Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (33 page)

“Hello? Are you all right? I heard noises in here.”

Noises? Had they really been that loud?

“Hello?” Then, “Shit, I’ll have to get the key.”

That spurred Harper to answer, “Ah, no, it’s okay. I’m fine. Just having a devil of a time getting this”—she pushed her hips back into Bran’s pelvis—“
thing
off me. It’s a tight fit.”

Bran murmured, “It
is
a tight fit,” and bumped his hips forward into her again. “Really tight. Perfectly tight.”

“Did you say something?” the girl demanded.

“No. I’ll be out in a second.” Using the mirror, Harper pushed herself upright, intending to dislodge Bran from her body.

But he held her in place and let his hands skate up her torso, cupping her breasts. She watched his slow, sensual movements reflecting back to her. He acted as if he had all the time in the world to touch her, which spoke volumes about the type of man he was. He would not be rushed. He would not be bullied. His breath was hot in her ear. “I wanna fuck you like this again.”

“Now?” she whispered.

“Would you say yes?”

She nodded her head yes even as she mouthed,
No
.

He laughed softly.

When she turned, he kissed her in an openmouthed duel of sliding tongues and lips.

As he pressed a moist kiss to the cup of her shoulder, he pulled out. Although he’d only untucked his shirt and dropped his pants for their encounter, he helped her put her clothes back on. Bran’s idea of help was stealing kisses, copping a feel, generally making a nuisance of himself. But Harper didn’t mind a bit.

Once she was as presentable as she could make herself, she was half tempted to tell Bran to sneak out first.

No. Heck, Harper was proud that she’d brought out such a primitive need in a man like Bran Turner, who prided himself on total control. She opened the door and walked out of the dressing room in front of him.

The salesgirl looked at them. Suspiciously. Knowingly.

Harper smiled and handed the girl the skirt. “You know, I don’t believe I need this today. Thank you.”

She looped her arm through Bran’s and they didn’t stop laughing until they reached his truck.

“
Y
ou promised you’d feed me. Steak, if I recall.”

Bran started his truck and looked at her. Damn. He liked that Harper sat right next to him on the bench seat. He really liked the shine in her eyes and the soft set of her mouth. He fastened his lips to hers, taking the lazy, slow kiss he wanted. When she started to inch her hand up his leg, he broke the kiss with a smile. “Food first. How about the Cattleman’s Club?”

“Sure. I’ve driven by a bunch of times, but I’ve never eaten there.”

“They’ve got decent steaks. Cheap beer. Good music.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.”

After Bran parked and helped her out of the truck, he kept hold of her hand as he led her inside. The joint was hopping, but he didn’t recognize anybody—mostly because he couldn’t look away from his beautiful date. The hostess showed them to a booth up front by the stage and dance floor. When Harper tried to sit across from him, he nudged her into the booth and scooted right next to her.

“What can I getcha to drink?” the waitress asked.

“She’ll have a Jack and Coke, and I’ll have a Bud Light.”

Harper turned toward him after the server left. “You’ve got a funny look on your face. What are you thinking about?”

“Miniskirts. Specifically, about the time you and Celia came along with us to Cactus Jack’s. You wore that faded-jeans skirt that made your legs look a mile long. Did you hear the collective male groans every time you angled across the pool table to take a shot?”

Harper blushed. “No. I don’t know what possessed me to wear that skirt. I’ve not worn anything that short since.”

“I know. Why do you think I was so gung ho for you to try on that miniskirt in Runnings?”

“Because you wanted to nail me in front of a three-way mirror and see if you could make me scream?”

He grinned. “That too. But damn, I really love the way your ass and legs look in them short skirts.”

She blushed harder, if possible. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I would have had to’ve been blind and dead from the waist down not to’ve noticed you.”
Not to have wanted you. Fantasized about flipping up that sassy little skirt and bending you right over the pool table.

“Such a sweet talker.”

He focused on the menu. “Any idea what you’re havin’?”

“The petite sirloin, hash browns, and a salad with blue cheese dressing.”

“Sounds good. Except a small sirloin is just gonna piss me off.”

She laughed.

The waitress dropped off their drinks and took their order. Bran lifted his bottle to Harper’s glass. “To miniskirts.”

“And your sudden need for leather gloves.” She clinked her glass to his and drank.

Silence descended. And lingered.

Why?

Because this felt like a date.

Shit. Was he supposed to exhibit datelike behavior? Ask about her interests? Movies she’d seen? Places she’d been?

No. This was Harper.
His
Harper. They were beyond typical date behavior. He’d seen her covered in manure. He’d seen her wearing nothing at all. He’d seen her angry and aroused and determined and exhausted. He knew her, dammit. Straight down to the bone. They were beyond this trivial stuff.

Yes—he knew her because he was head over heels in love with her.

Almost as if she sensed his realization, she pushed him to move, scooted out of the booth as soon as he stood, and sat across from him.

“Was it something I said? I did put deodorant on before I left the house.”

“Don’t go getting your boxers in a twist, Bran. I’d like to look at your face when I talk to you.”

“We don’t seem to be doin’ a lot of talkin’.”

Harper cocked her head. “Why is that? We never run out of things to talk about on the ranch.”

“We’re mostly talkin’ about work stuff.” He grinned. “Or we’re getting nekkid.”

“Since we’ve already done that, are we just going to sit here and stare at each other?”

Bran reached out and touched her cheek. “That ain’t such a hardship for me, bein’s you’re so beautiful you take my damn breath away.”

Her eyes softened. “I like this side of you.”

“Which side is that?”

“Sweet. Romantic.”

