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         The unfamiliar weight of Wulf’s hand on her shoulder, however, began to generate a host of other sensations. His hands fascinated her—the square-cut nails on long strong fingers and the dark, fine hairs on the back of his hand, perched so tantalizingly close to her face. What would his hand feel like on her cheek?
         Red joined the group and the conversation shifted to the weather, oil prices here and abroad, and, of course, Texas politics. A late afternoon tour of the ranch in the shiny red Bronco rounded out the day.
         Red’s eyes crinkled with humor as he showed them the pen behind the house containing twelve longhorn steers. When they walked up to the pen, the animals shuffled over, bumping against each other but somehow never harming themselves with their wickedly long horns.
         “We named ‘em after the twelve apostles,” Red explained. “See that scraggly one over there? We call him Judas.” Although Judas wasn’t very pretty, he still liked being scratched between the ears as much as the rest of them. Mercy laughed, wondering how anyone as powerful and rich as Red could act and sound so much like a country bumpkin.
         Dorie smiled as if she knew exactly what Mercy was thinking. “Don’t look at me, honey. I can’t do anything with him.”
         Red chortled, his Texas accent deepening. “She don’t always appreciate my wit. But then she’s one of them women who graduated from A&M before they allowed women in. Her pa was an English professor. She took school real serious.”
         “It was a crying shame the way the English Department was treated at A&M for so many years,” Dorie interrupted, grimacing. “I’m not an A&M fan even if I did graduate from there.”
         After a huge supper of barbecued brisket, pinto beans with jalapenos, and German potato salad, Red waved good night. “Walk around, but don’t stay up late. We tee off at seven in the morning. It’s cooler then.”
         “I hope you are right,” Wulf said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. He’d already rolled his sleeves up as far as they would go.
         The sun was down and the temperature had dipped a good ten degrees. Thank God, Mercy thought. Wulf already generated too much heat for her comfort. It surprised her that his height didn’t bother her. Instead, it made her feel incredibly feminine and petite. The boy in college had been tall, she remembered with a shiver, but Wulf’s height wasn’t threatening, just unnerving.
         She was getting used to them touching and tonight his large hand felt warm and companionable. Of course, hands were as innocuous as the weather. Unlike other body parts. The thought jolted Mercy.
         “We don’t need to hold hands anymore. No one is watching us,” she said, starting to pull her hand free.
         He looked down at their joined hands, then at her. “I like holding your hand. Does it bother you?”
         “N–no.” The silence between them lengthened. She lifted his hand and studied it. “Your hand is awfully callused for someone who has an office job.”
         “My calluses are from six months on an oil rig in Prudhoe Bay.”
         “Oh. I didn’t know executives did things like that.”
         “I do,” he said with pride. “We have production problems. I was…” He groped for the word. “ Sturungsucher ?”
         “A troubleshooter?”
         “ Ja , that is it. Very hard work.”
         “With the time in Prudhoe Bay and then traveling back and forth between Germany and Dallas, I guess you didn’t have much time for a social life, did you?”
         “Nein,” he said, laughing. “No,” he corrected himself immediately.
         “Maybe,” she began, feeling her way, “we can remain friends after this is over.”
         “ Ja . Friends.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I like that.”
         Cicadas whirred in the mesquite trees, crickets chirped in the long