Cowboy Crazy

by Joanne Kennedy

“It wasn’t a date,” she said.

  Gloria slapped Plaid Jacket Man playfully, apparently as a stand-in for Sarah. “Shut up. It was so.” She leaned across the table to address Eric and the silver-haired man lapsed back into his breast-induced reverie. “It’s, like, impossible to fix her up, you know?” She turned to Eric. “I mean, what more could you do? Your brother is hot, hot, hot.” Fanning herself theatrically, Gloria simpered as he topped off her glass. “So are you, but she said I shouldn’t say so.” She shrugged, which made Mr. Plaid Jacket nearly fall out of his chair. “So what’s Lane like, Sarah?”

  “He was—fine.”

  “Mighty fine,” Gloria said with a Groucho-style waggle of her eyebrows.

  “It really wasn’t a date, though.” Sarah wasn’t about to trash her boss’s brother in front of this crowd, but thinking about the night before made her want to down the glass in one gulp, like a cowboy downing a shot of whiskey in a Wild West movie. “And he got bucked off his bull, so we spent most of the night at the medical tent.”

  Gloria simpered and flung a sultry glance across the table at a middle-aged guy wearing a bolo tie. “I’d like to spend a night in a tent with a cowboy, I can tell you that. I bet they’re really good at—you know.” To Sarah’s horror, she raised one arm and pulsed her hips like a bronc rider. “Yee-ha!”

  A faint “yee-ha, baby!” echoed from the corner. Sarah was pretty sure it came from a young guy in a pin-striped suit who looked like he was probably scared of horses. He’d probably be scared of Gloria too, if he knew her. He certainly should be.

  But Eric wasn’t. The Carrigan eyes were fixed on Gloria like rifle sights.

  “Well, you ought to know about all that stuff,” Gloria said to Sarah. “You rode in the rodeo yourself, didn’t you?”

  Sarah clamped her lips tight and gave Gloria a quick head shake, but the girl was on a roll.

  “You’d never guess it, but Sarah grew up dirt poor!” She announced it as if it was something to be proud of. “And now here she is, a corporate big shot, getting me invitations to the Petronia—Petrolia—Petrolinum Club.” She giggled.

  “Really? You grew up poor?” Eric turned to Sarah, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  She waved a hand carelessly, hoping he couldn’t see it was shaking. “That’s kind of an exaggeration.”

  “Did you two grow up together?” he asked.

  “Oh, no way. Sarah lived in a trailer,” Gloria crowed. “My mom didn’t have squat, but it was never that bad.”

  “Really,” Eric said.

  “Really.” Gloria was off and running on her own childhood now, and Sarah started to relax as she began talking about the trials of single motherhood and how they’d made her mom’s eyes bag and caused her breasts to sag before she turned fifty.

  “But Sarah knows all about that single mom stuff,” she said. She was referring to Kelsey, but judging from how startled Eric looked, he probably thought Sarah herself had a child named Cosette hidden in some back alley with a cruel hotelier.

  “My sister,” she said quickly. “She separated from her husband, and she has a little girl.”

  The good-looking man to Gloria’s left seemed to sense her discomfort. Leaning across the table, he shot her a sympathetic smile. “So Lane got bucked off? Was he hurt much?”

  “Not too bad.” Sarah flashed him a grateful smile. “He’s fine.”

  “How fine?” Gloria made the question as suggestive as possible, lowering her voice into a sultry purr and fluttering her lashes.

  “Fine enough to be his typical cowboy self,” Sarah said, trying for a light tone.

  “Oh, you would know about cowboys,” Gloria said. “Being a cowgirl and all.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes and gave Gloria a hard stare, but her roommate chattered on, oblivious.

  “But he’s probably not into art and wine and all that crap.” Gloria waved at the elegant tabletop dismissively. “I guess that’s why you came home alone.” She simpered and flashed Eric a cute little kitten smile. “I think you chose the wrong brother.” She set her glass down on the table with an audible thunk. Evidently the tabletop was higher than she’d thought. Eric flagged down a waiter and ordered another bottle while Sarah sipped ice water and stared into space, hoping no one would notice she was struggling to figure out damage control strategies to counter Gloria’s revelations.

