fit far better than he’d fit into the cavernous walnut-paneled dining room at the club.
“Stick shift,” she said, thinking aloud.
“You’re not the only one who likes to control things, princess.”
“Don’t call me that. And anyway, I’m just doing my job.” Suddenly conscious of her posh dress and demure pose, she looked down at her hands, which she’d folded in her lap like a good little girl on a trip to the fair. “I don’t like to control things. Not really.”
“Well, you’re controlling me.”
She let out a quick, short laugh. “I can’t control you.”
Not only couldn’t she control him, she couldn’t control herself. Ever since he’d turned up at the club, she’d felt like everything was spinning out of kilter. The idea of spending time alone with him made her want to screech to a halt like the Road Runner coming to the edge of a cliff, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself—maybe because she was hanging out with Wile E. Coyote. Lane might not have the cartoon critter’s knack for disaster—in fact, he seemed to live a uniquely charmed life—but he had the same scrappy optimism as a coyote, the same trickster mentality, the same devil-may-care determination to get what he wanted.
She’d been like that once—a girl who ran horses hell-for-leather, who cussed and kicked and spoke her mind. Sometimes she wondered if all the phoniness she’d let into her life was really worth the paycheck. The new Sarah might be successful and secure, but she wasn’t really very likable.
***
Lane rested one hand on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Sarah was gazing out the windshield too, as if they were already on the highway. As if the two of them were actually headed somewhere together.
Actually, they were. He just wasn’t sure where they were going to end up.
“So tell me again why you want to destroy Two Shot. What did that town ever do to you?”
She heaved a heavy, weight-of-the-world sigh. “It didn’t really do anything to me. I didn’t let it. But my mom, my sister—things didn’t work out there for them.”
“Would they have worked out differently anywhere else?”
“Yes.” Her vehemence surprised him. “You probably think everybody in a small town pulls together, right? That everyone knows everybody else’s business, and they just can’t wait to help their neighbors?”
He shrugged. She was right—he did think that. If you all lived in the same place, you’d care about the same things. Surely that would bring people together.
“Well, you’re right on the first count, wrong on the second. Everybody’s got their nose in your business, but when things go wrong, they just crinkle it up like you smell bad and pull away.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at the metaphor and she scowled, making a little crease appear between her eyebrows. He figured she was probably trying to look mean, but mostly she looked hurt.
“And that’s the good part,” she said. “After they pull away, they all go whisper about you together and point fingers and judge you. Remember in high school how there were cool kids and outcasts? Well, in small towns that never ends. Cliques and power plays, winners and losers—it’s all there. If you make a mistake, just one mistake, you’re done. Done.”
“Surely not everyone’s like that.”
She turned away as if something fascinating was going on outside the passenger side window. “No. Some people pretend they feel sorry for you so you’ll let them help you. That way they’ll have more to whisper about.” The hand resting in her lap curled into a fist. “You bet I want to pave it over.”
She turned quickly to face him and he was surprised to see a teardrop hovering on her lower lashes. He brought his hand up to brush it away and remembered how he’d cupped her cheek the night before, just before he’d kissed her.
She must have remembered that too, because she reached up and grabbed his wrist to pull it away. But when their eyes met, she stopped, the two of them barely breathing. Her eyes were wide, and her lower lip trembled a little until she nipped it in her teeth and looked away.
“You are a winner, Sarah,” he said in a low voice. “You made it out in spite of it all.” He kissed her, just brushing her lips. “Forget Two Shot. Just be who you are.”
Chapter 17
Sarah whimpered—actually whimpered, dammit—as Lane’s eyes flickered over hers like he was seeking permission to touch her again.
Why couldn’t he just take what he wanted? Why did she