Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (22 page)

When Harper’s pelvis sagged, he slid back to the mouth of her sex and unleashed his need for release.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. By the tenth stroke, he was balls deep, coming inside her—body rigid, head spinning, eyes crossed and toes curled kind of coming. When the last pulse blasted out of his dick, he felt so fucking exhilarated that he laughed. Then he layered his sweat-covered chest over her sweat-covered back and scattered kisses across her shoulders, tasting the salt on her skin. “You all right?”

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 cock 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.

 

B
ran 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?

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.”

“I hear ya there.”

“Since I don’t have enough shit to do in my life, I got it in my head to buy up my grandparents’ place when I saw it went back on the market. Plus I added some of the other surrounding land . . .” Renner spit a stream of tobacco juice on the ground. “Don’t know why in the hell I’m telling you all this. You probably already know it.”

Bran shrugged. “Some. I’ll admit bein’ a little confused by the other parcels of land you bought up. It ain’t good for nothin’ in cattle country. You know that, right?”

“True. I had my accountant do a cost analysis and give me a breakdown on how long it’d take for me to earn back the initial investment.” Renner offered a rueful smile. “Made me wonder if the twelfth of never was an actual legal time frame.”

Bran smiled. Mostly because it sounded like something his accountant would say.

“Anyway, no matter what advice she warned me off with, I went with my gut and bought it anyway.”

“No offense, but that still don’t tell me what your plans are.”

“No offense, but I ain’t sharin’ that info with anyone yet,” Renner shot back with a quick grin, “including the gloom-anddoom accountant. Or your buddy Hank, who’s nagged me every goddamn time I’ve seen him.”

“Can you blame us for our curiosity? Rumor is you’re putting in some kind of big building.”

A beat passed and Renner sighed. “There’s some truth to that one. I’ll tell you this much, there’s gonna be more than one building.”

Interesting. Bran decided to drop the subject for now. “Can I offer you a beer?”

“I never turn down a beer.”

Bran ducked into the tack room, which held an ancient refrigerator they’d used for storing milk, vaccines, and beer. He took out two bottles of Bud Light and returned to the main part of the barn. He passed a bottle to Renner.

“Thanks.” Renner looked up at the roof joists. “They just don’t build stuff like this anymore, do they?”

“Nope. While I’ll admit I liked the price of the metal barn and the fact that it went up start to finish in two weeks, there ain’t anything like this structure left around these parts. Most’ve fallen into ruins.”

“Why hasn’t this one?”

“Solid foundation. I follow my granddad’s advice and have it thoroughly checked by a qualified carpenter every couple of years.” Bran pointed with his beer bottle to the far back corner. “We were startin’ to get some natural settling, which put extra pressure on the joists, so he shored it up.”

“Whoever he was, he did a damn fine job.”

“His name is Holt Andrews.”

“Is he from around here?”

“Yep. And if you’re looking to build, Holt’s the one you want. Especially if you’re wanting some of the old-school touches like this in your multiple buildings.”

Renner ignored Bran’s
multiple buildings
remark. “If you’re serious, I’d sure appreciate his number. I’ve got a crew coming next week, but I’d like to get locals involved too.”

Smart plan. Bran was dead certain this guy didn’t miss a trick.

They wandered outside. The temperature gauge read thirtyone degrees, which was damn near balmy for this time of year. Renner seemed interested in all aspects of the operation, including the family history of the ranch, and Bran wasn’t shy to talk about what worked and what didn’t. Renner got a huge chuckle out of the fainting goats, and it brought Harper back into Bran’s mind, front and center. Right. Like he needed goats to remind him of Harper. Everything reminded him of her.

Muddy Gap was a small town. Had Harper been subjected to Renner Jackson’s charms?

Nah. She was either out here working for him, or filing and painting fingernails, or home with her sister.

Still, Bran was damn glad he’d sent his beauty queen home early today. After he’d had his way with her. Twice. Once on the couch because the bed was too far away. And once on the living room floor because the bed was still too far away.

After chatting about calving, Bran extended an offer for Renner to come over and help out during branding. Not only could he use the help, but with most of his other neighbors there lending a hand, maybe Renner would be more forthcoming about his plans for the property.

“Anyone else you specifically remember from our school days?” he asked.

Renner sipped his beer. “Besides you, Hank, and Abe? Well, you and Hank were always hanging out with an Indian kid. He had a biblical name?” He looked at Bran expectantly.

“That’d be Eli Whirling Cloud. You won’t find another person who knows more about horses than Eli.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He squinted across the horizon. “Also a scrawny kid who charmed his way out of detention at least once a week.”

“That was Devin. Bastard still has that smooth-talkin’ way about him.” Bran didn’t share the info that the country crooner used his silver tongue to talk groupies and buckle bunnies into the back of his tour bus and out of their skimpy clothes.

“Another kid had a side business selling candy on the playground to poor suckers who lived out of town.”

“Ike Palmer. These days he’s a cattle broker.”

Renner shook his head. “Figures he’d be in the sales game. I do remember Ike palled around with a big kid. Quiet.”

“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.