Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(53)

took notice of him as he stopped in front of the massive sculpture, prominently

displayed beneath a circular skylight. A rusty chain enclosed the art—a horse head

carved from wood, surrounded by twisted sections of metal of varying heights, sizes and

finishes that gave the impression the horse was running through tall, native grasses.


“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”


He recognized that sultry voice immediately. Ben spun around so fast he made himself

dizzy and couldn’t believe his eyes. “Angel?”


Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Bennett? You… What are you doing here?”


Before he could answer, a hearty hand landed on his shoulder. “Ben! I haven’t seen

you in a coon’s age.”


Dazed, he glanced at Bill, his insurance agent, who’d inserted himself between him and

Angel.


Bill said, “What brings the elusive Ben McKay to town?”


“Checking out Carter’s latest piece of art.” Now go the f*ck away.


“So you’re not shopping for a new bank?”


“Maybe.” Ben kept his focus on the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.


Bill kept yapping. “I reckon Steve Talbot would take issue with that, since the McKays

have always banked with Settler’s First. Although this bank president is much prettier

than Steve.”


“You’re president of this bank?” Ben said with total shock.


Her eyes turned frosty.


“Look, Bill, how’s about you don’t mention to Steve you saw me in here and I won’t

mention to him I saw you?”


“Deal. See ya around, McKay.”


Ben moved close enough Angel had to look up at him. “We need to talk, Madame

President.”


“I’m very busy—”


“I don’t wanna make a scene, but I will.”


The pink on her cheeks deepened.


Ben’s gaze wandered over her tousled golden-brown hair, streaked with amber, that fell

past her shoulders. “Don’t ever wear that ugly-ass wig again. Jesus, woman, I like

the look of you. So real. So pretty and soft.”


“Don’t.”


“Don’t what? Pay you a compliment?”


“Don’t come into my place of business and act like you control me here.”


Stung, he bit off, “Then I would appreciate ten minutes of your time in private.”


“No.”


“Really? You’re gonna turn away business? Because I want to open an account.”


“Fine. Bonnie can help you with that—”


“Nope. I want you to help me. Only you. So we doin’ this or what?”


Her eyes still held a warning. “Five minutes.”


As they headed toward her office, a voice called out, “Ben?”


He faced a miserable-looking Rielle. “You done already?”


“Yes.”


“Give me ten minutes.” He extracted his keys from his pocket and handed them over. “

You can wait in the truck.”


Rielle’s gaze moved between them. “Okay.”


Inside a glass-fronted office, she skirted the desk, offering a curt, “Shut the door