It was Bran’s turn to blush. “So is it considered romantic if I ask you to spend the night with me before we even get our food?”

“Only if your offer includes breakfast.”

“Done.”

The waitress served their salads and they tucked in. However, Harper’s gaze kept straying off to the right.

“What’s captured your interest over there?”

“I thought I saw someone I knew.”

Speakers crackled and the feedback from a microphone reverberated loudly. They both winced. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monday night karaoke at the Cattleman’s Club. I’m Bob Carlson and I’ll be your host. So if you’ve got a burning desire to sing for these fine folks, come up and see me and we’ll get you on the list.”

Bran groaned and felt Harper’s gaze burning into him.

“Not a karaoke fan? Or are you worried someone is going to pick your song first?”

He shook his head. “First, I don’t sing. In public.
Ever
. Second, what song do you think is my favorite?”

She smirked. “Honky-tonk Badonkadonk.”

“Not hardly. What about you?”

“Do I sing? Or do I like ‘Honky-tonk Badonkadonk’?”

“Do you sing?”

“Singing was my talent in the various beauty contests I competed in, but that doesn’t mean I do it well.”

“Oh, I’m sure your voice is as sweet as a songbird’s,” Bran said silkily. “What was your signature song?”

Harper speared lettuce with her fork and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Come on. Tell me.”

She shook her head and chewed.

“Or maybe you want to show me?”

She swallowed. “Huh-uh. I retired.”

“From singing?”

She nodded.

“But I’ve heard you humming all the damn time while you’re workin’.”

Harper pointed her fork at him, a little angrily. “Not the same as getting up on a stage and belting out a tune, Bran—not even close.”

Distortion from the microphone filled the room again. “Folks, I’ve been prompted by management to ask you to fill out your forms for the contest at the back hostess stand and not to bother your servers.”

Someone yelled, “What contest?”

Bob fussed with the microphone stand. “Anyone who gets up here and sings tonight is eligible for the hundred-dollar prize.”

Bran pointed his fork right back at Harper. “Now you’ve gotta enter.”

“No. Way.”

A woman passed by their table close enough that the ends of her shirt nearly dragged through Harper’s salad. The woman stopped. Walked backward. Keeping her back to Bran, she said, “Harper?”

“Becca? Hey. How are you?”

“Good. I’m surprised to see you in Rawlins. Didja have enough of that shithole Muddy Gap?”

Bran studied the way Harper’s smile froze and her facial muscles tightened. He’d never seen her react to anyone that way.

“No. I’m in town having dinner.”

“Alone? Darlin’, that’s just plain pathetic, with the way men used to fall at your feet.”

“She’s not alone.”

Becca whirled, nearly whapping Harper in the face with the jagged beaded ends of her silk shirt. Her eyes narrowed as she took Bran’s measure. Evidently she didn’t find him lacking because she smiled coyly. “Well, aren’t you a handsome one? I never knew Harper had such good taste.”

He saw Harper stab her fork into her greens. Repeatedly.

The woman held out her hand. “Becca Vincente.”

“Bran Turner. How do you know my . . . Harper?”

The stout woman actually flipped her hair over her shoulder. “We used to compete in beauty pageants together. I was first runner-up in the Miss Sweet Grass contest.” She shot Harper a haughty look. “And I did win the talent competition in that one, didn’t I, Harper?”

Harper blinked slowly. A cute wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows as if she was deep in thought. “Honestly, I’ve been in so many beauty pageants and contests, Becca, I’m afraid I don’t remember them all.”

First time he’d ever seen Harper acting cocky.

Becca’s lips flattened. “I remember, and so will everyone else when they hear me sing. I thought that’s why you’d shown up here.”

“To hear you sing? No. I came for the steak.”

“I meant, you came to enter the contest. Tonight’s winner not only gets the cash but advances to the next round.” Becca flashed her teeth at Bran, then at Harper. “It doesn’t appear as if you need the money like you used to.”

Hell, the woman could’ve just called him a sugar daddy to his face and Harper a whore. “You’ve got it all wrong, lady.”

Harper grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Now, Bran, honey, there’s no use trying to pull one over on Becca. She just knows me too well.”

Her eyes begged him to play along, so he did. “How’s that, sugar pie?”

Becca crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

“Like I know that winning a contest without any real competition isn’t much of a challenge.”

Goddamn. He liked seeing this nasty side of his nice beauty queen.

“So, yes, I’m here to win some cash.” Harper smiled so prettily, so earnestly, that if Bran hadn’t known better, he would’ve believed her smile was completely genuine, instead of totally bogus. “You don’t mind, do you, Becca?”

“Why would I mind? It’s a free country. I welcome the competition.”

Harper’s smile widened. “Oh, good. Then you won’t mind showing me where the hostess stand is so I can fill out my request sheet?”

“I’d be happy to do it for you, if you’d rather.”

“That’s so sweet of you to offer, but I’d probably better make sure they’ve even got the song.” Harper slid out of the booth and cooed, “Be right back, dumplin’.”

“Nice meeting you, Brad,” Becca said.

Brad. Right. His night wouldn’t have been complete without a backhanded compliment from this chubby bitch. He smiled. “Nice meetin’ you too, Bertha.”

Becca scowled at him and said, “Come on,” to Harper before she stomped off.

Harper followed, her eyes searing holes in the back of Becca’s head.

By the time she returned, the steaks were on the table. Harper didn’t sit on her side of the booth, she slid in right next to him and snagged her plate. “This looks delicious.”

He sliced off a piece of meat and studied it. “So you wouldn’t get up onstage if I asked you, but you’ll get up onstage and sing to spite a woman you hate?”