by Jennie Marts
Regardless of what had made the noise, Harper didn’t hear anything now. Letting out her breath, she relaxed her shoulders, then tensed again as the bathroom door creaked and opened the slightest bit toward her.
A plunger sat beside the toilet, and she grabbed it, brandishing it in one hand as she kept her eyes trained on the door. Not that a toilet plunger would do much good against a ghost, and her job would probably land in the toilet if she actually beaned her new employer with the thing, but still, it felt like something. At least she was ready to fight.
She clenched her hands tighter around the handle, her muscles taut, as the door opened another inch. Her eyes widened as her breath caught, her heart slamming against her chest.
The door moved a little more, and the creak was followed by a soft mewling sound. Harper looked down and saw a black-and-white kitten peering around the edge of the doorframe.
She let out her breath with a relieved chuckle. “You little stinker. You scared the crap out of me,” she told the kitten, who had come around the door and was inching its way toward her. She returned the plunger to its original spot and reached a hand out to the kitten. “Where did you come from, you little cutie?”
The kitten sniffed her hand, then daintily licked the end of her finger. Harper stroked her head a few times, and the tiny cat leaned into her palm as if relishing the petting. She lifted the kitten and cuddled it to her chest. “You are so much better than a crotchety, lovelorn cowboy ghost.”
Another mewling sound came from behind the door, and two other kittens tumbled into the room. “Oh my gosh, there’s more,” she said out loud, delight filling her voice. She waited for the other kittens to approach and let her pet them before she scooped them into her lap. She couldn’t think of a better distraction than a pile of kittens to keep her mind busy while she waited for Logan to return.
* * *
Logan’s skates scraped the ice as he sailed around the rink, picking up the last of the scattered pucks. He’d agreed to coach the eight-year-old “mites” with his best friend and neighbor, Colt James, mainly because their nephew, Max, had wanted to play and Rockford had talked them into it.
Colt had convinced Max’s teacher, Chloe Bishop, to coach with them when Madison Johnson, a girl in Max’s class, had joined the team. Logan knew Colt had been interested in more than Chloe’s coaching skills, and the two had formed their own team off the ice. Which was great. Logan was happy for his friend. Colt deserved to finally be happy, and Logan adored Chloe. She was a great person and a good addition to both the team and the neighboring ranch family unit that Colt and Logan shared.
He dropped the last puck in the bag and skated to the box. Practice had gone well tonight. It was fun to see the team really coming together. They were a great group of kids, and it was amazing what playing a sport could do for a child’s confidence.
Hockey had been a saving grace for Logan. As a kid, it was the thing that had rescued him from falling into a crater of self-pity and loathing. Soaring around the ice didn’t require reading or putting numbers in any particular order. In the rink, he was on an even level with the other kids, better than some in fact. The stigma of a learning disability didn’t follow him onto the ice. Out here, he was one of the best. He could fly on his skates, and the stick felt natural in his hands.
In the rink, he didn’t feel like “the dumb kid.” He was a part of something, and he was one of the stars. He wasn’t as good as the James brothers. It was obvious, even from the time they were little kids playing around on the pond, that Rockford and Colt had remarkable talent, but Logan and Mason, the middle James brother, still held their own. And the confidence Logan gained from hockey, not to mention the attention he received from the girls, was what had finally allowed him to step out of the learning disabled box he’d imprisoned himself inside.
Not that he was totally freed. He still had issues and would always have the disability. And he still sometimes felt like that dumb guy in the room, especially over the last few weeks when he’d so royally screwed up, but hockey gave him a small reason to feel good about himself.
And ranching gave him another. He loved working the land and with the animals. Their horses didn’t care if he could do math, and the cows never wanted him to read them a story. He never had to see the look of disappointment or failure in their eyes. Being outside and working the ranch had been his escape. He didn’t have to be shy or timid around them.
Between hockey, working the ranch, and the friendship of the James brothers, he’d found self-assurance and could let go of that shy kid who always felt like the biggest idiot in the room. Most of the time. Until he made a bonehead move that put everything at risk.
And until he was around a gorgeous dark-haired woman who made his pulse race and his chest tighten. Then his shyness came roaring back and had him cracking stupid one-liners and acting like a dork.
He stepped off the ice and shut the door of the box behind him. With hockey, he knew what to do—skate, pass, shoot. In the rink, he felt comfortable. Around Harper Evans, he didn’t have a clue.
* * *
Playing with the kittens had entertained Harper until she heard Logan’s truck rumble back down the driveway and his bootheels on the porch steps leading into the house. She stayed hidden, venturing out into the office every thirty minutes or so to peer through the window. She could see the house and assumed if the lights inside went out, that meant Logan had likely gone to bed.
