Big Like Texas

Twice a tornado turned my life upside down. The first one put my daddy in the hospital and out of a job. It cost us our house and any chance of me going to college full-time. It blew in from the southwest of town.



The second one thundered in from the northeast — Hawk McKinley, full of New York brass and driving a coal black vintage Mustang. I should have left his fine behind on the side of the road. But momma raised me to hide my Texas sass, be a good girl — and cut my own hickory switch when I wasn't.



So I stopped and now the storm is blowing my way, another funnel cloud ready to rip through my life and all I've got to hold onto is Hawk, muscles on top of muscles, bare chested and dripping wet with small drops of rain that I want to lick from his tanned skin.



I don't think I can win his game of north versus south, but, heaven forgive me, I aim to play.