planned to work a while by the toasty warmth of the fire, then climb the ladder to bed. Instead she’d—what had she done?
She didn’t want to think about it. Sitting up, she smelled coffee wafting from the kitchen. Lane was probably waiting there for her. She pondered a few casual greetings that might be appropriate for a man she only really knew in the biblical sense. Would a simple “good morning” be enough? “Hello, sleepyhead” hardly seemed appropriate. Maybe “thanks for the memories” would be best. Then she could walk out the door and get on with her life—if only she had a place to live it.
In any case, she needed to be dressed before she tackled the job. Climbing the steps to the loft, she rummaged through her overnight bag. Pulling out a double-breasted navy blazer, she gave it a longing look, then tossed it over the footboard. It would reveal nothing of her body, but she’d stand out like a princess in a pigpen if she wore that into Two Shot. She unfolded a simple white shirt and a pair of “relaxed fit” jeans. The baggy cut might not be professional, but it would get her past Lane and she’d probably look like every other woman in Two Shot: relaxed, casual, and a little on the frumpy side.
Sliding her feet into her old boots, she grabbed her purse in case she needed to make a quick exit and started down the steps. Lane was probably sitting in the rustic breakfast nook, waiting to ambush her with some witty comment. She pictured the two of them sitting across the table from each other, eye to eye over steaming mugs of coffee. What would she say? Worse yet, what would he say?
She paused, one hand on the wrought iron railing, the other hooked into the strap of her purse. She had a lot to face this morning. Lane was the least of her problems.
Luckily, she’d thought out a plan before Lane had turned up and hijacked her brain. She was going to start her pro-drilling campaign at Suze’s Diner with a hearty breakfast and, hopefully, some friendly conversation with the natives. She’d never been the type to ease her way into cold water a toe at a time. If she had to face the folks she’d been so eager to leave behind—the folks she’d spurned in high school and pretty much ignored since she left for college—she wouldn’t do it one person at a time. She was a jump-in-the-deep-end kind of girl.
But facing down the people of Two Shot was a day in the kiddie pool compared to facing Lane. That situation was a product of gut thinking and bad, bad decision-making. He had a way of making her forget all her resolutions and revert to instinct. Hell, he had a way of making her rip her clothes off and have sex with him. The man was like a mind-altering drug—or maybe a mind-erasing one.
The whole situation was crazy, and one of her rock-solid rules in life was to steer clear of crazy and stay in the right-thinking, rational world. Just because she’d jumped the track last night didn’t mean she couldn’t get right back on the rails.
Lane was probably banking on a companionable morning cuppa Joe, the kind where you shared the milk and passed the sugar bowl. It was sort of flattering. He could have slipped out before she woke up, but apparently he wanted to share the morning-after warmth. But she’d shared too much already. Way too much.
She gave the scent of coffee one last longing sniff and dodged out the door to find the Malibu parked in the turnout all by its solitary self. Lane wasn’t waiting for her. He’d left before she was even awake. He must have left the coffeepot warming for her, but that was the extent of his morning-after efforts.
Unlocking the Malibu, she climbed inside. She didn’t care that he’d left. She hadn’t wanted to explore their emotions, or talk about the relationship they didn’t have.
The last thing she needed was a cowboy hanging around. Even if he outgrew or survived his determination to test himself on the backs of bucking horses and bulls, ranching was damn near as risky a business as rodeo. Your livelihood depended on the sun and stars, the rain and the hail, the freeze and the thaw—all elements nobody but God could control. There was no regular paycheck, only sporadic flushes and equally frequent dry spells when