Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)

Which was really interesting, because wasn’t she the one looking for messy? And weren’t complications really close to a mess?

He didn’t wear a hat, she thought absently. Weren’t cowboys supposed to wear hats? Not that she minded. His dark hair gleamed in the bright sun. He wore it short enough that the slight wave didn’t turn into curls.

His eyes were made up of various shades of brown and there were crinkles in the corners from when he smiled. Only he wasn’t smiling now. He was looking serious and sexy.

She told herself not to look at his mouth. Or think about what that mouth could do to her. So she kept her gaze on his eyes, which turned out to be equally dangerous, because it seemed to her a woman could get lost in his gaze. Get lost and never find her way back.

* * *

“I WAS AN IDIOT,” Annabelle said, poking at her salad with her fork. “I stood there like a fifteen-year-old with a crush on the football captain.”

“Did you babble?” Charlie asked before taking a bite of her burger.

“No. I ran. As soon as I could safely move without my legs giving way, I ran to my car and left.”

Charlie chewed, then swallowed. “I would have paid money to see that.”

“This is not you being supportive.”

They were having a quick lunch at the Fox and Hound. Annabelle had felt the need to confess her reaction and knew she could trust Charlie to keep the information to herself. Normally she would have told Heidi, too, but with Heidi engaged to Shane’s brother, it was feeling a little too incestuous as it was.

“So you wanted to have your way with Shane,” Charlie said. “Big deal.”

“I didn’t,” Annabelle protested, then dropped her fork. “Fine. I did. But I can’t. He’s teaching me to ride.”

“So? He’s a good-looking single guy. Last time I checked, you were single. What’s the big deal? He’s not a relative or your priest.”

“No, but…” She picked up her fork again. “This was easier when I worried he’d been dropped on his head.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “All I wanted was to learn to ride well enough to do the traditional dance of the female warrior. It’s not a big dream, I know, but it was mine.”

“You’re still going to learn to ride. Shane will teach you. And if you’re very good, he’ll show you his manroot.”

Annabelle burst out laughing. “His what?”

Charlie grinned. “Okay, better. I couldn’t stand seeing you all depressed. You found a guy who probably thinks you’re hot. You want him. That’s good. Quit beating yourself up over that.”

“Manroot?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“I don’t think I want to ask where.” Her mood restored, she took a big bite of her salad.

Charlie was right. So she found Shane attractive. Lots of guys were. As to the tingles, she would think about them. Sure, he was a little too hung up on his ex, but that was all about passion, right? As long as he was totally over her. Because a man capable of that much feeling was the kind who put it all on the line.

“You’re about to launch into a recap of your pathetic love life, aren’t you?” Charlie picked up her burger. “Not every guy is your ex.”

“I know. No recap, I promise. This despite the fact that I married Lewis. I dated him, I trusted him, I thought I fell in love with him and I agreed to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Are you sorry you left?”

“No. Of course not.”

Lewis had been older, by twelve years, a somewhat successful, nearly famous author. He’d impressed her with his intelligence, his worldliness. He’d traveled everywhere, had lots of interesting stories. He was always the center of attention, so when he noticed her, she felt special. Wanted.

But she’d discovered that Lewis’s stories were more fiction than truth and that while he seemed to know about many different topics, his information was superficial at best. He’d personified the concept of all flash and no substance.

“It took me a long time to figure out he wasn’t what I thought,” she admitted. “That he never really loved me, he loved what I represented.”

“The trophy wife?” Charlie asked dryly.

“A little. Which is strange because he was always telling me that I was lucky he’d married me. That no one else would want me.”

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

“Not lately.”

“You should.”

Annabelle smiled. “You’re a good friend.”

“I know. You should be sending me gifts and tweeting about my virtues on a daily basis.” She picked up a French fry. “We all have secrets.”

“What are yours?” Annabelle asked, not expecting an answer.

Charlie shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

Annabelle stared at her. “Want to elaborate?”

As a rule, Charlie didn’t talk all that much about her past. Annabelle knew that her friend hadn’t grown up in the area. That she was from somewhere back east. There had been hints of a difficult mother and a father who had died unexpectedly. But little else.