Charlie grinned. “I’ve heard, yes. Storks.”
“If you put in your reservation early…” Dakota looked at her. “No man in your future?”
“I don’t think so.”
Because she couldn’t imagine being with a man that way. Not after what had happened. Besides, you couldn’t miss what you’ve never had, right?
“What if you fall madly in love? That’s what happened to me. I was so sure that I would never find the one. I moved forward on my own and look what happened.”
“If I meet some guy, that’s okay, too,” Charlie said, figuring the odds were slim.
Dakota studied her. “This is about your past.” She wasn’t asking a question. “You’re not worried you won’t find someone and fall in love. You’ve already decided you don’t want to try.”
Charlie gently rocked the baby. “Your psychology degree can be annoying.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that. I’m not prying.”
Charlie looked at her. “You can’t pry. I came to you. I’m not mad. I just…” She looked past her to the flowers reaching for the sun. The garden was beautiful. Alive. Safe.
“I want to be like everyone else,” she murmured. “You know. Normal. But that’s not going to happen. I’m not that girl. Which means I look for alternatives. Like adoption.”
She glanced back at her friend, half expecting Dakota to scold her. Instead the other woman smiled.
“Makes sense. You’ve always been the type to take charge of your destiny. This is one more way of doing that. There are a lot of considerations when you’re adopting a child.”
“I know,” Charlie said quickly. “My work. I’m gone twenty-four hours at a time. That’s going to be tough. But I’m already talking to people about day care. I’d get someone to live in. Or take the baby to someone’s house.”
Dakota grinned. “Okay, I was actually talking about the reality of a single woman adopting. But sure, dealing with day care is important too.”
“You adopted when you were single.”
Dakota smiled at her daughter. “I did. I went international because I thought I’d have more luck. I have information on the organization and the orphanage, if you want it. One thing to consider is age. Do you want an infant or an older child? If you want a child over five or six, I would suggest you look in this country first. There are a lot of kids available to adopt. The odds go up if you’re not picky about ethnicity. You could also start as a foster parent. You know, for practice. In addition, there are private adoptions. However, I think you’ll have more trouble competing directly with couples.”
“I’ve thought about that, too,” Charlie admitted. “I hadn’t thought of an older child.” That might be better for her. Once a child could walk and talk, he or she would seem less breakable. Plus, the kid could tell her when she was messing up. That could be good.
“I need to think about this more,” she said, staring down at Jordan Taylor. “It’s complicated.”
“But worth it,” Dakota told her, hugging Hannah. “Aren’t you, baby girl?”
Hannah squealed and fell back into her mother’s arms. They tumbled onto the grass, Dakota tickling her daughter, who shrieked with delight.
Charlie watched them and knew she would figure out a way to have a family of her own. And if that family didn’t include a man, that was going to be okay, too.
* * *
ANNABELLE HUNG ON TO the saddle and did her best not to scream. “I can’t,” she said, hoping she didn’t look as scared as she felt.
“You’re perfectly safe. You’re not going to fall.”
“Easy for you to say,” she told Shane. “You’re standing on the ground. I know. We’ll trade. You sit up here while Khatar stands on his back feet and I’ll watch. Then I for sure won’t fall.”
Shane turned away, but not before she saw him smile.
“You think this is funny?” she demanded. “It’s not. Nothing about you trying to kill me is funny.”
“I’m not trying to kill you. I was giving the dance a fancy finish. I thought the crowd would like it.”
“No. What the crowd would like is me cutting out your heart. Let’s practice that.”
“I’m not your male sacrifice.”
“You seem to be heading in that direction.”
“Annabelle, you’re a good horsewoman. You have to have a little faith in yourself.”
“I do. It’s gravity I’m not so keen on.”
She didn’t understand. Somewhere between the last time she’d seen him and today, Shane had lost his mind. He’d started talking about what he’d been working on for the festival and how Khatar would rise up on his back legs right before the male sacrifice. Which sounded great. Until she’d realized she was supposed to be on the horse’s back when he did it.
“Do you know how high up I am already?” she asked.
“You’ll be fine.”
“You’re right. Because I’m not going to do it.”
Shane had removed his hat. It sat on the top of a post. So she could see his whole face, including the amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Just once. To try.”
“No!”
She should have known something was up when she’d seen that Khatar was already saddled. Half the time she rode the horse bareback.
“Think of the children,” he said quietly. “The children who don’t get to read all winter. And the shut-ins. Albert and Albus.”
“Albert and Alfred,” she corrected automatically. “You’re not going to make me feel guilty.”
“Want to bet?”
She glared at him, but dammit, he was right. She did have a responsibility and a big finish to the dance would help bring in more money. Maybe even get people talking enough that they wanted to see the dance again next year, thereby ensuring an income stream.
Her already upset stomach made a few threatening noises, but stayed in place. She glanced around, looking for escape. Only there wasn’t anywhere to go.
“I should have said I’d ride Priscilla,” she murmured. “That would be easier.”
“You’re going to be fine. Khatar will do all the work. You’re just along for the ride. What if you like it?”
“Why do you suddenly sound like a teenage boy trying to convince me to have sex?”
He laughed. “That would be your twisted mind at work, not mine. Come on. Grab hold of the saddle. Use both hands, if you want. You’ll feel better. Just don’t let the reins hang. We don’t want Khatar tripping.”
