or valleys, rocks or trees.
But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to keep her mind on her job. “The company owns the mineral rights. What’s he going to do—chain himself to a tree?”
“He says that reporter wants to talk to him again.”
“I’ll bet she does.” Sarah blushed, hoping her boss hadn’t caught the sex-starved subtext in her words.
“Well, look out.” Eric patted his hair into place and crossed his legs. “He tends to bowl people over. Especially women.”
“I know the type,” Sarah said. She’d met enough professional cowboys to understand that the macho, rough-and-tumble rodeo life had probably puffed up Lane’s ego to the size of a mushroom cloud from an atomic bomb. And no doubt he’d try to blast her to kingdom come along with his brother.
Eric grimaced and adjusted his tie again, then shifted a trio of pens around his blotter. He lined them up parallel to each other, then shifted them to an angled arrangement. Picking up a stack of papers, he riffled through them and placed them to the left side of his blotter. After a second or two, he picked them up, tapped them on the desk to square the edges, and moved them to the right side. She’d never seen him like this. One of the reasons she liked working for Eric was his self-assured, take-charge confidence. The only time it seemed to waver was when the subject of his brother came up.
The door swung open and his helmet-haired assistant Dot tipped her head in.
Eric straightened. “Yes, Dorothy?”
“Mr. Carrigan, your brother…”
Lane Carrigan filled the doorway, standing with his legs slightly apart and his arms folded over his chest. He was taller than Eric by a couple of inches, but what made her jaw drop were the muscles straining his worn denim shirt and the uncanny vibrancy of his blue eyes. Eric had those same eyes, but in his aristocratic face they were merely interesting. Contrasted with Lane’s deep tan, they were striking. Eric was handsome, lean, graceful. Lane was a force of nature.
She wondered how old he was. Eric was the little brother, so that made Lane what? Twenty-nine? But he looked older. While Eric’s face was unlined, Lane had faint crow’s-feet when he smiled and long furrows that bracketed his mouth when he didn’t. Eric’s face was genteel and perfectly proportioned; Lane’s was craggier, with a nose that was just a little too big and brows that jutted over his eyes, making the blue of them seem all the more piercing. It was like you’d taken the same man and let one live a refined, easy life while you put the other one through the wringer. She wondered if it was just outdoor life that made Lane look so much older, or if the lines on his face had been written there by some kind of stress or even sadness.
She folded her hands in her lap, doing her best to look prim and professional and praying she’d managed to wipe the lust from her face. Her tummy wasn’t just doing a happy dance; it was cutting a rug in an all-out, hell-for-leather tango.
Lane nodded politely at the secretary. “Thanks, Dot.”
The assistant made a high-pitched giggling sound that was totally at odds with her usual stolid personality and fluttered away. Lane headed for a chair, his stride a little uneven. Somehow the slight limp only made him seem more masculine—maybe because Sarah knew it was the result of an encounter with an angry bull.
But he was clearly at ease in the corporate surroundings, maybe because he overwhelmed them. His presence dominated the room in spite of Eric’s imposing desk, and his animal intensity made the fluorescent light seem suddenly pale and artificial. He glanced at Sarah and her belly twisted again, hard this time, with an urgency that was almost painful. The man’s eyes seemed to see right through her skin and into her soul—or maybe just into her underwear. Certainly the spasm of heat that bolted through her made her feel naked.
But she didn’t like rodeo cowboys, she reminded herself. Not anymore. They’d been her heroes once upon a time, but since then she’d seen firsthand what their devil-may-care attitude and risqué charm could do to a woman’s life. She’d sworn off men in general and cowboys in particular—at least until she got her career rolling.
Lane lowered himself into the chair beside her, shoving it backward so he could stretch out his legs. Now she couldn’t see his face, and she