he knew talking would break the spell. As he dressed, his shadow shifting in the moonlight, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and slowly came to her senses.
What the hell was she thinking? Real life didn’t end at the entrance to the rodeo grounds. You couldn’t step outside your life. You couldn’t stop time and do what you wanted and expect no repercussions.
What was done was done, and there was no point in regretting it. But she needed to figure out how she was going to move on. For instance, what she was going to tell Eric in the morning? She was supposed to be changing his brother’s mind about the drilling, not seducing him.
Hopefully Lane would agree to keep their liaison under wraps. Maybe he’d understand that this had been a one-time thing, that she wasn’t that kind of girl. That she’d slipped, and she simply needed to right herself and move on.
***
Lane pretended to be absorbed in finding his scattered clothes, but he watched Sarah’s face surreptitiously. She looked confused, impatient, and regretful—and none of those expressions boded well for the future.
Didn’t she know what they’d just shared? It didn’t matter that she worked for his brother. It didn’t matter that they were different kinds of people, with different goals. She was driving on a fast road to prosperity, and he was fleeing just as fast in the opposite direction. Maybe the fact that they’d collided head-on was a sign that both of them needed to stop and think about where they were going and why.
Talking about Two Shot with her made him realize he might have idealized the notion of small-town life. But she was being just as unrealistic about wealth and prosperity. Being well-off might mean you’d never starve, but it didn’t guarantee happiness.
“Okay.” She pasted on the same smile she’d worn at the office, before she’d let down her guard. It was about as bright and meaningless as the painted smile on a Barbie doll. “I’d better get going then.”
“Sarah.” She’d let her hair fall over the side of her face and he swept it back with one finger. “Don’t shut down on me.”
“I’m sorry, Lane. I have to go back to work tomorrow. With your brother.” She reached up and pushed his hand away. “It was—fun, you know? But it’s time to get back to reality.”
“That was reality.”
“It’s not the reality I had planned.”
She draped her purse strap over her shoulder and opened the door, slipping down the steps and into the dark night without looking back. He followed, his boot heels crunching on the gravel walk. They’d passed the beer tent, the potato skins stand, and the shuttered booth where she’d bought the running horse necklace before he spoke again.
“You know, it’s funny. I’ve been trying for years to shed that veneer you’ve been working so hard to build up. Trying to get real.”
She kept walking.
“It’s an advantage, you know—coming from Two Shot. The whole reason you understand rich people so well is because you can see them from the outside. And you know all about small towns.”
“Way more than I want to know.”
They reached the truck and he opened the door for her. He put out a hand to help her inside, but she pretended she didn’t see it and climbed in on her own.
He slid behind the wheel and turned to face her, propping one leg up on the seat. “Two Shot made you who you are. If you’d been born rich, you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t have all this ambition and drive.”
“So you’re saying it’s good to have something to run away from?”
“I doubt you ever ran away from anything.” He leaned over and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to face him. “Except me.”
He could tell she wanted to swipe his hand away, but he held her with his eyes as well as the touch of his hand. The only way she could get loose was to shake him off, and she was too dignified to do that.
“Look, Lane, you can’t possibly understand. When you wake up Monday morning, you’ll still be a Carrigan. You’ll always be a Carrigan.”
“And you’ll always be you.”
“I can’t afford to be me.” She blinked, avoiding his eyes, and the connection fizzled and shorted out. “And please don’t talk to Eric about me—about the things I told you.” Suddenly she seemed a whole lot less sure of herself. “I kind of misled him about where I come