?”
    Ritt nodded. “Since it’s a day wedding, Delilah wanted everyone to get a good night’s sleep. Dark circles and pictures.” He shrugged. “You know Delilah.”
    Shelby nodded, the air suddenly thick.
    “I’m sorry about last night.” His words were soft, but carried the weight of the world.
    A small laugh escaped her. But it was sad really how much the sound resembled a sob. Shelby pressed a hand to her mouth and gathered her composure. Now was the time to start. Now was the time to harden her heart to all things Ritt. “Sorry that you kissed me or sorry that you said…” She waved a hand around, unable to repeat his words from the night before.
    “Sorry that I hurt you.”
    She wanted to scoff, tell him in a flippant tone that he didn’t hold such a power over her that mere words could wound. But they’d both know it was a lie.
    Ritt patted the couch next to him. “Quit hovering and come sit down. You look dead on your feet.”
    Shelby hesitated, unsure whether to forge a ceasefire or protect her heart. But his expression was tired, his mouth pulled down at the corners. Could it be that he truly was sorry for the hurtful words that put a stop to what could have been the second-biggest mistake of her life?
    She took a couple of hesitant steps then sank down into the armchair across from him. It was the first time she’d been off her feet since the early morning. She’d eaten lunch standing up while a cake baked. They needed constant attention since she was working with a regular oven, and she didn’t have time to make any mistakes. Her knees popped, and her stomach growled. She’d skipped dinner altogether.
    Ritt rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, coming back in a few minutes with a plate full of chicken and pasta and a can of Coke. “I can’t have the neighbors thinking I’m starving you.”
    Shelby smiled with gratitude and accepted the plate. Mentally she pushed away the thoughts of how long this fragile truce could last between them. “Where’d you get this?”
    “Leftovers from the rehearsal dinner.”
    “Yummy.” She polished off the food in no time, sitting with Ritt and watching some late-night show on television. She had a feeling he’d turned off the game for her. But she couldn’t dwell on that. Him catering to her tastes seemed too intimate by far.
    Suddenly the room seemed smaller and warmer. She snatched up her plate and took it to the kitchen, needing space from him once again. Perhaps they couldn’t have this, a civil separation, a relationship squashed in the middle between red-hot lovers at each other’s throats.
    Needing something to do to keep her away from him, she washed the plate. And then the rest of the dishes in the sink.
    “You