“So you’re familiar with Two Shot?” Lane’s voice rumbled deep in his chest, and his slow drawl made even the most innocuous phrases sound sexy.
“I’ve—been there. And I do feel the town would benefit from the prosperity this kind of project would bring.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. Sarah immediately shot to her feet so she wouldn’t have to look up at him, but even standing toe-to-toe her eyes were about level with his shirt pocket. She took a step back so she could look him in the eye.
“Yeah, well, I disagree,” he said. “And anyway, I’m not discussing family issues with a stranger.”
She thought of her hometown, with its pitted streets and crumbling buildings. “I’m sorry, but this is about much more than family.”
“How would you know? Trust me, it is about family. And you’re not a part of that.”
His dismissive tone jabbed a man-sized hole in her self-control. She felt the real Sarah coming out to kick butt and was powerless to stop her.
“There are real people in Two Shot, Mr. Carrigan. People who need jobs.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“It is when you’re hungry. When you’re losing your home. When things go wrong and…”
She stopped herself. This was getting way too personal. He’d tilted his head to one side and was looking at her intently, and this time he seemed to be probing her mind instead of her clothes. She needed to get the conversation back on track before she gave something away.
“Extracting oil from the land isn’t always pretty, but the company does its best to keep it clean, and if we do it on Carrigan land people will trust us to do it right.” She cleared her throat nervously. He was still staring at her as if he was trying to figure her out.
She didn’t like being figured out.
“I’m sure your brother will see to it that the ranch’s historic heritage is preserved.”
His eyes slid away and he pretended to be absorbed in brushing imaginary dirt off the thighs of his jeans. He was playing casual, but she could tell by the short, vicious strokes that the mention of his brother made him tense. Unfortunately, she was tensing too. The gesture emphasized the muscles bulging beneath the denim and made her conscious, again, of a testosterone aura that glowed with the steady intensity of a neon sign.
“Dad doesn’t like my view of what it means to be a Carrigan. I always thought the name had as much to do with cattle as it did with oil. But what would I know? I’m just a dumb cowboy.” He tugged at the collar of his blue chambray shirt. “My father hated the color of my collar, and I guess my brother does too.”
“This has nothing to do with that,” she said. “We’re just saying—”
“What’s this we shit?” Lane was more than angry now. “You’re not part of we. Unless—are you something more than an employee?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you having some kind of relationship with my brother?”
She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “Of course not,” she said, struggling to keep her composure.
“No, you’re right. He’s not your type, is he?” He gave her that look again, the one that seemed to laser its way right into her mind. “You keep saying we, but you’re not one of them. Where are you from?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, it’s the company’s business,” he said. “If you’re going to go to bat for Two Shot, you ought to have some idea what makes a small town tick. But you don’t, do you?” He nodded toward the window. “You try to act like you care, but you’re ten stories above the street while I’m down there in the dirt with the rest of them. I can tell you real people don’t want you and your minions coming in and ruining their land and their towns.”
She should have defended her position, said Carrigan wasn’t ruining anything, but she was overwhelmed with a rush of relief. He wasn’t even close to figuring out she’d spent her childhood and adolescence rolling around in the dirt he thought was so all-fired picturesque. Even a no-kidding cowboy couldn’t tell who she really was. And that meant she’d succeeded in leaving her past behind.
“Ever been to Midwest?” he asked.
Of course she had. Midwest was just north of Two Shot, an isolated outpost in the middle of nowhere that had struck it rich in the last oil boom. She hadn’t been there lately, but she’d heard the boom had subsided. “They had a boom, didn’t they?”
“And a bust. Now it’s the world capital of substandard housing.” He shoved back his chair and stood, folding his arms across his chest. “All those cheap rentals they put up are falling apart, half of ’em boarded up. Guys came in and worked Monday to Friday, then went home to their families like they’d had their nose to the grindstone all week, when really they spent half their time with a snootful of beer. God only knows where their other body parts ended up. They’re hell on local women.” He shook his head. “Two Shot doesn’t need your kind of prosperity.”
“Why don’t you let the people make that decision?” she asked. “Ask them if they want to keep trying to raise cattle on yucca plants and cactus, or if they’d rather sit back and enjoy life while Carrigan pumps out black gold, day after day, whatever the weather.”
“And I suppose you care about what they want.”
“Yes, I do.” Those were the truest words she’d said since the conversation started. She didn’t have many fond memories of Two Shot, and the few she had were clouded by failure and shame and a lot of uncomfortable truths. But deep down, she still cared about the people there.
“Well, I’m not letting the company ruin my land. I’ll put up razor wire and go all Ruby Ridge if I have to, but I think there’s probably an easier way.” He opened the door and tipped his hat in a snide mockery of cowboy etiquette. “See you on the nightly news.”
She took a step toward him, then realized how close he was and stepped back. Unfortunately, she backed right into the door and slammed it shut. Next thing she knew, she was plastered against it like the heroine in a melodrama vying to keep her hero at home. He was standing so close she caught the clean laundry scent of his shirt and something else, something masculine—pine, wood smoke, leather. Maybe horses. Wind. She could feel him—not just physically, but deep down inside, the way you felt danger or heartache.
