“I don’t have to tell you anything. But I tried to tell Kelsey. I had to leave right away, but I called.” He flashed her a furious glare. “Thanks to you, she erased the message without listening.”
Kelsey nodded, looking down at her folded hands. “You kept telling me I shouldn’t listen to him, shouldn’t let him sweet-talk me. So I didn’t play the message. I just erased it.”
“Oh, shit,” Sarah said softly.
“Yeah, exactly,” Mike said. “I figured she didn’t want to talk to me, and the oil fields up there are out of cell range anyway. So I just kept working. And I saved almost all of it.” He cast Sarah a hard look. “That night you saw me was the first time I’d been to a bar in three months.”
“He thought he had to earn his way back to us,” Kelsey said. “So he came home and slapped—how much was it?” She looked at Mike and the two of them laughed.
“A thousand dollars,” he said. “Slapped it right down on the table in cash. Her eyes sure got big when she saw it.”
“And then I cried.”
“I can’t believe you thought I’d never come back.” Mike stroked Kelsey’s arm and cast her a lovelorn look that reminded Sarah of a cow. Not a steer or a bull, but a dairy cow, all soft brown eyes and foolishness.
“Why wouldn’t she think that?” Sarah asked. “How many nights did you go to the bar while Kelsey stayed home with Katie?”
“A lot. I was a lousy husband, okay?” Mike straightened in his chair and lost the lovelorn look as he turned to Sarah. “I married too young, and I was a jerk. I thought I wanted to hang out with my buddies more than I wanted to be with my wife and kid.” He reached over and placed his hand over Kelsey’s, and Sarah felt her stomach flutter with unease. She’d seen Mike as the villain so long that her protective instincts were still running full strength. She wanted to smack him away from her sister, drive him from the house, but now she had no reason to hate him. She felt limp as a hot-air balloon with the air let out.
“But let me tell you, you spend three months with nobody but a bunch of oil workers and you get pretty damn sick of hanging with the guys.” He interlaced his fingers with Kelsey’s and they sat there like a couple of newlyweds, beaming at each other. “I missed you and Katie so much, honey. So damn much. I never knew how much I loved you ’til I couldn’t get to you.”
Sarah blinked, surprised to find tears in her eyes.
“I know I was a jerk, Sarah, but I’ve learned my lesson and I’m back to stay.”
“To stay?”
Kelsey melted into Mike’s arm, still clinging to his hand. “We’re going to try again,” she said, flashing Sarah a heartbreakingly hopeful smile. “Be happy for me, Sis.”
Sarah looked from one to the other. She hadn’t seen Kelsey look so happy in months—not since Mike left.
“Isn’t this kind of sudden?” she asked.
“We had a long talk.”
“Just now? How can you forgive him so fast?”
Kelsey blushed. “And—and last night. And a few nights before that.”
“Oh, no. Has Katie seen him?”
The sound of a rumbling engine filled the room as air brakes gasped on the street. Sarah glanced out to see her niece hurtling down the steps of the school bus and tearing up the front walk, an oversized sheet of construction paper flapping in her hand.
“Daddy,” she shouted as she charged in the door. “I made you a picture!”
Without even glancing at Sarah, she threw herself into her father’s lap and held up the paper as proudly as Christopher Wren revealing the plans for a new cathedral. “Look, it’s a tree! And this is a cat, and a dog, and a woodchuck.”
“A woodchuck,” Mike said. “Nice.”
Katie went somber. “He’s going to eat the tree, though.”
“No, that’s beavers,” Mike said. “Woodchucks eat beetles and stuff.”
“Oh! Okay.” She slid off his lap and ran to her room, as if all the world’s problems had been solved by animal identification.
She still hadn’t noticed Sarah, who hiked her purse up on her shoulder and turned to go.
“Wait, Sarah,” Kelsey said. “You haven’t told me why you stopped by.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah said. “It doesn’t matter a bit. I just thought—I thought you needed me.”
