Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(52)

owe anyone anything.”


“Not all the McKays. Especially not those of us who’ve built houses or businesses or

bought land. I’ve got monthly payments.”


“So what do you think my chances are of getting the money?”


“Most bankers are real tight-asses in this economy. They’ll take into account that

you own the land. But they’ll also take into account if your proposed improvements

will actually increase the property value.”


Rielle sighed. “Too bad the barter system doesn’t still work with everyone.”


“No kiddin’. Speaking of…thanks for checking in on the dogs this weekend.”


“No biggie. I had nothing else going on. Rory was supposed to be home this weekend but

she had to work.”


“How’s her first semester of graduate school?”


“Good. She’s still bartending at Happy John’s three nights a week since her graduate

assistant grant only covers classes. I wish I could help her out more.”


Ben shot Rielle a sideways look. “Is that part of why you’re applying for a loan? To

give Rory money for school? Because, Ree, I gotta tell ya, your stubborn daughter ain’

t gonna be happy about that at all.”


Rielle smiled. “Like mother, like daughter, huh? Too damn independent for our own

good. Don’t worry, and don’t tattle on me. The loan is strictly for the Sage Creek.”


The remaining ride to town was quiet. The new National West Bank was an eye-catching

structure comprised of blocks of native sandstone, glass and steel. The wooden beams on

the outside added an Old West touch, as did the metal trim that would weather and rust

in the harsh Wyoming elements. It was a nice addition to the town, even when he

questioned whether the citizens of Sundance could support a second bank.


Rielle checked her make-up in the passenger mirror and slicked on a coat of Chapstick.

Fussed with her hair. Mumbled to herself and pushed up the sun visor with a decisive

snap. “Okay.” She curled her fingers around the door handle. “Ready?”


“You look ready. Knock ’em dead, tiger.”



“Aren’t you coming in with me?”


“Have you taken a good look at me? The last thing you need is them seeing me tracking

mud and shit across their brand new carpet. I’ll stay in the truck.”


Ben sank into his leather seat and pulled his hat down over his eyes, wishing he could

take a catnap. He’d had a restless night, thinking about Angel. Wondering if he’d

recognize her without that funky-ass wig. Wondering how her real hair would feel

wrapped in his fists as he f*cked her mouth. His flashbacks made the crotch in his

jeans uncomfortably tight, forcing him to redirect his thoughts.


He studied the building’s clean lines. He’d built his log house himself and

appreciated how form and function affected design, yet retained an artistic feel. As he

thought about art, he remembered his cousin Carter had been commissioned for a large

sculpture for this bank. Ben always loved seeing what works his crazy-talented cousin

created. He was already here. He might as well sneak in and have a quick look-see.


The inside of the bank was as impressive as the outside. The place was busy and no one