HAPPY PANTS CAFE (THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES) (12 page)

Harper yelped and jumped back, but then began laughing at herself. “Why am I afraid of you guys, huh? You’re just a bunch of cute
widdle piggies,” she said in baby talk. “Awen’t you?”

Jeez. Look at me. I’m a professional reporter who’s been reduced to
—

Something pinched her leg from behind, and she yelped again. As she attempted to turn to see what bit her, she slipped in the piggy-mud and landed face down between two of them, clipping one of the pigs with her hand as she tried to break the fall. The pig squealed. Harper screamed. The other two pigs joined in the squealing chorus. Harper screamed some more and scuttled away, only to hear laughter emanating from behind her.

Austin stood there with tears in his eyes, roaring. The children also snickered, and well, Juan simply stood in the barn’s doorway with a perplexed expression on his face.

“That was you. You pinched me!” Harper’s anger instantly flared up. “What the hell are you laughing at?” she growled, flicking her wrists, trying to unstick some of the muddy, flatulence-scented muck from her hands.

Austin bit the insides of his cheeks, desperately trying not to smile, but he was doing a bad job. “You have pig poop on your face.” He chuckled.

I’m going to kill him!

“You think that’s funny?” She snapped her hand in his direction, and a sticky glob landed right on his cheek. “Ha!”

Austin stopped laughing, but still smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but—”

“You snuck up on me!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. But that look on your face when the pig started to squeal…”

Harper wasn’t going to let him off with one glob. She charged toward him, intending to give him a big muddy hug, but Austin sidestepped, and she flew right into the gate of another stall.

Harper felt a sharp pain shoot through her skull.

“Harper, shit. Are you okay?” Austin said, hovering over her.

“Why are you standing over me like that?” she asked.

“You hit your head.” Austin held up a finger. “How many fingers do you see?”

“One. The one I’m going to shove into your eye sockets when I use it to gouge out those pretty hazel eyes.”

Austin brushed the hair from her forehead, beaming. “You’re fine.”

Juan rushed over. “I think you should go into the house and put some ice on that.”

“I’ll take her,” Austin said bluntly.

“No. You don’t know where anything is, and you have work to do,” Juan pointed out.

“That can wait.” Austin’s eyes flickered with annoyance.

Harper felt a sad little twinge of wicked joy; two hot men were fighting over her.
You’re covered in shit, Harp. Really? Is this a moment to indulge in fantasies of being hot stuff?

Probably not.

She moved to get up. “I can help myself into the house and get some ice, thank you very much.” She wobbled a bit and steadied herself against the gate.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Austin asked.

She nodded. “Yes. And don’t talk to me.” Jerk made her fall. That was the second time today, too. What was with that, anyway? It seemed he and Harper were a disaster waiting to happen.

“I’ll take you into the kitchen,” said Juan.

“I’ll finish pig-poop detail, then,” said Austin, his voice tinged with irritation.

Juan walked Harper to the back porch, where she removed her sandals and then followed him inside.

The kitchen was a traditional country style—white cupboards, big butcher-block counters, ceramic rooster ladle holder, and an oval kitchen table for eight—but with very nice appliances. She had to admit that she liked Ms. Luci’s style. Modern, yet traditional and homey.

Juan pointed to a chair to have her sit, but all she could think of was that she had pig sick all over her. It wasn’t right to be in any kitchen. Not even a pig’s kitchen. If pigs had kitchens.

“Juan, is there somewhere I can clean up? I don’t want to get this stuff on anything.”

“You can take a shower in one of the guest rooms.” He pointed toward a small hallway with several doors. “That one is where your friend will be staying for the week.”

He showed her to the cozy bedroom—dainty blue floral bedspread on the queen-sized bed, lace doilies on the nightstand, rocking chair in the corner—and attached bath.

“Towels are in the bathroom. I’ll go upstairs and see if I can find you something to wear in Margarita’s closet.”

Great. Now she really was going to have to wear some strange woman’s clothes. “Margarita is your sister?”

“Yes. She’s about your size. Minus the, uh…” Juan’s big brown eyes shamelessly stuck on her boobs.

Like father, like son.

Harper clapped her hands in front of his face. “Okay. Thanks. Time for you to go now.”

Juan snapped to. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll—uh…leave whatever I find for you on the bed.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Harper shut the door behind him and began stripping off her soiled clothes.
Ick.
Even her bra smelled like pig.

She carefully folded everything and left them in a neat pile on the floor. She’d definitely needed to head back to the B and B for clean clothes, because there was no way she’d be putting on any of that putrid-smelling stuff again, and she couldn’t go without undies and a bra—especially the bra.

Harper slipped into the shower and started the task of scrubbing her skin with a washcloth. Her mind immediately insisted on drifting back to thoughts of Austin again and that little episode of him sneaking up on her. Why had he been in the barn to begin with? Had he come looking for her? If yes, what did he want?

Oh. Stop. You’re being ridiculous. He didn’t want anything from you. And you don’t want anything from him.
She just needed to keep reminding herself of that.

~~

Physical activity had always been Austin’s surefire solution for everything. Running, basketball with the guys, lifting weights at the gym—nothing expelled the negative crap inside his head more efficiently or calmed him down faster than a good workout. But today, there was no amount of physical exertion—shoveling, lifting, mowing, collecting eggs (okay, the egg part could actually be kind of relaxing)—on this planet that would alleviate his pissy mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Harper had looked at that Latin lover boy Juan when Sebastian had made introductions.

Sonofbitch.
He’d almost slept with Harper last night, and there she was pining for some other guy already.
Maybe she did it to make you jealous.