“I’m not here to play games,” he said.
“Me neither.” She grabbed the doorknob to steady herself. This was no time to go all girlie.
“So you weren’t keeping score?”
How did he know about that? Her body language must have given her away somehow. What had she been doing—counting on her fingers?
He seemed to enjoy watching her flinch as he gently pried her hand from the doorknob and held it in his.
“I’ve got better games to play.” His voice rumbled so deep in his chest she could feel it in her own.
“On the nightly news?” She slipped her hand out of his grip and wiped first her palm, then the back of her hand on her skirt with elaborate care, as if she’d accidentally touched something slimy. “I’m sure your brother would appreciate it if you kept your family business to yourself.”
“Okay. Good advice. I’ll start right now.” His eyes met hers. “Stay out of my family business.”
“Sorry.” She snatched at the last shred of her self-control, but he’d gotten her riled up and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from fighting back. “I’m paid to be in your family business. If you got along better with your brother, maybe you could talk him into firing people that annoy you. As it stands, you’re going to have to deal with me.”
“Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and relaxed his stance. “Good.”
“Good?” She felt as if the plush carpet was suddenly moving under her feet like a grocery store conveyor belt. Surely he hadn’t felt the same instant attraction that had struck her the moment he’d walked into the room.
Had he?
The answer came a little too quickly and shatt
ered that notion like a bullet hitting a beer bottle.
“Yeah, good.” His brows lowered and he looked like one of the bulls he rode, glowering at the world through the rails of the chute gate, ready to bust loose and raise hell with anyone who crossed him. “I like to know who my enemies are.”
Chapter 4
Lane looked down at the woman barring the door and struggled to keep his composure. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he let loose. Maybe he’d shove her aside and walk away, maybe he’d laugh, or maybe, just maybe, he’d push her up against the door frame and work his way past all that uptight professionalism to the real woman underneath. He’d work his way past that stick-in-the-mud suit, too.
She wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Eric’s previous public affairs manager had been a bitchy blonde who was all bones and teeth and blind ambition. This one was a very intriguing redhead, and there was nothing brittle about her. In fact, there was something almost admirable in the way she fought for the company. She seemed to honestly believe the project would be good for Two Shot, too. Her passion might be misguided, but it was sincere.
He stepped back from the door. How could he get to her? He didn’t want to win the argument so much as he wanted to knock away that stiffly held shield of self-control. Or maybe kiss her.
Yeah, he wanted to kiss her.
He assessed her like a horse or a bull, trying to see past the hard shine in her eyes to find a weakness. She was on the defensive here, protecting her turf. He needed to get her out of this office and into his world, where he felt comfortable and in charge and she wouldn’t be so damn sure of herself.
“What you need,” he said, “is an education.”
She tossed her head, as if she was used to wearing her hair long. Her tight French braid had loosened during their debate, and all the head toss accomplished was to loosen a random strand that dangled over one eye so she looked like an angry little terrier with one floppy ear.
“I don’t think so,” she said, her brows arrowing down. “I’m highly educated and highly qualified.”
“And that makes you right.” He leaned toward her and rested one forearm on the door frame. He knew he was big enough to be intimidating, but there wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes as she nodded her head sharply. Yup, she was right. All the time—or so she thought.
This woman would be incredible in bed.
He wiped that thought away and got back to the game. Winning required focus, and thinking about sex with his opponent was a sure way to derail his concentration.
Of course, he’d never had that problem with a rodeo bull.
“I’m not talking about book learning, here,” he said.
The words came out “book larnin’.” Dang it, he sounded like an ignorant redneck. He’d spent his whole life shifting from one world to another, from the rich world of his family to the rodeo ring, and he’d become adept at taking on the qualities of the people he was with. But lately he’d spent so much time in the chutes that it was hard to shed the careless grammar and casual syntax of the rodeo. That could be a good thing. Sarah obviously set great store by schooling. If she thought he was stupid, she was liable to underestimate him.
But for some reason, he wanted her respect even more than he wanted to win.
“What I’m talking about is experience.” He straightened and lowered his arm, concentrating on enunciating his ings. “Eric says you’re an expert on small-town sensibilities, but your schools were back East, right? I’m not sure you understand what people are like in the West.”
He scanned her eyes, noticing a smile behind her skepticism—almost as if she thought she’d already won. She was wrong, but he realized he’d take a smile from her wherever he could get it.
“Ranch life is different,” he continued. “It depends on the land and the seasons, so it moves a little slower. And the things that matter are lasting things. Some folks might be willing to go for the quick buck, but cowboys think about the future. About their legacies, the land. Future generations.”
She looked up at him and he saw sympathy in her eyes, as if she knew what it was like to worry about those things.
“I know.” She looked away quickly, as if she’d given something away.
“You do?”
