Cowboy Crazy (4 page)

“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 shattered 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.”

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
ing
s. “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 broken 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.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah you are. Me—I’d go for the other brother.” Gloria’s blue eyes took on a faraway focus, as if she was seeing the future. “He’s so tall and dark and
rich.
” She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip like a cat licking cream. “Like a venti French roast. Bet he goes down
smooooth.
”

“Gloria, that’s my boss you’re talking about.”

“Yours, not mine.” Gloria tossed her curls and gave Sarah a mischievous smile. “But he could boss me if he wanted.” She shimmied her shoulders in a move straight out of the stripper handbook. “I’d do whatever he said.”

She watched Sarah struggle into the jeans. It took a few hard tugs to get them up and over her hips.

“Those are getting tight,” Gloria observed.

“It’s your fault. You and your Very Berry Coffeecake.” Gloria had a habit of bringing home the excess treats from the coffee shop. It was probably a conspiracy to make Sarah as round and bubblicious as she was.

“We should go shopping,” Gloria said. “At that Western place. We could get you one of those sparkly shirts to draw attention to your boobs.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve got enough Western duds to stock a Boot Barn tent sale.” Sarah slipped into a silky peach-colored tee. “As soon as my sister gets back on her feet, I’m taking all this stuff to Goodwill.”

“How come Kelsey’s hubby left her, anyway?” Gloria settled back on the pillows heaped against the headboard, folding her hands behind her head. “She seems so nice.”

“She is. He’s just a jerk.” Sarah couldn’t even think about her former brother-in-law without a hot tide of anger sweeping over her. “That’s how rodeo cowboys are. And he’s not even a good rodeo cowboy. He doesn’t make any money at it. Kelsey’s raising my niece all on her own.”

A pang pierced her heart when she thought of Katie. She’d heard how love overwhelmed you when you looked at your own baby for the first time, but she couldn’t imagine a love stronger than she felt for her niece. It was a miracle to see her troubled family living on, surviving into another generation—but now that Mike had left, she was worried that old patterns were repeating themselves.

“She ought to take the guy to court,” Gloria said. “Make him pay child support.”

“Yeah, if she could find him. Mike’s been MIA for months.”

Gloria’s wide eyes widened even more. “Wow. And she was a stay-at-home mom, right?”

“Was. Now she works at Katie’s school.”

“Well, it’s good for a girl to have a career, right?”

Sarah wanted to agree. She’d been trying to nudge some ambition into Gloria that reached beyond finding a rich husband to support her. But for Kelsey, being a mom
was
a career. She cooked like Rachael Ray, organized like Martha Stewart, and sewed all her own clothes and Katie’s too. She’d decorated the trailer with all sorts of crafts, including a hand-embroidered set of sofa pillows that said
Home
is
Where
the
Heart
Is, Love is Family, Family is Love
, and
Home
Sweet
Home.
Sarah had always envied her sister for having a philosophy of life so simple it fit on a throw pillow.

But Mike had torn that philosophy to pieces. If Kelsey made a pillow for him, it would say
I
Just
Want
to
Have
a
Good
Time.
Beer
and
Buddies
Matter
Most.
Or maybe something more direct, like
Who
Cares
About
the
Kid?

She kicked around the footwear heaped on the floor of her closet, passing over sandals and pumps until she found her old boots. They were worn and scuffed and even a little dirty, but nobody would be looking at her feet. Not with Lane Carrigan beside her.

She toed into them and tugged at the backs to sink her heel.

“Boy, you really are a cowgirl, aren’t you?” Gloria said, grimacing at the boots. “You can take the girl out of the country…”

“And you can take the country out of the girl,” Sarah said, adjusting her jeans so they stacked over the boots just so. “They’re just boots. And I’m only wearing them one night.”