Free Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel by Lorelei James Page A

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