“You always rant about her. You went on and on about how bad she was then told Annabelle she was just like her.”

Shane thought longingly of the coffee he hadn’t had yet. “Not just like her.”

“Close enough.” Rafe swore under his breath. “I don’t like Heidi upset.”

“I’ll apologize.”

“To Annabelle?”

Shane nodded. Maybe it wouldn’t be an issue. Maybe Annabelle would avoid him now.

“She’s nothing like Rachel,” Rafe told him. “Rachel was a bitch. Annabelle’s nice.”

“Not in personality,” Shane said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. It’s more…”

Rafe waited, but Shane just shook his head. No way he was going to confess that the need to possess was just as powerful as it had been with his ex-wife. The difference was, he enjoyed spending time with Annabelle.

“She’s dangerous,” he said at last.

“What? She’s a librarian!”

“Have you seen her?”

“Sure. Short with red hair. So what?”

So what? She was temptation incarnate. “The librarian thing is a cover.”

Rafe groaned. “You’re in trouble. Just fix it. I don’t want to have to hear about what a jerk you are from Heidi.”

Shane nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

If only he could figure out exactly how.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANNABELLE TOLD HERSELF she would be the bigger person. Possibly for the first time in her life, she thought, managing a smile. Maybe she was making too big a deal out of what Shane had said. It’s just he’d obviously hated his ex and then to have him say she reminded him of the woman had been disconcerting. And okay, it had hurt a little.

“I need to learn to ride,” she said aloud, then squared her shoulders and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “For the bookmobile.”

She needed to keep her eyes on the prize. The festival to raise the money would culminate with the dance. She was the one who had said she would learn to do it. Someone had anonymously donated the money for riding lessons. It’s not like she was going begging.

Someone tapped on the driver’s side window of her parked car. She yelped and jumped in her seat, then saw Shane standing there.

Her first instinct was to drive back home. But she was already here and they needed to come to terms.

She hit the button to lower her window. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

She tried to tell if he was pleased or disappointed, only his dark eyes were impossible to read.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “About what I said. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“How did you mean it?”

He hesitated, then drew in a breath. “Can I pass on that one?” He reached through the open window and pulled up the lock, then opened her door and held out his hand. “I’d like very much to teach you to ride and teach one of the horses to do the dance. If you’ll accept my apology.”

If she’d been standing, she would have stomped her foot. Now he was being all nice and conciliatory. If she said no, she would look like she was pouting. Plus, she really did need the lessons.

“That would be great,” she said, and placed her hand in his.

For a second, she thought she felt a little tingle, but told herself she was imagining it. It had to be static electricity.

He helped her out of her car, then released her.

“I’ll get Mason,” he told her as he closed her car door. Shane suddenly stiffened and swore under his breath.

She turned and saw Khatar trotting toward them.

“I changed the lock on his gate,” Shane said. “Stay back.”

Annabelle ignored him and walked toward the beautiful white stallion. “He’s smart and handsome. Aren’t you, big guy? Who’s a clever horse?” As she spoke, she reached up and stroked his face.

Khatar stepped closer, as if eager to be near. He angled his body between her and Shane, then lowered his head so he could press it against her chest.

“You’re quite the kitten, aren’t you?” She looked over his ears toward Shane. “You should let me ride him.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is it because he’s expensive? I’ll be careful. Doesn’t he need exercise? Couldn’t I do that? He’s so sweet.”

“He’s not sweet.”

If he hadn’t looked so serious and worried, she would have laughed. “You must be confusing him with another horse,” she said, and wrapped her arms around the horse’s strong neck. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

“You can’t ride him.”

There was something in Shane’s tone. Something that made her want to stick out her tongue and remind him he wasn’t the boss of her. Not exactly mature.

She told herself this was his horse and he had the right to say who could ride him and who couldn’t. Still, Khatar was so friendly.

“Could I try?” she asked.

“No.”

“For a minute?”

“He’ll throw you then trample you.”

“He won’t. He adores me. I’ll show you.”

She was standing by the fence, with the horse between her and Shane. In one quick move, she climbed onto a lower rung and reached for the horse. Khatar moved toward her, turning to give her a better angle. Shane’s entire body stiffened as his face went white.

“Annabelle, don’t!”

His tone was frantic. She realized he wasn’t kidding about his concern. She started to get down, only to slip on the wood and start to fall. She caught herself by grabbing onto Khatar. He stayed perfectly still, as if wanting to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

Shane came around the front of him and stared. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Dangling here,” she reminded him, her feet flailing as she started to slip.

Shane reached for her and grabbed her around her waist.

“Give me a leg up,” she said.

For a second, he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t decide. Then he guided her foot to his thigh.

She pushed against him and found herself going up and over, then settling on Khatar’s back. There was no saddle, nothing to hang on to.

“This might have been a bad idea,” she whispered.

“That’s what I said.”

Khatar started walking. She hung on with her thighs and discovered she could easily adjust to his steady rhythm.

Shane watched them, then shook his head. “You win. I’ll get the bridle and we’ll see what he’s willing to do.”

He disappeared into the barn, then reappeared with the bridle. Khatar walked over and stuck out his head toward the leather straps. Shane slid the bit into his mouth and then adjusted everything and handed her the reins.

“Go for it,” he said.

They circled the barn a couple of times. When Shane held open a gate to a corral, she urged the horse in that direction and he did as she asked.

“He would look amazing painted,” she said.

Shane winced. “I can trace his bloodlines back three hundred years.”

“It’s water-based paint. It would come right off.”

“That’s not much in the way of comfort.”

“I have a costume,” she offered. “If that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“The ceremony also includes a male sacrifice. I’m supposed to cut out a guy’s heart.” She patted Khatar’s shoulder. “Not for real, of course. Just pretend.”

“Good to know.”

“I haven’t had any volunteers.”

“Are you surprised?”

He talked her through a series of turns, then whistled the horse into a trot. The bouncing of her entire body on his bare back wasn’t pleasant, but she survived.

“Had enough?” Shane asked a half hour later.

“I think my insides have turned into a milkshake.” Annabelle pressed her hand to her stomach. “But Khatar was great. I told you he was friendly.”

“Just for you.” He grabbed the reins and led the horse to the side of the corral. “You going to be able to stand when you touch ground?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping she wasn’t lying, then eyed the horse’s bare back. “What do I hold on to as I slide down?”

“I’ll catch you.”

She was less sure about that. Mason had been big, but at least there’d been a saddle to grab on to. With Khatar there was only his mane and she had a feeling that his good mood would disappear if she used that to lower herself to the ground.

Deciding she would be safer seeing what she was about to crash into, she swung her leg over his neck and sat facing Shane, then pushed off Khatar and slid down and down until her feet touched packed earth.

For a second she managed to keep her balance. Then her thighs gave way and she started to collapse.

“Didn’t we already do this?” Shane asked, grabbing her around the waist and holding her up.

“I thought I would do better,” she admitted, putting her hands on his shoulders and willing herself to stay upright.

The tingles she’d experienced earlier returned. Along with the zings and zips from the last time she’d been riding. Although it wasn’t the riding that seemed to be a problem. It was being held by Shane. And maybe problem wasn’t the right word. Complication seemed like a better fit.

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.