Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (17 page)

“I’m good.”

“Be right back.”

Saturday night was hopping at Buckeye Joe’s. With the slight warming trend in the weather, residents grabbed the chance to socialize, do a little dancing, and catch up with neighbors who’d literally been snowed under for months.

Harper purposely didn’t allow her gaze to wander to the far side of the bar, where Bran and his buddies—including Celia’s brother Hank—sat. She’d prepared herself to call it a night if they issued an invitation to join their group. But Celia made it clear that she didn’t want to hang with them. Harper could tell that something major was going on with Celia and her family, but she knew better than to push her friend to spill her guts; if she did, Celia would expect Harper to follow suit.

And wow, how could she tell Celia that she lied yesterday and everything had changed since the moment Bran had kissed her?

Without thought, Harper flashed back to the sensation of Bran’s lips rubbing against hers. Nibbling. Teasing. Followed by the slick feel of his tongue invading her mouth. Her belly swooped, remembering the way he tasted of coffee, and the sexy, growling groan he’d released when she didn’t rebuff his advances. Her pulse had quickened immediately as he’d pressed her hands against the wall, taking charge, imprisoning her hips between his, proving how amazing it felt with the hot, hard length of his body against hers.

She’d wanted to plow her hands into his hair and trace the contours of his scalp with her fingers as she kissed him stupid. She’d wanted those nimble fingers popping the buttons on her blouse so he could put his rough-skinned hands on her bare skin.

Was it a good sign or a bad sign that they broke the kiss at the same time? Bran’s muttered “Fuck, I . . . we . . . shouldn’t do this” delivered the blow of how he felt about their reckless lip-lock: It was a bad, bad idea.

Yes, crossing the line had repercussions for them both, but Bran hadn’t apologized.

This morning had been particularly tough. Not the physical work. When she’d arrived at the ranch, she’d bottle-fed the calves. Then she’d hopped on the ATV and checked the mama cows’ usual hiding spots for calves that might’ve dropped overnight. She’d managed to concentrate on the job until she parked the ATV in the barn and Bran finally appeared, acting brusque. He’d barely looked at her.

As soon as she’d filled him in on the chores she’d finished, he told her to take the rest of the day off and Sunday too. For once she hadn’t cared about the loss of income; she needed a chance to regroup.

So she hadn’t been thrilled to see Bran at Buckeye Joe’s even when she couldn’t help but watch him. He danced with Hank’s wife. Then some other woman she didn’t know. Not that she expected he’d ask her to dance. Not that she wanted it.

Celia slid back onto her barstool. “So how many guys hit on you in the five minutes I was gone?”

“None. As soon as I finish this drink I’m heading home.”

“I hear ya. Is it okay if I crash at your place tonight?”

“If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

“It’d be better than another night in the horse trailer,” Celia muttered.

Harper threw caution to the wind. “Okay, Cele. Fess up. What’s going on at home that makes you not want to go home?”

“Everything. Nothing. Hell. The biggest thing is I feel like I don’t have a home to go to.” Celia picked at the label on her beer bottle. “Hank and Lainie are building a new house. I don’t blame them for wanting their own space. And Abe is good with it too, since technically, our parents’ house belongs solely to him. But that bitch Abe’s been dating for a few months has practically moved in. Whenever I’m home she makes me feel like an intruder in the goddamn house I grew up in. I hate it. I hate her. Everyone thinks I’m bein’ a big crybaby because I don’t like change or they think I don’t want Abe to be happy. But he’s not happy. He’s just settling for that woman and he deserves better.”

Knowing Celia, she’d probably told Abe exactly what she thought of his new squeeze.

“This is why I haven’t been coming home. When I’m on the road I can pretend everything back here is sunshine, roses, and rainbows. I have a loving family and they’re happy to see me. Instead, about an hour into my homecoming, I sense they’re counting down the hours until I leave again. Especially Nancy. I get that vibe from Abe too, and . . . Jesus, Harper, it hurts like a bitch. It was me’n him and Hank for so long. I’m seriously considering renting a place in Denver so I never have to come home again.”

A gasp sounded behind them. Their heads whipped around to see the source of the gasp: Celia’s sister-in-law, Lainie.

