Reggie Lee Stafford glanced out the window of her daddy’s Hill Country convenience store just northwest of Austin, Texas. She looked out in time to see the silver BMW cruise slowly by. The top was down and the driver looked as divine as the vehicle. A bronzed god with longish blond sun-streaked hair. He radiated the attitude of a celebrity, hiding behind the lenses of his designer sunglasses. Driving with his elbow stuck out the window, he craned his neck to peer into the small store. He gazed up at the fading sign that proudly proclaimed the establishment to be Stafford’s Mercantile, a name Reggie’s grandparents had selected in 1949 when they’d first opened their doors in Rambling, Texas, and when the wares had included yard goods and hardware. Reggie leaned over the counter to stare back at the hunk in the sports car, surprised when he pulled into the parking lot and climbed out. He shoved the keys in the pocket of his faded denims and continued to gaze through the plate glass window with an air of indecision. She noted that the denims were well filled with one-hundred percent prime American beef. Well, well, well. Eye candy from the city. My lucky day. She…