Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders 12)

“You shouldn’t be. Them bankers usually have their minds made up before you even walk in the door. Bunch of controlling bastards. Least, that’s been my experience.”

“I thought all the McKays had more money than they knew what to do with and didn’t 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**ked 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 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**k 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 and have a seat,” and slid into an oversized chair.