Cowboy Crazy (17 page)

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 had 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.

She gave herself a mental slap as an image of Lane appeared in the back of her mind. That “someone” needed to be someone who wasn’t a rodeo cowboy, didn’t spend half his life on the road, and didn’t accuse her of having an affair with his brother.

She eyed the kindling stacked under three massive logs inside the fireplace. A cylindrical box of extra-long matches beside it was a clear invitation.

Come
on
baby, light my fire.

Striking a match on the rough stone hearth, she held the flame to the kindling and watched the wood catch and burn.

With the match still flaring in her hand, she eased to her feet and lit a pyramid of candles on the mantel, then moved to the coffee table and lit a few more that were interspersed with round river rocks on a tray. The room jumped to life in the gentle flicker of flames, but there were deep shadows in the corners that spooked her a little. Getting out another match, she lit a few more candles and the shadows melted away.

Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out a file on energy law she’d printed out from the Wyoming legislative website. Flicking on a lamp with a copper-colored shade, she settled down on the sofa to read. She’d just cover a little bit of the material. Just enough so she could think about strategies while she got ready for bed. That would take her mind off Two Shot. And Lane.

She adjusted a pillow under her head and started reading. Some people would fall asleep over something as dull as a regulatory bill on oil drilling and exploration, but Sarah was always interested in legislation that affected her work. The legal language was a little obscure sometimes, but it was like a puzzle, trying to figure out how the law would change the way the company made decisions and the way she’d approach the locals about the drilling… it was fascinating, really… fascinating…

Half an hour later, she blinked her eyes open to see the fire reduced to a heap of embers. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced around at the candles. Several had burned down to stubs, and one was just a guttering pool of wax melted into the river rocks. Rising, she turned out the lamp and blew out the ones on the coffee table. Even in her sleep-subdued state, she couldn’t help pausing to appreciate the way the room looked with just the candles on the mantel and the few lighting the corners.

Appreciation only lasted for a second before she realized the candles on the mantel were perilously close to an Indian weaving that hung on the stone wall above the fireplace. How had she not noticed that when she lit them?

She stood up on her tiptoes to blow them out and had the crazy thought that she should make a wish, like a kid with a birthday cake. What would she wish for?

Pictures of Lane flashed into her mind. Lane in the moonlight. Lane in the light from the truck’s dashboard. Lane looking into her eyes in that intense, private way that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.

She swept away the images quick as she could. A wish shouldn’t be wasted on yourself, especially when what you wanted was bad for you and impossible to boot. She painted a mental picture of Kelsey instead, holding Katie in her arms. Closing her eyes, she wished her sister happy, healthy, and headache-free.

As a kid, she’d always been disappointed when her wish didn’t come true the instant the candles went out. Now she knew better, but she couldn’t help imagining Kelsey waking in her bed, putting a hand to her forehead, wondering where the headache had gone.

The grating of a key in the cabin’s front door chased the image right out of her head.

Trevor probably had a key, but she doubted he’d use it. Maybe she’d wasted that wish on herself after all.

And maybe her wish had come true.

Lane had seen Sarah’s car outside the cabin, so he knew she was there, but the lights inside were dim. The possible consequences of walking in on a woman in the middle of the night didn’t hit him until he opened the cabin door and spotted her standing at the mantel clutching the fireplace lighter in one hand like a gun, her eyes wide.

“It’s just me.”

The cabin was a cave of soft golden light. She had the whole place lit up with candles, and he could smell the scent of sulfur, as if a few had just been blown out. It smelled like a birthday party, the sulfur mingling with the vanilla scent of the candles to bring back memories of family and childhood. It made him smile, but she didn’t smile back.

Of course she didn’t. The last time she’d seen him, he’d implied that she was sleeping with his brother.

But for now, he needed to lighten the mood a little. Quick, before she flicked the lighter to life and set his hair on fire.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked.

“No. Of course not.” She set her fists on her hips, a movement that threw her shoulders back and thrust her breasts against the thin fabric of her top. He couldn’t help staring at her. She was dressed in clingy gray pants that followed every curve. The wide waistband spanned her hips just below her belly button, leaving a tempting swath of skin below a tiny tank top. She didn’t have a bra on under the top and the warm light of the flames seemed to highlight the full curves of her breasts, forming soft shadows between and below them.

She was evidently unconscious of the picture she created. Too busy being mad, probably.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You scared me to death.”

“It’s my house.” He mirrored her pose and gazed around the room, pointedly pausing as he took in the candles in each corner. “So were you expecting someone, or were you having a romantic evening all by yourself?”

She scowled. “You probably think I’m expecting your brother.”

“No.” He did his best to look contrite. “I know you better than that. It just surprised me, seeing his car. I said something stupid and I’m sorry.” Searching for a change of subject, he moved across the room in three long strides and picked up a sheaf of papers that were scattered on the floor by the sofa. “House Bill 70. Couldn’t you find a book to read?”

