Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (8 page)

 

D
ue to a partial snowmelt Bran suggested they check cattle with the ATVs instead of the truck. It’d been a month since he’d double-checked a couple of problem areas that he couldn’t get to in his pickup. After he’d loaded up wire cutters and other supplies, he wondered how Harper would fare helping with the most monotonous aspect of ranching—fixing fence. But he didn’t doubt her ability. She’d done remarkably well with every mundane task he’d set in front of her the last week.

So when Harper breezily assured him that she had experience driving an ATV, he’d sped off ahead of her, expecting that she would keep up.

She hadn’t.

Not even fucking close.

Jesus. The woman drove like a ninety-year-old retirement home escapee. At the rate she was meandering along, it’d take them all damn day to reach the freakin’ fence, let alone have time to fix the damn thing once they actually got there.

Bran waited impatiently by the gate—the gate
he’d
had to open because his gate opener was a quarter mile behind him.

And when she’d finally puttered up alongside him, her cheeks pinkened by the wind, strands of blond hair sticking to her face and poking out of her hood, looking so goddamn cute and yet breathtakingly beautiful, he got instantly hard. And he got instantly mad about getting hard. He snarled, “Dammit, Harper. Is it too much to ask you to keep up with me?”

She peered at him over the top of her sunglasses. Dark, movie-star-type sunglasses bejeweled with pink and purple rhinestones in the corners above her eyes, for chrissake. “I didn’t know we were racing.”

“We’re not. But—”

“This is a dangerous job. I’m not about to pitch myself off this thing headfirst into a snowbank because you want to prove you can outmaneuver me. You can. You win.”

“The only danger you’re in, sweetheart, is from falling asleep at the wheel because you’re goin’ too goddamn slow.”

Harper smiled slyly. “Is that what you said to Les before his hip got broken? ‘Hurry up’?”

He growled. “Just keep up.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll close the gate, boss.”

Boss.
Bran growled again. He zipped through the gate and across the field. All the way across the flattest part he didn’t hear the rumble of her ATV close behind him, and since there wasn’t a side mirror, he couldn’t just glance in it to see where the hell she was.

He resisted the temptation for, oh, about . . . forty-five seconds. He slowed and spun around.

Fury bloomed when she raised her arm, from two hundred yards away, and waved at him like a goddamn ... beauty queen atop a parade float.

Like he needed that reminder—it was obvious every time he looked at her. Regardless if she wore filthy, ripped, oversized coveralls, she carried as herself as regally as royalty. Bran waited. And fumed. When she got within ten feet of his machine, he thought about spinning a cookie and coating her with snow, just to be ornery.

But he didn’t. He clenched his teeth.

“Is there a problem?” she shouted.

Yes. You are my problem. You’ve gotten under my skin like a burr and I can’t stop thinking about you. All the damn time.
Further incensed by his crush-like behavior, he snapped, “Do you have to work at the nail salon later this afternoon?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’d better get a move on, then, because a section of fence needs to be fixed. Today.”

“You’re telling me I’m not leaving until it’s done?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” He bumped along the trail to the broken fence line and noticed she’d managed to keep up after his pointed reminder.

Probably made him an asshole, but he slowed down. Way down.

Harper zoomed up, flanking him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Just makin’ sure we’re safe.” He flashed his teeth at her.

She hit the gas, sped ahead, and sprayed him with snow.

Damn woman did have a little sass. And that was more appealing than seeing her in a swimsuit.

Okay. That was a total fucking lie. He’d give his left nut to see her in a skimpy bikini again. The last time he’d laid eyes upon the glory of her nearly nude body? She’d practically been jailbait and he shouldn’t have been gawking at her, but he couldn’t help it—she’d looked damn fine. The years had been good to her. Very good to her.

He was so lost in visions of Harper in a string bikini that he almost plowed over a fence post. He skidded sideways and killed the engine, acting as if he’d intended to get close enough to get splinters in his teeth and his tires.

