Cowboy Crazy (5 page)

She stuck her wallet in one back pocket, shoved her cell phone in the other, and turned to check herself head-to-toe one more time.

“Wow,” Gloria said. “You look like a completely different person.”

Sarah had to agree. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Sarah Landon, public affairs manager. She was Sarah the rancher’s daughter, all dolled up and ready for the rodeo. Her hands were on her hips, her shoulders back, and her chin tilted up like she was ready to hold her own against the world.

She hated to admit it, but she kind of liked the real Sarah.

“Have fun,” Gloria said. There was a hint of envy in her tone, and Sarah realized with a start that she could have fun tonight. She was going to a rodeo with Lane Carrigan. How many cowgirls would kill for a chance to do that?

Sure, she’d left her inner cowgirl behind when she’d left Two Shot, because you couldn’t be a country bumpkin and gain the kind of respect she was shooting for. But maybe she should let a little of her real self out for just one night.

A horn blared outside and she glanced out the window to see a beat-up Dodge dually parked at the curb. It was definitely a cowboy truck, battered and bent, pieced together from so many parts it was hard to tell what its original color had been. The hood was red, the quarter panel blue, and hints of yellow paint showed through the rust on the tailgate.

Sheesh. Eric drove a Lincoln; his brother drove a disaster. Gloria was right—Sarah was hanging out with the wrong brother.

Lane stood beside the truck, leaning against the cab with his arms folded over his chest and his ankles crossed. He should really pick Sarah up at her door, but there was a camera perched over the entrance to the apartment building and a bell on the door frame. He wasn’t about to stand on the doorstep with his hat in his hand like a supplicant, waiting for Sarah to buzz him in. That would put way too much control in her hands. And while he’d started to like her and even respect her, he wasn’t about to hand over the reins.

He shouldn’t have even invited her to the rodeo. While it would give him the advantage of pulling her out of her world and into his, he wasn’t sure he could endure the ribbing he’d get from the other competitors when he turned up with Miss Priss. She’d stand out like a long-haired cat at an all-dog poker game, and he’d never hear the end of it.

But it would almost be worth it to watch her climb into the truck in that sleek little skirt of hers. He was thinking so hard of the view that would offer that he almost didn’t recognize the woman who whirled out the door and down the steps. Either she’d stopped at the Boot Barn on the way home or she had a hidden cache of cowgirl clothes.

He should have known she’d dress right. She was obviously the kind of woman who had to be the master of any situation, so she’d hardly dress inappropriately for any occasion. That realization made him want to take her to a pool party, or maybe one of those skeezy bars where the girls dressed like hookers. See if she was up for a challenge.

He opened the truck door and held out a hand for her but she ignored him and hauled herself up into the passenger seat on her own. He couldn’t help noticing the way the jeans stretched over her curves as she climbed in. They were lightweight denim, faded to a summer shade of pale blue and worn in all the right places. She caught him staring at the big Wrangler
W
on the back pocket like he was trying to relearn the alphabet. She scowled, and he shot back a know-it-all grin just to annoy her.

“You look nice. Thanks for dressing down.”

“I like to fit in,” she said.

“You do, don’t you, princess? Not me. I like to stand out.”

She’d practically handed him that point. He was starting to enjoy this game.

“Do me a favor,” she said. “Don’t call me princess.”

“Sorry.” He gave her a full-bore Carrigan grin, the one that had charmed rodeo queens and barrel racers from Tennessee to Texas. “Just trying to be nice, that’s all. I said I’d show you the good side of the West, and that’s what I aim to do.”

“All right.” Her girlish brand of spunk made him want to tease her, in a big-brother, kid-sister kind of way. He half expected her to stick out her tongue or punch him in the arm.

“Maybe in exchange you could show me the good side of Sarah Landon,” he said. “Assuming there is one.”

“I don’t know.” She folded her arms over her chest and skootched down in her seat, frowning at the city as it petered out on either side of them and gave way to open fields. “If there is one, you’re sure not going to find it at a rodeo.”

***

Settling back in her seat, Sarah tried to ignore the flutter of apprehension as she and Lane headed toward her hometown and the past she’d worked so hard to leave behind.
There’s nothing to worry about
, she told herself.
Concentrate
on
Lane
.

It was just for one night, after all. She’d listen and fake interest in what the man had to say, and then she’d go back to work and find ways to get Two Shot to roll out the welcome mat for the Carrigan Corporation. She had to get that done no matter what Lane Carrigan wanted.

