Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (9 page)

“You didn’t drive her to town . . . why?”

He didn’t answer because really, what could he say?

“Because you knew I’d come running out here and save you the trouble, that’s why,” Fletch finished for him.

Harper peered around Bran’s shoulder. “Excuse me. Who are you and why are you here?”

All Fletch’s surliness vanished. He dropped his duffel and the sheet and smiled that cocky grin that made women swoon.

Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. Bran sure as hell didn’t want Harper swooning over his buddy.

“I’m August Fletcher and I’m here because my lamebrain friend called me to check out your injury.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Of sorts.”

Harper waited.

“I’m a veterinarian.”

Silence.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This wasn’t good.

Harper bailed off the back of the ATV like it was about to explode. Or maybe she was about to explode.

“A
veterinarian
, Bran Turner? Really? You called a
veterinarian
to look me over?”

Before Bran could formulate a reasonable argument, Fletch stood in front of Harper, probably to block the blows she intended to inflict upon Bran’s neck and head.

“Now, look, sugar, I know you’re mad at him. With good reason. But I am here. There are a couple of basic checks I can do to see if there’s need for Bran to drive you to the hospital.”

Another round of silence. Then, “Do we have to do this out here? Because, to be honest, I’m freezing.”

“I’m sure. It’d be more comfortable to do it at Bran’s place. Especially since I’ll need to get you out of these clothes.”

What the fuck? Fletch planned to take her clothes off? Bran glared at his friend.

Fletch placed his hand in the small of Harper’s back, almost on her ass. “It’s warm in my truck. You can tell me what happened and how you feel.” Fletch shot Bran an arch look over Harper’s shoulder. “See you at your house.”

“How am I supposed to get both these ATVs back?”

“Not my concern. I have a patient to look after.” Fletch stopped at the front end of his rig. “Take your time. I plan on doing a thorough examination on Harper. Just to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

Bran wondered how Fletch’s smarmy smile would look with a few teeth missing.

Her boss had called a veterinarian to check her out.

The jerk.

Her head hurt. Her butt hurt. But the sting to her pride? That hurt the worst.

Did Bran really think she was a heifer?

“I really think he meant well, Harper,” Fletch said gently as they bumped through the pasture.

She folded her arms across her chest and snorted.

“How long have you been working for him?”

“A week. A very long week.”

Fletch chuckled. “And how long did you sign on for?”

“Too long.” Harper stared out the window, watching the snow blanket everything in white. It wasn’t fair to take her anger out on Fletch. Not his fault that Bran was a jerk. “So you’re a veterinarian who makes house calls?”

“Yep. I don’t handle cats or dogs in my practice. I’m strictly a large-animal vet, so I make lots of ranch calls.”

“Terrific. Now I really feel like a heifer.”

Another chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

After she finished, she studied his face as he processed the information. The guy was . . . big. He had to be at least six foot four. And broad. It appeared his shoulders took up half the seat back. His face was classically handsome, hazel eyes, and longish hair the color of strong coffee. A dark complexion, which hinted at Native American ancestry. And when he smiled? Lord. That dazzling grin glowed brighter than the snow surrounding them.

How was it that she’d never met him? Muddy Gap was a small community. She and Celia had frequently hung out with Hank and Abe’s buddies. She definitely would’ve remembered August Fletcher. “You live around here?”

Fletch nodded. “In Rawlins. I also work in Cheyenne, Laramie, and all spots in between. I’m gone a lot.”

He parked sideways, blocking the front steps to Bran’s trailer. Harper wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Seemed like Fletch wanted to poke at Bran, to pay him back for calling him all the way out here to treat a human. A human female, no less. She was all for it.

Inside, Harper started a pot of coffee and returned to the living room.

“Why don’t you take off the coveralls, boots, and all that outerwear and sit on the couch?” He tossed a fleece blanket at her. “Cover up in this to stay warm.”

Fletch wasn’t particularly chatty, nor was he in any hurry to start the exam. Or had he planned to have Bran present for it? When the whining ATV motor sounded close to the house, Fletch’s entire demeanor changed.

“Stand.” Then Fletch did the oddest thing; he dropped to his knees in front of her. He poked her lower abdomen through her shirt.

He’d moved up a couple of inches to test her ribs when Bran barreled in. Lordy, lordy. Bran was mad enough he didn’t take off his boots. He clomped across the carpet, leaving muddy footprints and chunks of snow. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ with your goddamn hand up her shirt?”

Fletch didn’t acknowledge Bran at all. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

Two more soft pokes under her bottom rib on the opposite side. “This?”

“No.”

“I can’t see . . . Maybe it would be better if you unbuttoned your shirt, Harper.”

“You gonna start humming the melody from
The Stripper
?” she asked lightly.

He chuckled.

Bran wasn’t laughing at all.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Bran almost seemed ... jealous.

Ha. Wrong. She had to be misreading him. Bran Turner didn’t even like her. He thought she was a bunny-saving fat cow, for crying out loud.

As Fletch watched, Harper tried to keep from blushing, tried not to notice the avid stares at her chest, tried to keep her hands from shaking as she slipped the top button free from the buttonhole.

“Enough,” Bran said hoarsely. “Goddammit. Enough. If she needs to be examined that closely, I’ll take her to the damn doctor.”

Fletch rolled to his feet. “Fine. I’ll remind you that
you
called me, Bran. I have one more reaction to test.”

“Do it quick.”

He unclipped a pen from his pocket and clicked it. A tiny beam of bluish light streamed out the end. He held her jaw firmly in his big hands, with his thumb pressed into the left side of her jaw. “Just a quick concussion check.” He centered the silver pen in front of her nose. “Follow the movement of the pen with just your eyes. Not your head.”

Harper did.

