LOVE IN TEXAS
“Harrison.”
“Wade Harrison.” She pulled her hand free and smiled broadly. “You’ll have to pardon me for saying so, but you don’t exactly look like you need a job.”
Wade glanced down at his clothes. He hadn’t wanted to stand out, so he’d worn his faded jeans and running shoes, but he hadn’t wanted to look sloppy, either, so he’d topped them with a white dress shirt tucked in at the waist.
“I have a T-shirt with a hole in it,” he offered, “but…” Think Texas. “I use it to wash my truck. And clean my gun.”
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