He tossed the roll of barbed wire on the ground and grabbed his pliers. “See that sixth fence post in?” He pointed. “Take this end”—he unwound a section of wire—“and walk down there with it. Keep it straight and keep a tight hold on it.”

“How tight?”

“Tight as you can. I like it tight and hard and I’m gonna be jerkin’ on it harder than you’d expect.”

Harper’s mouth opened, then closed with a bashful smile.

When Bran realized how he’d phrased it, he actually blushed. He almost snapped at her to get her mind out of the gutter, when she inquired sweetly, “Wouldn’t it be easier to put a metal clamp on it and then try to fix it?”

He loomed over her. “Excuse me, Miss Sweet Ass, but how many miles of fence have you fixed?”

“It’s Miss Sweet
Grass
, Mr. Rude Behavior, and I was just offering a suggestion.”

Fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d called her Miss Sweet Ass. “I don’t need your suggestions, Harper. I need you to do what you’re told.”

She gave him her back and sauntered away. And were his eyes deceiving him? Or had Harper saluted?

Unreal.

Sexy as hell, though, that little bit of sass.

Luckily, she held on to the wire tight enough so by the time he reached her it was a quick tie-off and then he could go to the next post. She walked to the broken section of fence line without being told.

Everything would’ve been fine and dandy if the woman hadn’t felt the need to hum all the damn time. If he’d wanted to listen to tunes, he would’ve worn his iPod. But Harper wasn’t whining, complaining, or, God forbid, chattering like a squirrel, so he let it go.

By the time they finished repairing the fence, a cold front had moved in and fine snow drifted down like powdered sugar, cutting visibility.

“Let’s head back before it gets worse out here.”

Harper helped him pick up his tools without him asking her, which he appreciated. As she headed to her ATV, she lost her footing. Bran snagged the back of her coat, keeping her upright. “Be careful.”

She skidded sideways and latched onto the straps of his overalls to retain her balance. “Sorry. I’m not especially graceful.”

“Not a problem.” Her brown eyes were nearly gold in this light. Bran couldn’t look away. But he knew if he didn’t force himself to step back, he’d be tempted to brush the tiny flakes of snow from her pink cheeks. Or press his mouth to hers to see if he could warm up her cold-looking lips.

Her gaze dropped to his throat and she released him first, backing up. Way up. “Ah. Yeah. I’d better get a head start since I’m so slow.”

Bran signaled for her to follow him. They cut across the sloped field to the cattle shelter. She stayed on her ATV while he took a quick count of how many cows he had in labor. Four. It’d be an easy night. But an easy night was always followed by a hard night.

The frigid air bit through his layers of clothes and he sped toward home. He was busy thinking about things he had yet to finish, when he heard a whining crunch behind him. He cranked his head and watched in shock as Harper was ejected off the ATV. She landed hard, her body crumpling, and the machine abruptly quit.

He jerked the steering wheel and raced back to her, panic flooding his chest. He’d barely gotten his ATV stopped before he skidded on his knees beside her on the frozen ground.

She was sprawled flat on her back. She wasn’t fucking moving. Mouth dry, heart racing, fear ripping at his insides, Bran tried to remember what to do.

After tearing off his gloves with his teeth, he unzipped her jacket to the middle of her chest. He placed his shaking fingers on the pulse point of her neck.

Beating heart. Thank God.

Harper’s neck wasn’t twisted at a weird, broken angle. But she’d been knocked out cold. Probably had the wind knocked out of her too. He lightly laid his head on her chest to hear her breathing.

Her chest lifted beneath his ear. Her lungs appeared to be working fine. He mapped the planes of her cold face and loosened her hood, running his hands over her scalp to see if she’d sustained a head injury.

No blood. No bumps.

“Harper? Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Was it his imagination or did her nose wrinkle?

When he leaned near enough to feel her exhalations on his upper lip, her eyes opened.

Being a hairsbreadth away from Harper sent a shot of adrenaline straight to his groin. Holy hell, the woman was even more beautiful up close. He found his voice, although it didn’t sound like his voice. “You okay?”

