Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

“Part of calving is bein’ completely exhausted, and that’s why I needed help. I can’t do it on my own. To be honest? I don’t remember a whole helluva lot from last week. It’s a blur. I’m fairly sure I didn’t do nothin’ stupid and endanger the cattle by falling asleep at the wheel and running them over.”

Harper smiled. It was really sweet of him, trying to make her feel better.

“We’re in the midst of the worst of it. About two and a half weeks from now, we’ll be back to regular ranch chores for the rest of the time you’re working here. It’ll seem kinda boring.”

“I doubt that.” The coffeemaker beeped. Harper made him sit while she poured them each a cup and brought it back to the table.

He leaned back in his seat and stared at her as he held the mug between his big hands. “Since you spent the night in my bed, should I be offering to make you breakfast?” he asked with a silky growl.

Her face heated to the point she probably could’ve fried an egg on it. “Bran.”

“Damn. Woman, I love to see you blush.”

Really? He did? “It’s dorky. All splotchy-faced like a fourteenyear-old girl.”

“It’s sexy,” he countered with another one of those rumbling growls. “Makes me want to find out firsthand if that pretty pink flush covers your whole body, not just your cheeks and your neck.”

Harper managed to look Bran in the eye. “Do you tease Les like this? Or are you doing it to me because you think I won’t fight back?”

“I give Les ten times more crap on a daily basis than I’ve given you.” Bran shrugged and sipped his coffee. “It’s just the way I am.”

“Is this where you tell me you wouldn’t tease me if you didn’t like me?”

“Yep.” He smirked. “But from what I’ve seen? You can hold your own. So don’t be afraid to call me on my shit if you think I’m full of it.”

“Bet on it.” Harper grabbed her purse and fished out her cell phone to check the time. After nine. Hopefully Bailey had hauled herself out of bed and made it to the bus stop. There weren’t any missed calls or text messages, so she took that as a good sign.

“Problem?” Bran asked.

She met his gaze. “No. If it won’t upset your schedule too much, I’d like to be at home today when Bailey gets out of school and stay with her until after we’ve had supper.”

“That’ll work. I doubt we’ll see too many births during the day, but I’d like to check the cattle before you take off. We need to ear-tag last night’s calves.”

“Okay.”

Both she and Bran were dragging as they split bales of hay. When ear-tagging the new calves, Harper distracted the mamas while Bran attached the tag to the baby. With some of the mamas she could walk right up to the calf and they wouldn’t fuss. But others, if she got too close, they’d paw the ground like a bull and charge. So far Bran had snuck in without getting knocked around. She felt safer being on an ATV, figuring she could outrun the protective cows on a machine faster than she could on foot.

They didn’t finish until noon. Harper had to leave the driver’s side window open and allow frigid air to blow on her on the way home to keep from falling asleep.

As she stumbled into the house, she realized that for the past three days her life had been a blur. Work, shower, sleep. Work, shower, sleep. She shed her clothes at the front door and made a beeline for the bathroom.

She couldn’t muster enthusiasm to put on anything except her robe, which reminded her that all her casual clothes were filthy. She filled the washing machine and flopped on the couch, planning to rest her eyes until the load finished.

The front door slamming brought Harper straight up off the couch. She blinked bleary eyes at her sister. Her angry sister.

“Fuck. I hate school. I can’t wait to be outta there. I’m gonna flip off every goddamn teacher right after I get my diploma and burn my goddamn uniforms.” Bailey’s backpack hit the floor with a thud. She threw off her coat, kicked off her snow boots, and stomped to the bedroom—a feat in stocking feet—and slammed the door.

This should be a fun afternoon.

Yawning, Harper tossed her clothes in the dryer before she took stock of the food situation. She had all the supplies to make lasagna—Bailey’s favorite—and it might coax her out of her room sooner rather than later. Bailey was pretty even-keeled, but when she got mad, she stayed mad. Through trial and error, Harper had learned not to force her sister to talk it out. Some days, being a parental figure to Bailey was overwhelming, especially when Harper still felt like a lost kid herself.

Cooking soothed her because it was one of the few things in her life she could control. Mixing the right ingredients, adding her twist to traditional dishes that allowed them to be unique yet familiar.

Harper had been cooking, or at least scrounging up meals, since the year she’d turned twelve and Liberty had left the family to join the army. Their mother had spiraled into a drunken rage, spending months in deep depression, forcing Harper to become the responsible one in the household. Since Mom tended to blow all her tips on booze, cigarettes, and lottery tickets, Harper had learned to keep cheap staples on hand so she and Bailey wouldn’t starve during the weeks when there wasn’t money for groceries. Over the years, Harper had gotten very good at budgeting food and money and trying to make whatever crappy rental they landed in feel like a real home.