***
Sarah swung open the door to Lane’s cabin and ran her hand up and down the wall to the right of the door, until she found the light switch. She hadn’t wanted to stay here. She hadn’t wanted to come to Two Shot either, but seeing more of Katie and Kelsey had made the concept of melding her two lives a little more bearable. She’d been looking forward to being there all week, really being a part of their day-to-day lives.
Now that her sister didn’t need her, she realized there wasn’t much point to all her panic about her job. Without Kelsey and Katie to take care of, her work seemed kind of pointless. She’d thought it was about money and security for herself, but here she was, homeless and on the verge of being unemployed, and she didn’t really care.
But Eric was counting on her. She’d been hired to do a job, and she was going to get it done.
She flicked on the light switch and her jaw dropped. The cabin really was a love nest. A huge stone fireplace dominated the far wall, surrounded by a cozy grouping of two chairs and a love seat upholstered in a warm-toned Native American pattern. The bright fabric contrasted with subdued throw rugs in red and ochre, and while the light she’d turned on was a slightly tasteless antler chandelier, it hung over a golden oak dining table that was polished to a high shine. Soft woven blankets that complemented the upholstery were draped over the back of the love seat and one of the chairs.
But what made it a love nest was the candles. They were everywhere, their wicks and wax in various stages that proved they’d been used frequently. She pictured the golden log walls lit by flickering golden light and thanked God and good luck Lane wasn’t there.
She’d seen him in the cool silver light of the moon. What would he look like in candlelight? She pictured a warm glow glossing his muscled shoulders, shadows defining the ridges of his torso, and then she was in the danger zone.
Get out of there, she told herself. Think about his face.
Obediently, her mind’s eye focused on the way his deep-set blue eyes would dance in the flicker of candle flames. Something much hotter than a candle flame shimmied around inside her when she thought of the jut of his cheekbones, the hard set of his jaw, and the sensitive lips that were such a subtle contradiction to the harsh masculinity of the rest of his face. Then she remembered what he’d done to her with those lips and decided she ought to stick with the torso.
The truth was, she shouldn’t be thinking about Lane at all. The man accused her of sleeping with his brother, for God’s sake. She’d thought he had feelings for her. She’d even thought he understood her. But clearly he’d just seen her as another floozy.
And Eric had said his brother was headed to another rodeo, all the way down in Texas—so he’d probably move on to a new floozy by tomorrow.
At least she could be sure he wouldn’t show up at the ranch—not for two weeks. She had fourteen days to win hearts and minds in Two Shot. Fourteen days with no interference from the other side of the argument.
So why was her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage as she looked around the comfy cabin? Lane wasn’t going to show up here. Sure, his mark was all over the place: in the rodeo posters on the wall, in the prize saddle mounted on a carved sawhorse in the corner, in the framed photos of him with various rodeo royals like Ty Murray and Trevor Brazile—but he was on the road and she was on her own.
And if he did turn up, he’d be angry, not amorous. He already thought she was having an affair with his brother, and he’d be even madder when he discovered she was working behind his back to get the townspeople on her side. By the time he got home he’d have lost the battle without getting a chance to fight. And Lane didn’t like to lose.
Stop it.
She sucked in a deep breath to clear her mind. Then she took another one. It took six or eight breaths to banish Lane to the back of her brain.
Resting one hand on the door frame, she kicked off her heels and tossed her messenger bag on a chair, heading for the kitchen. She’d make sure there was a microwave, and then she’d head into town to buy supplies—some frozen entrees, crackers and cheese, maybe some fruit. Definitely coffee.
A harsh series of knocks struck the door and she froze.
He was here. She wasn’t nervous; she was psychic. What was she going to do? They’d be alone. Alone with that sofa, that fireplace. In the Love Nest.