  She idly fingered the running-horse necklace, which she’d slipped inside the modest neckline of her dress. She was wondering how things could possibly get any worse when a ruckus near the door upped the club’s noise level. The men at the table swiveled their heads to stare at the doorway, which framed the impressive figure of none other than Lane Carrigan.

  He looked like a bull in a china shop—a rodeo bull, far too big and brutal for his delicate surroundings. Dressed in full formal cowboy regalia, he was holding his hat to his chest. As he strode toward them, his boots thudding on the hardwood floors, he reminded her of the hero of an old-time Western. Shane, striding in to clean up the town. The Outlaw Josey Wales, stopping trouble with his trademark glare.

  Sarah ducked her head and took another quick sip of her water, glancing over at Eric. Her heart sank at the self-satisfied smirk on his face. He’d set her up, dammit. She’d told him his brother was hopeless, but apparently he wasn’t giving up on the idea she could change the man’s firmly made-up mind about drilling on the ranch.

  She ducked her head, but melting into the shadows was not an option. Gloria was practically jumping out of her seat, leaning across the table and waving frantically at Lane, and her big eyes and bigger smile drew every eye in the room that wasn’t already fixed on the cowboy.

  “Lane!” She leaned farther forward, offering the entire room a generous glimpse of cleavage and almost knocking over the bottle.

  Lane gave her a cool stare, then smiled as he recognized Sarah.

  “There you are, babe,” he said.

  Gloria arched her eyebrows and slid her gaze toward Sarah. “Babe?” She rolled her gaze to the ceiling and made a dramatic swooning gesture, her arm flailing overhead. The plaid jacketed man made full use of the opportunity.

  Lane strode toward them, his eyes fixed on Sarah, and the room went quiet as a Hollywood main street at high noon.

  Sarah tensed and reminded herself that she’d gone too far with him once. Twice, really, if you counted that kiss in the office—and how could you not count that kiss?

  But it was starting to feel like dating the boss’s brother was a job requirement. Eric was sitting with one arm flung carelessly over the back of his chair, watching her with an annoying, smug expression. She was starting to understand why Lane didn’t get along with him. Eric was a schemer and a plotter. She had to admit that whatever his other flaws, Lane was honest and direct. It made her wonder why he was making such an effort to pursue her. He knew she was riding high on of a pack of lies, fooling everyone into believing she was something she wasn’t.

  She felt everyone’s eyes on her face as Lane stopped at their table, shoved his thumbs in his belt loops, and grinned. He’d been just one more cowboy at the rodeo—maybe the biggest and best, but still in his element. Here he stood out like a wolf in a dog kennel, filling up the room not just with his height and bulk, but with his masculine confidence and the intensity of his stare.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t have time to change. Made the short round today.” He grinned. “The better you ride, the harder you work.”

  He assessed the room with narrowed eyes like he was thinking about buying the place—or like he already owned it. Pulling out the empty chair beside Sarah, he lowered himself into it and turned toward her, his arm resting on the table. She felt like she was already in his embrace.

  Not that she was going to end up there again. Nope, never again. She was the responsible sister. The responsible roommate.

  He leaned toward her and she caught the scent of aftershave, a hint of cinnamon blended with leather and wood smoke. He hadn’t been
wearing that last night. All this “I didn’t have time to change” stuff was a load of bull. He’d wanted to make an entrance—and it was working. Every eye in the place was on him—the women covetous, the men envious.

  “How are you, princess?”

  Sarah bristled. “Don’t call me that.”

  She reminded herself that she didn’t like rodeo cowboys. Didn’t like them at all.

  You liked the way he kissed you, though. You liked the way he…

  She shut down that line of thinking as he gave her a lopsided grin that made him look surprisingly boyish despite the breadth of his shoulders.

  “I thought maybe you’d give me a second chance.”

