Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (7 page)

“Charlie gave them to me as a surprise.”

“Does he hate you or something?”

Bran snorted. “Or something. You must’ve moved pretty fast if you got ’em in the shed before they came to.”

Harper hung her head and stared at her feet. “I’m such an idiot about this stuff. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Soft leather brushed her chin and Bran lifted her face up to meet his eyes. “Not your fault. I should’ve warned you. Since I’ve been around ranch work my whole life, this stuff comes natural to me and I don’t even think about it.”

“Bran. There is nothing natural about fainting goats.”

He smiled, but his gaze seemed stuck on her mouth. “I may forget to teach you some things. But I’d never do it intentionally to make you feel stupid, Harper. I ain’t that kind of man.”

A warm feeling flowed through her. “Thanks. And I promise if I make another mistake, I won’t try to hide the evidence.”

“Workin’ with you ain’t gonna ever be boring, that’s for damn sure.” His smile faded and he stepped back. “Come on. Chores are waitin’.”

Hours later Harper stumbled in the door and headed directly for the shower. She’d managed to act blasé around Bran, as if being covered in birth gunk and cow poop hadn’t bothered her in the least.

But it had. Oh, man, had it ever.

She flipped on the shower to warm it up while she stripped. Once the hot water hit her cold skin, she didn’t even mind the stinging sensation. She lathered up with her favorite peach soap and let the steaming water flow over her. Sometimes a hot shower was better than an orgasm.

She shuddered, wondering what it’d feel like having Bran’s strong, rough-skinned hands all over her.

Heavenly. Bran could probably do sexual things she’d only read about.

Not that it would be difficult, since Harper had limited sexual experience. Due to her mother’s reputation of spreading her legs for any man, of any age, size, race, or creed, Harper had gone in the opposite direction and remained chaste. She’d lost her virginity simply out of curiosity, choosing a college guy with more brains than brawn. They’d dated a while. Sex between them hadn’t driven her to the pinnacle of ecstasy her girlfriends raved about. Then her mom had uprooted them from Montana, ending her brief stab at a romance.

After she’d started winning pageants, the coordinators constantly warned her to be discreet in her dealings with the opposite sex. Apparently many men considered bagging a beauty queen a sign of masculine prowess, entitling them to bragging rights. So Harper decided to deal with that issue by staying abstinent, never expecting that it would last four years.

Within a week of passing off her final crown and title, she accepted a date with a man older than the college guys who’d been sniffing around. She learned firsthand there was no substitute for a sexually experienced male who took pride in pleasing a woman in bed. A mere month into the relationship, Harper learned her mother had bailed on poor Bailey. Since she’d moved back to Muddy Gap, no man had captured her interest.

Until Bran.

No, too bad he was her boss.

Harper toweled off and applied minimal makeup—foundation, mascara, and pale pink lip gloss. After tossing her dirty clothes into the tiny laundry room, she pawed through her dresser. She couldn’t wait to wear something besides jeans and boots for her short shift at Get Nailed. Bran was paying her enough that she could give notice to Bernice, but spending time chatting with her customers allowed her to feel part of the community. None of the women who patronized Bernice’s Beauty Barn ever uttered snarky comments about Harper’s mother or her mother’s irresponsible actions. Those wonderful ladies accepted her. Period. Which was worth way more than the pittance she earned.

Standing in front of her jam-packed closet, she chose a long tan moleskin skirt, a Western-cut shirt with black and tan checks mixed with strips of solid black and brown paisley, and black beaded moccasins. She adored clothes, jewelry, shoes—anything related to fashion. Chances were slim that she could carve out her dream career in fashion merchandising without a degree, but she still took time to look stylish. Even if the only people who saw her and appreciated her quirky style were the sixty-, seventy-, and eightysomething patrons of Get Nailed.

The wind practically blew her inside the building. Get Nailed was located in the back of Bernice’s Beauty Barn. In a small community there wasn’t a need for a full-time, full-service hair salon, to say nothing of a full-time nail salon, so Bernice scheduled nail appointments at the end of the day on the days she was open.

She hung up her coat on the coat tree, an oddly endearing monstrosity that Bernice’s husband, Bob, had fashioned out of elk antlers. When she turned around, all five women in the shop were gawking at her. “What?”

“Oh, nothin’, dear. We’re just surprised to see you.”

Harper’s eyes zipped to Bernice. “Why? You planning on firing me too?”

Bernice clucked her tongue and resumed snipping a section of Tilda O’Toole’s snow-white hair. “No. I figured with you bein’ Bran Turner’s new hired hand and all, you might be giving
me
the boot.”

“Heaven knows I wouldn’t kick Bran Turner out of bed,” Tilda piped up.

“Unless he wanted to do it on the floor,” Garnet Evans added with a snicker.

“Garnet!”

She shrugged. “Just sayin’. I’m old. I ain’t dead.”

“How did you guys hear about me going to work for Bran?” Harper demanded. “It’s only my second day.”

Tilda’s eyes flicked to Harper’s in the mirror. “Honey, do you really need us to remind you how small this town is?”

“Plus,” Bernice added, “Bran’s hired hand’s truck has been parked at your place since yesterday. Given the state of Les Daaugard’s hip, we know you weren’t makin’ time with him.”