“Good. So, how did a beautiful woman like you end up as this guy’s hired hand?”

“Fashion merchandising and marketing jobs are a little hard to come by in Muddy Gap. So I had to improvise.”

“Is that what your degree is in?” He switched the pen to the other side and slowly moved the beam of light.

“I’d have to finish school to have a degree.”

“Do you plan to go back to college?”

“Maybe. Probably. I hope so, but not for a few years until Bailey and I are settled someplace.” She gave him a brief rundown of why she was stuck in Muddy Gap.

“If you change your mind and want to stick around, I can always use a veterinary assistant in Rawlins. But fair warning, we’d be on the road together. A lot.”

Was that a snarl coming from Bran? No, it was a sarcastic bark of laughter. He said, “Yeah, Harper is a real natural with goats.”

“I am a bit of a greenhorn with livestock.”

“We all are at some point.” Fletch winked. “Bran must have really pissed off his last girlfriend, Charlie, to have gotten those fainting goats from her as a breakup gift.”

Charlie was a woman? Seemed Bran had left out that factoid. No wonder the goats’ names were Pox and Hex.

“Now stare straight ahead. I’m gonna shine this in both your eyes, but I don’t want you to look at the light.”

The instant that light hit, her eyes watered.

“Doin’ okay, Harper?”

“I guess. For you searing my retinas into ash with that light.”

“You can swear at me if you want.”

“Thanks, but I don’t swear.”

“Ever?”

“Almost never.”

“Why not?”

“Because my mom and my sisters have taken cursing to a whole new level and I couldn’t possibly compete with some of their more . . . clever uses of the f-word.”

Fletch chuckled.

“Plus, swearing like a cowboy is frowned on in the pageant system. Even in Wyoming.”

“I hear ya. Just one more. There. We’re done.” Fletch clicked the penlight off and ran his hand down the side of her face. “You did great. I don’t see any signs of a concussion, but I imagine you’ve got a helluva headache.”

She nodded.

“I have to head back to town. Can I drop you someplace?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No problem.”

“I have a problem with it,” Bran said tightly. “She is my responsibility. She can crash here until her head feels better. I’ll get her some aspirin and make sure she’s able to drive before I send her home.”

“
She
is capable of answering for herself,
boss
,” Harper reminded Bran with false sweetness.

“And . . . that’s my cue to leave.” Fletch reached inside his coat, pulled out a business card, and pressed it into her hand. “You need anything, call me. My personal cell number is on there too.” He stopped in front of Bran, who was rather pointedly holding the door wide-open. “Don’t even think about bitching at me when you get the bill.” Then he was gone.

Harper sagged to the couch.

And Bran, the always confident, always gruff Bran, actually looked . . . nervous, remorseful, and a little scared.

Served him right. But he also looked so ... lost she just wanted to wrap herself around him.

He jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and restlessly shifted his feet. “Ah, hell, Harper. I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea, havin’ Fletch show up.”

“Yes, it was.”

If Bran was shocked that she hadn’t gone all soft and let him off the hook, he didn’t show it.

“I’ll . . . ah, just get you that aspirin. And a pillow.” He hustled down the hallway.

She didn’t want to crash on Bran’s couch. She preferred to go home. But her head was pounding and chances were high that Bran would argue with her, which would make her head hurt worse.

He returned with a bottle of aspirin and brought her a glass of water. “Here.”

After she downed the pills, she reluctantly stretched out, tucking the pillow beneath her cheek.

Bran covered her with a blanket.

That was sort of sweet. Until she remembered he’d called her a heifer.

“Need anything else?”

“Just for you to wake me up in two hours because I have to work at Get Nailed.”

“Can’t you call in sick?”

“No. I promised Bernice this job with you wouldn’t interfere with my job there. I’m the only nail tech she’s got.”

“Then I promise I’ll wake you. I’ll be back in my office doin’ bookwork. Just holler if you need anything.”

But Bran made no move to leave. They stared at one another.

He said, “What?”

“Do you really think I’m a heifer? Meaning I’m fat, uncoordinated, and stubborn?”

Horror filled his eyes. “No. God, no. That’s what you think?”

She nodded.

“Of course you do, because that’s what I said. Jesus. I’m a fuckin’ idiot.” He stepped forward and crouched down close to her. Very close to her. “You’re about as far from fat . . .” Bran’s gaze swept over her blanket-covered form, as if he were imagining her naked beneath it. “You’re so goddamn flawlessly built with all these curves, I can’t believe you’d think I’d ever see you as anything less than perfect.”

“Oh.”

“As far as uncoordinated, you were doin’ just fine on the ATV until your hare-raising experience.”

She fought a smile.

“So next time you see a bunny? Run the damn thing over, okay?”

Harper blinked at him. Faced with the same situation again, she would do the exact same thing.

Bran bestowed that heart-stopping smile on her. “You are stubborn, I’ll give you that much.” His smile faded. “Harper. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Besides the headache?”

“Yeah. I mean, if this is too much for you, I’d understand . . .”

“You’d understand if I . . . what? Wanna quit?”

His stormy gray eyes stared back at her, but his mouth stayed shut.

“Because I had one little spill?” Harper rolled her eyes. “Please. I understand working as a ranch hand can be dangerous, but so can any other job.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Oh, really?”

“Absolutely. For instance? When I was a waitress, the dishwasher spilled soap all over the floor and I crashed into the wall and nearly broke my arm. And when I was cleaning motel rooms, the vacuum I used had a short in the cord and I almost electrocuted myself. Not to mention all the times my butt got pinched when I was slinging drinks at the sports bar. Or worse, if a guy ‘accidentally’ stuck his face in my boobs. That was far worse than taking a tumble off a slow-moving ATV, trust me.”