Cowboy Crazy (7 page)

Scanning the scattered lights from horse trailers and RVs decorating the rodeo grounds, Sarah let the hum of engines and the buzz of generators chase the memories out of her mind. Somehow, she needed to change the subject and get Lane talking about something other than horses.

“You know what would be good right now? A turkey leg. And maybe some ribs.” She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but it would provide a distraction.

“A woman who eats real food. I like that.” He stopped and touched her shoulder, and she felt the mood between them shift. She should have kept walking, pretended she didn’t notice, but something in his tone made her stop and turn toward him. He wrapped his hands around her biceps and ran them down to her arms, leaving a shimmering trail of sensation in his wake.

“I like
you
,” he murmured, taking her hands.

She stiffened, trying not to react to the scent of him, the warm awareness of his body inches from hers. “Come on, Lane, stop. You’re not my type and I’m not yours.”

He scanned her face, his eyes probing hers. “I’m not so sure of that. You’re pretty spunky once you get out of that straitlaced suit.”

She pulled her hands away, wondering just what he’d meant by that comment, and was surprised to see he was flushing a little. The double entendre must have been unintentional.

“Sorry,” he said. “But you were right—testosterone runs high around here. Girl dressed like you might as well be running a gauntlet.”

“Dressed like me?” She was suddenly conscious of the way her old jeans clung to her flesh. Maybe it wasn’t that the cowboys were overloaded with testosterone. Maybe she just looked like a woman who was willing to help them work some off.

He glanced down at the jeans, then caught himself and returned his gaze to her face.

“Didn’t mean it that way. You just—you look good, that’s all. Really good.”

***

Lane could have kicked himself for being so clumsy. Sarah looked great in her jeans and T-shirt. There were plenty of buckle bunnies prancing around like prize ponies for sale, dressed in slutty midriff-baring tops and jeans so low you could see butt cleavage. Compared to them, Sarah was a thoroughbred.

But she wasn’t the tight-assed professional type his brother usually hired. She was funny, smart, and sassy. She’d joined in on the banter with Doc Myrna like she’d known her all her life.

He was attracted to her—and not just to her body, though that was damn near enough. Unlike most women, she could carry on a conversation and he actually enjoyed being with her.

Too bad it was all about Carrigan. She wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for business.

They’d strolled into the shadow of a shuttered concession stand, and the faint light glinted on her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her shoulders.

Damn, that filmy, silky shirt was pretty. He didn’t usually notice a woman’s clothes, but the pastel peachy color brought out the delicacy of her complexion, and the fabric skimmed over her skin so smoothly he could make out the lacy borders of her bra. He wondered what it would feel like if he took a slip of the cloth between his fingers. It was so finely woven it would probably catch on his rough hands, maybe even tear. He wasn’t the kind of man who could handle delicate things. Fine china broke in his hands, and delicate women didn’t last long either.

And for all her spunk, he sensed a fragility behind Sarah’s professional facade, a hidden store of secrets and insecurities. Not that she’d ever admit it. He could tell she was a regular warrior princess when it came to shielding her feelings.

“Princess.” He realized too late he’d said the word out loud. Worse yet, his hand had followed his thoughts, reaching out to touch the silky surface of her shirt.

“Don’t call me that.”

She might be objecting to the name, but she wasn’t pushing him away. He ran a cautious, gentle fingertip down the faint outline of her bra strap, tracing the delicate line of lace down to the place where her breast swelled in a sweet, sensuous curve.

“Sorry.” He toyed with the necklace that dangled between her breasts. At the office she’d been wearing a dignified diamond chip in an abstract setting. Now she was wearing a little silver horse charm on a chain. It looked like a kid’s necklace.

He lifted his finger to touch the point of her china doll chin. “Can’t help it. Can’t help—any of this.”

He tipped her face up to his. With her pale skin and wide eyes, she made him think of a fawn, sleek and soft and Bambi-eyed. Was this the same Sarah he’d met in the office? She seemed so hesitant now. So—womanly. A tangle of conflicting feelings welled up in his chest, a need to protect her combined with an urge to dominate her now that she’d showed a hint of submission.