“What are you talking about, Celia? Never having to come home again?”

Celia’s face went red. She turned and snapped, “We were havin’ a private conversation, Lainie, so butt out.”

Lainie completely invaded Celia’s space. “Like hell. This is serious shit and I won’t let it fester another second, since it’s obviously been bugging you for quite some time. Not that you’ve said anything to any of us.”

“So? Just forget it.”

“No. Way. I’m tired of the drama. And if there’s something wrong we need to fix it. Right away. When we’re still sober.” Lainie snagged Celia’s leather coat off the extra barstool. “Come on. We’re leaving right now.”

“I’m not some teenager you can just order home, Lainie.”

“I know.” Lainie closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Shit. Sorry. It rips me apart to think I’ve had any role in making you feel this way. You know in your heart that your brothers will be upset to hear this. So, please. Let’s go home and talk about it.”

“Will Nancy be there?” Celia asked snottily.

“No. Even if she is, I’ll kick her ass out. She’s not family. She has no part in the conversation. To be honest, I’ve had issues with her that I’ve let slide because I figured I’d be gone and in my own house. Now I realize that’s not the way to deal with the problem either. I’m done pussyfooting around her and Abe.” Lainie held out Celia’s coat again. “Do you want to ride with us back to the ranch or are you okay to drive?”

“I’m fine. I’ll meet you at Abe’s house.”

Harper knew Celia couldn’t see Lainie’s wince. Had Celia really stopped thinking of the Lawson ranch as home?

As soon as Lainie was gone, Celia upended her beer. “Dammit. I do not want to deal with this right now. I’d much rather stay here and get rip-roarin’ drunk with you.”

“Much as I want that too, Cele, you’ve gotta get a handle on this situation. It’s been eating at you. I’m sorry I didn’t push harder to get you to open up to me.”

“I’m stubborn that way. I ain’t gonna talk until I’m ready. So maybe it was a cosmic sign that Lainie just happened to be standing right there. She’s pushy as hell, which I actually really love about her.” Celia smiled and stood. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Try to have some fun tonight.”

Famous last words. Harper nursed her drink while listening to the band. She turned down four invitations to dance—two from Ralph, owner of the C-Mart. Creepy jerk made her skin crawl. But she’d managed to stay polite. When the band segued into slow songs, she grabbed her coat and headed to the door.

The covered entry way to the bar protected customers from the harsh Wyoming winter elements. She stopped in the empty hallway to slip her gloves on. The tap on her shoulder caught her off guard and she whirled around.

Creepy, leering Ralph stood there—way too close for her liking. “Where you goin’? You promised me a dance.”

Harper ignored him and kept walking until she was outside.

But Ralph was relentless. He followed her. “Hey, I was talking to you.”

She didn’t respond, figuring he’d give up.

Wrong.

Ralph grabbed her and pushed her face-first against the building. “I tried to be nice to you, but you’re a stuck-up bitch, ain’t ya? So you must think you’re better than me?”

“No. I didn’t feel like dancing. I didn’t dance with anyone else either.” Why had she thrown that in? She owed this drunken jerk nothing.

He pressed closer. “Maybe I want a private dance from you anyway.” His boozy breath burst across the side of her face like a sour dishrag. “Maybe I’ll settle for a kiss instead of a dance.”

“Maybe I’ll give you a bloody lip if you don’t let me go right now.”

“Ooh. Feisty thing. Makes it more challenging.”

When Ralph bumped his hips into her backside, Harper lost it. She threw her head back, connecting with his nose.

He made a sound somewhere between a shriek and a groan, immediately releasing her.

She spun and kicked him in the crotch while he was still trying to figure out if his nose was broken.

Ralph grunted and fell on the ground, curling into a ball.

Harper was in a red rage. She kicked him in the back, aiming for a kidney. She would’ve kept kicking him if not for the two steel bands that immobilized her flailing arms and lifted her feet off the ground.

“Let go of me right now or I swear to God I’ll—”

“Harper, sweetheart, it’s okay. He ain’t gonna hurt you now.”

She stopped fighting. “Bran? What’re you—”

“I watched him follow you. I didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you, so I came out to see what was goin’ on.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Ralph spit out a mouthful of blood. “This fucking psycho bitch attacked me!”

