Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

“Reese Davidson. He joined the army right outta high school. His folks still live on the other side of Rawlins. But none of us hear from him very often.”

“He still in the army?”

“Far as I know. Last I heard he was in Afghanistan.” Bran took a drink. “Do you remember Braxton Meckling? He was a real daredevil. He’d do damn near anything we dared him to.”

“Vaguely. What’s he up to?”

“Became a bronc rider, but got busted up when he was nineteen and almost died. He quit rodeo cold turkey. Went back to Vo-Tech and learned to weld. Spent some time traveling the world doing high-risk jobs on oil platforms and cell towers. Made a shit ton of cash in a short amount of time, enough that now he’s doin’ metal sculpting full-time.”

“He’s an artist?”

“Yeah. Normally I don’t like much of what’s called ‘art,’ but Braxton finds stuff in junkyards and turns it into Western sculptures. It’s actually really cool stuff and really popular.”

Renner said, “Does he do commissions?”

“No idea.”

“I’d love to talk to him.”

“I’ll give you his number.”

“Thanks. One person from Muddy Gap I have crossed paths with a couple of times in the last month is Kyle Gilchrist. Hank mentioned he’s a good buddy of yours.”

Bran wasn’t sure if wariness was what weighted Renner’s tone, so he kept it impersonal because Kyle was notorious for pissing people off. “Kyle didn’t mention tangling with your stock last time we spoke.”

“Bastard is the only guy who’s ever ridden my bull, Satan’s Spawn, which was a contender for CRA Bull of the Year last year,” Renner complained good-naturedly.

“Kyle’s done well for himself since switching from the Extreme Bull Showcase to the CRA. He’s here whenever he gets a break from the circuit.” Maybe by the time branding rolled around, Kyle would be over his snit about Renner’s buying up the land he’d been eyeballing.

“I find it amazing that you’re still friends with the same guys you met in grade school. Seems no one forges those kind of lifelong connections anymore. Mostly because no one stays in one place for very long.”

“I suppose we might’ve all gone our own ways—and some of us have. But it was the damnedest thing, all this ... tragedy hit a bunch of us at once. Hank and Abe’s folks died in a freak accident. My grandparents died of old age. Braxton’s folks split up and moved away. Eli’s dad went to jail. Ike’s mom got breast cancer and was dead within two months. The only ones left with both their parents alive are Devin and Reese. Kyle’s mom was always single, as was our buddy Fletch’s dad. After all that bad shit happened, it was like we became our own family—including our friends’ brothers and sisters. Folks in town called us ‘the orphans’ for a while. We still look out for each other. Probably out of habit.”

“It sucks that you all went through that shit at an early age, but I envy you the friendships. Since my dad was in the air force, we constantly moved. That’s probably why I have such great memories of this place. Wyoming always seemed like home to me.” Renner finished his beer. “Didn’t mean to blather on and get sentimental.”

“It’s okay. Come on up to the house and I’ll get you those numbers.”

After they traded contact info, Renner left.

Rather than sitting around and brood about missing Harper, Bran retreated to his trailer and tied flies until he couldn’t see straight.

Chapter Thirteen

They’d been lovers a couple of weeks.

A couple of very incredible weeks that’d flowed from day to night and back to day. Every moment with Harper was filled with passion that threatened to rob him of sanity.

This lust should’ve cooled.

But it hadn’t. Not even f**king close.

Today seemed particularly bad. Every time Bran thought he had a handle on the urge to bend her over the tailgate and f**k her senseless, she’d make a sexy noise or look at him from beneath those incredibly long eyelashes, blowing his good intentions.

It’d gotten to the point he didn’t dare look at her, because if she licked her lips one more time he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. In the last hour, his overpowering need for her had shattered his focus and he hadn’t heard a single word tumbling out of her mouth. He couldn’t see beyond his mental image of her wrapping those lush, wet, pink lips around the base of his aching c**k and sucking him dry.

And it was barely noon. The workday wasn’t over. Which meant hands off until the proverbial whistle blew.

He backed the truck up to the big barn door and practically threw himself out. He blew into the barn, bypassing the stalls and the tack room until he hit the back section with its stockpile of miscellaneous machine parts. He had to do something to make himself look busy. A complicated, manly, mechanical something. He unzipped his Carhartt coat and tossed it to the ground. Since when had it gotten so goddamn hot in here?

“Bran?” Her melodic voice echoed from the doorway.

Screw it. Literally. He had coffee cans of screws to sort. A mindless activity with no purpose—but Harper wouldn’t know that. He dumped the screws on the wooden bench. For the first time ever, he thanked his grandfather for hoarding useless shit.

When he got a whiff of her perfume, or whatever the hell that damnably appealing scented part of her was, he withheld a snarl. And his directive for her to go away or get on her knees.