Cowboy Crazy

chapter 21



“I figured it out,” Eric said.

Sarah perched in the chair in front of his desk in her usual posture, straight up, knees slanted to one side, hands clasped in her lap. She was doing her best to look poised, but deep down her stomach clenched with dread. Eric hadn’t mentioned Gloria yet. He hadn’t mentioned the revelation that Sarah, his “Vassar girl,” had grown up “dirt poor.” He hadn’t asked her how things had gone with Lane, or mentioned the fact that she’d seen him naked scampering down the hall in her seedy, poorly furnished apartment.

She’d been hoping he was embarrassed. Maybe the two of them could just silently agree to pretend the night had never happened. Maybe if she kept her polished, professional mask on, he’d follow suit.

But judging from the got-it-going-on grin on his face and the theatrical pause she was suffering through, things were about to change.

They were certainly changing for Sarah. She’d packed the rest of her belongings into the Malibu on her lunch hour, while Gloria was working. Gloria was fun, Gloria was sweet, but Gloria was a lousy roommate. Sarah had overlooked the late hours, the loud music, and the frequent male visitors—but she couldn’t overlook the business with Eric. She simply couldn’t trust Gloria, and there was no room in her life for people she couldn’t trust.

Eric broke into her thoughts, leaning back in his chair. “We need to talk about Two Shot.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “I think it’s the key to everything.”

Oh, shit. He was so right. Two Shot was the key to everything. Her evasions. Her many, many sins of omission. Her lies.

Well, not exactly lies. She’d never told Eric where she was from. She’d just let him believe her life had begun at Vassar. It was as it she’d been born into the world at the age of twenty-five with a master’s degree instead of an umbilical cord.

She’d started hiding her roots soon after she’d started college. She’d listened to her new classmates describing their summers in the Hamptons and winters in Gstaad, and she’d launched into a narrative about tipping cows and John Deere joyrides that earned her raised eyebrows rather than laughter. When the girls edged away almost imperceptibly, she’d realized fitting in would be a challenge. So she’d studied the rich girls harder than she’d studied Econ 101, memorizing the effortless way they walked, copying the subtle simplicity of their clothes, imitating the faint note of ennui in their voices. By her second semester, she’d changed from a wide-eyed country girl into an upper-crust sophisticate.

But now she’d been busted.

“Yes, it’s all about Two Shot.” Eric picked up a gold-plated Mont Blanc pen and tapped it on the desk, first one end, then the other. “Lane really cares about that town, and he’s afraid the drilling operation will change it.” He set the pen on the desk and rolled it right, then left. “I don’t know why—it’s not much of a town. Just a crossroads, really.”

She nodded.

“Your friend said you’d lived in a trailer.”

Here it came. She was going to get fired. “Yes, I did. For a while.”

“Was it in a small town?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump forming in her throat. He was toying with her, sure as he was toying with the pen. Or did he really not know about her connection with Two Shot?

“I think you’ll be just the right person to solve the problem.”

She lifted her head, blinking. “Really?”

“Sure.” He set down the pen. “Lane seems to think our workers will come into town and shoot up the place like outlaws in a Sergio Leone movie.” He leaned toward her, steepling his fingers. “You and I both know that’s not true. We’re going to bring money into that town. Money, jobs—prosperity. And I suspect the people of Two Shot will welcome that kind of change.”

His intent expression darkened and his heavy brows arrowed down. She could almost hear distant thunder. “Besides, it’s not up to Lane to decide what should happen. It’s up to the people. And that’s where you come in.”

“Really?” she said again.

She needed to shut up and listen. She sounded like an idiot.

Eric didn’t seem to notice. “Lane can’t turn up on TV talking trash about the drilling if the whole town wants it to happen, right? So you’ll go to Two Shot and talk to everybody who counts—the mayor, the police chief. But in addition, you’ll talk to the regular folks. Ranchers, waitresses, hairdressers—everybody.”

