tiny, isolated cabin, walking in and finding her there. He’d push her down on that sofa, and he’d…
Stop it.
She sucked in a deep breath to clear her mind. Then she took another one. It took six or eight breaths to banish Lane to the back of her brain.
Resting one hand on the door frame, she kicked off her heels and tossed her messenger bag on a chair, heading for the kitchen. She’d make sure there was a microwave, and then she’d head into town to buy supplies—some frozen entrees, crackers and cheese, maybe some fruit. Definitely coffee.
A harsh series of knocks struck the door and she froze.
He was here. She wasn’t nervous; she was psychic. What was she going to do? They’d be alone. Alone with that sofa, that fireplace. In the Love Nest.
He’d push her down on that sofa, and then he’d…
No. He wouldn’t do anything. She’d simply tell him, brusquely and without emotion, that he needed to leave her alone. She’d cut him out of her life quickly and efficiently as a bruise on an apple. She was here working for Carrigan, and besides, she could never forgive him for what he’d implied about her and Eric.
Quickly, she slid her feet back into her high heels. She’d have a better chance of standing up to him if she didn’t have to hike herself up on tiptoe to meet his eyes.
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