“You got that right,” she said, reaching for the front of the saddle. She gripped it as tightly as she could, then squeezed her legs for good measure and tried not to close her eyes.
“Good.” Shane turned his attention to the horse. “All right, big guy. You can do it.”
He led the horse through the steps, then moved back. “Tug back and up. Like I showed you. But not too hard.”
She whimpered as she did as he instructed. Khatar took two steps to the right, then left, finishing by rising up on his rear legs.
It was as if the back of the world fell away. One second gravity was her friend, the next she was in danger of tumbling out of the saddle, most likely to her death. She did her best not to scream, while holding on with hands and thighs.
Khatar hung suspended for what felt like six or eight years before landing lightly on all four feet, then taking a slight bow. When he was still, she released the breath she’d been holding and leaned forward to hug him.
“You’re very talented,” she told the horse. “Let’s never do that again.”
Shane walked over and patted Khatar’s shoulder, then reached for her.
“See,” he said triumphantly. “Nothing to it. You did good.”
“Yes, not getting dead is always a victory.” She swung her leg over the side of the horse and slid to the ground.
When her feet hit, her knees buckled. Shane caught her easily and drew her against him. She hung on, both because touching him was always nice and also because she was still shaking.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning at her.
“What part of ‘I was scared’ is confusing to you?”
He touched her cheek. “I meant it, Annabelle. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“Sure. You say that now.”
She stopped talking, mostly because she couldn’t remember the rest of what she wanted to say.
His dark gaze locked with hers. She knew he was going to kiss her about two heartbeats before his mouth touched hers. His lips claimed hers with a gentle insistence. Immediately heat surged through her, making her toes curl in her boots and her insides start to melt. His arms came around her, drawing her close, and she went willingly into his embrace.
She loved the feel of all his muscles, she thought hazily, tilting her head and letting her eyes drift closed. He was a man who worked hard for a living and it showed. His strength protected those he cared about.
A really interesting intellectual subject for later, she thought as his tongue touched her bottom lip and she parted for him. But right now, the kissing was far more important.
She gave herself over to the erotic dance of their kisses. She met him stroke for stroke, enjoying the fire that followed. She leaned in more, wanting to feel her br**sts against his chest. Between her thighs she was both hot and swollen. Ready.
Something hard bumped her from the side. She broke the kiss as she staggered to her left. When she turned, she saw Khatar glaring at both of them.
“Oops,” she said, patting the horse’s shoulder. “Was that uncomfortable to watch? Sorry. We should be more sensitive.”
“Horses don’t kiss,” Shane told her.
“All the more reason for us not to do that in front of him.” She leaned toward Khatar. “We’ll be more careful next time,” she promised in a whisper. “Don’t tell you-know-who.”
“I can hear you,” Shane told her, sounding more amused than exasperated.
She smiled at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re crazy. You know that, right?”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
He shook his head, then put his arm around her. “Come on. I’ll take off his saddle and you can brush him. That will make him feel better.”
“You’re a very good horse parent.”
“Owner. I own him.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“He already knows.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ANNABELLE’S GOOD MOOD lasted through the rest of the morning. Khatar enjoyed his grooming and she enjoyed talking to Shane. Now she headed home, prepared to shower and change, then go to the library for a few hours of paperwork. She wasn’t technically on the schedule, but sometimes she preferred to simply get work done on her own time.
She pulled into her driveway about two seconds before she saw the Mercedes parked on the street. Lewis, she thought, the lingering effects of Shane’s kiss deflating like a popped balloon.
She climbed out of her car and waited while Lewis got out of his.
She remembered when she’d first met him. How impressed she’d been by his intelligence and his worldliness. He’d traveled, met interesting people, knew obscure facts about countries she’d barely heard about. She’d loved how he’d been a writer—someone who could take an idea, thoughts, and turn them into a story that could make her laugh and cry and check under her bed to make sure no one was lurking there, waiting to kill her. She’d mistaken admiration for love. Probably because she hadn’t known what love should feel like.
They’d both been at fault, she thought sadly. Lewis had wanted to be adored and she’d wanted to be rescued. Neither of them had actually wanted the work of being married.
Now she watched Lewis approach. He was a handsome man, in a controlled, urban kind of way. He didn’t have Shane’s rough edges or muscles. He was the kind of man you went to an art museum with, whereas Shane…wasn’t.
“You should be hearing from your lawyer shortly,” he said when he was a few feet away.
“The divorce is final?”
He nodded.
“That’s good news.”
“Is it?”
She saw the sadness in his eyes. And the questions. Aware that her neighbors were attentive at best and nosy at worst, she led the way to her front door.
Once in her small living room, she motioned for him to take a seat. She settled across from him, in an oversize chair. She knew that good manners dictated that she offer him something to eat or drink, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. Encouraging Lewis didn’t seem like a good idea.
He studied her for a minute or so, then spoke. “This is what you want?”
She wasn’t sure if he was asking a question. “The divorce? Yes. It’s what I want.”
“Because you’re with Shane.”
With him? Not in the way Lewis meant. “There were unfixable problems in our marriage,” she said instead.
He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. His pale gaze settled on her face. “I miss you, Annabelle.”
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically.
“Are you? Do you think of me at all? Or have you completely moved on?”
Okay, the conversation had officially shifted to awkward. “We’ve been apart longer than we were together,” she began. “I’ve made a life for myself here. I’m happy.”