  “That’s assuming you ever had a first chance,” she quipped.

  The men at the table guffawed, but Lane seemed unaffected by what she’d thought was a killer zinger. He scanned the room and its business-suited clientele with obvious scorn, looking rough, battered, and one hundred percent cowboy.

  Being responsible sucked.

  She was grateful when the waiter interrupted, bringing course after course of beautifully presented, perfectly cooked food. The conversation started up again around them, and Lane’s white teeth flashed as he good-naturedly answered question after question about rodeo from Eric’s friends. Sarah did her best to shrink into the shadows, concentrating on her food so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  Gradually, the questions slowed and finally ceased as one man after another got up to leave. Lane scooted his chair back a bit, clearly looking to engage Sarah in conversation. They listened to each other breathing for a while. Obviously Eric had invited her here to persuade Lane to do the drilling. And he wanted her to use every possible means to do the persuading.

  She had a job to do, and that job didn’t just matter to her. It mattered to Kelsey and Katie, too. She took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “We do.”

  Chapter 16

  “Why won’t you let them drill on the ranch?” she asked.

  “That’s what you want to talk about?”

  “Of course.” She leveled what she hoped was a dispassionate stare. “What else would we talk about?”

  “Us.”

  “There is no us. There can’t be. It’s not just my job, either. You’re a cowboy, and I’m—not. You like Two Shot, and I don’t.”

  “How can you not like your own hometown?”

  “Easy. If you’d really grown up there, you’d understand. Trust me, if it was, you’d be all for making some changes. I know it looks all quaint on the outside, but people there really struggle to keep going.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “It is when you’re the one struggling.”

  He sighed. “Do you really want to pave over your past like that?”

  She thought of the town as she’d left it. The abandoned school building, with its broken windows and chipped facade. The town library, filled with out-of-date fiction by Frank Yerby and Anya Seton. The streets, pockmarked with potholes.

  Then there was the gossip. The meanness. Her mother hadn’t been very well equipped for life, but instead of helping her, folks in Two Shot had whispered and lied. Even the smallest mistake got blown up into a drama worthy of Shakespeare in that town. And Sarah’s mother had made a lot of mistakes, mostly under the influence of alcohol.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do want to pave it over.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced around the table, almost hoping Gloria would say something embarrassing so she wouldn’t have to answer the question. But at some point, probably while Sarah was listening to Lane talk about rodeo, Gloria had left. So had Eric.

  As a matter-of-fact, only the middle-aged cowboy with the bolo tie remained.

  “Excuse me.” Shoving back her chair, Sarah set her napkin on the table and headed for the front lobby. Maybe Gloria had just felt the call of nature. She glanced right, then left as she left the restaurant. No Eric, no Gloria.

  “Where’s the ladies’ room?” she asked a uniformed waitress.

  “Down the hall.”

  She headed down the hallway and ducked into the door marked “Ladies,” but it was empty, the stall doors standing open. Any other time she’d admire the plush carpet, elegant settees, and posh potpourri bowl, but she had to find Gloria. She went back to the lobby, where a black-jacketed server was manning the maître d’ stand.

  “Is there another ladies’ room?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Have you seen a blonde? Petite, big—hair?” She fluttered her fingers around her face to illustrate Gloria’s poof of curls.

  “She left with the gentleman,” he said.

  “What gentleman?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I believe they—never mind.” He skittered off to the kitchen as if he’d just revealed the hidden life of Brad Pitt to a paparazzo.

  Sarah hovered in the hallway, unsure how to proceed. Should she run outside, try to catch Eric and Gloria? For all she knew Gloria was puking in the bushes.

  Then again, she might be in Eric’s Porsche, making out. Or worse.

  She stepped outside, holding the door open behind her with one foot while she scanned the parking lot. The highway hummed just over the hill, the steady sound broken by the occasional rumble of a big rig and the rush of wind in the grass.

  Eric’s Porsche was gone, and so was Gloria. He’d probably have to help her up the stairs, and then he’d discover Sarah lived there too.

