Being around Nick Conway would lead to something different from comfort. Sex. Red hot sex. The kind that wakes you from a sound sleep. And that was anything but comfortable.
Nick’s return to the booth interrupted those wayward thoughts. He carried a tray laden with food and two tall Styrofoam cups. He began to unload everything off the tray and set it on the table. Two baskets of hamburgers and fries and a couple of Hogg’s locally-famous fried pies enclosed inside parchment wrappers. Folded over, they were not much smaller than a dinner plate.
She stared at the array of food. “That’s a lot of food. I don’t see a small hamburger.”
“A child’s hamburger is the size of a quarter. Not enough to eat. I got you a regular size.”
Controlling jerk. Sandi made a huff of annoyance. “You also got fried pies. What kind?”
“Apricot. The kind my granny used to make when I was a little tyke. Hogg’s uses lard in the crust, just like my granny did. That’s why they taste so good.”
She made a mental groan. “A fried pie made by these people probably has about five thousand calories.”
His brow scrunched into a frown. “You’re not gonna eat a fried pie after I got you one?”
She shook her head. “I am not. I did not ask for a fried pie. You obviously aren’t concerned with your diet, but I try to limit the fat and carbs I eat. I don’t want to have a heart attack before I’m thirty-five and I want to be able to pass through the front door of my shop.”
He scooted the fried pie across the table toward her. “One little fried pie is not gonna give you a heart attack or put twenty pounds on you. Maybe a dose of sugar will put you in a better mood.”
She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Now that food was before her, she really was hungry. She stared at the pie, tempted. “Welll...I know the fried pies are good. I’ve had them before. My aunt always buys them.” She peeled back the wrapper, broke off a small corner, put it into her mouth and chewed the heavenly confection, its flaky layers rich with lard and butter and perfectly fried to a golden brown. She wanted to just grab it and gobble it up, but she couldn’t let herself be so undisciplined.
He was looking at her as if he was eager for her to say something, so she complied. “Do you know that even after all these years, this place still claims that Elvis Presley loved their fried pies? And they claim they shipped them to him in Memphis many times.”
Nick looked around at their surroundings, laughing. “I’ve been hearing those Elvis stories ever since I first moved here. You believe that stuff about him eating here?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t figure out how and why a music icon like Elvis Presley ever even passed through a burg like this.” Nick unwrapped his thick burger and bit into it, smearing chili all the way to his nose. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth while he chewed.
“It was in the early days of his career. Before he got so famous.” Sandi broke off another tiny bite of the fried pie and munched on it, barely restrained herself from moaning with delight. “They say his bus had mechanical problems and he had to stay here overnight. He fell in love with Hogg’s food. He wasn’t the healthiest eater, you know.” She broke off a larger chunk of the pie and popped it into her mouth.
Nick’s wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ve never kept up with Elvis. But if he ever really came in here, I can believe the part about him falling in love with the food.”
She picked up a Styrofoam cup, lifted the plastic lid and looked inside. “What’s this?”
“Iced tea. No sugar.” He settled back into the seat and gave her another cute grin, as if he were proud of his cleverness, which did nothing to help her erase a naked Nick and a big ding-dong from her mind.
All at once, the coincidence of running into him again and in Salt Lick, of all places, dawned on Sandi. Located sixty-five miles southwest of Midland, the tiny town wasn’t exactly on the beaten path. “What are you doing in Salt Lick, Mr. Conway?”
“I work here. Out at the Flying C.”
Naturally, he worked on a ranch. He was obviously a cowboy. “Oh. That’s the ranch owned by the local rich guy. My aunt and her partner know him.”
“I imagine everybody in town knows Harley. Probably everybody in Texas. Yeah, he’s rich. More oil wells than he can count. But he’s still a good guy.”
“I thought you lived in Midland.”
“Not right now. I grew up in Midland though. I’ve still got my place up there. I’m here most of the time, but I go up there when I get a chance. Mostly on weekends.”
“What kind of place?”
“Some grazing land and a house and a barn. What are you doing here?”
“Visiting a relative. I brought a parrot down to my aunt.”
“A parrot,” he said, a flat expression on his face. “You mean a big colorful bird?”
“I had to find him a good home.” From out of the blue, a new spate of tears filled Sandi’s throat and eyes and began to slide down her cheeks. “I took him in after the SPCA rescued him. I’m a...I’m a...rescue animal foster parent.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “A what?”
“I’m a registered foster parent for unwanted animals,” she wailed, her voice hitching.
She put down her fried pie and shook her head, turned to her purse and rummaged for a fresh Kleenex. After she mopped her eyes and nose, she glanced at him. He was looking at her with
