Cowboy Crazy

chapter 9



Lane watched Sarah sit primly in a folding chair, watching the band crank out country’s greatest hits on the platform at the front of the tent. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her hands knotted in her lap. She was probably afraid the locals would eat her alive.

He smiled at the thought. As far as he was concerned, her world—the business world—was full of piranhas and barracudas. Worse yet, the predators there dressed like regular folks. In his world, people might look a little rough but at least you knew what to expect. Bikers wore leather, and cowboys wore hats. Easy girls wore low-cut tops, and good girls—good girls dressed like Sarah.

The top of the tent was a tangle of electrical wires, each one leading to a paper lantern. The individual circles of light made each table a mini-stage, highlighting the various dramas taking place. At one, a woman sat slouched over a beer, watching with wounded eyes as the cowboy beside her chatted up a woman at the next table. At another, three women watched the band, their eyes fixed in identical predatory squints on the lead singer. At the one closest to the door, a man and woman conversed in furious whispers. Lane couldn’t hear what they were saying, only the faint hiss of anger in their tone.

He let his eyes roam down the bar, where cowboys and cowgirls perched on tall stools, boy-girl, boy-girl. Some of the women leaned close to the men beside them; others seemed determined to shrink into the smallest space possible as eager cowboys waved imaginary lassos in the air, recounting their glory days.

Everyone was trying a little too hard, including the band up on the makeshift stage. A singer with serious dental issues was rasping out the lyrics to “Sweet Home Alabama” with his stance spread wide and his skinny hips thrust forward. Behind him, a fiddler sawed determinedly at a battered violin. Everything was a little too loud, a little too desperate.

Sarah’s eyes flicked from one face to another, then slid back to a thirty-something cowboy who was standing a few feet from the bar, talking with a bunch of other guys. Lane had seen the guy ride a few times, and his mental tape loop pictured him getting bucked off a lot. He remembered a fatal tendency to misread the horse’s cues, a habit of letting his shoulders tilt into the spin and pull him off center.

The guy sure wasn’t making much of an impression on Sarah. Lane hoped she never looked at him like that, with her brows lowered and her lips tightened in disapproval. He scanned the luckless cowboy from head to foot, wondering what annoyed her so much. He wasn’t bad looking—reasonably fit, dressed in the typical cowboy uniform of striped shirt, Wranglers, and boots. The shirt was faded as if it had been washed about a hundred times, but Lane didn’t think Sarah cared about the condition of a man’s clothes. If she did, his own would never pass muster. And however cold she was now, she’d kissed him like she wanted him. He brushed a finger over his lips and she flashed him a glare almost as cold as she’d given the other guy.

Maybe coming to the beer tent was a mistake. He should have kept her in the shadow of the potato skins stand.

As Sarah swung her gaze back to the cowboy, the guy turned like he could feel the chill. When his eyes lit on her face he froze as if he’d been turned to a pillar of ice.

“Sarah Landon,” he said. “Shit.”

So he knew her? That was odd. Though she’d seemed remarkably comfortable at the rodeo, she sure didn’t seem like the type to spend time in the kinds of places where this guy probably hung out. Unless he was from Texas or Colorado, where she’d stomped out a couple small towns at the bidding of the corporations she’d worked for. Maybe that’s what this was about.

“Mike Sullivan.” Sarah spat out the name like it was a cuss word. She turned to Lane. “Could you get me a beer, please?” She said it curtly, still staring down the mystery cowboy. Suddenly, she seemed less like a delicate flower and more like a cactus blossom, beautiful but ringed by thorns. He felt like saying no, but maybe it was better to get away before she started scratching the other guy’s eyes out.

Starting toward the bar, he wove his way through the crowd of cowboy-hatted men and tight-jeaned women. Halfway there, he turned and saw the guy striding over to her, fists clenched at his side and a pugnacious scowl on his face. Lane paused midstride to listen in.

“What are you doing here?” the guy asked Sarah.

“Working,” she said. “And I suppose you’re having a good time.”

She said it like it was the worst thing a guy could do. Lane definitely needed to rethink hanging out with this woman. She was even more straitlaced than he’d thought.

“I suppose I am.”

The guy’s chin jutted in defiance, his hands still clenched into fists. Something was wrong with this picture. Maybe it was the familiar way the guy spoke to Sarah. Maybe it was the way he stood, stiff and hostile. He looked like a man about to start a fistfight. Surely he wouldn’t hit a woman. Lane walked back to Sarah and stood just behind her. The guy’s eyes flicked toward him and he did a quick double take.