And being with him wasn’t that much of a hardship. He might be arrogant and obnoxious, but he seemed to have a sense of humor. And he was, without a doubt, the sexiest cowboy ever to strap on a prize buckle. She ought to just relax and enjoy herself. But it was hard to relax when the air in the truck cab shimmered with vitality, and it was even harder to ignore the squirmy sort of warmth that was coiling deep in her belly. She turned her head, pretending to stare out the window, and hoped he couldn’t see her reflection. Because she was pretty sure her tongue was hanging out.

It always surprised her how quickly you could get out of Casper. After a quick trip on the freeway, they cruised through an almost featureless landscape where broad plains stretched out from the road, bordered on both sides by a motley assortment of fence posts that proved ranchers were willing to staple barbed wire to anything that would stand still. She counted the posts as they flashed past.
One. Two. Three, four, five
. The truck picked up speed as the traffic thinned.

Unclenching her hands, she tried to relax. She leaned against the door. She propped one foot on the seat with her knee bent under her. That was uncomfortable, so she shifted and crossed her legs. Finally, she found herself back in her customary position, legs parallel at a graceful diagonal, ankles primly crossed, hands folded.

Shoot, she was such a tight-ass these days.

She hadn’t always been that way. Riding across the plains in a pickup reminded her of riding to town with her stepdad in the days before child safety seats and seat belt laws. She and Kelsey had ridden in the truck bed with their backs to the cab and feet stretched out, letting the wind whip their hair around while they whooped and made faces at the cars behind them. Sometimes they’d stand up, resting their elbows on the top of the cab and bracing their feet, leaning into the wind like figureheads at the prow of a rusty, rattletrap ship.

“I’m the king of the world!” Kelsey would shout, spreading her arms.

Sarah wondered what had happened to Roy’s old pickup. Sold, probably, along with everything else. Her mother had driven a series of nondescript sedans that had degenerated from simply used to derelict, reflecting the declining path her life had taken after Roy had died and she’d started finding comfort in the bottle again. She’d passed on two years later, and everyone at the funeral had called it “a blessing.” Sarah thought the blessing came a little late. Her mother could have used God’s grace a little sooner.

The crunch of gravel under the tires brought her thoughts back to the present. As they turned into a wide, flat parking lot, the rodeo grounds loomed before her like a slice of her past plopped down in the middle of the open plains. There was no good reason for the arena to be where it was except that some enterprising rancher had decided to use some extra lumber to build a set of bleachers. From that small beginning the place had grown into pretty respectable rodeo grounds, with fenced corrals for livestock, a high booth set on stilts for the announcer, and a playground for the kids—though why ranch kids would want to ride plastic ponies on springs was anybody’s guess. As Lane and Sarah passed the chain-link fence that kept the kids corralled, Sarah saw a little boy throw out a loop and snag one of the play ponies like a pro, dallying his rope on the handle of the teeter-totter.

It was summer, so a carnival had sprung up around the grounds. Trailers advertising hot dogs and turkey legs were parked in ragged rows, and a few rickety rides competed with the playground. There was a beer tent on the far side of the arena, and a few enterprising women from the Wind River Reservation had set up tables in the parking lot to sell jewelry.

Lane checked his watch and cussed under his breath. “We’re running late,” he said. “I’ll meet you after the bucking. You want to watch the barrel racing then, or hit the beer tent?”

“Beer tent,” she said quickly. It was an easy decision. Watching the girls urge their horses through the cloverleaf would bring back memories, while tossing back a beer would help stave them off.

She headed for the stands, enjoying the way her old boots crunched on the gravel walkway. A bunch of girls dressed in sparklicious rodeo queen attire were loping their horses up and down behind the concession trailers, showing off for the cowboys who lounged carelessly on their truck tailgates and pretended not to notice.

She took her time strolling to the entrance gate, dawdling over the jewelry tables. A young girl dressed in a tourist-pleasing buckskin dress smiled at her over a display of fetish necklaces and squash-blossom pendants. Sarah fingered a cheap silver necklace that was obviously made for the tourist trade. A tiny running horse dangled from the chain, frozen in motion, its silver mane streaming from its neck.

The child behind the table dimpled, smiling so hard her eyes almost disappeared behind her plump cheeks. “Only five dollars.” She gave Sarah a sly sideways look, her eyes gleaming mischief.

“Three,” Sarah said, catching on to the game.

“Okay.”

Dang.
The kid was sharp. Sarah hadn’t really intended to buy anything, but she handed over a few crumpled dollars from her wallet and strung the necklace around her neck.
Silly, cheap thing. And a horse, too.
She shoved the charm inside her shirt and hurried over to the ticket line.

