Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(94)

“Happy as I am that your unhappiness with them brought you to us, I will point out our

goal is to maintain more customer-friendly hours than bankers’ hours. Our lobby is

actually open until six during the week and noon on Saturday.”


“So now that you’ve given me the spiel, lay the paperwork on me and I’ll get it to

my office manager first thing in the morning. It’s kosher for her to swing in tomorrow

and finalize everything?”


“Absolutely. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll grab all the paperwork you’ll need.”


When Ainsley returned to the office, the doctor gave her a curious look. “You haven’t

lived here long?”


“A few weeks. I transferred from Denver.”


“I don’t see pictures of a husband or kids decorating your walls. You married?”


“Divorced. No kids.” Sort of a bizarre line of questions. “How about you?”


“Also divorced. No kids. And let me tell ya, that makes us a rarity in this area.”


“I haven’t had much time to meet many people or soak in the local color.”


She popped to her feet. “You have to eat, right? I’ll take you to a local favorite

hot spot where we can chow down a juicy hamburger, split a plate of onion rings and sip

a martini.”


“A martini? In Sundance?”


She smirked. “Lettie at the Golden Boot makes a mean lemon drop.”


“I’m in. Let me grab my coat and tell my vice president to close up. I’ll meet you

there.”


It wasn’t like she had plans tonight anyway. Ben acted shocked that she’d gotten a

little huffy with him. Probably not smart to compare herself to an old saddle—broken

in and ready to be used when he wanted it, out of sight and out of mind when he

didn’t.


There’s gonna be hell to pay for that crack, sub.


Ainsley whirled around like Bennett had whispered that in her ear. But she only saw

Turton giving her the stink eye. She had to find a way to deal with that prickly man,

but not tonight.


Ten minutes later, Ainsley slid into the booth across from her newest customer. Before

she sipped the yummy looking martini, she confessed, “I have no idea what to call you.

Doc? Doc Monroe? Joely?”


“Call me Joely. As proud as I am of my medical degree and my practice, it’s good to

be reminded I’m more than just my occupation.” She raised her glass. “To faulty

credit card machines.”



She laughed. “This is the only time I’m drinking to that.”


Joely was surprisingly easy to talk to. The woman definitely had opinions. They talked

about college and places they’d traveled. Even after they’d finished a cholesterol-

laden meal and switched to soda, neither was eager to leave. It’d been a while since

she’d spent time with another professional woman she didn’t work with. Or who wasn’t

in her circle of married friends.


“So what are you? About thirty-four?” Joely asked.


“Almost thirty-eight, and thanks for that, by the way.”


“No red-hot love affair you left behind in Colorado?”


“I was hoping maybe I’d find one of those here.” Ben’s face swam into her mind’s