Sweet Southern Nights (Home In Magnolia Bend Book 3) by Liz Talley Page B

stuff,” he said, curving an arm around her waist, jerking her forward as a drunk guy stumbled their way. The weight of his hand felt good on her hip. Deep down even the most vehement feminist had to innately appreciate the protective instincts of a man. Or maybe it was just Eva who felt that way. She spent much of her time as one of the guys, subject to discussion on bodily functions and field-dressing a deer. Being treated like a woman felt nice every now and then.
    “You okay?” Jamison asked yet again, concern etched on his handsome face.
    “I think you’ve asked me that four times within the hour. Must be the whole doctor thing spilling over,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest.
    His forehead crinkled, but he didn’t move his arm from around her waist. Instead, he grinned at her, his blue eyes growing almost smoky. “You know, you’re right. I say that a lot, but then again, I have to. Most women aren’t too comfortable with me. Hazard of the profession, and another reason I’m really glad you haven’t scurried away from me.”
    “Maybe if I wore a paper gown?”
    He snorted.
    “Besides, you’re the pot of honey,” she teased.
    He stared at her lips, and Eva prepared herself to be kissed, but Jamison must have decided against it. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Honey?”
    Eva tamped down the disappointment mixed with relief. She didn’t know if she wanted him to kiss her or not—or if she was insulted or not.
    “Yeah, you’re a honey pot. Women swarm like bees around you.” She raised her voice into falsetto. “Dr. French, you’re so wonderful. Buzz, buzz, buzz.”
    That made him laugh, and the man looked good laughing. His eyes crinkled behind the lens of his glasses, and his bright teeth flashed against his tan skin.
    He said nothing more, merely turned his attention to the stage where a slim woman with dark hair, a lithe body and a helluva voice worked the microphone. The crowd cheered as the band shifted into a new song that showcased the singer’s raspy voice.
    “She’s good,” Eva said.
    “Yeah, that’s Morgan Cost.”
    “No kidding! She was married to Jake’s sister’s ex-husband.”
    “I didn’t know she married Cal,” Jamison said, clapping along to the song. “I mean I knew he ran off to California with her a few years back. Anyway, Morgan released a record last month, and it’s getting good airplay on country music stations. There was even an article in the
Baton Rouge Advocate
last week.”
    “Huh,” Eva said, impressed by the woman’s voice but little else. Morgan had run off with Abigail Orgeron’s husband in the middle of a party they’d been throwing. Jake’s sister had been left with a daughter, a huge mortgage on a bed-and-breakfast and a scandal. In Eva’s eyes, Morgan would always have that black mark against her, no matter how talented she was.
    She hadn’t known Jake back then, but he still got steamed when someone brought up the topic of Calhoun Orgeron. Eva didn’t like the man much, either, especially since he’d already hit on her at church earlier that year when he’d dragged his butt back to Magnolia Bend after Morgan had dumped him.
    “Well, she’s definitely a good singer. I’ll give her that, I guess,” Eva said, joining Jamison on the clapping.
    Hours later, after eating jambalaya, drinking another cold Abita beer and sharing a sno-ball with Jamison, who obviously didn’t mind swapping spit in that manner, Eva stepped onto the porch of the cute bungalow she’d bought in the Laurel Creek subdivision. Jamison trailed behind her, still giving off the breezy yacht-club vibe. The man’s pants weren’t even creased, and no sweat ringed the undersides of his shirtsleeves.
    Eva pulled at the filmy material of her romper. The silly thing, bought in a moment of insanity, was plastered against her chest, advertising the wares a little too well. She found her house key and stuck it in the door. “Thanks for inviting me,