The house went dark a little after ten, and Harper felt comfortable leaving her hiding place. After the long day and the past night on the bus, it felt good to finally take her boots off and wiggle her toes. She’d given up her cell phone plan months ago and only had the cheap pay-as-you-go phone that used to belong to her grandmother, but it had an alarm clock, and she set it to go off at five, hoping that would give her enough time to get on her boots and sneak back out of the barn. Surely Logan didn’t get up and start chores before five in the morning.
Leaving the rest of her clothes on, she curled up on the sofa, resting her head on a lumpy throw pillow with a pink pig embroidered on the front. A hearty wool blanket was folded over the back of the sofa, and she pulled it down and covered herself.
Now snug and cozy, she found the old couch comfortable in a sort of lumpy, broken-in kind of way. On one of her reconnaissance missions into the office, Harper had found the mama cat lounging in a pile of sacks in the corner of the office. The kittens had gone back to her, burrowing in beside their mother. The sight of them made Harper long for the warm body of her son cuddled against her, and she had to close her eyes to block out the vision of the feline family.
* * *
The insistent ringing of her phone’s alarm woke Harper the next morning, and she struggled to sit up in the semidarkness, confused as to where she was. For a minute, she thought she was back in jail, and she fought against the panic rising in her chest as she tried to free herself from the scratchy wool blanket.
Everything’s okay. This isn’t a jail cell, she reassured herself as she finally sat up and turned off the phone’s alarm. She looked down at her feet and couldn’t help but grin at the pile of cats snuggled between her legs and the back of the sofa. The kittens curled around their mother, who raised her head and coolly regarded Harper.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you,” she told the cat as she slipped out from under the blanket and pulled on her boots. She used the small bathroom to wash up, wistfully wishing she could strip down and use the shower. But she didn’t want to take a chance of getting caught in the barn. Plus, it was freezing, and she couldn’t imagine stripping anything off right now. Maybe she could sneak a shower in the house today, if Logan went in to town.
For now, she used the bare toiletries she had, swiping on some deodorant and brushing her teeth. There wasn’t much she could about her hair beyond running a brush through it, pulling it up into a ponytail, and hoping for
the best. She put on one of the other four shirts she had rolled in her backpack, then took a quick minute to apply a coat of mascara and a black stripe of eyeliner. She didn’t usually wear much makeup—she’d only thrown in a single eyeshadow, one eyeliner pencil, and a tube of mascara—but she took the time to put a little on now, reasoning with herself that it made her appear more awake rather than contemplating too deeply whether it had something to do with looking nice for a cute cowboy.
Hating to disturb the kittens, Harper gently pushed them off the blanket, then carefully folded and arranged it back the way it had been the night before. Taking a quick glance around the office, she didn’t see anything out of order.
She paused by the main door and pulled together the lapels of her coat as she braced herself for the cold. A tiny meow sounded, and she turned to see the black-and-white kitten had followed her through the barn. “Oh no. You crazy little cat,” she said, bending to scoop the cat into her arms. She cuddled it against her neck, enjoying the steady, contented thrum of its purr, then turned and ran smack-dab into the chiseled, hard chest of Logan as he entered the barn.
He let out his breath in a whoosh but still reached out his arms to steady her. The heat of his palms warmed her arms, even through the fabric of her jacket. Or maybe it wasn’t the heat from him, but the heat of her skin warming at his touch.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “What are you doing in here?”
Chapter 5
Harper swallowed. What am I doing in here?
It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. And one she had been asking herself the past few months. What am I doing in this life without Michael? What am I doing in this house without my grandmother? What am I doing getting mixed up in some stupid scheme with my mother? What am I doing in a jail cell?
But this answer seemed simpler. At least the true answer she gave in her head. I’m here to get my son.
But that’s not the answer she could give Logan. First off, because he didn’t know anything about her son. Even though he’d given her the perfect segue the night before to tell him about Floyd, she couldn’t do it.
She’d been let down so many times before—it took a lot to earn her trust—and even if Logan had pushed some—okay, a lot—of her feminine buttons, that didn’t mean she was ready to share with him about Floyd. Besides, if she told him she was there to get her son, it would only lead to another more complicated discussion of why she’d lost him in the first place. And she sure as heck wasn’t ready to admit to Logan that she’d just been sprung from the slammer. Even if she had only been in county lockup.
“Oh, um, sorry,” she stammered, her brain spinning to come up with a logical explanation. She held up the small cat. “I saw a kitten and followed it in here.” Yeah, that seemed reasonable. Who could resist a kitten?
“But how did you get here? Where’s your car?”
“Oh, I don’t have one. I had a friend drop me off.”
“I didn’t hear an engine.”
“Yeah, I had her drop me at the end of the driveway. She was in a hurry, and I wanted the walk.” She needed to move the conversation off her flimsy excuse for being there so early and magically arriving in a silent car. His brows were still drawn together, as if she’d told him she’d arrived by floo powder. She needed a distraction, and she had two things at her disposal, either act like a sex kitten or brandish the real kitten.