The voice of the rodeo clown crackled from a tinny speaker mounted high on a light pole, bantering with the announcer about goats and what great girlfriends they made. She could picture him in his baggy pants and wide suspenders, boogying on a barrel in the middle of the arena while he kept up a constant patter between rides. Shifting from one foot to the other, she breathed in the familiar odor of popcorn, beer, and nachos and flashed her companion pass at the sleepy cowboy slouching against the gate.

“Got yourself a cowboy? Better get in there,” he said. “Buckin’s ’bout to start.”

She nodded her thanks and walked inside, pausing at the rail that edged the grandstand as rock music blared. The clown jumped off the barrel and crawled inside, his painted face scrunched up in exaggerated terror as a gate across the arena swung open. A bull stormed out, leaping like a cat on a hotplate, hitting the ground so hard with his front hooves that the cowboy on his back almost fell onto his neck. Sarah clutched the top rail with both hands, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Rodeo always stirred her emotions. Much as she wanted to be the bored city girl, she could feel the excitement as the rider struggled for balance with the bull’s every buck.

Tilting sideways as the bull humped up his forequarters and leapt into a clockwise spin, the rider righted himself with a mighty heave of his muscled arm. He seemed totally in control now, his free hand held high, his outside leg spurring while the bull whirled in a frenzied blur. His hat shaded his face, but the size of him made her pretty sure it was Lane.

The announcer yammered with excitement and the crowd cheered as the bull stopped dead, snorted once, and spun the other way. The cowboy slid down into the spin, his arm muscles bulging as he strained to haul himself back up on the bull’s back, but it was no use. Centrifugal force pulled him into the well like a leaf sucked into a whirlpool, and he hit the dirt shoulder first.

His hat flew off as he struck the ground and Sarah saw that it was Lane, scrambling to get his feet under him and run for the fence. Two bullfighters in baggy plaid shorts and red T-shirts rushed the bull, waving their arms in a frantic dance of distraction, but the animal dipped one blunt horn under Lane’s ribs and tossed him into the air with a quick twitch of his head.

Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as his body rose into the air. There was a flurry of activity and when the dust cleared, Lane lay motionless on the ground. His hat lay in the dirt just inches from his outstretched hand, a massive hoof print crushing the crown.

Sarah stared down at the hat. The image of it lying there in the dust echoed an image from her past and opened her mind like a key sliding into a matching lock. Memories flooded into her mind. Another accident. Another man.

Another hat lying in the dust.

***

That day, Sarah had been a typical high schooler leading a typical high school life. As usual, she’d rushed through the hallways at school and daydreamed through her classes, anxious to get home.

Being eager to get home was a new thing for her. Before her mother met and married Roy Price, it had just been her mother, her sister, and herself, three women struggling to survive on the next-to-nothing wages her mother made as a waitress at Suze’s. Actually, it had been three girls, not women. Kelsey was only twelve, and their mother had never acted much like a grown-up. Sarah had played the part of the adult in the family up until Roy swept all three of them out of their trailer-park life and moved them to his small ranch at the edge of town. To some people, it might not have looked like much, but to Sarah it was heaven. Not only did she have a dad now, she had a horse.

And it was one heck of a horse. Roy had been a horse trader all his life, but Chromium Flash was his biggest, best buy ever, a quarter horse stallion from champion performance stock with explosive speed and gorgeous conformation. Roy wanted to stand him at stud for a steady income, but first he needed to prove the animal could perform. He thought the horse would be good at barrel racing, and he wanted Sarah to ride him.

Sarah loved the speed of the race, the excitement of taking the tight turns at top speed, the shotgun run for the finish. She practiced every day in the small corral beside the barn, but Roy said she needed to work out in a regulation-sized arena. So that afternoon, they were taking Flash to the Humboldt outfit outside of town.

She’d practically leapt off the bus and flown to the house that day, tossing her backpack on the floor in the entryway and rocketing up the steps to her bedroom. She was excited to train in a regulation arena, but the best part would be spending time at Humboldt’s.

“Hurry up,” Roy hollered. “We’ve got to get Flash over there before four so you can practice. You want any time to talk to that Humboldt boy you’re so sweet on, you’d better run.”

“I’m not sweet on him,” she hollered. But she could feel a blush warming her face. She’d always been shy with boys, but talking horses with Brian Humboldt was like talking to a friend. Maybe even a boyfriend. “I have to change.”