Chic, but with a touch of country. So far, she’d gotten as far as a white lace bra and panties.
Skidding wire hangers from one side of her closet to the other, she considered pencil skirts, blazers, little black dresses, and trousers. Everything she wore was aggressively proper because she didn’t dress for success, or to express her fashion sense. She dressed to convince herself that she really had changed from a rough-and-ready country girl to a perfectly poised professional.
As she scanned the closet’s contents and dealt with the sinking feeling in her stomach, her roommate Gloria flounced into the room and pitched herself onto the bed. Blond curls bounced on impact, along with a bunch of other body parts. Gloria was a bouncy kind of girl, all roundness and curves, with eyes as blue and innocent as a newborn’s. But for once, she wasn’t smiling. She eyed the trousers Sarah was holding as if she’d just pulled a dead animal from the closet.
“I thought you were going to a rodeo.”
“I am.”
“Well, you can’t wear those. You need jeans. Where are your weekend clothes?”
Sarah sighed and hauled an ancient Samsonite hard-shelled suitcase from under the bed. When she flipped open the latches, she felt like she was releasing her old self. She’d almost thrown out her ranch duds when she’d left for college, but her sister had pressed and folded everything, convinced Sarah would come to her country-girl senses and ditch her dressy ways once she graduated.
Sarah had sworn never to go back to her old life, but she’d broken that vow when Kelsey needed her. Then she’d been glad the clothes were there. Her sister would have had a fit if she’d worn her stuck-up city clothes on the weekend visits to help with her niece.
Stuck-up city clothes. Like the other 244 residents of Two Shot, Kelsey seemed to feel betrayed by her sister’s determination to move beyond the town’s barbed wire borders. Even though Kelsey herself was struggling to survive as a single mom in a single-wide trailer, she expected Sarah to share her knee-jerk loyalty to the town where they’d been born.
Sarah sorted through the suitcase. “I only wear this stuff on weekends,” she told Gloria.
Gloria spread her hands in a don’t-you-get-it gesture. “It’s Friday night.”
“I know, but I’m kind of working.”
“Working?” Sarah could practically hear the grind of meshing gears as her roommate made the connection. Gloria widened her eyes. “You’re going to see Lane Carrigan.”
“Sort of,” Sarah muttered. She didn’t normally tell Gloria much about her job. The two of them had met through a Craigslist ad and agreed to share a loft-style apartment in one of the old brick buildings not far from the Carrigan tower. They were different as cats and dogs, but something in Gloria’s carefree ways meshed well with Sarah’s straitlaced personality. Gloria acted like a teenager set loose on the staid world of grown-ups, and Sarah ran her life like a geriatric business executive. Between the two of them, they made one pretty good twenty-five-year-old.
But as a Starbucks barista, Gloria was gunning for a golden future as a trophy wife. She envied Sarah her career, but only because it gave her such a great platform for husband hunting. Letting her anywhere near the Carrigan brothers was a recipe for trouble.
She was sitting up now, wide-eyed and flushed. “Oh, my God, Lane Carrigan would be perfect for you.”
“No he wouldn’t.”
“Yes he would.” Gloria nodded toward the worn Wranglers Sarah had just pulled out of the dresser. “You’re a cowgirl at heart.”
“Am not.”
“Yeah you are. Me—I’d go for the other brother.” Gloria’s blue eyes took on a faraway focus, as if she was seeing the future. “He’s so tall and dark and rich.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip like a cat licking cream. “Like a venti French roast. Bet he goes down smooooth.”
“Gloria, that’s my boss you’re talking about.”
“Yours, not mine.” Gloria tossed her curls and gave Sarah a mischievous smile. “But he could boss me if he wanted.” She shimmied her shoulders in a move straight out of the stripper handbook. “I’d do whatever he said.”
She watched Sarah struggle into the jeans. It took a few hard tugs to get them up and over her hips.
“Those are getting tight,” Gloria observed.
“It’s your fault. You and your Very Berry Coffeecake.” Gloria had a habit of bringing home the excess treats from the coffee shop. It was probably a conspiracy to make Sarah as round and bubblicious as