Or maybe she’d been serious when she’d said she wasn’t into him because she thought he was a womanizer.

Whatever the reason, he had suddenly found himself marching straight back to the barn to talk to Harper, but was instantly mesmerized by the sound of her laughter followed by her adorable conversation with the pigs. In the space of one heartbeat, he’d forgotten why he’d been so ticked off. Then he just couldn’t resist sneaking up on her and giving her little calf muscle a pinch. He’d felt like such a dick when she’d hit her head, but thankfully, she’d been fine. Then that SOB, Juan, had to show up and try to act like a goddamned hero. For Christ’s sake, it was just a bump. And they were talking about Harper Branton, here. That woman could eat crushed glass for breakfast and drink toxic-waste martinis. Tough as nails.

Yes, yet soft and feminine and so fucking sexy that you’re getting hard just thinking about her.

Yes, and right now, she’s with Juanie boy, who is probably flexing his puny little muscles for her.

He growled and threw a sack of chicken feed over his shoulder.

If he is, then fine. He can have her.

That’s what his mind said, anyway. All of the other parts in his body, however…

All right, then. Go ahead. Give into your childish feelings and go talk to her. But what the fuck do you plan on doing if you convince her to look at you and not Juanie boy over there?

Nothing.

Exactly. You’re still not right in the head after Libby. Do Harper a favor and leave her alone.

Fine.

He stood their brooding for a moment, threw the sack onto the grass just outside the coop, and marched off toward the house, berating himself every step of the way.
Damned woman, where does she get off getting inside my head? Huh? I’m Austin Royce. Women don’t get to me; I get to them. I’m in control.

He wiped his feet and walked through the front door. The house was a picture-perfect example of an immaculate country mansion with gleaming hardwood floors and simple, but pristine, antique farm memorabilia on the walls— a few old hand tools, a rooster clock, and black-and-white photographs of farmhands posing in a vineyard. To his right, bright light poured from the upstairs down the narrow staircase with a white hand-carved banister. He could sense that this home was filled with a lot of love, just as his had been growing up.

“Hello? Don Sebastian?”

There was no answer.

“Hello? Harper?”

Again, no reply.

He walked through the foyer into a hallway, and the living room came into view.
Hell, what happened here?
Everything looked like it had been charred on the barbeque. He kept walking until he arrived at a large country-style, eat-in kitchen. It was empty, too. Wasn’t Harper supposed to be in there icing her head? Where was everyone?

“Harper?”

There was no reply, but Austin spotted another small hallway that looked like it might lead to a few bedrooms. Perhaps Harper had gone to lie down after that blow?

“Oh, hey,” said Juan, emerging from the room, the smell of fresh, steamy soap or shampoo trailing behind him as he shut the door quickly. In his hands were Harper’s dirty clothes, her pink bra included.

Juan had been in the room with Harper? And she had no clothes on? Austin felt his blood sizzle.

He turned around and left to go finish his work without saying a word.

~~

Harper washed herself three times, until she felt satisfactorily human again, and then shut off the shower and wrapped herself in a soft white towel.

She cracked open the door to the bedroom, ensuring no one was waiting to surprise her.
Coast is clear
. She tiptoed over to the bed and spotted a stretchy pink dress that looked like it had been hemmed just below the labia.

What? No. I can’t wear that. Especially without underwear. But I’m suddenly curious to meet Juan’s sister.

She poked her head out the bedroom door and called for Juan, hoping he might be able to scrounge up something less illegal to wear in front of children, but there was no reply. She quickly eyeballed Austin’s bags on the bed. He wouldn’t mind, would he? Then she’d run back to the B and B, about a twenty or thirty-minute drive, and come back here.

She quickly rifled through the clothes and found men’s boxer briefs.
Pink? How metro of you, Austin.
He also had some toiletries, several T-shirts in various colors, socks—cute khaki ones—and a pair of faded jeans.

She scratched her head. Well, there was nothing else to wear.
I can always buy him more later.
She grabbed a pair of underwear from the package and slipped them on.
Oh. Soft. And lots of room.
Harper suddenly envisioned Austin’s anatomy and how well he might fill out these boxer briefs. She slid on a tee and then his jeans, rolling down the waistband and rolling up the legs—they were much, much too big. She grabbed her muddy sandals from the back porch, but then doubled back through the kitchen and headed toward the front of the home, passing the living room on the way out.

Jesus, those kids really did try to light the place on fire.
The couch was flipped over in the middle of the room and charcoal black. She was going to try to remember not to think so poorly of her niece and nephew in the future.

She made it out the front door, carefully walking in her bare feet over the gravel driveway to her Mini. Almost there, she glanced inside the barn and caught a glimpse of Austin moving the wheelbarrow outside, heading in the opposite direction. He’d removed his shirt, and his back muscles were pure male magnificence, as was the way his powerful shoulders tapered down to his trim waist.

As she stood there watching him, she noticed a deep scar across his shoulder blade. A vague memory of the day he’d gotten it popped in her head.

Where were we? The garage? The park?
She couldn’t remember, but she recalled looking at poor Austin as he’d sucked up the pain because he didn’t want to cry in front of her.

Why couldn’t she remember?

As Austin turned, her attention instantly bounced over to the mesmerizing view of one bulging, delicious bicep and the side of his perfectly formed pec as they flexed and strained. Images of him tearing away his shirt the night before bombarded her mind.

Dammit.
Everything about Austin made her insides ache. Literally ache with a gnawing need. Even the way he carried himself—tall and confident, with a straight back—did it for her. He had that perfect balance of cocky masculinity and understated confidence, like he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone because he knew he was a man. Who wore pink underwear. And was damned proud of it.