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Authors: Joanne Kennedy
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“We’re not talking about my family. We’re talking about yours.”
“Right. Because your family’s probably not exactly fascinating. Where you from? New York or something? Your family’s probably got the permanent pinkie cock.”
“The what ?” So far as she could see, it was the cowboys who had the permanent—whatever.
“The pinkie cock.” Lane lifted his hand and mimed sipping from a cup, his little finger thrust out in an exaggerated imitation of an aristocrat drinking tea.
She smacked him in the arm, then remembered she was hitting an injured man and laid her hand over the spot she’d struck. “Sorry. Forgot.”
“Didn’t hurt.” He sounded unconcerned, but he was speaking through clenched teeth. “But for a pinkie-cocking girl, you pack a wallop.”
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“You’re different than you look.” He gave her one of those appraising stares, but this one felt even more intimate than before. It was like he was seeking out who she was deep down, not just what she’d be like in bed. She fumbled with the gear bag so she didn’t have to look back.
“If this business with your brother ruined your life, you’re not tough at all,” she said. “He figured you didn’t care about it. You never returned his calls.”
“I didn’t know what he wanted. Figured it was just more Carrigan bullshit.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I can tell your family’s everything to you.”
“Well, it seems to be everything to you. And I still don’t understand that.”
His fifth wheel was parked on the edge of the lot, the gaudy gold Carrigan logo glinting in the fading light of the sunset. She remembered how he’d asked if she was “something more than an employee” and stopped feeling bad about hitting his hurt arm.
“I’m not taking anything from your family, Lane. An honest paycheck, that’s all. I’m just doing my job.”
“And that makes everything okay, right?”
“It’s what I have to do, so yes, it does.” She tightened her lips. “If you’ve been shut out, it’s not my fault.”
“I wasn’t shut out. I was never in. My father just trotted me out like a prize pony every once in a while.”
“Like Whiplash.” She couldn’t help smiling.
“What?”
“Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey. He rides a dog around the arena, does some rope tricks. They trot him out—I don’t know, what you said just made me think of him.”
He lowered his brows. “How do you know about that? You a rodeo fan?”
She flushed. “Of course not.”
“Hardly seems like your kind of thing. And anyway, I’m not a monkey.”
He reached for the gear bag, lifting it as effortlessly as if he’d never been hurt.
“Where’s the sling?” she asked.
“Took it off.” He flung it on the bed along with the gear bag.
“Doesn’t your arm hurt?”
“Nope. You want to come in? I need to check on my dog.”
“No, I’ll wait.” What did he think she was, stupid?
Lane stepped inside and whistled. “Willie? Come on, Willie.”
Sarah laughed. “Does this work very often?”
“What?”
“Getting girls to come to your trailer to see your Willie.”
He didn’t answer, just called again, sounding slightly muffled from the back of the trailer. “I can’t find him.”
“And I suppose you want me to help you look.”
He reappeared at the door. “He’s probably out visiting the barrel racers.”
“Yeah, right. I bet he does that a lot.”
“He does, actually. Sociable little dude.”
Sarah snickered, but he didn’t seem to notice as he jumped the steps and relocked the door.
“So,” he said. “Beer tent?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You were going to show me something good about your world tonight. You had all that talk about community, but the only cowboy I’ve met tried to steal your girl.” She grimaced. “Worse yet, he assumed I am your girl.”
He grinned. “Well, you are a woman, princess. And you are walking beside me.”
“Behind you,
“Right. Because your family’s probably not exactly fascinating. Where you from? New York or something? Your family’s probably got the permanent pinkie cock.”
“The what ?” So far as she could see, it was the cowboys who had the permanent—whatever.
“The pinkie cock.” Lane lifted his hand and mimed sipping from a cup, his little finger thrust out in an exaggerated imitation of an aristocrat drinking tea.
She smacked him in the arm, then remembered she was hitting an injured man and laid her hand over the spot she’d struck. “Sorry. Forgot.”
“Didn’t hurt.” He sounded unconcerned, but he was speaking through clenched teeth. “But for a pinkie-cocking girl, you pack a wallop.”
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“You’re different than you look.” He gave her one of those appraising stares, but this one felt even more intimate than before. It was like he was seeking out who she was deep down, not just what she’d be like in bed. She fumbled with the gear bag so she didn’t have to look back.
“If this business with your brother ruined your life, you’re not tough at all,” she said. “He figured you didn’t care about it. You never returned his calls.”
“I didn’t know what he wanted. Figured it was just more Carrigan bullshit.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I can tell your family’s everything to you.”
“Well, it seems to be everything to you. And I still don’t understand that.”
His fifth wheel was parked on the edge of the lot, the gaudy gold Carrigan logo glinting in the fading light of the sunset. She remembered how he’d asked if she was “something more than an employee” and stopped feeling bad about hitting his hurt arm.
“I’m not taking anything from your family, Lane. An honest paycheck, that’s all. I’m just doing my job.”
“And that makes everything okay, right?”
“It’s what I have to do, so yes, it does.” She tightened her lips. “If you’ve been shut out, it’s not my fault.”
“I wasn’t shut out. I was never in. My father just trotted me out like a prize pony every once in a while.”
“Like Whiplash.” She couldn’t help smiling.
“What?”
“Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey. He rides a dog around the arena, does some rope tricks. They trot him out—I don’t know, what you said just made me think of him.”
He lowered his brows. “How do you know about that? You a rodeo fan?”
She flushed. “Of course not.”
“Hardly seems like your kind of thing. And anyway, I’m not a monkey.”
He reached for the gear bag, lifting it as effortlessly as if he’d never been hurt.
“Where’s the sling?” she asked.
“Took it off.” He flung it on the bed along with the gear bag.
“Doesn’t your arm hurt?”
“Nope. You want to come in? I need to check on my dog.”
“No, I’ll wait.” What did he think she was, stupid?
Lane stepped inside and whistled. “Willie? Come on, Willie.”
Sarah laughed. “Does this work very often?”
“What?”
“Getting girls to come to your trailer to see your Willie.”
He didn’t answer, just called again, sounding slightly muffled from the back of the trailer. “I can’t find him.”
“And I suppose you want me to help you look.”
He reappeared at the door. “He’s probably out visiting the barrel racers.”
“Yeah, right. I bet he does that a lot.”
“He does, actually. Sociable little dude.”
Sarah snickered, but he didn’t seem to notice as he jumped the steps and relocked the door.
“So,” he said. “Beer tent?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You were going to show me something good about your world tonight. You had all that talk about community, but the only cowboy I’ve met tried to steal your girl.” She grimaced. “Worse yet, he assumed I am your girl.”
He grinned. “Well, you are a woman, princess. And you are walking beside me.”
“Behind you,
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