“Hey, you’re Lane Carrigan.”

Sarah turned and scowled at Lane. “I thought you were getting a beer.”

“Thought you might need me.”

“I don’t.” Her tone was frosty as a chilled mug.

“You sure?”

“Hey, run while you can, buddy.” The guy spat out a bitter laugh. “Sarah’s liable to spit in your eye before she even knows your name.”

“Spit?” Sarah snorted. “That would be too mild.”

“Yeah, well,” the guy said. “Having second thoughts isn’t a capital offense, you know.”

“No?” Sarah lifted her chin imperiously. “Well, it should be.” She waved the guy away. “Have a good time, Mike.”

What the hell was she so upset about? And how did she know this guy? The mystery was intriguing, but if she had a problem with a guy having a good time Lane was done with her. Sarah might have softened when he’d kissed her, but now she was all sharp edges.

He’d get her the beer she’d asked for, but then he needed to get her home and get away from her. No matter how much he’d enjoyed that kiss.

***

“Who was that?” Lane had returned from the bar with two beers, making his way through the crowd in record time despite the shout-outs of half-a-dozen cowboys and an equal number of eager buckle bunnies.

“He’s nobody.” Sarah downed half the beer in one gulp, determined to finish it and go. She’d thought she could get away with coming here. Because of the lack of jobs, there was hardly anyone under the age of sixty left in the Two Shot area.

But Mike didn’t care about jobs. The guy had all the ambition of a cat in the sun. He’d seemed smitten with her sister, and he’d done the right thing for a while, sticking around after the baby was born. He’d found a steady job at the feed store and come home to Kelsey’s cooking every day. He didn’t spend much time with Katie, but Kelsey thought parenting was the woman’s job.

Then the feed store had shut down and instead of finding another job, Mike had left his family for the rodeo road. Said family life was too “confining.” He’d married too young, he said. He needed to “have a good time.”

Sarah wanted to kill him. He’d left Kelsey with a two-year-old daughter and Kelsey started the single mom struggle for yet another generation of the Landon family.

She threw back another slug of beer as Lane hailed a waitress who was edging through the crowd with a tray full of oversized shot glasses. Grabbing one, he shoved it at Sarah.

“Drink up,” he said. “I’m driving.”

She sniffed the amber liquid and the scent of tequila almost knocked her head back. A shot was the last thing she needed. She’d already loosened up way too much, kissing Lane in the alley, letting Mike get her steamed. Or was she already drunk—on Lane, on all the testosterone he put out? Could pheromones make you dizzy?

Maybe. He gave her a smile and a wink that made the rage ebb a little, raising his beer in a toast.

“Come on, it’ll do you good,” he said. “You’re a little tense. I’m afraid to get back in the truck with you.”

She didn’t blame him, but there was nothing to worry about. She’d spent all her anger and adrenaline on Mike, and now she felt like she was made of glass and might shatter any second.

Bringing the glass to her lips, she tilted her head back and drank. The liquor traced a fiery path down her throat and coiled in her belly, spiraling up to warm her from the inside out. She set it on the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Dang. What a redneck move that was. But Mike had already blown her cover, and Lane didn’t seem to care. He grinned and draped an arm over the back of her chair.

“See? Having a good time isn’t such a bad thing.”

He had a point. She let herself lean into him a little. It felt good to have a big, muscular man beside her. And Lane really was trying to show her a good time.

That kiss. Now that was a good time.

She turned and scanned his face, wishing she could just give in to the urge to nestle into the crook of his arm, tuck her head under his chin, and enjoy the music. But what must he think of her? He didn’t know Mike had walked out on her sister. He probably thought the guy was an old boyfriend. He must think she was a total bitch.

As a matter-of-fact, a lot of people thought that. And maybe they were right. When had she changed so much? She just wanted security, financial and otherwise, for herself and for Kelsey, but most of all for Katie. She didn’t want her niece growing up with the same doubts and uncertainties she’d had.

But sometimes it seemed like her ambition had taken on a life of its own. It was eating up her life and her personality until she’d become a woman she barely recognized—and one she didn’t like very much.

She wouldn’t blame Lane if he let her go, but he pulled her a little closer and she went limp, tucking her head under his chin and resting her cheek on his chest. She felt safe for the first time in years.

“That guy,” she said. “It’s not what you think.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No, I do,” she said. “I’m not what you think.” She hailed the bartender. “Bring us another shot.”