Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife

“Yes. You know, the American dream and all. I have each stage mapped out, along with a timetable.” She pulled out a small notepad on a chain.

He shook his head. “You’re making lists? Miss Spur-of-the-moment.”

“Told you I was different. No more impulsiveness, no jumping into things without studying all the angles, and no more of that skimble-scamble thing. Well, not usually.” She pushed some of her hair away from her face, but the wind just washed it right back again. He remembered how soft her hair was, how it felt sliding through his fingers when they made love, or the way it tickled his skin as she laid kisses all over his body.

“Hair is fine—I mean, lists are fine, if you’re a list kind of person, I suppose.” He hated lists, duties, timetables. Hated Freudian slips, too. “I say jump in now and swim with the tide.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I see you haven’t changed.”

He caught a whiff of that butter rum candy she liked. He could never go past the candy aisle without thinking of Cassie. Or about kissing her and stealing her candy. The woman was like the candy, spicy and sweet at the same time. She’d swept in and out of his life like a damned hurricane, leaving behind several unfinished redecorating projects and an aftermath of memories and longings. He’d restored his apartment and picked up the memories, but the longings, they didn’t go away so easily. And, he noted, the wind was picking up. If he didn’t play this right, he’d end up a victim of Hurricane Cassie again.

What he wanted to know was, how different was she? Someplace deep inside him didn’t think she’d changed that much. Passion still blazed in those sea-green eyes, and he recalled that passion oh so well. And she still put bows on Sammy. And bells! Sheesh.

She held Sammy against her chest, presumably so he could see ahead. “I am in total control of my life now. Mistress of my destiny. Completely sensible. I can’t believe how flaky I was back when…well, when we were married.”

He decided not to mention the bows, bells or the way she held Sammy. “That’s what I liked about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought life was one big adventure.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you realize how close I was to becoming my mother?” She shuddered. “You’d think after growing up living with whoever would have us, spending every holiday with a different man, getting the names of all her husbands mixed up, I’d have seen that I was headed in the same direction.” She raised her eyebrows. “Flaky as pie crust.”

He had met her mom on their wedding day. Andromeda had been living in New Orleans with a jazz musician, and she’d flown in for the wedding sporting her own diamond ring: husband number five.

“How many husbands have you had since…?” He couldn’t say the words our divorce.

“None! I’ve been sensible, levelheaded and analytical since…” Apparently, she couldn’t say it either; she referred to it with a wave. “Besides, I have everything I want, like (a) a good job, weenies notwithstanding; beneath that (a-1) goals for my future (b) nice apartment (c) good friends and (c-1) Sammy.”

“This a-b-c stuff—”

“Don’t forget (a-1) and (c-1).”

He blinked. “Right. This lettering thing…”

She smiled. “The new me.” Her gaze went to the ring finger on his left hand, real casual-like. “How about you? Any wives?”

“Not a one.” His fingers flexed involuntarily

“Anyone…serious?”

“Nope. Three months is as long as I could stay interested.” For some reason that seemed to bum her out. “How is your mom, by the way?”

“The same,” she said on a sigh. “Working on husband number eight, no doubt. And your granny?”

“The same, cantankerous old broad you knew.”

Cassie smiled. “The only woman I’ve ever known who called herself a broad.”

“You could say she hasn’t gotten you out of her mind,” he said, wondering if he weren’t possibly talking about himself, too. “She named her cat after you.”

Her mouth quirked. “Well, I guess that’s better than naming, say, a pet pig after me.”

“She named the pig Hal.”

“How appropriate,” she muttered.

“Says she’s too old to remember names, so she names all her pets after people she knows. She named her prairie pup after me.” The sun was beginning to glisten on the wavelets. A seagull bobbing in the water took flight as they approached, squawking its protest. “That tabby’s got your feminine willies. She rubs against my legs and curls up in my lap, and makes that same little meowing noise you made when you—”

“Coughed up hair balls!” she interrupted. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I, uh, don’t quite recall you coughing up hair balls, Cass.”

She turned away and murmured, “I tried to keep it to myself.”

Interesting that she didn’t want to discuss anything relating to sexual bliss. “I see.”

“Well, good for you. Now stop seeing and look where you’re going, will you?” A few minutes later, she nodded at Dave’s boat nearby, dotted with beauties already trying to grab sun in their colored strips some might call bathing suits. “So, you really have a rule about no women on the boat during a tournament?”

“One of my few rules in life.” He glanced at her. “Too distracting.” Though he’d hesitated on letting her aboard strictly for show.

“I’m not distracting.” The women gave Dan cute little finger-wagging waves. He returned the wave, wondering if they realized he was mocking their cutesiness. He glanced at Cassie, in her cotton shirt and shorts that came down to her knees.

She followed his gaze. “See, nothing distracting here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You forget I know what you look like naked.”

“Dan, puh-leez!” She fiddled with the notepad.

She thought he was kidding. He shook his head, focusing again on the parade of boats all around him. The problem was, he remembered way too well. She used to have a hang-up about her legs being too skinny, but he couldn’t find one fault, not a single one. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way she went nuts when he kissed the spot behind her ears. Shoot. The wind was definitely picking up.

“Did you bring a bikini?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Dan, I didn’t come along to be your bow ornament. I came to learn about fishing lures.”

He laughed, which strangely enough made her grin. “Bow ornament, huh? Yeah, that about sums them up.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have one or two yourself.”

“They’re for the boys who come out here to play. Thor’s my only ornament. He’s a lot easier to maintain.”

“You sound like Hal. I always wondered if you’d end up like him.”

At first he focused on the fact that she’d wondered about him. Then the disappointment in her face forced the rest of the sentence into his mind. “I’m not like Hal.” Except for the beer drinking, the fishing every spare moment, the perpetual bachelorhood. Well, at least he had been married once.

Why was it when he looked at her mouth, he thought of all the times he’d kissed it? When he looked at her body, he remembered the way she’d fling herself into his arms or hop on his back and wrap her legs around his waist, just for the heck of it. He’d loved that, loved her spontaneity. And he could hardly wait for that massage, even if, when she learned he owned the tackle company, she was likely to be pretty ticked.

“So, besides tournaments, what do you do with yourself?” she asked.