“I think so. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I heard a noise and then saw you hit the ground. What’s the last thing you remember?”

She stared at him. A look of comprehension entered her eyes. “The ATV got stuck in a lower gear. I glanced down at the RPMs and tried to shift, but it wouldn’t budge. When I looked back up . . . I . . . umm . . .”

“What?”

“A bunny jumped in front of me and I swerved to miss it. Then I went sailing through the air. Guess I must’ve smacked into the ground pretty hard, huh?”

Bran rested on his haunches. “A bunny. You took a chance with your own life and your own safety to save . . . a fucking bunny?”

“Yes. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

“I had visions of you . . .”
Hurt and it being my fault for pushing you.
He got to his feet angrily. “Never mind.” He offered a hand to help her up and she batted it away.

“Where are my sunglasses?”

This woman was an absolute piece of work. She almost killed herself for a goddamn rabbit and now the only thing she gave a shit about was her sunglasses?

He spun around away from her, knowing if he stayed there another second, he’d chew her ass.

Looked like he’d found her stupid sunglasses. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty.

As he bent over to pick up the crushed plastic, he heard her gasp behind him. He whirled around and saw Harper crawling to her ATV.

Crawling. She’d rather crawl than accept help from him?

Screw that.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doin’?”
Real compassionate, Bran.

“I’m basting a turkey,” she snapped. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Jesus. Sweet Harper was snapping at him? Maybe she had smacked her head on a rock. Bran stepped in front of her, wrapped his fingers around her biceps, and hauled her to her feet.

Shit. Her eyes held that vacant look. “Harper? Sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart, but I am dizzy. Really dizzy.” Her head fell forward into his chest. “I’m tired. Just let me sleep, you big meanie.”

She called him a big meanie?

He could deal with being called an asshole, a douche bag, or a dumb fuck. But her calling him a big meanie . . . that made him feel ten times worse. No way in hell was she driving back to the ranch.

Resigning himself to having her tempting curves pressed against him, Bran lifted her into his arms. She was solid, but he managed to deposit her on the jump seat of his ATV with little trouble. He scooted in front of her, shoving her hands in his jacket pockets. He knew she was somewhat aware of what was going on when her arms tightened around him and she nestled her head into the middle of his back.

After what’d happened with Les, Bran didn’t relish carting Harper to town to get her checked out, but he didn’t want to take chances with an undiagnosed injury becoming serious either. It’d be better if he could get a medical opinion out here. Quickly.

An idea occurred to him. He dug out his cell phone and dialed Fletch, giving Fletch a vague rundown of her injuries and his location. Luckily Fletch was in his truck not far away and promised to swing by the ranch immediately.

Bran dug a thermal blanket out of the rear compartment, tucking it around Harper as best as he could, and waited.

Finally Fletch’s big rig bumped into the pasture. Then Fletch hopped out, carrying a plastic-coated sheet and a duffel bag. The man was still built like the linebacker he’d been in college, so his gentle nature shocked most people.

But Fletch wasn’t wearing his usual easy grin. He stopped in front of Bran’s ATV and scowled. “Where is she?”

“Now, don’t be getting mad, Fletch, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

Fletch nudged his cowboy hat up, training his gaze on Harper’s form slumped behind Bran. “Jesus Christ, Turner, please tell me she isn’t the injured heifer you were referring to when you called?”

Naturally, Harper chose that exact moment to become coherent. “What injured heifer? Where?”

“He was referring to you, sugar,” Fletch pointed out.

Shit. Bran felt her entire body stiffen behind him.

“Bran called me a . . . heifer?”

“Yes.” Fletch snapped at Bran. “She’s clearly not in need of
my
medical expertise.”

Then Bran did something rare—he babbled. “She got pitched off the ATV. I thought she was fine. I did the basic checks for head and body injuries and then, wham! It was as if she clocked out. Vacant eyes. Listlessness. She couldn’t even stand. She just ... crashed.”