“I love it,” Annabelle said. “Want to have your shower here?”
“The room can hold up to sixty,” Jo told them.
“You wouldn’t have to limit your guest list,” Charlie told her.
“Sounds like a plan,” Heidi said happily.
Annabelle nodded. “We’ll get back to you on dates.”
“Great.” Jo took their lunch orders. Salads for Annabelle and Heidi and a cheeseburger for Charlie.
“Fries for the table,” the firefighter added, then glared at her friends. “I know you two. You’ll steal mine otherwise.”
“I would never do that,” Annabelle lied cheerfully.
* * *
“HI. I’M ANNABELLE WEISS.”
Shane looked up from the saddle he’d been cleaning and immediately came to his feet. Instead of a mousy, stern-faced woman wearing glasses, with an oversize cardigan and stockings bagging around her ankles, he stared into the slightly amused green eyes of the petite, redheaded bar dancer.
She had on one of those tight, strappy dresses women liked to wear and men liked to look at. Which was usually the woman’s plan all along. It was white, with flowers scattered all over. Skinny strips of fabric had been braided together to hold the whole thing up. The dress was fitted, following her impressive curves to just above her knee.
Technically she was covered, with not a hint of anything risqué showing. But the outline of her body was enough to bring the strongest of men to his knees. Shane would know—he was a breath or two away from going down in a heap.
His first instinct was for self-preservation. Moving forward wasn’t an option—that would put him too close to her. So he took a step back and nearly tripped over the stool he’d been sitting on. The stool started to go over. He grabbed for it, as did the woman. His fingers somehow got tangled in hers and damn it all to hell, there it was. The to-the-groin jolt of awareness, of hunger.
“You’re Shane, right?”
He inched away from her and managed a quick nod as he twisted the rag he held in his fingers.
“Heidi said you were willing to teach me how to ride.” Her expression shifted from entertained to confused, as if she was wondering why no one had mentioned he was a can or two shy of a six-pack.
“A horse,” he clarified, then wanted to kick himself. What else but a horse? Did he think she was here to learn to ride his mother’s elephant?
One corner of Annabelle’s perfect, full mouth twitched. “A horse would be good. You seem to have several.”
He wanted to remind himself that he was usually fine around women. Smooth even. He was intelligent, funny and could, on occasion, be charming. Just not now, with his blood pumping and his brain doing nothing more than shouting “It’s her, it’s her” over and over again.
Chemistry, he thought grimly. It could turn the smartest man into a drooling idiot. Here he was, proving the theory true.
Aware he was still holding a rag in one hand and leather cleaner in the other, he set both on the battered counter.
“You’re interested in pleasure riding?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even.
Annabelle sighed. The action caused her chest to rise and fall. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to rip his gaze away.
“Actually, it’s kind of complicated,” she admitted.
Complicated? He didn’t think so. She was a beautiful woman. He was a man who had to have her or the world would come to an end. What could be simpler?
Only she wasn’t talking about what he was thinking and if she knew what was on his mind, she would run him through with a pitchfork, tear screaming into the afternoon, then back her car over him for good measure. Not that he would blame her.
But he knew better. He was a regular guy looking for a regular kind of life. He knew women like her. Make that, he’d known one woman like her. He’d married her and then had been tormented all through his marriage. Women like her wanted men—all men. They weren’t happy unless the world was drooling over them. No way he was going to make the same mistake again. No falling for wild women who could turn him on with a single breath. Right now, boring sounded excellent.
“I’m a librarian in town,” she began.
“You sure about that?”
The words popped out before he could stop them.
Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Fairly. It’s my job and so far no one has told me to go away when I show up for work.”
Smooth, Stryker, he thought. Very smooth.
“I was expecting someone wearing glasses. You know. Because librarians read a lot.”
The raised eyebrows turned into a frown. “You need to get out of the barn more.”
“Probably true.”
She hesitated, as if not sure he was being funny or just incredibly slow. “Okay.”
Telling her the truth wasn’t an option. Admitting she was the sexiest creature he’d ever seen and that the reason he sounded so much like a mindless idiot was because all his blood was pooling in his groin would most likely cause her to bring him up on charges. Starting over seemed the only option.
“Tell me what you had in mind,” he said, staring into her eyes, determined not to even think about the steady rise and fall of her chest, or the way her painted toes on her tiny feet were just so darned cute. “Let me guess. You’ve wanted to ride since you were a kid?”
Annabelle laughed. “Have you seen me? Horses are big animals. Why would someone as small as me want to risk my life on the back of something that could crush me with a thought?”
As she spoke, she shifted, holding out one gorgeous leg to show him the four-inch heel on her sandal.
He supposed she’d done it to make a point about her height. All he could think was that she was small enough and light enough that supporting her weight would be easy. The image of them up against a wall, her legs around his waist as they…
He closed his fists against the visual, reminded himself that his mother knew he was meeting with Annabelle and thought about horse racing stats. When that didn’t help, he worked a couple of fractions in his head.
