Reclaiming the Cowboy. Kathleen O'Brien

Annabelle realized with sudden gratitude, she would be a terrific ally. Ro put her hands on her hips, a sure sign she was ready to go to battle, and studied Annabelle, her eyes focused fiercely.

      “Look, Bonnie. Or Annabelle. What do you want to be called?”

      “Annabelle, I suppose,” she said slowly. She’d thought about this a lot. She didn’t want Mitch to think she was still playing games. “Or Belle. Our gardener, one of my closest friends growing up, always called me BonnyBelle. I guess that’s where I came up with Bonnie in the first place.”

      Rowena absorbed that a moment, then, with her usual pragmatism, moved on. “Fine. Belle works. So anyhow, Belle, I suspect you’re not going to want to hear this, but there’s a lawyer lady over in Grand Junction who’s been hanging around Mitch for the past couple of months.”

      Annabelle steadied her nerves. “Well, I knew he would date. I didn’t expect him to be—”

      “This isn’t just dating. Indiana Dunchik is her name. She’s gorgeous, and she’s ambitious, and she helped him patent one of his goofy inventions. A jacket that has magical properties or something.”

      Annabelle’s mouth opened. “The chore jacket? Oh, that’s wonderful, Rowena! I knew that one was a winner!”

      “No, it is not wonderful.” Rowena shook her head, as if she were talking to a child. “Focus, Belle. Believe me, I know Ms. Dunchik’s type. She’s trying to corral him, pure and simple. She wants to saddle him up and ride him all the way to the altar.”

      The altar? Annabelle’s heart took slow dragging paces, as if it had hit an unexpected patch of molasses. She felt momentarily light-headed. The altar.

      Had she waited too long?

      “But surely Mitch isn’t... He won’t...”

      “He might.” Rowena shook her head again, but Annabelle glimpsed a soft gleam of understanding behind her eyes. “He doesn’t love her, but she’s clever. She knows he’s wounded. And like any predator, she recognizes when it’s time to close in for the kill.”

      Rowena sighed, as if the thought hurt her, too—or maybe she just knew how much it would hurt Belle.

      “Anyhow,” she said, rallying. “What I’m saying is...if you really want that idiot man back, there isn’t a minute to lose.”

      * * *

      MITCH KNEW THE dinner date was in trouble when he found himself playing the anti-Bonnie game. The game’s rules were simple: every time he noticed something that was the opposite of Bonnie O’Mara, he took a swig of iced tea.

      He’d played the game on every date for months right after Bonnie left, but he’d given it up a while back, finally recognizing that even the anti-Bonnie game was just one more way of obsessing about her.

      Here he was, though, doing it again. By the time the bill came, he was on his fourth glass, and the waiter was looking at him funny. But Indiana made it so easy. The differences were endless. She was the epitome of the anti-Bonnie.

      She wore three-inch heels, where Bonnie refused to be uncomfortable and always went for flats. Drink. She wore all kinds of expensive jewelry, including those ridiculous dangly earrings, where Bonnie had one pair of pearl studs she never took off, even to shower. Drink. She ordered the most expensive thing on offer, where Bonnie always shopped from the right side of the menu. Drink.

      Indiana laughed at his dumb jokes, but she made refined chuckle noises through pursed lips, where Bonnie had found him so funny she sometimes had to cover her mouth to keep from spitting her tea everywhere. Drink.

      The waiter smothered a sigh and strode over to refill his glass again.

      Indiana waved the man away. With a smile, she reached her hand across the snowy tablecloth and touched Mitch’s knuckles lightly. “How about we go to my place for coffee?”

      Mitch summoned an answering smile, surprised at how un-thrilled he felt. Supposedly, the more points a woman scored in the anti-Bonnie game, the better. By that measure, Indiana was an A-plus. Her body was darn near perfect, too. And look at that face! The earrings kept swinging against her elegant jawline, sending out sparks of light that accented her blue eyes. Normal blue, nothing otherworldly, cryptic and mystical like Bonnie’s.

       Drink.

      “Coffee sounds great,” he said. Though he couldn’t possibly swallow coffee, or anything else, as he was swimming in tea already, he knew she had no intention of brewing anything. Coffee, said in that particular tone, with that dimpling curve of the lips, was just another word for sex.

      In fact, sex had been the foregone conclusion of this evening from the get-go. This was probably their fifth dinner, and they liked each other. A lot. Tonight, as he was leaving her office, she’d suggested a restaurant only two blocks from her condo here in Grand Junction. Their eyes met, and she had smiled with an honest, confident candor that said it all. She might as well have slapped a condom on the desk.

      And so what? He really did like her, and not just because she was helping him make a lot of money. She was smart, beautiful, worldly, divorced and straightforward. He was tired of being alone.

      If he said no to a woman like Indiana, he might as well go get fitted for a hair shirt...or a shroud.

      The starry night was cool, so he gave her his jacket. Her hand was warm in his, but her long, immaculate nails grazed his skin, so unlike...

      For crying out loud! No more of that. He was finished playing that game. If they were going to have sex, he owed it to her to be making love to Indiana Dunchik, not just the anti-Bonnie.

      But he couldn’t help thinking how different her fingers would be on his skin. Some men had fantasies about long, predatory red nails tickling across intimate parts. But he’d developed a preference for scruffy, hardworking hands.... In fact, some of the best sex he’d ever had was the minute they got in the door from work, before either of them even showered to wash the mud off.

      Suddenly, Indiana swiveled into his arms, and her face was so close it would have been rude not to kiss it. So he did. He dimly realized, by the warm temperature around them, that they must have entered the condo while he’d been distracted. He peeked between his lashes and noticed a lot of red and beige. Okay, not bad. A little impersonal, maybe, but a lot of elegance and a lot of clean.

      Her eyes were firmly shut, so he risked looking more thoroughly. Yeah, her living room was superneat and tidy. Not a speck of dust anywhere, not a cushion out of alignment. If she had hobbies or quirks, she kept them out of sight.