embarrassing so she wouldn’t have to answer the question. But at some point, probably while Sarah was listening to Lane talk about rodeo, Gloria had left. So had Eric.
As a matter-of-fact, only the middle-aged cowboy with the bolo tie remained.
“Excuse me.” Shoving back her chair, Sarah set her napkin on the table and headed for the front lobby. Maybe Gloria had just felt the call of nature. She glanced right, then left as she left the restaurant. No Eric, no Gloria.
“Where’s the ladies’ room?” she asked a uniformed waitress.
“Down the hall.”
She headed down the hallway and ducked into the door marked “Ladies,” but it was empty, the stall doors standing open. Any other time she’d admire the plush carpet, elegant settees, and posh potpourri bowl, but she had to find Gloria. She went back to the lobby, where a black-jacketed server was manning the maître d’ stand.
“Is there another ladies’ room?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Have you seen a blonde? Petite, big—hair?” She fluttered her fingers around her face to illustrate Gloria’s poof of curls.
“She left with the gentleman,” he said.
“What gentleman?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I believe they—never mind.” He skittered off to the kitchen as if he’d just revealed the hidden life of Brad Pitt to a paparazzo.
Sarah hovered in the hallway, unsure how to proceed. Should she run outside, try to catch Eric and Gloria? For all she knew Gloria was puking in the bushes.
Then again, she might be in Eric’s Porsche, making out. Or worse.
She stepped outside, holding the door open behind her with one foot while she scanned the parking lot. The highway hummed just over the hill, the steady sound broken by the occasional rumble of a big rig and the rush of wind in the grass.
Eric’s Porsche was gone, and so was Gloria. He’d probably have to help her up the stairs, and then he’d discover Sarah lived there too.
Not that she was going to live there for long. She’d given Gloria one rule, and the girl had broken it as quickly as she could. Heck, Sarah never should have moved to Casper anyway. It would be easier—and cheaper—to live with Kelsey and commute.
She’d tell Gloria in the morning. Or maybe she’d just pack her stuff and go. All her belongings would fit in the Malibu’s backseat and capacious trunk. How pathetic was that? She was living a midsize life.
Something needed to change.
Reluctantly, she returned to the dining room. As she emerged from the hallway, she slammed into a familiar figure, bumping her nose into the unyielding plane of Lane’s chest. He steadied her with one hand, but she quickly skittered backward.
“You want dessert?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “No, I want to go home.” She scanned the empty dining room. There were only a few diners scattered around the room, and Eric’s table was occupied only by a busboy who was clearing dirty dishes.
“Let’s go then,” Lane said. “I’ll take you home.”
The two of them strolled in silence through the parking lot, a lone cricket announcing their arrival. Lane was all cowboy confidence and swagger, and that testosterone aura Sarah had sensed the night before surrounded him like smoke from a campfire.
He unlocked the passenger side door of his beat-up pickup.
“I thought you were doing well with rodeo,” she said. “This looks like the Clampetts’ truck.”
“It gets me places and carries my stuff,” he said. “Is there something else trucks are supposed to do?” He opened the door to reveal a bronc-riding saddle set fork-down on the seat. The stirrups were looped over the seat, and a coil of rope was tossed haphazardly on top. His gear bag was on the floor.
“Oops, no room,” Sarah said. “Better call a cab.”
“There’s room.” He hoisted the saddle against his chest, then set it in the truck bed. There was no sign of the previous night’s injury, and she wondered if he’d really needed help with his bag even then.
He brushed off some of the dust with the flat of his hand. “Come on, princess.”
She climbed into the truck cab, feeling awkward in her short dress and heels. The scent of the saddle lingered in the interior—leather and metal and horse. There was dried mud on the floor mats and a stack of papers shoved between the window and the dashboard.
Considering the amount of space Lane seemed to take up in the restaurant, Sarah had expected to feel cramped in the confines of the truck cab. But with one hand on the wheel and one on the shift lever, he