Could the world come up with a worse nightmare to impose on her? Talking to everyone in town would definitely lead to some one-way conversations, because she doubted anyone in town was speaking to her.

“No. I—I can’t.”

“It’s okay. You won’t be missing all that much at the office. This is so much more important.”

He’d completely misinterpreted her refusal. Eric thought he knew her, she realized. He thought she was simply a dedicated worker who didn’t want to take a business trip because she was worried about falling behind on other projects. He had no clue she was a liar and a fake.

“There’s a little diner there. Suze’s.” He settled back in his chair. “Lane reminded me of it, said it’s still there. It might be a good place to start spreading the word about what Carrigan can do for the town. Get people talking about how many jobs it’ll create, how much money it’ll bring in. See if there’s a pet project—a library, a meeting hall, something like that—and show how we can make it happen. Maybe a shooting range, or a motocross track. That’s what those people like, right?”

He looked at her expectantly. Much as she wanted to call him out on his stereotyping of small-town people, she felt like she had no room to take risks, no room to run. She’d been a little worried about the project’s proximity to Two Shot, but she’d expected to work behind the scenes, lobbying the legislature, attending meetings. She hadn’t expected to have to go right into town and talk to the people she’d left behind all those years ago.

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll work,” Eric insisted. “All you have to do is your job.” He fished a set of keys out of his pocket and slid them across the desk. “I even arranged a place for you to stay so you won’t have to make that drive. Go on home and pack your bags.”

She felt panic rising in her chest. “Where do you want me to stay?”

“There’s an old cabin at the ranch. I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

Her eyes widened. “Doesn’t it belong to Lane?”

“It’s on a separate plot of land, across the creek. Don’t worry, you won’t be sharing a room with him or anything.”

No, but she might end up sharing a bed with Lane again if she got within a stone’s throw of him. His energy, his charisma—hell, maybe it was just his muscles. Or his kindness. Whatever it was, she was helpless to fight it.

“Don’t worry,” Eric said. “It’s fully renovated into a top-notch guest house. You’ll have your own kitchen, and there’s a sitting room and a loft bedroom. It hasn’t been used much since we were in high school, so I called Lane’s foreman and asked him to send somebody over to clean.”

“You used it in high school?”

He smiled nostalgically. “Lane and I used to call it the Love Nest.”

***

Lane hunched over his laptop at the tiny desk wedged below the microwave in his trailer, reading the latest PRCA statistics. He was near the top of the pack in bull riding, but there were a couple of young guys pretty close on his heels.

He sighed. Both guys were talented riders, but neither was a true cowboy. One was from New York City, of all places. The kid didn’t know a damn thing about ranching and probably couldn’t ride a horse. He’d trained on machines in schools designed just for bull riders.

Now the kid was a star on the Professional Bull Riders tour, taking home purses that made the National Finals prizes look like chump change. Lane didn’t begrudge him the money, but the PBR pulled the good bulls away from the small-town rodeos Lane loved.

And no real rancher ever needed to ride a bull. Lane had started rodeoing because he loved the way it preserved traditional ranch skills, so maybe he should go back to bronc riding. He’d quit the bareback event because it was too hard on his body; even the roughest bull ride didn’t dish out as bad a beating as the crack-the-whip action a good bronc dealt out.

But saddle bronc was a possibility. The purses weren’t as big as bull riding prizes, but it was the event that required the most artistry on the part of the cowboy. Riding a bull was about flair, skill, and confidence. Riding a saddle bronc was about balance, spurring, and finesse. Cowboys still had to make the buzzer, but they had to do it with grace. A great bronc ride was beautiful, pure poetry.

Beautiful. Pure poetry. His mind’s eye flashed to Sarah lying in the bed of his truck, dressed only in shadows and moonlight. Now that was poetry. He allowed himself a moment to sit back, close his eyes, remember. Dangerous stuff—more dangerous than any rodeo bull.