“Size has nothing to do with it,” he said, then wanted to hit his head against the wall. “Jockeys are small and they control fast, powerful horses.”
Amusement danced in her green eyes. “Sure. Logic. The last male refuge.”
He managed a smile. “I work with what I’ve got. So we’ve established riding wasn’t a childhood dream.”
“Hardly. Although I would have loved to be a ballerina. Anyway, I need to ride because I’m raising money for a bookmobile. We just finished up the new media center the first part of this year. It’s wonderful.”
“Isn’t a bookmobile old-school?”
“As in anyone can get anything off the internet, including a book?”
He nodded.
“I wish. We have a lot of shut-ins who can’t get to the library and don’t own computers. Older couples up in the mountains who don’t come down in the winter. A few folks in wheelchairs. That sort of thing. Right now we have a sad little van that makes trips, but it can’t hold much in the way of material. Plus, I was hoping to raise enough to have a few laptops and portable Wi-Fi, so we could introduce the shut-ins to the magic of computers. Open up their worlds.”
He hadn’t thought of anyone still being computer illiterate, but realized there was probably a fair percentage of the population either unable or unwilling to step into the electronic age.
“I’ve already picked out my dream vehicle,” she said, her voice crackling with excitement. “It’s huge and has four-wheel drive. That means it can go up into the mountains in winter.”
“How much do you need to raise?”
“A hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “That’s a lot of vehicle.”
“Some of the money will go for stocking it with books and computers.”
“And the Wi-Fi.”
“Right.”
So much for
simply handing her a check. “So how does learning to ride fit into all this?”
She smiled. “This is where we test how much you learned in history class. I’m going to ride in a ceremony celebrating the Máa-zib tribe.”
Shane grimaced. “That class was a long time ago.” He paused, then nodded as something he’d learned in fourth or fifth grade drifted into his brain. “They settled the area eight hundred years ago. Maybe more. They’re Mayan women who founded their own civilization here. And maybe there was something in the news about gold recently?”
“You were a good student.”
“Not really. I would rather have been outside.”
“Not me. I always had my nose in a book. Anyway, yes, those are the basics. At the end of summer, there will be a festival that will include authentic Máa-zib crafts and lectures, and me on a horse performing the traditional ride of the female warrior. It’s more of a dance, really. Technically it’s called the Dance of the Horse.”
“You’re going to dance on a horse?”
“No. The horse is going to dance while I ride it.”
This time Shane remembered about the stool when he took a step back. “Do you have a dancing horse?”
“Um, no. I thought maybe we could work on that, too.”
He took another step back. “You want me to teach you to ride and teach a horse to dance?”
“Isn’t that possible?”
Her gaze settled on his, rendering him immobile, so when she moved closer, he was unable to ease away. She smiled up at him and put her hand on his arm.
“Heidi said you’re gifted when it comes to horses. It’s just a little dance. A few steps. For a good cause.”
He doubted she was doing anything extraordinary. In most parts of the country, a beautiful woman touching a man’s arm was considered a perk, not the least bit dangerous. But she wasn’t just any woman. This was the one he’d seen dancing on top of a bar. The one he, for reasons of chemistry and Fate having a hell of a good time at his expense, found irresistible.
Why couldn’t she have been the cardigan-wearing boring stereotypical librarian he’d been expecting? Or maybe librarians weren’t like that at all. Maybe they were all wild, like Annabelle, and the cardigan thing was a giant joke they played on a world too self-involved to see the truth. Either way, he was lost. Lost in a pair of green eyes and a sexy smile that hit him like a fist to the gut. Only it wasn’t a fist and the parts of him responding weren’t exactly his gut.
He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. Not only because the bookmobile was a good cause but because his mother would give him a look that told him how he’d disappointed her. Despite crossing thirty a few years ago, he couldn’t stand that look.
“I’m a tough, macho guy,” he growled, then held in a groan as he realized he’d spoken out loud.
Annabelle raised her eyebrows, then stepped back. “I’m, ah, sure that’s true. Big horse man.”
He swore under his breath.
Before he could figure out how to extricate himself from the conversation and somehow recover what was left of his dignity, he heard a loud neigh from one of the corrals. He turned and saw the white stallion standing by the gate, his dark gaze fixed on Annabelle.
She turned in the direction of the sound. “Oh, wow. That horse is beautiful. What’s her name?”
“His. Khatar. He’s a stallion. Arabian.”
And a sonofabitch, Shane thought. The kind of horse who wanted to make sure everyone knew he was in charge. Khatar’s previous owner had been too aggressive, trying to break the horse’s spirit. Now Shane had to fix the mistake, which was turning out to be a challenge. But he would do it—he had to. He had way too much money riding on the physically perfect animal.
He turned back to Annabelle. Even in her four-inch heels, she barely came past his shoulder. He figured he could get her on one of his calmer geldings and have her riding in a week or two. As to the dancing, he would deal with that later. When he could speak in full sentences.
