Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (34 page)

“Yep. She shouldn’t have taunted me. I would’ve been perfectly fine, sitting here having a lovely dinner with you, but she had to go and ruin it. So I’m gonna return the favor and snatch that hundred bucks right out of her sausage fingers.”

Bran brushed his lips across her ear and filled his lungs with her addicting floral scent. “Your mean streak is a serious fuckin’ turn-on, Miss Sweet Ass.”

She angled her head, allowing their mouths to connect, and she delicately swiped her tongue across his bottom lip. “Does that mean you’ll let me spank you again later tonight?”

“Hell, no.”

Harper smooched his mouth before focusing her attention on her steak.

After the waitress cleared their plates, they each ordered another drink. Harper drained half hers in one swallow.

Bran stretched his arm along the back of the booth and toyed with her hair. “Nervous?”

“Very.”

The fact that she’d admitted her nerves brought out his protective instincts, and he wanted to reassure her. “You’ll do great. What song are you singing?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Does Becca know what song you’re performing?”

Harper’s lips curled into a secretive smile. “She thinks she does, but she’ll be surprised when I literally change my tune.”

“Are you on before her?”

“After. I’m second to last. They capped it at twenty-five contestants.”

She snuggled into him as they watched the karaoke performances. Having Harper acting so publicly affectionate thrilled him. A couple of the singers were good, but most were awful. When Becca took the stage, Harper immediately stiffened up. Becca had chosen Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” as her song.

Applause echoed, but Bran wasn’t impressed with her performance. He said as much.

Harper didn’t respond.

He sensed her mentally pulling away. He continued to run his fingers over the ball of her shoulder in what he hoped was a calming manner.

When the host called Harper’s name, she turned toward him for a quick kiss and slipped out of the booth. She spoke to the guy manning the sound system and he frowned.

Bob, the host, said, “Give us just a second, we’ve had a last-minute change in song selection.”

The guy nodded to Harper and she took center stage. She closed her eyes and curled her hands around the microphone as the background music started.

The instant she opened her mouth, Bran fell under her spell. Her voice was sultry, but it held a hint of sweetness as she hit the higher notes of “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” The crowd, fairly sedate up to this point, went sort of crazy when she held the last note. Wild applause broke out.

She seemed ready to leap off the stage and hide in the shadows, which made no sense to him, given the fact that she’d just knocked it out of the park.

As soon as he’d cleared the booth, Harper launched herself at him and he caught her in a deep hug. This woman felt so right, so perfect, in his arms that he wanted to burst out in song himself.

“You were amazing, Harper. Flat-out amazing.”

“Really?”

“A winner for sure. And you can tell Becca to bite you, but darlin’, that’s my job.”

“I like the way you bite me. Makes me all tingly.”

“I live to make you tingly.”

Harper won the karaoke contest.

Bran wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t surprised either that she didn’t want to stick around after she grabbed the cash. She insisted on paying for dinner, which was a new experience for him, and then she practically dragged him out to his truck.

Back at his place, the constant physical need for each other consumed them both once again. He stripped her where she stood and took her to bed. This wasn’t a frenzied mating—he made love to her with deliberate leisure, eking out every ounce of pleasure he could muster. Caressing her everywhere. Feasting on her everywhere. Allowing her the same luxury. They rolled across his mattress, giving and taking. Lost in passion tinged with sweetness.

As he floated into contentment with Harper draped across his chest sleeping peacefully, he knew he wanted this—her—for the rest of his life.

How could he convince her to stay in Muddy Gap with him instead of leaving with her sister?

Especially when he didn’t understand why Harper felt she had to go where Bailey went. Bailey wasn’t a child. Granted, Bran didn’t have siblings, but wasn’t this the ideal time for Harper to let Bailey go? Make her sister stand on her own, just like Harper had been forced to do for years?

Somehow he knew pointing that out would have the opposite reaction than he intended, no matter how tactfully he phrased it. So he was back to square one: how to convince Harper to stay with him in Muddy Gap.

Right.

Somehow he didn’t think that would matter to her either. She was stubborn and independent and determined to do things her own way.

Well, he could be stubborn too. They would have a serious talk about their future. Tomorrow. Whether she liked it or not.

H
arper kissed Bran’s sternum. Then his nipples. She rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest, loving the musky, warm, sexy way he smelled in the morning.

His hand absentmindedly stroked her bare back. “Is it mornin’ already?”

“Uh-huh. And we need to get started on chores.”

He groaned.

“You should be used to getting up at the crack of nothin’, cattleman.”

“I could get used to havin’ you in my bed,” he said silkily. “Let’s blow off chores for a bit. In fact, speaking of blowing . . .”

Did he really mean he could get used to having her around on a permanent basis?

No. The thought of her mouth on his cock always brought out his sweet side. She kept it light. “I need to borrow clothes, since the only ones I’ve got aren’t appropriate for working cattle.”

“Mmm. Or you could go nekkid.” His palm connected with her ass. “I like you nekkid. A lot.”

She pushed away from him. “I noticed.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not hardly. Where might I find clothes?”

“There’s sweatpants on the dresser. T-shirts and socks in the top drawer. They’ll be big on you, so you sure you don’t wanna go nekkid?”

“Positive.” Harper gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth. “Thanks. I need to track down my bra and underwear.”

“Follow the trail of clothes.”

She didn’t bother wrapping the sheet around her before exiting the bedroom with the sweat clothes. After all they’d done, not only last night, but for the last two months, modesty seemed . . . ridiculous.

“Such a sweet ass, sweet Harper. Why don’t you come back here after you find your unmentionables and I’ll help you put them on?”