He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ears. He hadn’t intended it to be a sexual touch, just a comforting one, like you’d use to calm a skittish horse. She tilted her head and for a moment he held her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes and drew in a soft breath, her lips parting, and there was nothing he could do but kiss her.

Her lips were so delicate, so perfectly shaped. He’d just meant to touch them with his own, but he couldn’t resist flicking out his tongue to trace the smooth curves of her upper lip and that sweet little dip in the middle. When he felt its pillowy, velvet texture give way, an arrow of desire hit his heart as surely as if she’d aimed it. But she hadn’t aimed it. She wasn’t half-trying. She was giving in to him, surrendering.

So why did he feel so damned helpless?

He buried his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. Sure enough, the silk shirt snagged on his rough hand, but when he slid his grip down to her waist the cloth wafted weightlessly over his hand and he was touching her skin, smoother than any silk and warm, so warm under his fingertips.

She shifted in his hands and he started to pull back, but she was moving toward him, not away. He realized with a start that her lips were seeking his as desperately as he’d sought hers. His palms cupped her waist and her body bent backward, arching not to escape but to press herself against him. He moved one hand up her side, savoring the way she shivered as his fingertips ran along the edge of her bra. The other drifted low, stroking the perfect curve of her ass, and she let out a sound that was feminine and wild and totally uncivilized.

Her little tongue touched his and slicked along the side, then dipped teasingly past his lips and flicked out again. That might have been an accident, but then she did it again and they were past kissing. This was something far more, him thrusting, her parrying, and he felt desire spiral up in his loins and make him so hard so fast he thought he’d die if he didn’t reach down and release the pressure. But his hand got sidetracked on the way, sliding over her breast, feeling the soft flesh yield while the lace teased his fingers.

Smoothing his thumb over the curve, he felt her nipple hardening to his touch and had a flash of what she’d look like naked, all that smooth perfect skin and hard, pink nipples begging to be kissed and licked and more. He wanted to take her back to his trailer, pull that slippery little shirt off over her head, and shimmy her out of those tight jeans. He wanted her legs around his waist and her breasts in his hands. He wanted to keep on kissing her, but he wanted more than that—a lot more.

A car door opened in the alley behind them and a slash of yellow light sliced into the shadows. It slanted across her body, traveling from her white throat up to the soft curve of her jaw, rising to light her flushed cheeks. With her swollen pink lips and wide eyes she looked like a sexy Madonna, Venus in blue jeans, tempting and sultry and sexy as hell.

A little wild, too. Her hands raked his chest and he took them in his own so he could kiss her better, but now she really was pushing him away.

“Lane, no,” she hissed. “Wait!” She snatched her hands away and skittered backward, smoothing her shirt, tucking her necklace beneath it. She was buckling her belt too. When had her belt come undone?

“Sorry.” His head was spinning. “What…”

“It’s okay. I—I—it’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but it is.” She was frantically twirling her hair in a frantic effort to redo the ponytail at the back of her neck. He bent down and plucked her barrette out of the dirt.

“Oh. Thanks.” She clipped up her hair with a practiced twist and straightened, smoothing her shirt and squaring her shoulders. “Do I look okay?”

He grinned. “Do you mean like normal-okay, or sexy-okay? Because I’m not sure I’m qualified to judge the kind of okay you want to be.”

He felt suddenly energized. The kiss had made him forget his aches and pains. He’d been hoping this jaunt was something more than a job for her. He’d caught a distinct hum in the air at their meeting this morning, a sexual tension between them that ran both ways.

If only she wasn’t scared of horses.

But wait. That had to be a lie. He’d woken from his bull-riding wreck to see her standing over him, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light as she held a white horse like some equestrian angel who’d come to carry him to heaven. Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But if he was going to indulge in wishful thinking about Sarah Landon, wouldn’t she have been naked?

And there was that necklace. A horse. She was lying when she said she didn’t like horses. He was sure of it.

She frowned and that little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Button your shirt.”

He looked down to see his chest exposed nearly down to the waist, bandages and all. “Hey, I didn’t unbutton it.”