Usually, women weren’t a problem for him. Their expectations of a rodeo cowboy were low on the romance side, and though a few women had tried to snag a piece of the Carrigan fortune, not one had succeeded. He loved ’em and left ’em, and nobody was surprised—least of all the women.

But Sarah was turning things around. She’d left him standing in the alley with his hat in his hand—and he couldn’t blame her. After all his talk about understanding her real self, he’d practically accused her of sleeping with his brother. Deep down, he knew that was something she would never, ever do.

But why had Eric been there? The question was driving him crazy.

He turned back to the screen, telling himself it didn’t matter. By this time tomorrow, he’d be on the back of a bull in Amarillo. He wouldn’t be thinking about Sarah and how he’d blown the one relationship he’d ever hoped would last. He’d be thinking about hanging on. Surviving.

Maybe he and Sarah had more in common than he’d thought.

“She said she’d take survival,” he told Willie, who was curled up at his feet. “Guess that’s about all we’ve got too.”

He tapped the mouse pad, bringing the screen to life. He had mail—including a reminder that draws for Amarillo were up on the Professional Rodeo Cowboy’s Association website. Clicking into the list, he grinned. Rusty Nail. The big brindled animal could spin like a tornado and jump like a jackrabbit—all at the same time. He was a high-score bull, the kind a cowboy wanted to draw. Lane had ridden him to a buckle in Cheyenne last year, and he was willing to bet he could do it again.

His cell phone jumped to life, jitterbugging across the table and falling to the floor. He stared down at the screen. Eric. He clicked the green “go” button and grunted a hello.

“Hey, Lane.”

“Hey.”

“Thought I’d give you a warning. There’s a hurricane headed your way.”

“What?”

Eric chuckled. He sounded smug, like he’d won an argument or proved what a yahoo Lane was somehow. Too many of their verbal battles had ended with that chuckle.

“Hurricane Sarah’s coming to Two Shot. I thought I’d better let you know, since she’ll be staying at the Love Nest.”

The light seemed to fuzz and blur in Lane’s head, and his skin prickled despite the heat. Eric had Sarah at the Love Nest? The cabin had been a nest all right, though the “love” part wasn’t quite accurate. He and his brother had played host to a number of girls there during their adolescent Two Shot vacations. They should have called it the Lust Nest.

“Tell me she’s on company business.”

Eric snorted. “Sarah’s always on business. She’s probably on business when she’s—well, never mind.” The smile came back into his tone. “You probably know all about that.”

Lane wanted to make a smart remark, some kind of rude comment, but he couldn’t speak. Eric must have caught the tension, because his voice sounded wary when he asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I saw your car.”

“Yeah, good.” Eric sounded positively smug. “And you were struck with envy, right? Don’t blame you, driving around in the rattletrap Dodge. You ought to get yourself something better.”

“No, I mean I saw it at Sarah’s.”

“What, last night? Shit, you weren’t with her when she got home, were you?” He laughed uneasily. “Now that was embarrassing. I know Gloria’s hardly the kind of girl I ought to go for, but I couldn’t help myself. Well, actually, I could help myself. And I did.”

“Gloria?”

“Yeah. You know, the blonde. Sarah’s roommate.”

“Sarah’s roommate.” Suddenly, everything was sharp and clear in Lane’s mind. “It’s her apartment too.”

“Yeah, and let me tell you, there’s not a surface in there we didn’t—never mind. I should be ashamed of myself, right?”

Lane felt suddenly giddy with relief. “Why? Gloria’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Well, she’s hardly my type. I don’t know why I always end up with the wrong kind of woman.”

“Maybe because they are your type,” Lane said. He remembered the blonde doing her rodeo rider imitation and smiled. “I think she’s just what you need. Step outside your comfort zone and live a little, why don’t you?”

“I suspect that with Gloria I’d be living a lot.”

“And it would be about time.”

Eric paused. “Oh. I get it.”

“What?”