“When do you want to start?” he asked, impressed he was able to string the words together.
She turned back to him and smiled. “How about tomorrow?”
“Sure.” The sooner they started, the sooner they would be finished. Better for both of them to get her out of his life. She could go on tormenting other men and he could stop acting like an idiot. It was close enough for him to call it a win.
CHAPTER TWO
ANNABELLE DIDN’T COMPLETELY understand the science of growing fruit. Not only had she been raised in a city, her ability to grow anything was hampered by having what she cheerfully referred to as the black thumb of death. If she got too close to a plant, it visibly recoiled. If she dared to take one home with her, the poor thing withered and died within a couple of weeks. She’d tried watering, feeding, sunlight and playing classical music. She’d read books on the subject. Nothing worked. It had gotten to the point where the Plants for the Planet, a small local nursery in town, refused to sell her anything except cut flowers. Something she tried not to take personally. So the agricultural cycle of life eluded her.
What she did know was that fruit that grew on trees matured later than fruit that grew on vines, or bushes. That strawberries arrived first and that cherries, which grew on trees and therefore should have been later in the summer, were available by mid-June. She also knew that several families spent their summers living in small trailers by the vineyards and orchards. They worked the various crops and after the grapes were picked in late September and early October, they moved on.
Annabelle drove up to the circle of trailers and parked. Before she’d even opened her door, children spilled out of the trailers, jumped off swings and raced from the grove of trees shading the area. They circled her car, laughing, pulling open her door and urging her out.
“Did you bring them? Did you bring them?”
Annabelle stood and put her hands on her hips. “Bring what? Did you ask me for something?”
The children, ranging in ages from maybe four to eleven or twelve, smiled eagerly at her. One little boy darted behind her and pulled the latch that opened her trunk. Immediately the children hurried over and began searching through the bins of books she’d brought.
“It’s here.”
“That one’s mine.”
“The second and third book in the series? Sweet!”
By the time the kids had found their requested books and disappeared to begin the magic of getting lost in a story, the mothers had appeared, most carrying infants or toddlers in their arms.
Annabelle greeted the women she knew and was introduced to a few she hadn’t met yet. Maria, a slight woman in her early forties, leaned heavily on her cane as she gave Annabelle a welcoming hug.
“The children were watching the clock all morning,” she said, leading the way to a small outdoor table by the largest trailer. Maria’s husband managed the group of workers and spoke for them when dealing with the local farmers. Maria acted as unofficial “den mother” for the younger women.
“I’m glad,” Annabelle said, settling in one of the folding chairs. “When I was their age, summer was all about reading.”
“It is for them, too. Since last year, when you first found us, the little ones want books.”
After moving to Fool’s Gold the previous year, Annabelle had started driving around to explore the area. She’d discovered the enclave of trailers, had met several of the women and made friends with the children. Maria had been the first to welcome her and had been enthusiastic about her idea of bringing books to community.
This year, Annabelle had created several reading lists, based on the ages of the children. She was working on getting donations so that when the families left, they would take plenty of books with them. Enough to last until they returned next year.
Maria had already set out iced tea and cookies. Annabelle poured them each a glass.
“Leticia is going to have her baby this week,” Maria said. “Her husband is frantic.
Men have no patience with nature when it comes to their children. He asks every day, ‘Is it now?’ As if the baby is going to tell him.”
“He sounds excited.”
“He is. And frightened.” She called out something in Spanish.
“Sí, Mama,” came the response.
Maria smiled. “They’re writing down the titles of the books they took, and what they want for next time.”
“I’ll be back next week.” Annabelle lowered her voice. “I have several of those romances you like, as well.”
Maria grinned. “Good. We all like them.”
Annabelle wanted to offer more, which was why she was focused on getting the money for the bookmobile. With luck, this time next year she would be bringing a lot more than three or four bins of books in the trunk of her car. She would be able to offer free internet access. Maria and her friends could email with family members in different countries and use various web resources to supplement their children’s education.
“Blanca’s engaged,” Maria said with a sigh.
“Congratulations.”
“I told you, good men are out there.”
“Yes, in Bakersfield. You told me.” Maria’s eldest daughter had studied nursing, then moved to central California.
“He’s a doctor.”
Annabelle laughed. “Every mother’s dream.”
“She’s happy and that matters most, but yes, I like saying my daughter is marrying a doctor. Have you been to the hospital lately?”
“That was subtle.”
“You need a man.”
Just then a little boy ran up to her, a small jar in his hands. He stopped in front of Annabelle and grinned. “We found ’em and saved ’em. Because you bring us books.”
She took the jar full of pennies. “Thank you, Emilio. This is going to help a lot.”
He darted off and she carefully held the precious gift. Technically it was only a couple of dollars, but for the children who had collected the pennies, it represented a fortune.
“You’ve made a wonderful home for your children,” she said. “All of you. You should be very proud of them.”
“We are. But don’t think I’ve forgotten what we were talking about. Finding you a good man.”
Summer Nights Page 2