He’d push her down on that sofa, and then he’d…
No. He wouldn’t do anything. She’d simply tell him, brusquely and without emotion, that he needed to leave her alone. She’d cut him out of her life quickly and efficiently as a bruise on an apple. She was here working for Carrigan, and besides, she could never forgive him for what he’d implied about her and Eric.
Quickly, she slid her feet back into her high heels. She’d have a better chance of standing up to him if she didn’t have to hike herself up on tiptoe to meet his eyes.
Chapter 23
Sarah felt like a bird was fluttering around in her chest, banging off her heart and lungs and thrashing her breath away. She put her hand to her chest and swallowed, struggling to compose herself, then opened the door.
She’d expected to confront Lane’s shirtfront despite the high heels. Instead, she stared out at the prairie and the trees beyond. She was looking straight over the head of a man sitting on the doorstep in an electric wheelchair.
He wore a black cowboy hat, a black Western shirt right out of a George Strait video, and black jeans and boots. Give him a guitar and he’d look like a Nashville refugee, but the clothes didn’t fit like a country star’s; the shirt was too big, and the tops of his boots stuck out from his thin legs so far he could have kept a couple of ferrets in there.
“Hello,” she said, taking a step back. She shouldn’t have put the stupid shoes on. She towered over the poor guy.
“Howdy.”
She felt a faint stir of unease. He looked familiar, but she didn’t know anybody who was—anybody in a wheelchair.
“I’m Trevor Ross, foreman for the LT Ranch. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped back. She didn’t normally like being alone in the back of beyond with men she didn’t know, but it wasn’t like he was going to overpower her by running over her feet or slamming into her knees.
She kicked off the heels as he followed her inside, trying to be casual about it. “I’m Sarah Landon.”
“I know. Eric let me know you were coming. I came to check if the cleaning got done.”
“It did, I think. I just got here, but the place looks, um, great.”
Actually, it looked beyond great. The slightest fleck of dust would have shown in the warm sun spilling in the windows, but every surface gleamed and the log walls glowed like burnished gold. A stack of logs sat in the fireplace, waiting for the touch of a match.
“I’ll just check it out if you don’t mind,” Trevor said. “I have a girl from town that does it and I want to make sure she’s doing her job. You know how teenagers are.” Trevor expertly spun the wheelchair and motored into the galley kitchen, surveying the gleaming countertops and opening the refrigerator, which she saw was fully stocked with milk, eggs, and butter. She wouldn’t have to run to town after all.
Trevor backed out of the kitchen at top speed and took off for the living room, spinning to a stop in front of the fireplace. His face seemed prematurely etched with lines that spoke of suffering, but his smile was self-assured, as if he’d made it through a long struggle and come out victorious. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
She considered him a moment. “You look familiar.”
“’Fraid I gave you a lot of shit in high school.”
The memory of a tall, muscular cowboy flashed through her memory, leaning up against the brick wall of Two Shot High and giving her an insolent once-over that had made her hunch her shoulders, clutch her books to her chest, and scurry past like a fleeing mouse.
“I do remember.” She wished she hadn’t let him in. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, Trevor was a jerk. If she’d recognized him she never would have opened the door.
“Don’t worry. Obviously, I’m not the guy I used to be.”
“Good.” The word came out before she could think things through, and she flushed. She wouldn’t wish a wheelchair on anyone, so it was hardly an appropriate response. “I mean…”
“You probably figure I got what I deserved.”
“Nobody deserves that.” She flushed again, wishing she could think of something to say that didn’t seem to reference his condition.
“I might have. I was so damn arrogant I thought I could do anything—ride like Ty Murray, drink like Johnny Cash, and drive like Dale Earnhardt. It was the last two that got me in trouble.” He looked down at his legs. “I was pinned in my truck for three hours before they found me. Gave me a lot of time to think.”
She nodded, lost for words.
“At least I hit a tree and didn’t kill anybody.”