“You thought I was with Sarah.” Eric sounded more appalled than amused.

“No, I…”

“You did. And then I tell you she’s at the Love Nest.” He chortled. “Had you going, bro.”

“So she’s there because…”

“She’s working on something.”

Lane slapped the desktop and Willie jumped up, giving him an irate look before curling up again a few feet away.

“So you’re not only planning to drill on the ranch, you’re putting up employees there without even asking. I thought we had a deal, Eric. The ranch is mine. The company’s yours. Maybe I ought to come over there and take over your office. See how you like it.”

“The Love Nest isn’t yours. It’s not on the ranch.”

“It figures you’d find a technicality. What’s she doing—taking measurements? Plotting out a trailer park for the yahoos you’re going to bring in to work the wells?”

“I hate to tell you this, Lane, but I suspect our workers will raise the level of class and culture in Two Shot.”

“How would you know? You barely talked to anybody there.” Lane slid his rolling desk chair over to the trailer’s mini-fridge and pulled out a Bud Light. Popping the top, he swallowed a good slug, but it didn’t cool the heat of his anger one bit.

“That’s why I’m sending Sarah to get to know the area,” Eric said. “Meet some of the people, get acquainted with the town.”

Lane set his beer can down hard on the desktop. “Hell, Eric, she doesn’t need to get acquainted with Two Shot. She grew up there.”

He closed his eyes and smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. Shit. He needed to erase those words somehow. In the irrational heat of his petty anger, he’d just betrayed Sarah’s secrets.

There was a long silence, which gave Lane plenty of time to curse himself.

“What are you talking about? She’s not from there,” Eric finally said. “She’s from—well, I don’t know where she’s from.” There was another long silence. “If she’s from Two Shot, that puts us way ahead of the game. She’d already know everybody. Wonder why she didn’t mention that when we talked?”

Lane didn’t respond. He’d said more than enough already.

“There’s something strange going on with that girl,” Eric said thoughtfully. Lane could picture him tilting back in his chair, staring up at the plaster medallions on his office ceiling, clicking the pieces of the puzzle together. “If she grew up there, she’s not being honest with me. She let me think…”

“Grew up?” Lane barked out a laugh he hoped sounded halfway convincing. “I said she threw up. I shouldn’t have let that slip, though. I’m sure she’d be embarrassed.”

“She threw up? What did you do the other night—ply her with alcohol and take her home? I can’t believe she’d be that careless about drinking. She…”

“I think it was stomach flu,” Lane said. “She didn’t drink that much.”

There. Now he’d saved her secrets and her reputation.

“Well, whatever. I just thought I’d let you know she’s there. I saw a spark between you two, but maybe you’d better just leave her alone if things ended that way.”

Lane hung up after a few minutes of awkward small talk. His brother was right—he should leave Sarah alone.

But he’d planted a seed with Eric and he needed to warn her. It shouldn’t matter to anybody where Sarah was from—what mattered was who she was now. But Eric was big on class and status. He looked down his nose at Two Shot and the kind of people who lived there. People like Sarah.

He clicked back into the rodeo site and stared at the message again. Rusty Nail would put him on the road to the finals. He was sure of it. But going on with his own life seemed selfish when he might be leaving the wreckage of Sarah’s behind.

A cowboy could “turn out” for a rodeo—opt not to attend—without losing any points or even respect. Some did it when they had a bad draw, leaving the dud bulls for the neophytes who would ride anything anywhere. But you’d have to be crazy to turn out when you drew a bull like Rusty Nail. Crazy, or in love.

Love?

No. He just felt duty-bound to find Sarah and warn her there was a good chance he’d screwed up her life.

He sent a quick message to the rodeo committee bailing on his ride and shrugged into a Carhartt jacket. Grabbing his hat from the table, he tipped it onto his head with a practiced flip and strode from the trailer.

Maybe he could find Sarah before she left town. Otherwise, he’d have to catch her at the Love Nest.