A chorus of female titters erupted.

“Now, don’t get sore at us, Harper. We were just funnin’ with you,” Garnet said.

“I know.” She rubbed her hands together. “So who’s my first victim—I mean client—today?”

Maybelle Linberg pushed to her feet. “That would be me.”

“Come on back. It’ll take me a second to get ready.”

“No rush. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be or anyone waiting on me.”

Harper’s heart ached for Miz Maybelle, who’d lost her husband of fifty years six months back. None of her children or grandchildren lived close by, and Harper thought it’d only be a matter of time before Maybelle moved on if she didn’t find something to occupy herself.

She slipped an apron on and set up the nail station, draping towels across the hand board. She filled a pan with disinfecting solution and added hot water. “Have a seat.” After Maybelle was situated, she removed the old nail polish on Maybelle’s short fingernails. The majority of Harper’s clients were older women who didn’t want the fuss of acrylic nails and preferred an old-fashioned manicure with their gossip.

“You know, I heard a rumor that Bootsie Mitchell is looking for a new society reporter for the
Muddy Gap Gazette
,” Harper said.

“Now, you know I’m not one for rumors and such, but where on earth did you hear that?”

Harper fought a smile. Maybelle always pooh-poohed the evil rumor mill, but immediately perked up with interest at the word
gossip
. “Evidently Bootsie mentioned it to Bernice last week during her perm. Seems Lila Aldean is hanging up her reporter’s pen for the society column.”

“As well she should.” Maybelle tsk-tsked. “Lord, Lila is almost ninety-five years old.”

“I think you’d be the perfect person to fill the position, Miz Maybelle. You’ve lived here your whole life and you’re about the only person I know who doesn’t consistently use the word
ain’t
, so your language skills are better than most.”

A thoughtful pause followed. Then Maybelle said, “Why didn’t you apply, dear? I know you’re looking for work.”

“Because it’s a volunteer position. And I won’t be around much longer.”

Maybelle dunked her slightly gnarled hands into the solution and sighed. “Why is it that with all the years I spent up to my elbows in soapy water washing dishes, it never once felt like this? I feel so guilty.”

“Don’t feel guilty about pampering yourself. After all the years you cooked and cleaned for your husband and your family? You deserve it.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Maybelle squinted at the rows of polish. “I’m thinking I’d like a bright color this time. Something daring.”

“How about scarlet?” Harper plucked the color from the rainbow-hued lineup. “This one even has tiny specks of glitter.”

“That’d give ’em something to talk about after bridge club, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. They’ll be so busy gawking at your nails they won’t pay attention to the cards and you’ll whip ’em good.”

“Scarlet it is.”

Harper dried Maybelle’s hands and rubbed oil on her cuticles, giving her a hand massage.

“So is there any more news on Bailey’s college applications?” Maybelle prompted.

“She’s been accepted to Montana State, Colorado State, University of Nebraska, Idaho State, University of Northern Colorado/ Boulder, and University of Wyoming. The only scholarship offer she’s gotten is from UW and it’s a full ride, for four years, including room and board.”

“And she hasn’t taken it because she thinks there’s something better out there?”

Harper frowned. She didn’t know why Bailey hadn’t jumped at the chance for free college. Whenever Harper brought it up, all Bailey would say was she was considering it. “Isn’t that human nature? Always thinking there’s something better out there?”

“What about you, Harper?”

“I’ll go wherever Bailey goes. She’ll need my support.”
Even when she thinks she doesn’t need it.

Maybelle turned her hand and squeezed Harper’s fingers. “That’s not what I meant.”

Confused, she looked up.

“Sometimes what we need is right in front of our faces and we can’t see it.”

Okay. That was vague. Harper smiled. “Let’s get those nails buffed up and ready for that hoochie mama polish.”

Maybelle tittered like a schoolgirl.

After she finished with Maybelle, Chrissy Baker raced in for a repair job because she’d broken two nails changing a flat tire on her pickup and she had a late date. Then Garnet requested a quick color change, which morphed into a full manicure and another round of whether a man was sexier wearing boxers or briefs.

Knowing she’d need the caffeine for later, Harper poured a cup of coffee and sipped, waiting for her next client.

“So you ended up working for Bran Turner, huh?” Bernice said.

“Yep. Luckily I don’t have to drive to Rawlins every day and serve up fries or make beds to earn a living.”

Bernice lit a cigarette. “That’s all you feel you’re qualified to do?”

Harper nodded.

“What were you studyin’ at that community college in Casper?”

“Fashion merchandising and marketing.”

“Really?” Bernice inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke. “That seems the perfect fit for you. Do you plan on finishing your degree once you leave Muddy Gap?”

Harper was too embarrassed to admit that if she hadn’t come home to take care of Bailey, she might’ve ended up coming home anyway because she hadn’t been doing so hot with some of the college courses. “Depends on where Bailey and I end up.”

Bernice studied her through the blue haze.

“What?”

“You gonna be okay when Bailey ain’t your responsibility anymore?”

The doorbell clanged and all three hundred pounds of Mimi Julanski thundered in, saving Harper from having to answer Bernice’s question out loud.