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“Come by the ranch anytime, Annie,” Dusty said. “Zach and I would love to see you.”
“Thank you. I will.” She was growing fond of Dallas’s sister-in-law.
In the car, Annie mentioned Catie’s crush. “I think she has it bad for your brother.”
“You’re mistaken, Doc. Catie’s seventeen at most, and Chad’s a grown man.”
“So? An older man is very sexy to a young girl. How old is he?”
“He’s twenty-eight, the youngest of our brood.”
“Yeah? How old are you, Cowboy?”
“Thirty-six, and Zach’s thirty-one.”
“Thirty-six, huh?”
“Yep. Am I too old for you? You don’t look a day over thirty.”
“I am thirty, you dumb cowpoke!”
“Dumb cowpoke? For guessing your age?”
“No woman wants to look her age. We all want to look younger.”
“Oh.” Dallas’s eyes gleamed. “Did I say thirty? I meant twenty. Not a day over twenty. No wait. Eighteen. I mean twelve.”
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She punched him in the arm. “Stop that.”
“You’re gorgeous, Doc. If you were fifty, you’d still be gorgeous.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“So you’re thirty. Divorced. From Jersey. Italian. A vet.”
“That about sums me up. Just Bruno and Sylvia DeSimone’s little girl.”
Dallas let out a guffaw. “Bruno? There are actually men named Bruno in the world?”
Annie scoffed. “This from a guy named Dallas?”
“Hey, it’s my ma’s maiden name. It’s a popular name in these parts, though more so in Texas, for obvious reasons. Where’d Annie come from? Hardly a good Italian name for the daughter of a Bruno.”
“It’s a nickname. My real name is Annalisa.”
“Annalisa.” His husky voice caressed her name like a veil of creamy silk. “That’s real pretty, Doc.”
Suddenly shy, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Your skin is light for Italian ancestry.”
“Not necessarily. My father’s got the Mediterranean olive complexion, but my mother’s fair like me.”
“Your skin is the color of moonlight, and your cheeks like the palest pink rose.”
For a moment, Annie thought she might melt into a puddle right in the passenger seat of Dallas’s Benz. He pulled into the alley behind the clinic and came around to open her door.