“Nice try,” she yelled down the hallway.

He laughed. The bed squeaked.

Aha. She found her bra by the couch. Her underwear was on the coffee table. Lord. She had no recollection of how they got there beyond his frantic stripping of her the instant they’d cleared the threshold. She folded her skirt and blouse. Before she shoved them in her big bag, she dug for a hair clip and secured her hair away from her face. She picked up Bran’s shirt and held it to her nose, inhaling deeply. She loved the way he smelled. She loved everything about him—inside the bedroom and out. But confessing the whole “I love you” thing after a night of spectacularly rocking sex was something her mother would do, so that’s precisely why Harper wouldn’t do it.

Yawning, she started coffee. She heard the shower kick on. She needed to brush her teeth, but if she went into the bathroom while Bran was standing there naked and wet . . . chances were slim she’d be able to keep her hands off him.

She tidied up the kitchen. This was her last week of work as Bran’s ranch hand. Next week she’d be packing up and getting ready for Bailey’s graduation. Since Bailey hadn’t said a word about her post-high school plans, Harper assumed they’d be moving to Laramie. She’d already located a cheap motel to rent by the week until they found permanent residence. Neither of them had much in the way of material goods, so packing shouldn’t take more than a day.

Yippee.

Her enthusiasm for moving away from Muddy Gap had waned considerably.

The door banged open and a little man with a cane shuffled inside. The balding redhead wore a plaid flannel shirt in a hideous shade of kelly green, black pants, and black work boots. Holy crap. His resemblance to a leprechaun was uncanny. Harper blinked, but he didn’t disappear, nor did she see a pot of gold anywhere near him. Dang.

He didn’t smile. In fact, he scowled. “You must be Harper.”

“Who are you and why did you just barge into Bran’s house? You’re lucky I didn’t attack you.”

The man harrumphed. “I’m Les. Bran’s full-time ranch hand.” His gaze zipped over her, almost with contempt. “You don’t look like you could hurt a fly, although you don’t look much like a beauty queen neither.”

Was she supposed to be flattered or insulted by that comment?

He didn’t wait for a retort. He glanced at the coffeemaker. “Havin’ coffee made is one of the benefits of hiring a woman, I guess. Bran never could get me to make coffee.”

It would be wrong to kick his cane out from under him since he was recovering from a broken hip.

“Another benefit of hiring Harper? She ain’t nearly as crotchety in the mornin’ as you are, Les.”

Les plopped in the closest kitchen chair with a grunt. “She also ain’t had her hip replaced after getting stomped by one of your pissed-off bulls.”

Bran ambled by her, smelling of soap and toothpaste. She wanted to jam her fingers into his damp hair and breathe in his clean scent and taste his minty mouth.

“Didn’t know you’d planned on coming back to work this week,” Bran said. “A phone call would’ve been nice. Especially since you felt the need to call me a couple of times a day, every day, during your recovery.”

She’d watched Bran’s face as he’d listened to Les’s complaints whenever he called. The conversations were very one-sided as far as she knew. Then again, Bran and Les had been friends for years, so maybe Bran had confided in him about all aspects of his life when she wasn’t around. That thought made her nervous.

Bran set three cups on the counter and poured. He nudged one cup in her direction and carried two cups to the table, sliding one in front of Les before sitting across from the man.

Les gave off negative vibes, so Harper opted not to join them at the table.

“The doc cleared me yesterday,” Les said. “Besides, I’m sick of sitting on my ass at home. Another day and I’d like ta gag that sister of mine.”

“I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing. In fact, I’ll bet it was Betty who encouraged you to get back in the saddle, wasn’t it?”

Les scowled and slurped his coffee. “So where’s the ranch truck?”

“At Harper’s.”

“Why?”

“It’s been havin’ some issues,” Bran lied.

“She’s out here awful damn early.” Les squinted at her with blatant accusation.

Harper fought the urge to bristle, but she couldn’t offer the crabby man a fake smile either. “I’m an early riser.”

Les didn’t acknowledge her. “So what’re we doin’ today?”

“Moving the bulls into the north pasture. We’ve gotta doublecheck that the fences and gates are secure.”

“Why?” Harper asked Bran.

But Les jumped in to answer before Bran could. “Because we don’t want our bulls getting out and impregnating Henderson’s cows. Don’t make the Hendersons none too happy neither, since half the herd in their south pasture, which borders ours, is full of purebreds. They lose a whole shit pile of money if the calves ain’t purebred, but were sired by one of our mongrel bulls.”

“My bulls ain’t all mongrels, but they ain’t the caliber that the Hendersons are known for.”

“But they are your neighbors, right? Wouldn’t they know better than to put such valuable purebred stock in a pasture where their cows might be sullied by your horny low-class bulls?”

Bran laughed. He gazed at her with the pure warmth that caused a funny tickle under her breastbone. “You have such a unique way of seeing things, Harper.”

She smiled behind her cup.

“That said, if the bulls do get out? The financial responsibility falls on Bran’s shoulders. Some neighbors wouldn’t push it, but the Hendersons do.”

“Meaning what?” she asked Bran, but naturally Les answered.

“Meaning the Hendersons require us to buy the contaminated purebred stock. To the tune of a grand a calf.”

Harper looked at Bran. “Seriously?”

Bran shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do except try to keep the bulls penned up and hope the Hendersons have already bred their cows.” He grinned. “Or hope they’ve put the heifers in that section. Nothin’ more skittish than a heifer goin’ through her first mating cycle. Some of the bulls just give up.”