  Not that she was going to live there for long. She’d given Gloria one rule, and the girl had broken it as quickly as she could. Heck, Sarah never should have moved to Casper anyway. It would be easier—and cheaper—to live with Kelsey and commute.

  She’d tell Gloria in the morning. Or maybe she’d just pack her stuff and go. All her belongings would fit in the Malibu’s backseat and capacious trunk. How pathetic was that? She was living a midsize life.

  Something needed to change.

  Reluctantly, she returned to the dining room. As she emerged from the hallway, she slammed into a familiar figure, bumping her nose into the unyielding plane of Lane’s chest. He steadied her with one hand, but she quickly skittered backward.

  “You want dessert?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “No, I want to go home.” She scanned the empty dining room. There were only a few diners scattered around the room, and Eric’s table was occupied only by a busboy who was clearing dirty dishes.

  “Let’s go then,” Lane said. “I’ll take you home.”

  The two of them strolled in silence through the parking lot, a lone cricket announcing their arrival. Lane was all cowboy confidence and swagger, and that testosterone aura Sarah had sensed the night before surrounded him like smoke from a campfire.

  He unlocked the passenger side door of his beat-up pickup.

  “I thought you were doing well with rodeo,” she said. “This looks like the Clampetts’ truck.”

  “It gets me places and carries my stuff,” he said. “Is there something else trucks are supposed to do?” He opened the door to reveal a bronc-riding saddle set fork-down on the seat. The stirrups were looped over the seat, and a coil of rope was tossed haphazardly on top. His gear bag was on the floor.

  “Oops, no room,” Sarah said. “Better call a cab.”

  “There’s room.” He hoisted the saddle against his chest, then set it in the truck bed. There was no sign of the previous night’s injury, and she wondered if he’d really needed help with his bag even then.

  He brushed off some of the dust with the flat of his hand. “Come on, princess.”

  She climbed into the truck cab, feeling awkward in her short dress and heels. The scent of the saddle lingered in the interior—leather and metal and horse. There was dried mud on the floor mats and a stack of papers shoved between the window and the dashboard.

  Considering the amount of space Lane seemed to take up in the restaurant, Sarah ha
d expected to feel cramped in the confines of the truck cab. But with one hand on the wheel and one on the shift lever, he fit far better than he’d fit into the cavernous walnut-paneled dining room at the club.

  “Stick shift,” she said, thinking aloud.

  “You’re not the only one who likes to control things, princess.”

  “Don’t call me that. And anyway, I’m just doing my job.” Suddenly conscious of her posh dress and demure pose, she looked down at her hands, which she’d folded in her lap like a good little girl on a trip to the fair. “I don’t like to control things. Not really.”

  “Well, you’re controlling me.”

  She let out a quick, short laugh. “I can’t control you.”

  Not only couldn’t she control him, she couldn’t control herself. Ever since he’d turned up at the club, she’d felt like everything was spinning out of kilter. The idea of spending time alone with him made her want to screech to a halt like the Road Runner coming to the edge of a cliff, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself—maybe because she was hanging out with Wile E. Coyote. Lane might not have the cartoon critter’s knack for disaster—in fact, he seemed to live a uniquely charmed life—but he had the same scrappy optimism as a coyote, the same trickster mentality, the same devil-may-care determination to get what he wanted.

  She’d been like that once—a girl who ran horses hell-for-leather, who cussed and kicked and spoke her mind. Sometimes she wondered if all the phoniness she’d let into her life was really worth the paycheck. The new Sarah might be successful and secure, but she wasn’t really very likable.

  ***

  Lane rested one hand on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Sarah was gazing out the windshield too, as if they were already on the highway. As if the two of them were actually headed somewhere together.

  Actually, they were. He just wasn’t sure where they were going to end up.

  “So tell me again why you want to destroy Two Shot. What did that town ever do to you?”

  She heaved a heavy, weight-of-the-world sigh. “It didn’t really do anything to me. I didn’t let it. But my mom, my sister—things didn’t work out there for them.”