Cowboy Crazy

chapter 23



Sarah felt like a bird was fluttering around in her chest, banging off her heart and lungs and thrashing her breath away. She put her hand to her chest and swallowed, struggling to compose herself, then opened the door.

She’d expected to confront Lane’s shirtfront despite the high heels. Instead, she stared out at the prairie and the trees beyond. She was looking straight over the head of a man sitting on the doorstep in an electric wheelchair.

He wore a black cowboy hat, a black Western shirt right out of a George Strait video, and black jeans and boots. Give him a guitar and he’d look like a Nashville refugee, but the clothes didn’t fit like a country star’s; the shirt was too big, and the tops of his boots stuck out from his thin legs so far he could have kept a couple of ferrets in there.

“Hello,” she said, taking a step back. She shouldn’t have put the stupid shoes on. She towered over the poor guy.

“Howdy.”

She felt a faint stir of unease. He looked familiar, but she didn’t know anybody who was—anybody in a wheelchair.

“I’m Trevor Ross, foreman for the LT Ranch. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She stepped back. She didn’t normally like being alone in the back of beyond with men she didn’t know, but it wasn’t like he was going to overpower her by running over her feet or slamming into her knees.

She kicked off the heels as he followed her inside, trying to be casual about it. “I’m Sarah Landon.”

“I know. Eric let me know you were coming. I came to check if the cleaning got done.”

“It did, I think. I just got here, but the place looks, um, great.”

Actually, it looked beyond great. The slightest fleck of dust would have shown in the warm sun spilling in the windows, but every surface gleamed and the log walls glowed like burnished gold. A stack of logs sat in the fireplace, waiting for the touch of a match.

“I’ll just check it out if you don’t mind,” Trevor said. “I have a girl from town that does it and I want to make sure she’s doing her job. You know how teenagers are.” Trevor expertly spun the wheelchair and motored into the galley kitchen, surveying the gleaming countertops and opening the refrigerator, which she saw was fully stocked with milk, eggs, and butter. She wouldn’t have to run to town after all.

Trevor backed out of the kitchen at top speed and took off for the living room, spinning to a stop in front of the fireplace. His face seemed prematurely etched with lines that spoke of suffering, but his smile was self-assured, as if he’d made it through a long struggle and come out victorious. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

She considered him a moment. “You look familiar.”

“’Fraid I gave you a lot of shit in high school.”

The memory of a tall, muscular cowboy flashed through her memory, leaning up against the brick wall of Two Shot High and giving her an insolent once-over that had made her hunch her shoulders, clutch her books to her chest, and scurry past like a fleeing mouse.

“I do remember.” She wished she hadn’t let him in. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, Trevor was a jerk. If she’d recognized him she never would have opened the door.

“Don’t worry. Obviously, I’m not the guy I used to be.”

“Good.” The word came out before she could think things through, and she flushed. She wouldn’t wish a wheelchair on anyone, so it was hardly an appropriate response. “I mean…”

“You probably figure I got what I deserved.”

“Nobody deserves that.” She flushed again, wishing she could think of something to say that didn’t seem to reference his condition.

“I might have. I was so damn arrogant I thought I could do anything—ride like Ty Murray, drink like Johnny Cash, and drive like Dale Earnhardt. It was the last two that got me in trouble.” He looked down at his legs. “I was pinned in my truck for three hours before they found me. Gave me a lot of time to think.”

She nodded, lost for words.

“At least I hit a tree and didn’t kill anybody.”

She stared down at the floor, still at a loss for a response. What was wrong with her? She could make cocktail party chitchat with millionaires, stand up in front of a roomful of congressmen, and hold her own with businessmen twice her age. But here in this rustic cabin, she was as awkward as a shy teenager. Had she distanced herself so thoroughly from her old life that she couldn’t talk to regular people anymore? That didn’t bode well for her success in Two Shot.

“Anyway, your boyfriend took pity on me and gave me a job here. We’re raising quarter horses—good ones. You still ride?”

“No. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Too bad. I heard you were pretty damn good.”

She froze. Had Lane given this guy a play-by-play or what?

“You rode Coppertone Flash, right?”

Oh. He was talking about riding. And he evidently had a memory like a steel trap, because she’d ridden Flash twelve years ago, and only at a couple of rodeos.

Oblivious to her confusion, Trevor chattered on. “How come you quit?”

“My dad—Roy Price—he got killed.”

“That’s right. But you were good. I saw you ride that horse at Humboldt. You must’ve been what, fourteen maybe? Fifteen? Everybody said that horse was crazy.” He flashed a quick grin. “I thought you both were.”

Her mouth was dry and she could feel that bird thrashing in her rib cage again. Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to talk about Flash? She wished she still had some good memories of that time. She vaguely remembered the triumph she’d felt when Flash did her bidding and the glow she’d felt when Roy talked to her about barn management with all the respect he’d give to a grown-up. But ever since that day, any mention of horses took her back to the day Roy died and the sad aftermath of the accident.

“I remembered hearing you were going to ride that horse at Humboldt just a couple days after the accident. Couldn’t believe how brave you were riding a killer horse like that.”

“He wasn’t a killer,” she said. “It was an accident. He saw something that spooked him and—it just happened in a bad spot, that’s all.”

