Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)

“You can get started that fast?” Annabelle asked, taking a seat.

“If I get a little cooperation. This one knew everything he wanted in the stable, down to the paint color in the office. But I’d swear, he’s never been in a house before.”

“I’ve been in them,” he grumbled, settling next to Annabelle, but being careful not to lean in too close. “I’ve never built one. There’s a difference.”

“Tell me about it.” She handed Annabelle a printed list of questions. “Get me the answers to these and I’ll be a fan forever. Before you leave, if possible.” She started toward the door. “Try to keep the yelling down.”

“We won’t yell,” Annabelle told her.

Jocelyn grinned. “Then you haven’t done this before, either. Trust me, honey, there’s always yelling.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

Annabelle drew the plans toward them. “It’s your house. We’re not going to argue.” She turned and smiled at him. “Because you’re going to listen to everything I say, right?”

Her gaze captured him, holding him in place. Not that he wanted to go anywhere. “Not likely.”

She chuckled, then turned her attention to the drawings. “Okay, the house. It’s nice. I like all the windows. There’ll be plenty of light in the winter. Big master. Good his and hers closets.” She shifted slightly and her hair slipped off her shoulder to rest on the back of his hand.

The curls tickled and teased, making him want to weave his fingers through the strands. Even without trying he could breathe in the scent of her. He swore silently, reminding himself he had to maintain control.

“Hmm.” She pointed to the kitchen. “This isn’t going to work. Look at where the pantry is. Around behind the refrigerator? That’s going to be a pain. And this wall here, closing everything off.”

“You need the wall for cabinets.”

“You need a wall for cabinets. There’s a difference. The kitchen itself is great, but it’s all catawampus.”

He drew back and grinned. “It’s what?”

“Catawampus? Askew. Turned around wrong.”

“I know what the word means.”

“I was trying to talk in cowboy terms. So we could relate to each other.”

“You don’t think we’re relating now?”

Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part but he would swear she leaned a little closer. And that her lips parted as she drew in a breath.

“I do, but I wanted to make sure.” She blinked a couple of times and turned her attention back to the plans. “All you’d have to do is shift everything ninety degrees. Then the kitchen would be open to the family room and the sink would still face a window. The pantry would be accessible, like this.”

She picked up a pencil and drew a couple of quick lines.

He was more intrigued by her reaction than what she was doing. Was it possible that she felt it, too? The connection? Talk about a game changer. Not that he was looking to get involved, but there was a whole country of possibilities between interested and involved.

“I’ll talk to Jocelyn,” he told her, still watching her as he spoke.

“You and I should probably schedule some time in the home improvement store so I can get an idea of what you like. For finishes and fixtures. That will help me narrow down the choices. I know everyone is crazy about granite, but I think there are a lot of manmade finishes you could consider. They’re so easy to take care of.”

More time with her? “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.”

She turned toward him. Their faces were inches apart. Her mouth called to him in ways that left him hungry and determined. He wanted her and if she felt the same way—

“Shane?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of Charlie?”

It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Charlie Dixon?”

“Yes. She owns Mason. You’ve met her. What do you think of her?”

Of course he knew Charlie. He took care of her horse. “In what context?”

Annabelle smiled. “Romantically. Would you like to go out with her?”

He’d been thrown from his share of broncs, but never had he landed on his ass like this. He stared at Annabelle, wondering what he’d done to deserve it. All he wanted was a regular kind of life with a normal woman. Someone nice and caring, someone he would be faithful to and take care of. Was it asking too much?

With that description, Charlie should be exactly who he wanted. She was a walking, breathing definition of sensible. Instead he was driven mad by the bar-dancing, horse-whispering redhead in front of him.

“Shane?”

He did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed her by her shoulders, pulled her a couple of inches closer and kissed the hell out of her.

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