She stared down at the floor, still at a loss for a response. What was wrong with her? She could make cocktail party chitchat with millionaires, stand up in front of a roomful of congressmen, and hold her own with businessmen twice her age. But here in this rustic cabin, she was as awkward as a shy teenager. Had she distanced herself so thoroughly from her old life that she couldn’t talk to regular people anymore? That didn’t bode well for her success in Two Shot.
“Anyway, your boyfriend took pity on me and gave me a job here. We’re raising quarter horses—good ones. You still ride?”
“No. And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Too bad. I heard you were pretty damn good.”
She froze. Had Lane given this guy a play-by-play or what?
“You rode Coppertone Flash, right?”
Oh. He was talking about riding. And he evidently had a memory like a steel trap, because she’d ridden Flash twelve years ago, and only at a couple of rodeos.
Oblivious to her confusion, Trevor chattered on. “How come you quit?”
“My dad—Roy Price—he got killed.”
“That’s right. But you were good. I saw you ride that horse at Humboldt. You must’ve been what, fourteen maybe? Fifteen? Everybody said that horse was crazy.” He flashed a quick grin. “I thought you both were.”
Her mouth was dry and she could feel that bird thrashing in her rib cage again. Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to talk about Flash? She wished she still had some good memories of that time. She vaguely remembered the triumph she’d felt when Flash did her bidding and the glow she’d felt when Roy talked to her about barn management with all the respect he’d give to a grown-up. But ever since that day, any mention of horses took her back to the day Roy died and the sad aftermath of the accident.
“I remembered hearing you were going to ride that horse at Humboldt just a couple days after the accident. Couldn’t believe how brave you were riding a killer horse like that.”
“He wasn’t a killer,” she said. “It was an accident. He saw something that spooked him and—it just happened in a bad spot, that’s all.”
Trevor shrugged. “I guess.”
“And I didn’t ride him that day. I don’t ride anymore.”
“Why not? It’s not like you can’t.” He scanned her head to foot and she felt a blush rising. It wasn’t a sexual look, it was an envious one—one that took in the fact that she h
ad all the working parts she needed and wasn’t using them. “It’s just your mind that’s holding you back.”
He had a point, but her mind wasn’t holding her back from success. It was just holding her back from riding horses. And who needed that? She’d moved on. Millions of people never rode a horse in their life.
Trevor’s gaze lost focus and seemed to turn inward. There was a long silence before he shook his head sharply, as if to clear out old cobwebs.
“Well, I’m sorry for how I was back then.” He wheeled toward the door. “I had a crush on you the size of Texas. I just didn’t have a clue how to treat women back then, or I would’ve been nicer. And I guess Lane beat me to it anyway.” He gave her an exaggerated version of a lovesick grin and backed the chair up so he could wheel straight for the door. “So you’re happy with the cabin?”
She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to talk about Lane. “It’s great.”
She didn’t mention the fact that it had enough candles around to supply three Italian restaurants and a bordello.
“Well, enjoy your stay. Feel free to use the fireplace. Gets cool at night.” He spun the chair and eased down the ramp, bouncing over a few feet of sunbaked lawn to a dusty white van parked next to her Malibu. Sarah was curious about how he managed to get into the vehicle on his own, but it felt weird to watch and besides, she just wanted him gone. He’d brought back too many memories—of high school, of Roy, and of Flash.
She glanced down at her watch. She’d been in Two Shot all of an hour and already the past was coming back to haunt her.
As soon as he was gone, she hauled her luggage out of the car and carried her overnight bag up a rough staircase made of halved logs. The loft was just big enough for a queen-sized bed. With slanted ceilings and a curtained window under a peaked eave, it felt like a sanctuary. She shucked off her work clothes and pulled on her favorite pair of yoga pants, then slipped on a tank top and hoodie.
Trotting downstairs, she sank into the overstuffed cushions and stared at the fireplace. It was hardly the right time of year for a fire, but dancing flames would add a nice, cozy touch. Maybe coming back to Two Shot wouldn’t be so bad with a place like this to stay. All that was missing was someone to enjoy it with.
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