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Authors: Lorelei James
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smacked into the ground pretty hard, huh?”
Bran rested on his haunches. “A bunny. You took a chance with your own life and your own safety to save . . . a fucking bunny?”
“Yes. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”
“I had visions of you . . .” Hurt and it being my fault for pushing you. He got to his feet angrily. “Never mind.” He offered a hand to help her up and she batted it away.
“Where are my sunglasses?”
This woman was an absolute piece of work. She almost killed herself for a goddamn rabbit and now the only thing she gave a shit about was her sunglasses?
He spun around away from her, knowing if he stayed there another second, he’d chew her ass.
Crunch.
Looked like he’d found her stupid sunglasses. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty.
As he bent over to pick up the crushed plastic, he heard her gasp behind him. He whirled around and saw Harper crawling to her ATV.
Crawling. She’d rather crawl than accept help from him?
Can you blame her? You’re being an ass and she probably is injured. She just has too much pride to admit it to you.
Screw that.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Real compassionate, Bran.
“I’m basting a turkey,” she snapped. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Jesus. Sweet Harper was snapping at him? Maybe she had smacked her head on a rock. Bran stepped in front of her, wrapped his fingers around her biceps, and hauled her to her feet.
Shit. Her eyes held that vacant look. “Harper? Sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart, but I am dizzy. Really dizzy.” Her head fell forward into his chest. “I’m tired. Just let me sleep, you big meanie.”
She called him a big meanie?
He could deal with being called an asshole, a douche bag, or a dumb fuck. But her calling him a big meanie . . . that made him feel ten times worse. No way in hell was she driving back to the ranch.
Resigning himself to having her tempting curves pressed against him, Bran lifted her into his arms. She was solid, but he managed to deposit her on the jump seat of his ATV with little trouble. He scooted in front of her, shoving her hands in his jacket pockets. He knew she was somewhat aware of what was going on when her arms tightened around him and she nestled her head into the middle of his back.
After what’d happened with Les, Bran didn’t relish carting Harper to town to get her checked out, but he didn’t want to take chances with an undiagnosed injury becoming serious either. It’d be better if he could get a medical opinion out here. Quickly.
An idea occurred to him. He dug out his cell phone and dialed Fletch, giving Fletch a vague rundown of her injuries and his location. Luckily Fletch was in his truck not far away and promised to swing by the ranch immediately.
Bran dug a thermal blanket out of the rear compartment, tucking it around Harper as best as he could, and waited.
Finally Fletch’s big rig bumped into the pasture. Then Fletch hopped out, carrying a plastic-coated sheet and a duffel bag. The man was still built like the linebacker he’d been in college, so his gentle nature shocked most people.
But Fletch wasn’t wearing his usual easy grin. He stopped in front of Bran’s ATV and scowled. “Where is she?”
“Now, don’t be getting mad, Fletch, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
Fletch nudged his cowboy hat up, training his gaze on Harper’s form slumped behind Bran. “Jesus Christ, Turner, please tell me she isn’t the injured heifer you were referring to when you called?”
Naturally, Harper chose that exact moment to become coherent. “What injured heifer? Where?”
Don’t say it.
“He was referring to you, sugar,” Fletch pointed out.
Shit. Bran felt her entire body stiffen behind him.
“Bran called me a . . . heifer?”
“Yes.” Fletch snapped at Bran. “She’s clearly not in need of my medical expertise.”
Then Bran did something rare—he babbled. “She got pitched off
Bran rested on his haunches. “A bunny. You took a chance with your own life and your own safety to save . . . a fucking bunny?”
“Yes. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”
“I had visions of you . . .” Hurt and it being my fault for pushing you. He got to his feet angrily. “Never mind.” He offered a hand to help her up and she batted it away.
“Where are my sunglasses?”
This woman was an absolute piece of work. She almost killed herself for a goddamn rabbit and now the only thing she gave a shit about was her sunglasses?
He spun around away from her, knowing if he stayed there another second, he’d chew her ass.
Crunch.
Looked like he’d found her stupid sunglasses. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty.
As he bent over to pick up the crushed plastic, he heard her gasp behind him. He whirled around and saw Harper crawling to her ATV.
Crawling. She’d rather crawl than accept help from him?
Can you blame her? You’re being an ass and she probably is injured. She just has too much pride to admit it to you.
Screw that.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Real compassionate, Bran.
“I’m basting a turkey,” she snapped. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Jesus. Sweet Harper was snapping at him? Maybe she had smacked her head on a rock. Bran stepped in front of her, wrapped his fingers around her biceps, and hauled her to her feet.
Shit. Her eyes held that vacant look. “Harper? Sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart, but I am dizzy. Really dizzy.” Her head fell forward into his chest. “I’m tired. Just let me sleep, you big meanie.”
She called him a big meanie?
He could deal with being called an asshole, a douche bag, or a dumb fuck. But her calling him a big meanie . . . that made him feel ten times worse. No way in hell was she driving back to the ranch.
Resigning himself to having her tempting curves pressed against him, Bran lifted her into his arms. She was solid, but he managed to deposit her on the jump seat of his ATV with little trouble. He scooted in front of her, shoving her hands in his jacket pockets. He knew she was somewhat aware of what was going on when her arms tightened around him and she nestled her head into the middle of his back.
After what’d happened with Les, Bran didn’t relish carting Harper to town to get her checked out, but he didn’t want to take chances with an undiagnosed injury becoming serious either. It’d be better if he could get a medical opinion out here. Quickly.
An idea occurred to him. He dug out his cell phone and dialed Fletch, giving Fletch a vague rundown of her injuries and his location. Luckily Fletch was in his truck not far away and promised to swing by the ranch immediately.
Bran dug a thermal blanket out of the rear compartment, tucking it around Harper as best as he could, and waited.
Finally Fletch’s big rig bumped into the pasture. Then Fletch hopped out, carrying a plastic-coated sheet and a duffel bag. The man was still built like the linebacker he’d been in college, so his gentle nature shocked most people.
But Fletch wasn’t wearing his usual easy grin. He stopped in front of Bran’s ATV and scowled. “Where is she?”
“Now, don’t be getting mad, Fletch, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
Fletch nudged his cowboy hat up, training his gaze on Harper’s form slumped behind Bran. “Jesus Christ, Turner, please tell me she isn’t the injured heifer you were referring to when you called?”
Naturally, Harper chose that exact moment to become coherent. “What injured heifer? Where?”
Don’t say it.
“He was referring to you, sugar,” Fletch pointed out.
Shit. Bran felt her entire body stiffen behind him.
“Bran called me a . . . heifer?”
“Yes.” Fletch snapped at Bran. “She’s clearly not in need of my medical expertise.”
Then Bran did something rare—he babbled. “She got pitched off
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