“Hello,” she said.
“Hey, Doc,” Dallas said, grabbing her hand. “You don’t need to expose yourself to this unpleasantness. Why don’t you wait for me in the kitchen? Or go out on the deck.”
“Nonsense.” She held out her hand to Chelsea. “I’m Annie DeSimone. Otherwise known as the bimbo Dallas is tupping.” So they hadn’t officially tupped yet. A mere technicality.
Chelsea’s blue eyes widened and crimson flooded her pale face. Annie took a good look at the other woman. Strikingly beautiful. Dressed to kill. Had to be one of those Italian designers. She couldn’t tell them apart—couldn’t afford their clothes anyway—but she knew the style. Finally, Chelsea accepted Annie’s outstretched hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I was just getting ready to cook dinner for Dallas,” Annie said. “Would you like to join us?”
“No, she would not,” Dallas said. “Annie, just go out on the deck. Please? I’ll handle this and I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Annie said.
“Christ,” Dallas muttered.
“I came for some of my things,” Chelsea said.
“You have everything you’re entitled to. This was supposed to be a clean break, Chelsea.”
“I just want a few of my knickknacks.”
“Have your lawyer call my lawyer.”
“For God’s sake, Cowboy,” Annie said. “Give her what she wants. You hate all this stuff anyway.”
“You hate it?” Chelsea bit her lip.
“Yes, I hate it. I’ve always hated it. Take it all. Then leave. I want to get back to my date.”
“I think I will go out on the deck after all,” Annie said, suddenly uncomfortable. She strolled back toward the kitchen to the French doors leading outside.
The redwood deck was huge, complete with built-in gas barbecue and a sunken Jacuzzi. Farther out, a kidney-shaped pool beckoned, and blossoming fruit trees framed the grassy yard. Before Annie could explore further, a large black lab bounded toward her and nearly knocked her off her feet.
“Hey, fella.” She stroked the dog’s soft muzzle. “I’m Annie, and you are”—she fingered the clinking tags on the dog’s collar—“Jet. Great name for a black dog.” She scratched his cheeks as he wagged his tail and panted. “You’re good company. Much better than inside. You want to show me around your yard?”
She walked down the redwood steps onto the soft grass, Jet at her heels. “Hey”—she spied a yellow tennis ball—“I bet you might like to play a little.” She tossed the ball and Jet raced after it. It was slimy with slobber when he brought it back and dropped it into her hand. “That’s a good boy,” she said, stroking his ears. “Want to go again?” She tossed it farther this time.
She lost track of how many times she threw the ball. She had almost forgotten about dinner, when Dallas emerged from the house.
“Hey there,” he said. “I see you’ve met Jet.”
“He’s great,” Annie replied. “I love dogs.”
“A vet who loves dogs?” Dallas grinned. “I can’t picture it.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, tossing the ball once more. Then she strode over to Dallas. “Listen, Cowboy. Maybe I should take a rain check on this dinner thing.”
“But you said you wanted to cook for me.”
“Yeah. I do. But, I’m thinking the mood has been killed here. Make that murdered. By a vengeful blonde.” She giggled nervously.
“I’m really sorry. She’s gone now.” He flashed his lazy half smile. “And I locked all the doors.”
Annie sighed. She had wanted this evening to work out. But, “I can’t compete with her, and to tell you the truth, it’s not in me to try.”
“Compete with her? What the hell are you talking about, Doc?”