She let out an exasperated breath and leaned toward him, her fingers brushing his sore ribs as she struggled to fasten the buttons she’d clawed loose. He took pity on her and helped, which probably slowed things down as their fingers tangled together. Her gaze flashed up to meet his and skittered away again. She bit her lip and concentrated on the buttons.

When she finished the last one and started to pull away, he took her hands in his own, holding them against his chest.

“Does this mean we’re not having sex?”

“Lane, shh.” She nodded toward a group of men emerging from the nearby car. “Tuck in your shirt and let’s go.” She was all business now, except for the flush that reddened her neck and cheeks. He wondered if it was embarrassment or passion or if she was just pissed off. Probably all three.

He shoved his shirttail into the waistband of his jeans, wincing as his hand hit his still-eager buddy down below. She turned to him, her eyes stern, and he had to resist the urge to kiss her into submission again.

She smoothed her shirt and he almost groaned as the fabric tightened over her breasts.

“Is there any sign of… anything?” she asked. “Can you tell what happened?”

“Not by looking at you. Maybe by looking at me, though.”

Her eyes flicked downward and away, her cheeks flushing.

“Want to go for that beer?”

She swallowed. “Sure.”

She gave him a stiff little nod and he wondered what had happened to the woman who’d kissed him a moment ago. She was all tense now, and he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her as they headed past the bright lights of the midway and made their way through the dimly lit parking lot. He usually found it easy to talk to women. He talked, they giggled. Then they went to bed, and he didn’t have to talk anymore. But that obviously wasn’t the way it was going to go tonight.

Most of the concession stands were closed for the night, but a string of plastic chili pepper lights glowed red against the buff canvas of the beer tent. The catcalls and whoops of celebrating cowboys drifted through the canvas and swirled on the night air, mixing with the sharp scents of spices and barbecued meat. Sarah kicked a stone with the toe of her boot and sent it skittering across the walkway. Lane looked down and froze.

“What’s with the boots?”

She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and pulled out a five for the cover charge, ignoring Lane’s efforts to pay. “Nothing.”

She edged through the crowd and plopped down in a folding chair, swinging her feet under a long table that looked like it had been borrowed from a school cafeteria. A couple guys waved at Lane, but he nodded and sat down beside Sarah, bending down to tug at the hem of her jeans. “Let me see those.”

They were brown leather cowboy boots, square-toed and unadorned. They weren’t girlie fashion footwear with fancy tooling; they were working boots. Judging from the worn, scuffed leather, they’d been used and used hard.

She pulled her foot away. “They’re cowboy boots. Is that a problem?”

“Real cowboy boots.”

She tucked her feet under her chair and he knew he’d scored a point. He just didn’t know how.

“No city girl has boots like that.”

“This city girl does.” She shrugged and looked away. “They come that way these days.”

This was getting interesting. He’d seen the so-called “distressed leather” boots they sold in stores. Sarah’s were the real thing, broke in, broken down, and used damn near to death.

He was sure now that she was lying about the horse thing. And he definitely wanted to go on with the game.

***

Sarah glanced around the crowded interior of the tent, searching for familiar faces. Humboldt was far enough from Two Shot that she might go unnoticed—but there was a chance somebody would turn up who knew her
when
.

When she’d been dirt-poor trailer trash. When she’d been the daughter of a drunk, the only defender of a family that fed the gossip vine like Miracle-Gro fed potted plants.

“Shit,” she muttered, then winced. She wasn’t thinking. She hadn’t been thinking when she let him kiss her, and she hadn’t been thinking when she swore like some spunky heroine in a Reba McEntire song, either. He was scoring points right and left, and she was losing the game big-time.

“Sorry,” he said, surprising her. “It’s not exactly the Ritz. I just thought this would give you a sense of the kind of people you need to deal with, the kind of minds you’re looking to change.”

She nodded, realizing she’d almost forgotten the whole purpose of the evening. It was hard to squelch her old self—the self that would have given her right arm to go to the rodeo with a guy like Lane, share a kiss in the shadows, go for a beer and maybe a dance. It was a redneck girl’s definition of fun.