Trevor shrugged. “I guess.”

“And I didn’t ride him that day. I don’t ride anymore.”

“Why not? It’s not like you can’t.” He scanned her head to foot and she felt a blush rising. It wasn’t a sexual look, it was an envious one—one that took in the fact that she had all the working parts she needed and wasn’t using them. “It’s just your mind that’s holding you back.”

He had a point, but her mind wasn’t holding her back from success. It was just holding her back from riding horses. And who needed that? She’d moved on. Millions of people never rode a horse in their life.

Trevor’s gaze lost focus and seemed to turn inward. There was a long silence before he shook his head sharply, as if to clear out old cobwebs.

“Well, I’m sorry for how I was back then.” He wheeled toward the door. “I had a crush on you the size of Texas. I just didn’t have a clue how to treat women back then, or I would’ve been nicer. And I guess Lane beat me to it anyway.” He gave her an exaggerated version of a lovesick grin and backed the chair up so he could wheel straight for the door. “So you’re happy with the cabin?”

She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to talk about Lane. “It’s great.”

She didn’t mention the fact that it had enough candles around to supply three Italian restaurants and a bordello.

“Well, enjoy your stay. Feel free to use the fireplace. Gets cool at night.” He spun the chair and eased down the ramp, bouncing over a few feet of sunbaked lawn to a dusty white van parked next to her Malibu. Sarah was curious about how he managed to get into the vehicle on his own, but it felt weird to watch and besides, she just wanted him gone. He’d brought back too many memories—of high school, of Roy, and of Flash.

She glanced down at her watch. She’d been in Two Shot all of an hour and already the past was coming back to haunt her.

As soon as he was gone, she hauled her luggage out of the car and carried her overnight bag up a rough staircase made of halved logs. The loft was just big enough for a queen-sized bed. With slanted ceilings and a curtained window under a peaked eave, it felt like a sanctuary. She shucked off her work clothes and pulled on her favorite pair of yoga pants, then slipped on a tank top and hoodie.

Trotting downstairs, she sank into the overstuffed cushions and stared at the fireplace. It was hardly the right time of year for a fire, but dancing flames would add a nice, cozy touch. Maybe coming back to Two Shot wouldn’t be so bad with a place like this to stay. All that was missing was someone to enjoy it with.

She gave herself a mental slap as an image of Lane appeared in the back of her mind. That “someone” needed to be someone who wasn’t a rodeo cowboy, didn’t spend half his life on the road, and didn’t accuse her of having an affair with his brother.

She eyed the kindling stacked under three massive logs inside the fireplace. A cylindrical box of extra-long matches beside it was a clear invitation.

Come on baby, light my fire.

Striking a match on the rough stone hearth, she held the flame to the kindling and watched the wood catch and burn.

With the match still flaring in her hand, she eased to her feet and lit a pyramid of candles on the mantel, then moved to the coffee table and lit a few more that were interspersed with round river rocks on a tray. The room jumped to life in the gentle flicker of flames, but there were deep shadows in the corners that spooked her a little. Getting out another match, she lit a few more candles and the shadows melted away.

Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out a file on energy law she’d printed out from the Wyoming legislative website. Flicking on a lamp with a copper-colored shade, she settled down on the sofa to read. She’d just cover a little bit of the material. Just enough so she could think about strategies while she got ready for bed. That would take her mind off Two Shot. And Lane.

She adjusted a pillow under her head and started reading. Some people would fall asleep over something as dull as a regulatory bill on oil drilling and exploration, but Sarah was always interested in legislation that affected her work. The legal language was a little obscure sometimes, but it was like a puzzle, trying to figure out how the law would change the way the company made decisions and the way she’d approach the locals about the drilling… it was fascinating, really… fascinating…

Half an hour later, she blinked her eyes open to see the fire reduced to a heap of embers. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced around at the candles. Several had burned down to stubs, and one was just a guttering pool of wax melted into the river rocks. Rising, she turned out the lamp and blew out the ones on the coffee table. Even in her sleep-subdued state, she couldn’t help pausing to appreciate the way the room looked with just the candles on the mantel and the few lighting the corners.

Appreciation only lasted for a second before she realized the candles on the mantel were perilously close to an Indian weaving that hung on the stone wall above the fireplace. How had she not noticed that when she lit them?

She stood up on her tiptoes to blow them out and had the crazy thought that she should make a wish, like a kid with a birthday cake. What would she wish for?

Pictures of Lane flashed into her mind. Lane in the moonlight. Lane in the light from the truck’s dashboard. Lane looking into her eyes in that intense, private way that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.

She swept away the images quick as she could. A wish shouldn’t be wasted on yourself, especially when what you wanted was bad for you and impossible to boot. She painted a mental picture of Kelsey instead, holding Katie in her arms. Closing her eyes, she wished her sister happy, healthy, and headache-free.

As a kid, she’d always been disappointed when her wish didn’t come true the instant the candles went out. Now she knew better, but she couldn’t help imagining Kelsey waking in her bed, putting a hand to her forehead, wondering where the headache had gone.

The grating of a key in the cabin’s front door chased the image right out of her head.

Trevor probably had a key, but she doubted he’d use it. Maybe she’d wasted that wish on herself after all.

And maybe her wish had come true.