Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

“But I gotta admit, as much as I like seeing you lookin’ all soft and girly? The way I like you best is when you’re wearing my dirty coveralls.”

Bran granted her that irresistible cowboy grin before he sauntered out the door.

The cowboy sent off mixed signals like no man she’d ever met.

At two in the morning, Bran figured they’d seen the last calf of the night. They’d had to pull three, always a pain in the ass. Luckily all the calves and mothers survived, which wasn’t always the case.

Harper had learned that fact firsthand last night, seeing a stillbirth. The mama cow mourned the loss of her baby with a series of frustrated bellows, and she kept licking the dead calf, nudging it, wanting it to get up but not understanding that it never would. Harper’s eyes had taken on a sad sheen and she’d walked off by herself for a few minutes. Bran hadn’t said a word to her when she returned; he’d just squeezed her shoulder. It’d been good for him to see some of this day-to-day ranch life—stuff he’d gotten cynical about over the years—through Harper’s eyes.

They hadn’t talked in the truck as they made their way back from the herd. When they reached the last gate, Bran had to shake Harper awake to get out and open it. Muttering, she hopped out of the cab and slammed the door. She stumbled, disappearing from Bran’s line of sight. When she didn’t immediately reappear, he slid from the truck’s warmth and found her lying by the front tire, staring up at the sky.

Shit. Had she gotten hurt again? He crouched next to her. “Harper? You all right?”

“The stars are so pretty out here in the middle of nowhere, aren’t they? They look so different in the wintertime. Almost like they’ve shriveled up from the cold.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you back in the truck.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “You’re kinda pretty too, Bran. And sometimes? Your eyes twinkle like the stars.”

She must’ve whacked her head to be spewing such sweet bullshit. He stood over her and enclosed her gloved hands in his. “On the count of three I’m gonna pull you up. You’ll need to help me, or else I’m liable to jerk your arms out of the sockets. You ready?”

“No. I’m tired. Just let me sleep.”

“You’ll freeze to death out here. Count with me. One. Two.” On three, he used the weight of his body to propel hers off the ground. As well as it worked, it also brought Harper directly against his chest, and he had to wrap his arms around her to keep them both from pitching over backward into a snowdrift.

Oh, man. She was so soft, and she smelled like flowers. And why was she wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lower half against his lower half?

No. No. No. If she touched him or gave him any kind of encouragement . . . Too late. Harper did a little grinding movement against the front of his coveralls. His body might be dragging, but all of a sudden his c**k was wide-awake.

She sighed and ground into him again. “That was fun. Can we do it again?”

“Nope.” Rather than trying to get her to walk, Bran scooped her into his arms. He managed to get the truck door open and deposit her inside without injury. He was dead on his feet as he opened the gate. Drove through. Closed it.

What seemed like an hour later, Bran parked and shook her awake. “Harper. Wake up.”

“Where are we?”

“At the trailer.”

Something must’ve clicked because she climbed out on her own and beat him to the door. She stopped.

“Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“For you to unlock it.”

He snorted. “I never lock my door.”

“Someone might break in.”

He shut the door and turned off the porch light. “You’ve seen the piece of shit trailer I live in, right? I ain’t got nothin’ worth stealing.”

“But you have all those cool fishing doohickeys in your spare bedroom. I know. I peeked.”

Fishing doohickeys. He fought a laugh.

Harper yawned and swayed into the wall.

He steadied her. “Whoa there.”

“Tired.”

“I know. Let’s get you outta these clothes before you crash.”

“’Kay.”

Great. Now she was down to one-syllable answers. He tugged off her hat and gloves. Then he sat her on the ottoman and pulled off her boots. He unzipped her coat and the coveralls before bringing her upright again. Harper stood statue straight, not helping, but not impeding his progress in undressing her. Once she was down to socks, jeans, and her long-sleeved shirt, Bran began to remove his outerwear.

Harper said, “Good night,” clear as a bell and walked down the hallway. Straight to his bedroom.

“Oh, no. Oh, hell, no.” If that woman went into his bedroom, he couldn’t guarantee he’d ever let her out again. Bran hopped on one foot as he removed his boots, and accidentally left his sock inside the shaft. Zip. His coat hit the floor. He shimmied out of his coveralls and left them wadded in a ball in front of the door. He took off down the hallway. “Harper. Don’t ...” Then he came to a dead stop in his doorway.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Harper had stripped down to her panties and bra. She’d sprawled sideways on his bed, the side of her face pressed into his comforter, her hair sticking up all over the place like she’d shoved her finger in a light socket.

Keep looking at her head, man. Do not let your eyes wander.

His eyes wandered.