remembered the sheriff’s assortment of lean muscles. Her mouth went dry. “His stomach is actually quite flat.”
“No teeth?”
A picture of his devastating smile flitted through Brenna’s mind. “He has beautiful teeth.”
“Got a real honker, huh?”
“Granny, will you stop?” Brenna placed her hands on her hips as she fought back a smile. “He doesn’t have a big nose. And even if he did, I doubt that it would detract from his good looks.”
“Ah-ha!” Abigail cried triumphantly. “Now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty. He’s that good-looking, huh?” She gave Brenna a wink and a wicked grin. “I’ll bet he’s a hell of a kisser, too.”
“Granny—”
“Are you going to need the car tonight?” Abigail asked, suddenly.
Dazed at how fast her grandmother had changed subjects, Brenna shook her head. “No, I can walk to class. Why?”
“I wanted to drive down to Alpine with one of my new friends.”
“That will be nice,” Brenna said, glad her grandmother had made friends so soon after their move to Tranquillity. “What do you have planned?”
Abigail’s grin turned wicked. “We’re going cruising for a stud muffin for you. Any preferences?”
“Granny, please don’t start in again with the you-need-a-husband routine.”
“Oh, lighten up,” Abigail said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just going to a movie. Want me to drop you off at the town hall?”
Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. She was never quite sure when the woman was serious and when she wasn’t. “No, thanks. It’s not far, and I need the exercise.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “I can’t figure out why you’re so concerned about staying in shape if you aren’t interested in attracting a man.”
“Granny—”
“Okay. I’ll shut up for now,” Abigail said, glancing at her Mickey Mouse watch. “Time to pick up my friend.” She propelled herself from the chair and started into the living room. Turning back she shook her finger at Brenna. “Just remember I’d like to have a great-grandchild before I’m too senile to appreciate it. And that Sheriff Antler—”
“Chandler.”
“Whatever,” Abigail said, waving her hand. “He sounds like a great prospect for the father.”
With that parting shot, Abigail breezed from the room in a flurry of hot-pink nylon and orange curls, leaving Brenna to wonder what sort of ridiculous fantasies her grandmother would start weaving about the town’s insufferable sheriff.
Enjoying the mild, southwest Texas weather as she walked the short distance to the center of town, Brenna admired the rugged Davis Mountains a few miles away. Draped in the purpled shadows of early evening, the view was breathtaking and she forgot all about Abigail’s matchmaking attempts as she focused on the nervous anticipation filling every cell in her body.
She took a deep breath to help settle the butterflies in her stomach and tamped down the need for something chocolate. She was going to do this. She was going to dig down deep inside and find the courage to share her love of handmade crafts with the women of Tranquillity. It was a big part of her plan to reinvent herself and she wasn’t going to wimp out now. Besides, Tom had told her several times in the course of their four-year relationship that her dream of starting her own business and teaching Folk Art was silly and unprofitable. Brenna clenched her teeth. She had come a long way in the year since Tom decided that he had more in common with a woman in his law class than he had with her. But she still had a few things left to accomplish. She had every intention of proving him wrong about her teaching Folk Art, as well as his prediction that she’d never break her habit of reaching for something chocolate whenever she became nervous or upset.
By the time she reached the community room in the town hall, more than two dozen women milled around the display she’d set up earlier in the day, while others had already found a place for themselves at the work tables. Thrilled by the number of people in attendance, Brenna smiled as she walked into the room. Her only regret was that Tom wasn’t around so she could tell him how wrong he’d been.
“My dear, this is the best thing that’s happened to Tranquillity in decades,” Mrs. Worthington said, stepping forward. “I just know you’ll help add culture to our little community. It’s something I’ve sorely missed since I married Myron and moved from the East.”
Brenna smiled. Cornelia Worthington was the mayor’s wife, chairwoman of the Beautification Society and self-appointed matriarch of Tranquillity. Her approval could make or break Brenna’s classes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Worthington,” she said slowly, searching for the most tactful way to explain that Folk Art painting wasn’t in the same category with Rembrandt or van Gogh. “But I’m afraid this class will fall short of the benefits you have in mind. It’s considered more of a craft than fine art.”
“Oh, what a dear,” Mrs. Worthington said, turning to the ladies behind her. “She has such a modest attitude for someone so immensely talented. I’m so glad I discovered her and persuaded her to instruct this class.”
Brenna barely managed to keep her mouth from dropping open. She practically had to beg the woman for the use of the room, since it was overseen by the Beautification Society.
“Ladies, if you’ll please take your seats, we’ll get started,” she said, shaking her head and walking to the front of the room.
“Mildred, what took you so long?” she heard Mrs. Worthington call to a late arrival.
“My car broke down on the way home from work,” the woman said, sounding flustered. “Fortunately, Dylan passed by on his way to the poker game over at Luke’s and offered me a ride.”
“Dylan!” Mrs. Worthington’s voice turned to syrup. “It’s simply marvelous to see a man take an interest in the arts.”
At the mention of the sheriff’s name, Brenna cringed and slowly turned around. Sure enough, there the man stood, leaning against the door frame, a self-assured smile plastered on his masculine lips. His confidence grated on her nerves and reminded her of their earlier confrontation.
But they were on her turf now. Things were going to be vastly different from the first time they’d met.
Dylan swallowed hard when he noticed Brenna moving toward him. He was having the devil of a time accepting the way she looked now, as opposed to earlier. If he’d thought she was cute then, in that hideous, old-fashioned get-up, he’d sadly underestimated her attractiveness.
He no longer had to wonder about the curves hidden by yards of fabric, or the length of her hair. Hell’s bells, he almost wished he did. It would definitely be easier on him than the reality he faced now.
Her light blue shirt loosely caressed high, full breasts, while her faded jeans outlined nicely shaped legs and hips that swayed slightly as she walked. Her copper hair, shot with gold, brushed her waist and looked so soft, his fingers burned to thread themselves in the silken