“You liar!” she shouted. “You pushed me up against the building—”

“I’m calling the sheriff,” Ralph said. “Havin’ you arrested for assault.”

No. She couldn’t go to jail. She would not end up like her mother. A sob caught in her throat and she thrashed against Bran, yelling, “You bastard,” at Ralph.

But Bran didn’t release her. If anything, his hold on her tightened. His mouth moved closer to her ear. “Harper. Calm down and listen to me.”

For some reason Bran’s voice soothed her and she stilled.

“Let me handle this.”

Ralph struggled to his feet. He patted his pockets as if searching for his cell phone.

“I wouldn’t call the sheriff if I were you, Ralph.”

“It’s a fuckin’ good thing you ain’t me, Turner, because I can’t wait to see her handcuffed as she’s getting her ass hauled off to jail where she belongs.”

“Yeah? They’ll be arresting you too, dumb shit.”

“For what?”

“For attempted sexual assault.”

“
I’m
the one bleeding,” Ralph practically whined. “It’d be her word against mine.”

“And mine. I saw you grab her. I saw you throw her up against the building. I saw her defending herself against a man who attacked her,” Bran said tersely.

“So? She’s a two-bit bar whore just like her mama. I’m a taxpaying business owner in this county. Who do you think they’re gonna believe?”

Bran released her and stalked Ralph, who cringed on the ground. “I oughta bust your teeth out for sayin’ that, you worthless piece of shit. Now you listen up because I’ve had enough of your senseless blathering. You’re gonna get the fuck outta here and you ain’t calling the sheriff.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“You really want people knowing that she kicked the crap outta you? How the fuck you think you’ll hold your head up in this town? Jesus.
I’m
embarrassed for you and I knew you had it comin’ to you. Imagine what other folks will think.”

Ralph’s bleary eyes narrowed.

“I ain’t bluffing.”

“Fine. If I don’t call the sheriff, she keeps her stupid mouth shut too.”

“Deal. But if you ever touch her again? You’ll deal with me, and we both know you ain’t got balls enough to cross me twice.”

While Bran and Ralph exchanged dirty looks and more harsh, threat-laden words, the shame of how Ralph viewed her brought Harper’s every insecurity front and center. She backed away quietly and ran the two blocks to her house without stopping.

Once she was inside, she threw the dead bolt and ditched her coat. Needing something to do with her shaking hands, she poured water in a mug and shoved it in the microwave. As she grabbed the tea, she heard banging on her front door.

Startled, she dropped the spoon on the countertop.

“Harper,” he yelled. “Let me in.” A pause. “It’s Bran.”

Bran had followed her? Why?

He had an inner core of a cowboy gentleman, even though he hadn’t shown it to her in recent weeks.

She walked back through the living room, pausing beside the door but keeping the locks in place. “Thanks for checking on me, but I’m fine. Really.”

“Open the goddamn door, Harper.”

“Bran—”

“Now.”

Reluctantly, she flipped the lock and let him in. He threw off his coat and toed off his boots as if he planned to stay a while.

“By all means. Make yourself comfy.” Harper spun on her heel, intending to return to the kitchen.

Bran stopped her, turned her to face him, holding her upper arms. “Why in the hell did you run off like that?”

“Wouldn’t you have?”

“We ain’t talkin’ about me here, sweetheart.”

“You sure felt entitled to speak for me when Ralph was already on the ground, didn’t you? Maybe I wanted him to call the sheriff. Maybe I’m sick and tired of his harassment.”

“That’s not what . . .”

His look of surprise fueled her frustration with him. “You know what, Bran? Just go. I cannot deal with you right now.”

“Tough shit. I ain’t leaving until you talk to me.”

Harper broke his hold on her. “I’m not on the clock at the Turner Ranch. I owe you nothing, including a conversation. So back off.” She sidestepped him, but he followed her to the kitchen anyway. She took the mug from the microwave and dunked the tea bag in it, not offering him a cup. Maybe he’d get the hint.

She meandered back to the living room and curled up in the easy chair instead of the couch so Mr. Helpful couldn’t sit next to her. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she closed her eyes and willed this day to be over.