Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

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.

She is a beauty queen, dumb ass.

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 ass**le, 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 f**king 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.