Cowboy Crazy

chapter 19



Sarah clutched her purse close to her body as she headed for the front door of the condo building. Fishing for her keys, she glanced back at the curb where Lane’s big diesel idled, growling like a monster in a kid’s nightmare. He’d parked at a slant to light her way. It was a nice thing to do, but in her agitated mental state, its lights seemed mercilessly bright, blinding her view of the man in the driver’s seat.

Which was just as well. She’d be better off if she never saw Lane Carrigan again. Somehow, he’d turned her from a dutiful, rational publicity executive into a wild woman with all the poise and judgment of a rabid squirrel.

She found her key ring and fumbled to find the front door key. Somehow they slipped from her fingers, and she bobbled them frantically before dropping them on the doorstep. She bent to pick them up, angling her body and stooping so she wouldn’t flash her panties at Lane. As she shoved the key in the lock, she turned and gave him a dismissive wave.

The truck stared back, its lights bright, its broad grill grim and threatening. Turning, she jerked the door open, eager to escape into the sanctuary of her apartment.

Whap.

She’d jerked the door right into her forehead. The impact knocked her backward and her heel hit the edge of the step. Flailing for balance and cursing her own clumsiness, she grabbed the door and dodged inside, hastily turning the dead bolt.

As she climbed the steps, harsh white light from Lane’s headlamps still lit the hallway. She couldn’t believe he’d asked if she had a doorman. How much did he think the company was paying her?

Of course, he couldn’t know she gave half her money to her sister, which was why she’d had to give up her paid parking space in the well-lit lot next door. Lane would really freak out if he saw her usual nighttime arrival, dodging in the back door from the dark alley, hoping no late-night drunks or homeless vagrants happened by.

Wearily, she crossed the second floor landing and traipsed up the final flight to her apartment. She should have been home hours ago. She had to work tomorrow, then make the two-hour drive to Two Shot in time to get there before Katie’s bedtime. Kelsey managed to play happy housewife without a husband from Monday to Friday, but working in Katie’s preschool, shuttling her to half-a-dozen after-school activities, and then chairing PTO meetings in the evenings took everything she had. By Saturday, she was a basket case. When Sarah found out Katie was spending entire weekends in front of the TV while her mom lay half comatose on the sofa with a migraine, she started going home to help out every Friday night. She played with Katie on Saturdays, giving Kelsey a break, and drove home Sunday morning. Two Shot wasn’t exactly her dream destination for weekend vacations, but so far she’d been able to hide out in Kelsey’s battered single-wide.

Flicking the light switch on the third floor landing, she peeked out the window to see Lane’s truck pulling away from the curb. She sorted through her keys, then tripped on the top step and dropped them again. Was she drunk or just tired?

A little bit of both, maybe, plus weak in the knees over Lane. She yawned as she found the apartment key and swung the door open. Dim light spilled into the hallway. Gloria must have left a light on for her. That was thoughtful. A light and…

Music?

Something soft and new-agey filled the air. That was odd. Gloria usually listened to bouncier stuff—Lady Gaga and Duffy. Stuff like that. Unless she was with somebody. Sometimes she played soft music when she had a boyfriend over and they were…

Oh, God. What was that on the sofa?

Gloria.

Gloria naked.

Oh, shit. Sarah’s roommate was lying on the sofa in a tangle of naked limbs—too many limbs for one woman to have. She was using her body to shield the rightful owner of the extra arms and legs.

“I thought you’d be late,” Gloria babbled. “What are you doing home? I left you there with that holy-shit-mother-of-God stud, and I figured you’d have more sense than to come back here.” She stood, totally unembarrassed by her nakedness as a pale figure darted off the sofa and scampered down the hall, dodging into a doorway. Sarah had done her best not to watch, but she was pretty sure Gloria’s man-toy had just run into the closet. A thump and the sound of hangers clanging confirmed her theory.

She looked back at Gloria, who was trying to cover herself with her guest’s jacket, which was a dark, distinguished charcoal gray. Perfectly cut. Armani.

Eric’s.

Holy crap, she’d just seen her boss’s naked backside. Suddenly, she wished she was back in the truck with Lane, speeding to his place for another round of holy-shit-mother-of-God sex. Because sleeping with her boss’s brother suddenly seemed like the least of her worries.

She strode down the hallway without a word, passing the closet and turning into her own room. Grabbing her overnight case, she shoved bras, panty hose, and underwear inside. She flung open her closet and grabbed an armful of hanging suits and skirts, and then ran across the hall to the bathroom. It didn’t take long to toss her makeup and toiletries into the case. Hefting the overnight case on one arm and the hanging clothes on the other, she stomped down the hallway and out the door.

“Sarah, wait!”

“No.” Sarah spun to face Gloria, so mad she could hardly see. “I told you there was one rule, Gloria. Just one. And you went ahead and did it anyway.”

She clutched at a pair of panties that was slipping out of the bundle of clothes in her arms and slammed out of the apartment, almost running down the steps.

Opening the building’s back door, she looked both ways. No drunks. No vagrants. She hit the beeper on her keys and started across the alley as the light inside the Malibu glowed to life. Just as she started to cross the alley, a deafening rumble filled the air.

A truck sped directly toward her, lights blazing, dust billowing from its tires. Skittering backward, she dropped the clothes in the dirt and flattened herself against the brick wall by the door. She let out a squeak of alarm as the vehicle skidded to a stop right in front of her, but then she realized who it was.

“Lane,” she said. “Lane?” The night’s event whirled in her brain, and before she had time to think she stepped up to the pickup and smacked the hood. “What the hell are you doing here?”

***

Lane winced as Sarah punched the pickup. Most women screamed when they were scared, or fainted. Sarah stepped up and smacked something.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. He’d watched her unlock the dark apartment building and his protective instinct had gone into overdrive, making him wonder what she did when he wasn’t there. He’d been just about to go around to the back and see if that was where she parked when he spotted Eric’s car parked out front.

Shit. What the hell was his brother doing there? Waiting for Sarah?

Maybe there really was something going on between them. He’d thought that at the start, but had he listened to his gut? No. He’d wanted to believe Sarah was his, only his. That she couldn’t resist him.

When really, she was playing him for a fool.

“What the hell am I doing? Maybe I should ask you that.” He leaned across the seat and swung the door open. “What’s my brother doing here?”

“What do you think he’s doing here?” She backed away from the truck. “You think… oh my God. What do you think I am?”

“No, I…” He opened the truck door and slid down from the seat, but she was already scooping up the clothes she’d dropped and crossing the alley, her keys clenched in her fist.

Her hands were shaking as she tossed the clothes in the car and slammed the door shut. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she shoved the key in the ignition and revved the engine.

She shouldn’t be driving. She was way too upset—and no wonder. He’d practically accused her of sleeping with his brother.

He didn’t know why Eric was here, but he knew that wasn’t the reason. Sarah would never do that. He was a jerk to even consider it.

Running to the car, he rapped on her window, but she looked over her shoulder and backed away at top speed, running over a few scraps of clothing she’d missed. She tore out of the alley, back tires spitting gravel, and he watched her taillights disappear.