She snatched the papers away, flushing.

“That’s the one that lets energy companies harvest their mineral rights without first getting permission from a landowner, right? I should think you’d be discussing that with Eric.”

She shrugged one shoulder. It was a gesture that defined her, elegant and careless but with an athletic, body-conscious grace that made him want to touch her.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” she said. “It gives us the right to drill, build roads—whatever we need to do.”

He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to argue about that now.”

“Good.” She started to stretch, but midway into lifting her arms above her head she seemed to notice her skimpy clothes and clasped her arms over her chest. “Because I’m going to bed.”

“We need to talk.”

“I thought you didn’t want to argue.”

He stepped around the coffee table and stood beside her in the warm glow of the fire. The rest of the cabin was freezing cold and he wondered why she hadn’t turned on the heat. Maybe the power was out. That would explain the candles.

But it seemed as though all the heat and light in the room emanated directly from Sarah. She turned to face him, a reflection from the candles flickering in her eyes and making them more compelling than ever.

“I said we need to
talk
. We don’t have to argue every time.” He was using the same soothing drawl he used with uppity animals, but he knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. Once she found out he’d told Eric she was from Two Shot, she’d be furious. She’d probably think he’d done it on purpose. He’d argue that point, but he wouldn’t fight her when she told him what an idiot he’d been.

She seemed to have accepted his apology for his stupid accusation outside her apartment. But he knew her anger would return once he told her he’d spilled the beans about her hometown. Something in her life had made her as defensive and quick to kick as an abused filly. If only he could find a way to explain what he’d done that would help her understand he hadn’t meant to do her harm.

Small
talk
, he told himself.
Just
make
small
talk
until
you
figure
it
out.

He said the first thing that came into his head that didn’t involve her clothes or her body. “Smells like birthday cake in here.”

“I just blew out some candles.”

“Did you make a wish?”

Now her normally pale skin was rosy with embarrassment from the swell of her breasts to her smooth forehead. Suddenly, he knew what she’d wished for.

He brought one hand up and brushed her cheek, smoothing her hair out of the way. When she didn’t flinch, he bent and kissed her, closing his eyes and letting his own wishes flow into the kiss. He wished he didn’t have to tell her what he’d done. He wished she knew how he felt about her.

Somehow, despite all his wishing, the kiss broke and they stood just inches apart, Sarah looking up into his face. She looked slim as a sprite in the firelight, her eyes bright as the flames. He stroked her cheek again, but this time he kept going, running the back of his hand down her neck, tracing the curve where it met her shoulder, drifting down to laze over the swell of her breast. He let his hand slide off into the air just before he grazed her nipple.

He could see her body wanted him, but she was poised to flee any minute. She’d pull away if he went too far.

***

Sarah knew she wasn’t going to make it through this encounter unscathed. Lane had looked good in the rodeo ring—rugged and handsome and tough. He’d looked striking at the office, masculine and hot and wonderfully alive. But here, in the warm light from the fire and the candles, he looked… human.

He was giving her that intense stare again, and she could feel all her barriers falling. It happened every time. Why couldn’t she resist him? She should turn away. Go up to the loft, and sleep off whatever weird effect he had on her.

But his collar was crooked. She reached up to fix it, and somehow her fingers ended up nested in the hair at the nape of his neck. Then his lips were on hers. She was pressing her breasts to his chest, looping her arms around his neck, and when he deepened the kiss she was lost all over again.

Suddenly he hefted her up into his arms with about as much effort as if he’d lifted a bag of groceries. Still kissing her, he edged around the coffee table and kicked the legal papers aside, then fell back onto the sofa with her in his lap. The impact made their mouths mesh together even harder, and he pulled away and ran his thumb over her lower lip as if checking for damage. Finding none, he kissed her again, once, twice, three times, each kiss brief and gentle enough to make her ache for more.

He lowered his arm and tilted down onto the cushions. Suddenly she was sprawled out like a wanton Cleopatra, Lane’s body pressed to hers. He rested on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her, but there was nothing to keep his hips from pressing against hers. The yoga pants didn’t provide much of a barrier and she could feel him growing hard against her belly as he carefully placed one kiss on the high point of her cheekbone and another on the tender skin at the corner of her eye. Then he kissed the bow of her lips and the curve of her jawbone, and trailed a string of kisses down her neck that set off a chain reaction where every nerve sparked under her skin.

He was kissing her alive like the prince in a fairy tale—only princes were never this hot. Princes were boys, pale and slender and gentlemanly. This was a man—a highwayman storming the ramparts to steal the princess’s heart.

She tilted back her head, opening herself to more kisses and closing her eyes to shut out the room around them. She felt only the warmth of the embers, the heat of his touch, and darkness, deep delicious darkness, all around them. He kissed the curve of her breast just above the scooped neck of her tank top and she had to resist the urge to reach up and tug it down. She felt a strange urge to bare her throat like an animal in heat.

