You could have heard a proverbial pin drop on the floor of the crowded bar in the wake of her high powered challenge.

Zoe had been slightly tipsy not full on drunk after doing multiple shots of bourbon but uninhibited enough to finally call Wade out on his bullshit once and for all. He'd been like an annoying gnat that continually tried to steal a teensy sip of sweetness from her tender flesh until Zoe was perpetually forced to swat him away- time and again- because the rogue wasn't really serious about her. At least, not past his single minded dedication to wooing her into his bed for a meaningless dalliance and she was sick of it, completely fed up of the incessant sexual banter that made her feel oddly cherished on the one hand and mundanely common on the other.

Fueled with more than her fair share of liquid courage, Zoe stood in the center of the Rammer Jammer surrounded by avidly curious townsfolk that certainly knew all about who Harley Wilkes' illegitimate daughter was by now and even more about the resident bad boy that she was verbally dueling with even if the new doctor hadn't quite figured all the locals out yet. Her honeyed tone dripped a reckless dare that would undoubtedly be sticky and messy in the aftermath but, in the rash heat of the moment, she didn't give a damn for once and boldly repeated, "Well, are you gonna kiss me or not?"

"Now, hold your horses there, Doc," his normally affable face was suddenly etched with panicked concern. "You ain't been dippin' into the boxed wine again have ya?"

"No, you lackadaisical buffoon," she brashly returned with just the tiniest hint of an inebriated slur. "You've been uttering not so subtle invitations and slipping me your contrived little one-liners since the day I arrived here in Bluebell and I'm sick and tired of it. So, Wade," she drew out his name in a manner oddly reminiscent of their initial encounter when their tongues had oh so deftly tangled, "either ante up on all of your cocksure innuendos right now or fold for good because I'm not going to be your favorite side-show amusement from the big city anymore. I'm done dealing with all of your immature taunting and teasing. If you're serious; pucker up."

It felt like a light breeze stirred from all of the swiftly raised eyebrows that lifted in well-timed unison as her audacious statements reverberated throughout the local watering hole like an echo at the Grand Canyon. This exchange was certainly going to be the talk of the town regardless of the final outcome but Zoe wasn't going to let that deter her a bit since she couldn't handle another tension fraught encounter with her charismatic neighbor that was of no significance to him but secretly left her off kilter every time.

"Damn it, Zoe," he uncharacteristically balked at the confrontation she'd forced, "this ain't the time nor the place for all of that."

"Just what I thought," the normally responsible physician pursed her lips in chagrin and sighed out her disappointment, "all false bravado and faux Southern charm but no real game when it counts."

There were a few sporadic snickers here and there from their audience that popped off like bottle rockets amid the thick silence before Wade tried to upstage her derisive comment with his drawling humor, "Damn, girl, you're sure walkin on a slant right now, ain't ya."

Uncertainly, Zoe looked down at her favorite rain boots all the more confused by his remark since she was definitely flat footed at the moment but that still didn't help her figure out just what he was trying to convey with what was probably another backwoods colloquialism she'd yet to master. Instead, she remembered what he hadn't said yet and, stubbornly, demanded, "Is that a no then, Wade?"

"I ain't kissin ya when you're all," the bartender awkwardly waved his hands back and forth at her unable to find the right turn of phrase in his flustered agitation, "all... Like that."

He finished with a gravelly, self-satisfied nod as Wade resolutely folded his arms over his chest in a way that was a universal signal from men worldwide that what they'd said was supposed to make total sense but somehow it only managed to bemuse, befuddle, bedazzle, be something her instead.

"When I'm all like what, Wade," she sauntered toward him; her slow gate unusually loose, free, and wholly feminine for a change instead of harried New Yorker. An expectant hush swept across her senses from their fascinated onlookers, the anticipation boosting her fortitude as Zoe brushed one short, blunt nail down the open collar of his button-down shirt, lightly raking her fingertip over the molten texture of his well-muscled chest as she impudently whispered, "Like this?"

"Come on, now, Doc," Wade barely choked out as he desperately reached to stay her wandering hand, "you gotta stop all this nonsense now cuz you'll be regrettin it come mornin."

Suddenly, his rather obvious attempts to avoid what the cowboy Casanova had always blatantly inferred that he wanted from her made Zoe angry and she leveled, "Last call, Kinsella, it's now or never."

Uncertainty was rife between them; neither backing down from Zoe's peculiar version of chicken for a long stretch of minutes until she started to put space between their heated, nearly flush bodies once again.

"Fine, fine," his mouth fisted up in a less than gracious defeat at her final ultimatum, "But you sure better remember that you asked for this, Doc."

There was a rowdy chorus of on-lookers readily volunteering to remind the new doctor for him bright and early the next morning when Wade gently swept a skein of her silky locks back from her cheek and gingerly cradled her jaw in his calloused hand like he was holding a fine piece of her Grandmother's most fragile china. The motion was sweetly intimate, yet, possessively tender as he leaned down to softly brush his lips across her temple with chaste affection.

The quick peck shouldn't have left her so shockingly breathless but, nonetheless, Zoe was hard pressed for air when Wade pulled back slightly and shot her a crooked grin that smoldered all the way to the wanton depths of her soul. "Now, if you want somethin a little more excitin' than that, Doc, all you gotta do is ask me nice like when you're not foxed," he paused for particular emphasis, "because I need you to know exactly what you're doin' next time you get to messin' around with me."

It wasn't the crazy, unbridled passion of their first drunken kiss or the sultry distraction of their second unexpected meeting of lips but, somehow, Zoe inherently knew that this one meant a great deal more. It marked a real beginning because Bluebell's notorious rebel seemingly without a care had just proved that he could be a true gentleman, at least, with this Hart.