Saddled and Spurred (Blacktop Cowboys 2)

She mumbled, “Mmm-hmm. Never done it that way before.”

He flexed his hips and his dick moved. “Did you like it?”

“What do you think?” Harper clenched her cunt muscles around his c**k and he hissed.

After a few more openmouthed kisses up the side of her neck and down her spine, Bran eased out of her.

Her lower body sank to the mattress and she sighed.

Bran lay beside her, letting his fingers roam.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Smiled. “That. Was. Awesome.”

“For me too, sweetheart. For me too.”

Harper turned her head toward the dresser and squinted at the clock. “Is that the time?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Crap!” She shot up from the bed. “I’m gonna be late for work!”

Bran bit back his automatic “So?” response.

When she ran from the room, he followed her, leaning against the wall to watch her dress. Because damn, she jiggled in all the right places as she put on her clothes. Seemed a shame she had to wear clothing at all.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I know that look, Bran.”

He blinked with total innocence. “What look?”

“The one that’s questioning why I’m still putting in hours at Get Nailed when I’m making more money working for you.”

Whew, he’d dodged a bullet there. He’d totally been eyeballing her ass. “The thought did cross my mind. But I’m guessing you like painting fingernails and all that girly sh—stuff?”

Harper gave an annoyed huff. “I like my customers. But the reason I won’t leave Bernice high and dry is because she is the only one who would hire me after my mom ran off. Everyone else in this town pointed and whispered, acting like Bailey and I were a personal affront to them. Wanting us to pay for our mother’s sins. So my loyalty to Bernice doesn’t have any bearing on me liking to do ‘girly’ fingernail stuff—getting covered in cow poop, horse poop, goat poop, and mud on a daily basis should be proof enough for you.”

Man, he’d really stepped in it. He crossed to her as she slipped on her coat. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.”

Bran smiled, wanting so badly to lay a big, wet kiss on her, but he held back. “Drive safe.”

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

He really was starting to hate that word.

Chapter Twelve

One week later . . .

Bran was out in the big barn when he heard a vehicle pull in. Too big an engine to be Harper’s ranch truck.

Huh. Les had driven that old ranch truck for the last five years. When had he stopped thinking of it as Les’s and started thinking of it as Harper’s?

Since you’re thinking of Harper all the goddamn time, dumb ass.

He shoveled horseshit into the wheelbarrow and waited to see who’d shown up.

“Hello?” echoed to Bran at the back of the barn. “Is anyone here?”

“In the last stall,” he shouted. He didn’t recognize the voice.

A guy close to his age and his build meandered into view. Bran couldn’t tell the color of his hair beneath the custom-made beige felt cowboy hat covering his head. He wore standard rancher clothes: a tan duster, jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a modest silver belt buckle, and battered, shit-covered boots. The guy looked familiar, but Bran couldn’t place him. “Can I help ya?”

“Probably. I’m not sure if you remember me.” Soon as the man was close enough, he took off a stained leather glove and thrust out his hand. “Renner Jackson.”

Ah. The guy who’d bought the Kleins’ place and the land surrounding it. Since Hank and Abe had talked about him and seemed to think he was a decent sort, Bran relaxed. He smiled and said, “Bran Turner. Good to finally meet you, Renner.”

“You too, Bran.”

His visitor relaxed and hung over the wooden stall partition, allowing Bran a closer look at him. Renner’s dark blond hair and pale blue eyes brought back a fuzzy memory. “Hey, now I remember you. Mrs. Tata’s class, right? Hank reminded me you’d lived here for a year when we were kids.”

Renner grinned. “Yep. Did he tell you I was the projectile vomit kid? What a thing to be known for, eh?”

“Better that than the nickname we gave Lewis Vargas. Poor sucker is still stuck with it.”

“What was it?”

“Skid. And no, we didn’t give him that nickname because he was really great at sliding into bases.”

A low chuckle. “I suppose that is worse.”

“So, Renner, why are you stopping by my place?”

“Well, technically, we’re neighbors. I’m hopin’ that still means something around here.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Seems I started out on the wrong boot since I set foot in Muddy Gap. I’ve pulled a helluva lot of imaginary knives out of my back in the last couple of months,” Renner admitted.

Bran pushed his hat up higher on his forehead with the tip of his gloved thumb. “We’re a skeptical lot. Especially since no one who’s ever bought that chunk of land has stayed here more than a few years. Don’t pay to get to know them—know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I guess I can understand that.”

“You livin’ here full-time now?”

“Not yet. Still traveling between here and Kansas, bein’s I’m handling stock contracts for the CRA Midwest circuit. I don’t gotta hit all the rodeos anymore—luckily I’ve got a great crew to take care of most of it. But I believe in prevention instead of intervention. I wanna make sure nothin’ becomes a problem, so I keep my eye on things, which means hands-on work.”