Her gaze flicked around the room, lighting on the desk, the bookcase, the carpet—everywhere but his face. “Not really. I mean, I know lots of people think about that, but, um, I don’t know anything about cowboys. Not—not personally, I mean.”
“See? You need an education.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, pretending a casualness he didn’t feel. “Why don’t you come to the rodeo with me tonight? I’ll introduce you to some of the guys, and you can mingle with the crowd, get a sense of what people are like here. I can give you a real inside look at the West.”
She shook her head so hard that another section of her hair escaped the braid. “No, I don’t think so. Thank you, but no.”
“We could talk about the ranch too. You could tell me more about how the drilling would help Two Shot.”
Now he had her attention.
“I’d be interested to hear what you have to say,” he continued. “My decision isn’t cast in stone, you know.”
Her brows slanted down again, making a little crease appear between her eyebrows as she scanned his eyes. He did his best to look guileless and a little stupid.
“Really?”
“Really. You just might be able to change my mind.”
***
Sarah stared into her tiny closet and swore under her breath. Ever since Lane’s visit, she’d felt as if her old life in Two Shot was bearing down at her like a speeding semi on a two-lane road, swinging wide on a turn and threatening a head-on collision. She could practically hear the air horn blaring.
The Humboldt Rodeo was the last place in the world she wanted to go tonight. Well, second-last. Two Shot, which was only a few miles further on, was the last.
But it wasn’t like she had a choice. She’d tried to turn down Lane’s invitation as politely as she could, but he’d evidently appealed to Eric. Her boss had called her in and told her she had to go, his eyes shifting around the room, looking everywhere but her face. He probably would have bartered her as a bride if he’d thought it would help his cause.
Shoot, at least then she’d know what to wear. Choosing a wedding dress would be easy compared to finding an outfit that fit this occasion. She needed something professional yet casual. Chic, but with a touch of country. So far, she’d gotten as far as a white lace bra and panties.
Skidding wire hangers from one side of her closet to the other, she considered pencil skirts, blazers, little black dresses, and trousers. Everything she wore was aggressively proper because she didn’t dress for success, or to express her fashion sense. She dressed to convince herself that she really had changed from a rough-and-ready country girl to a perfectly poised professional.
As she scanned the closet’s contents and dealt with the sinking feeling in her stomach, her roommate Gloria flounced into the room and pitched herself onto the bed. Blond curls bounced on impact, along with a bunch of other body parts. Gloria was a bouncy kind of girl, all roundness and curves, with eyes as blue and innocent as a newborn’s. But for once, she wasn’t smiling. She eyed the trousers Sarah was holding as if she’d just pulled a dead animal from the closet.
“I thought you were going to a rodeo.”
“I am.”
“Well, you can’t wear those. You need jeans. Where are your weekend clothes?”
Sarah sighed and hauled an ancient Samsonite hard-shelled suitcase from under the bed. When she flipped open the latches, she felt like she was releasing her old self. She’d almost thrown out her ranch duds when she’d left for college, but her sister had pressed and folded everything, convinced Sarah would come to her country-girl senses and ditch her dressy ways once she graduated.
Sarah had sworn never to go back to her old life, but she’d brok
en that vow when Kelsey needed her. Then she’d been glad the clothes were there. Her sister would have had a fit if she’d worn her stuck-up city clothes on the weekend visits to help with her niece.
Stuck-up city clothes. Like the other 244 residents of Two Shot, Kelsey seemed to feel betrayed by her sister’s determination to move beyond the town’s barbed wire borders. Even though Kelsey herself was struggling to survive as a single mom in a single-wide trailer, she expected Sarah to share her knee-jerk loyalty to the town where they’d been born.
Sarah sorted through the suitcase. “I only wear this stuff on weekends,” she told Gloria.
Gloria spread her hands in a don’t-you-get-it gesture. “It’s Friday night.”
“I know, but I’m kind of working.”
“Working?” Sarah could practically hear the grind of meshing gears as her roommate made the connection. Gloria widened her eyes. “You’re going to see Lane Carrigan.”
“Sort of,” Sarah muttered. She didn’t normally tell Gloria much about her job. The two of them had met through a Craigslist ad and agreed to share a loft-style apartment in one of the old brick buildings not far from the Carrigan tower. They were different as cats and dogs, but something in Gloria’s carefree ways meshed well with Sarah’s straitlaced personality. Gloria acted like a teenager set loose on the staid world of grown-ups, and Sarah ran her life like a geriatric business executive. Between the two of them, they made one pretty good twenty-five-year-old.
But as a Starbucks barista, Gloria was gunning for a golden future as a trophy wife. She envied Sarah her career, but only because it gave her such a great platform for husband hunting. Letting her anywhere near the Carrigan brothers was a recipe for trouble.
She was sitting up now, wide-eyed and flushed. “Oh, my God, Lane Carrigan would be perfect for you.”
“No he wouldn’t.”
“Yes he would.” Gloria nodded toward the worn Wranglers Sarah had just pulled out of the dresser. “You’re a cowgirl at heart.”
Cowboy Crazy Page 3