A low noise in his throat echoed the urge and she arched her back so her skin pressed against his lips. Gently, he tugged the neck of her top down and kissed his way down the curve, pulling the fabric away as he went and only stopping when his lips fastened over her nipple and his tongue flicked out to touch it.

She flexed her hips as he tightened his lips and sucked, pulling all the resistance out of her and leaving only need. She reached down and hooked her thumbs in his belt loops, snugging his hips against her and letting loose with a sinuous motion that left no doubt in either of their minds as to where this was headed.

Opening her eyes, she looked down to see his rough, stubbled jaw shadowing the smooth skin of her breast. Her squirming had hauled the yoga pants down on her hips until they barely covered her, leaving a long stretch of bare belly exposed.

Lane moved one big hand down to trace the stretched waistband, his fingers grazing the untouched skin just above the danger zone and sending ripples of pleasure from her belly to her core. She tugged at his belt loops, but that wasn’t getting her anywhere. She reached for his belt buckle, surprised to find a simple metal clasp.

“No prize buckle,” she said.

“The prize is inside,” he murmured against her breast.

She made quick work of the buckle and the fly and slid her fingers over the thin cotton beneath, feeling the outline of his cock hard under her hand. He made a strangled noise and shimmied her yoga pants further down, then slid his fingers under the stretched cotton and grazed her curls. She gasped. He was getting ahead of her. She hadn’t done enough for him yet. Grabbing his wrist, she pinned it to the sofa and worked her hand around the length of him, opening her eyes to watch his face.

His eyes were narrowed. “Are we still keeping score?”

Caught. He was right. She was still thinking that way.

“I’m not trying to win,” she said. “I’m just trying to keep things even.”

He smiled. “You’re always trying to win, sugar.”

He kissed her again, harder this time, and his hand slid into her panties. Her thighs turned to jelly, her stomach to sweet warm syrup as her body opened and warmed to him. She closed her eyes and let the world wash away again, leaving only his touch and his kiss and the soft flicker of firelight in the depths of her subconscious.

***

Lane felt the thrill of triumph rising in his chest and knew his brain was slipping into competition mode. He was calculating his moves, gauging his chances, sensing Sarah beneath him like a rider feels the bull.

That was no way to treat a woman. Sex wasn’t a contest to be won. Not with Sarah. It was something to share, a give-and-take, a blending of minds and hearts.

He looked down into her face. What worked for her? What would give her pleasure? What would make her arch and sigh and finally surrender? What would make her
his
?

No. Scratch that last thought. He didn’t want to tame her; he wanted to make her love him.

He stroked the slick sweet heart of her, watching her face, seeing the flickers of pleasure and ecstasy on her face, and then something almost like pain crossed her features. She bit her lip and opened her eyes, and there was helplessness in her gaze. It was what he used to want from a woman, but not this time. Not from her. He slowed his touch and simply cupped her in his hand, letting his warmth give her comfort, and the fear went away.

They lay that way for a while, his head resting on the slope of her breasts, and when he was sure she’d stilled and calmed, he kissed his way down her body again, lower this time, slipping the soft stretchy pants down her hips and away, running his hand up and down the silky smoothness of her legs.

Then the dance began as the two of them worked their way into a rhythm that harmonized and blended like a gospel choir. When her body pulled taut and she threw her head back, he felt the shimmer of her orgasm spread from her body to his, shooting through him like a flame on a fuse and bringing every nerve in his body to light.

He held her, waiting for her shudders to subside, but she struggled upright and tugged his T-shirt over his head. Suddenly they were sitting side by side, her naked, him nearly so since his jeans had somehow followed her yoga pants to the floor. She looked down at his boxers and smiled.

“Oh, look. Little bucking horses,” she said. “Do you have cowboy jammies too?”

He felt himself blushing like a girl. “They were a gift,” he growled. “That’s my college mascot. And no. I don’t wear jammies.”

“Good.” She considered the boxers, that little crease appearing between her eyebrows. “You went to the University of Wyoming?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not, I just…”

“I mostly went to do college rodeo.”

“What was your major?”

“Agriculture.”

“Like…”

He realized her school probably hadn’t even had the option. “A lot of chemistry, biology, environmental studies. Law, even.” He glanced toward the papers scattered on the floor. “Water rights, stuff like that.”

He wasn’t about to mention mineral rights. That might bring back the real world. Just in case she thought of it, he flipped her hair back over her shoulder and kissed her again, and the thought of college and mineral rights and everything else faded to black.

He didn’t know how the embrace broke, or even how they ended up engaged in the slow dance of seduction again. Somehow she shed her clothes and his were gone too, flung to the floor in a move so unconscious it felt utterly natural. It was a little more awkward to grab the jeans back and fish for the condom he kept in his wallet, but he found it and slipped it on in no time.

She set her hands on his shoulders and flexed her thighs to rise, then lowered herself onto him, letting the tip of his cock just touch her, just barely.