twisted. He watched her instead, his eyes flicking up, then down, scanning her from head to foot. “Who’s your friend, Carrigan?”
Lane ignored the question. “You seen my stuff? Those EMTs hustled me out of there without my gear bag.”
“I got it.” The cowboy reached back into the bed of the pickup with one hand and tossed a green canvas duffel at Lane. Instinctively, Sarah stepped in front of him and caught it. It was surprisingly heavy and she stepped back so fast she almost fell. Lane caught her, holding her tight against his chest.
“Who’s this?” the cowboy asked. “New girlfriend?”
Lane didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer—or to let her go. She could feel his breath stirring the hair on the back of her neck, tickling her ear. She jerked away and slung the bag’s frayed canvas strap over her shoulder. “Nope.”
“Good.” The cowboy thrust the finished cigarette between his lips. It bobbed as he spoke. “You want to go get a beer, hon?”
“She’s with me,” Lane growled.
“Thought you said—”
“I said she’s with me.” Lane grabbed Sarah’s arm just above the elbow and half pushed, half pulled her away from the cowboy. She shrugged him off, but it was too late to stop heat from rocketing through her body, beginning at the place where he’d touched her and bouncing around to various body parts like a pinball racking up a high score.
What was that all about? Sure, he was sexy, but he was everything she didn’t want. A cowboy. Worse yet, a rodeo cowboy. They were adrenaline addicts, risk takers. The last kind of person she wanted to let into her life.
It was just chemicals that made him seem so—so tempting. Testosterone and estrogen, scientific and inevitable. The setting, the scent of leather and horses—it was all so dang masculine. And the touch of his hand was a turn-on for the same reason it annoyed her: he was domineering, overpowering.
It made her want to prove him wrong. Do a little domineering of her own.
Where the hell had that thought come from? She didn’t go for domination on either side of a relationship, did she? She liked men like Eric—polished and civilized.
“You cowboys have a little problem with testosterone, don’t you?”
“Some of us do. I don’t.”
“Oh, really.”
“Really.” He looked down at her, then back at the cowboy who was leaning against his pickup clearly enjoying the rear view of Sarah walking away. “You want me to go back there and knock him out?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. No testosterone problem here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re being irrational.”
“What do you mean? He was rude to you.”
“Why would that bother you? You’ve been nothing but rude to me since we met.”
“Not that kind of rude.” He looked almost contrite, staring down at the gravel-strewn dirt lot as they walked. “Well, not really. Besides, I have reason to be rude to you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You came in here from God-knows-where, cozied up to my brother, and messed up my family. Messed up my life.”
“I’m not cozying up to anybody. And I’m not the one messing up your life. You’re the one who trashed your own company on TV.” She slipped her hands in her pockets. “And don’t try to tell me your family is your life.”
“Isn’t yours?”
She winced. Only my sister. She’s all I have left.
“Family’s always part of your life, whether you want them to be or not.” She shoved her hands deeper in her pockets. “But if a messed up family means your life is messed up, I’m a train wreck like you’ve never seen.”
“What’s wrong with your family?” He actually looked concerned, and she had to squelch an impulse to tell him—about her sister, about herself, about all the ways she’d failed her own family after her stepfather died.
“Never mind.” She tossed her hair and hoped she looked casual and at ease, not nervous and flighty like she felt.
Lane ignored the question. “You seen my stuff? Those EMTs hustled me out of there without my gear bag.”
“I got it.” The cowboy reached back into the bed of the pickup with one hand and tossed a green canvas duffel at Lane. Instinctively, Sarah stepped in front of him and caught it. It was surprisingly heavy and she stepped back so fast she almost fell. Lane caught her, holding her tight against his chest.
“Who’s this?” the cowboy asked. “New girlfriend?”
Lane didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer—or to let her go. She could feel his breath stirring the hair on the back of her neck, tickling her ear. She jerked away and slung the bag’s frayed canvas strap over her shoulder. “Nope.”
“Good.” The cowboy thrust the finished cigarette between his lips. It bobbed as he spoke. “You want to go get a beer, hon?”
“She’s with me,” Lane growled.
“Thought you said—”
“I said she’s with me.” Lane grabbed Sarah’s arm just above the elbow and half pushed, half pulled her away from the cowboy. She shrugged him off, but it was too late to stop heat from rocketing through her body, beginning at the place where he’d touched her and bouncing around to various body parts like a pinball racking up a high score.
What was that all about? Sure, he was sexy, but he was everything she didn’t want. A cowboy. Worse yet, a rodeo cowboy. They were adrenaline addicts, risk takers. The last kind of person she wanted to let into her life.
It was just chemicals that made him seem so—so tempting. Testosterone and estrogen, scientific and inevitable. The setting, the scent of leather and horses—it was all so dang masculine. And the touch of his hand was a turn-on for the same reason it annoyed her: he was domineering, overpowering.
It made her want to prove him wrong. Do a little domineering of her own.
Where the hell had that thought come from? She didn’t go for domination on either side of a relationship, did she? She liked men like Eric—polished and civilized.
“You cowboys have a little problem with testosterone, don’t you?”
“Some of us do. I don’t.”
“Oh, really.”
“Really.” He looked down at her, then back at the cowboy who was leaning against his pickup clearly enjoying the rear view of Sarah walking away. “You want me to go back there and knock him out?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. No testosterone problem here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re being irrational.”
“What do you mean? He was rude to you.”
“Why would that bother you? You’ve been nothing but rude to me since we met.”
“Not that kind of rude.” He looked almost contrite, staring down at the gravel-strewn dirt lot as they walked. “Well, not really. Besides, I have reason to be rude to you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You came in here from God-knows-where, cozied up to my brother, and messed up my family. Messed up my life.”
“I’m not cozying up to anybody. And I’m not the one messing up your life. You’re the one who trashed your own company on TV.” She slipped her hands in her pockets. “And don’t try to tell me your family is your life.”
“Isn’t yours?”
She winced. Only my sister. She’s all I have left.
“Family’s always part of your life, whether you want them to be or not.” She shoved her hands deeper in her pockets. “But if a messed up family means your life is messed up, I’m a train wreck like you’ve never seen.”
“What’s wrong with your family?” He actually looked concerned, and she had to squelch an impulse to tell him—about her sister, about herself, about all the ways she’d failed her own family after her stepfather died.
“Never mind.” She tossed her hair and hoped she looked casual and at ease, not nervous and flighty like she felt.
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