Since she had zero skills at the former, the choice was easily the latter. She held the small cat higher. “I saw this little bugger, and she was so cute, I had to pet her. Was I not supposed to come into the barn? I’m sorry if I overstepped. I’m just a sucker for a baby animal.”
“No, it’s fine you’re in here. I didn’t mean that. You just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here.” He glanced down at the kitten in her hands, and his expression softened. “And yeah, I’m a sucker for that one too. Her name’s Tinkerbell, and she’s my favorite. When I met you yesterday, I thought your eyes reminded me of this kitten’s. All cool green and gold.”
She blinked. He’d noticed her eyes? Well, heck, what was she supposed to do with a comment like that? Changing the subject again seemed like her best option. “You were in a rush to get to practice last night, and I forgot to ask what time you wanted me this morning.”
Crud. That wasn’t the way she’d meant for that to come out. “I mean, wanted me to show up…to cook breakfast. And get started on the cleaning. It seems like ranchers usually get an early start.”
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Not always this early. But I’m glad you’re here. I was trying to get a jump on things since I lost my ranch hand yesterday and will have to do double the chores.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already done more than the last gal I hired. And I didn’t put ‘ranch hand’ in your job description.”
Geez. She hadn’t done much beyond clean up and run a few loads of laundry. How bad had the last woman been if running the vacuum seemed that impressive? “First of all, you never gave me a job description.” She still had the kitten clutched in one hand, so she planted the other one on her hip. “And second, I was under the impression you hired me to help ease the burden of your duties around this place. So that’s what I’m here to do. I’m no stranger to hard work, and I plan to earn my wage, so if there’s something I can do to help you this morning, let me do it.”
He let out a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “All right. There is something I could use a hand doing. I need to run a bunch of hay out to the cattle in the south pasture, and it’s much easier with two people. If you can drive the truck, I’ll push the bales off the back end. The hardest part is driving slow enough not to pitch me off the tailgate.”
She chuckled. “That sounds easy enough—drive a truck around a field the same way my grandma used to steer down the highway. Got it. When do you want to start?”
“I haven’t heard it put in terms exactly like that before, but that about sums it up.” He laughed with her, then covered his stomach as it let out a growl. “I think breakfast is in order first though.”
“Of course. I saw some sausage in the freezer, and we had some biscuits left over from supper last night. I thought I’d make a pan of sausage gravy to go over them and scramble up some eggs. How does that sound?”
“Delicious. I’ve got a few chores I need to do now. Why don’t you head on up to the house and get started, and I’ll finish up my stuff and get the pickup loaded. Then we can eat and head out to the pasture after breakfast.”
“Sounds good.” She set the kitten on the ground, and it scampered toward the office.
“I started a pot of coffee, so help yourself.”
“Coffee sounds great. Thanks.” The man was tall and muscular and filled the space where he’d opened the door. She tried to squeeze around him, but got caught as the side of her hip and shoulder bumped against his. “Oh sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He shifted to get out of her way, but she shifted in the same direction.
She shifted back, intensely aware of the way his leg brushed hers as he shifted again.
“Wanna dance?” he asked, raising his hand in a mock dance stance.
She wondered what he would do if she actually took his hands and led him into a slow dance or, better yet, grabbed his hands and started to salsa. Her mind filled with images of them facing off and each doing a moon walk or the Macarena. Although her dancing skills were more on par with doing the hokey-pokey or the chicken dance.
The absurdness of all the dancing ideas had her chuckling, and she stood still and pressed her hands to her sides. “As appealing as an early-morning dance-off sounds, I’m going to just stand here and let you pass.”
“Good call.” He grinned and sidestepped around her and must have noticed the bulging backpack on her
shoulder. “Geez, that’s a big backpack. You moving in?”
If you only knew. “No. It’s uh…not really a backpack. It’s more like a big purse. I like to be prepared. I never know what I’m going to need.”
“You’re going to need a chiropractor if you keep lugging that heavy thing around.”
She chuckled. He was funny, but she was ready to move the subject away from her backpack and why she was carrying around two weeks’ worth of her belongings. “I’ll see you up at the house then.”
“Yep. I’ll need about forty minutes. Will that give you enough time?”
Enough time to stop thinking about the funny things her stomach was doing every time he smiled at her or the way his muscular bicep felt as it brushed past hers? Doubtful. “Sure. Forty minutes should be fine.”
* * *
Forty-two minutes later, Logan had finished his first round of morning chores and filled the back of the pickup with hay. He could smell the sausage as he opened the front door and hung his hat on the rack.
“Smells good in here,” he said, brushing his hair off his forehead.
Harper came down the hall, her arms full of bedding. Her sleeves were pushed up, and loose strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and lay across her neck. Her cheeks were flushed a slight pink from exertion, and Logan’s body responded with its own heat the instant he saw her.
What was it about this woman? He’d been in the same room while Kimberly had vacuumed and while the woman before that had fixed a four-course meal, but neither of them had affected him the way this one did as she walked toward him, blowing her bangs from her forehead.
