Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  It was also pretty easy to imagine Harper turning around and slugging him for making a pass at her. That woman had a fire simmering just under the surface, and he reckoned she wouldn’t have any trouble putting him in his place. She tried to hide it—he could see her reining herself in at different times in their conversations—but he liked the occasional snark and sass she offered when she forgot to be so uptight and professional. He wanted to see more of that feistiness, and as a big brother to a spirited little sister, he knew what buttons to push to get that sass to appear. The only problem was that she had lots of different buttons he was interested in pushing. And most of them wouldn’t be in a big brotherly fashion.

  He stepped into his bedroom and temporarily forgot about her buttons as he took in the spotless room. Harper had made his bed, put away his boots, and straightened the books on his nightstand. The air smelled of Lemon Pledge with hints of laundry detergent from the stacks of fresh laundry folded on the edge of his bed. Neat vacuum tracks crisscrossed the carpet. The things Harper had found in his pocket made a tidy stack on the side of the dresser, which was now free of dust and also tidied.

  His room hadn’t been this clean in ages. And what a load off (literally) to have his shirts clean and folded. He’d been down to the last of them and hadn’t had the energy at night to even fill the washing machine, and now Harper had done it for him.

  He crossed to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that adjoined his and Quinn’s bedrooms. Although now that Q had moved out, he supposed it was just a Jack bathroom. It looked like Harper had spot cleaned this room too. The fixtures and mirrors sparkled, and the sink and vanity had been scrubbed and polished. Clean towels hung neatly from the rods, and the rugs had been vacuumed.

  Shrugging out of his shirt, Logan quickly washed his hands and face, combed his hair, and applied another swipe of deodorant. His things had been neatly arranged on the side of the vanity, and at the last second, he grabbed a bottle of cologne and gave his neck a squirt before putting on a clean shirt.

  He didn’t want to think too much about that decision, but hey, she’d made an effort to make things nice for him, so the least he could do was not show up at the table smelling like a barn stall.

  Smoothing down his cowlick, he walked back into the living room. The dining room table was set for one, and the platter of chicken and bowls of potatoes and green beans surrounded the lone plate. The buttery scent of biscuits wafted toward him, and his stomach let out a loud rumble. Nice.

  Harper laughed as she carried over a small gravy boat brimming with pepper-flecked country gravy. “Sit down already. Before either the food gets cold or you wither away from starvation.”

  He gestured to the single place setting. “Aren’t you eating with me?”

  “No. I’ll have something later.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not the maid. You don’t have to stand at the table and serve me. You’ve done your job just preparing this amazing feast. Please, sit with me and eat. I insist.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding if I’m insisting.” He knew he was going to do more than ask, so he walked around her—Lord, she smelled good, like vanilla and flowers—and pulled another plate from the cupboard. He got silverware from the drawer and put them all on the table in front of her. A glass of ice water sat on the counter, and since he already had a glass at his place, he assumed it was hers. He grabbed it and put it on the table as well, then pulled the chair out for her.

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t seem to speak as she sat down on the chair in front of him and pulled her hair loose from the ponytail. His hands were so close, and they itched to touch the silky softness of the strands. But he didn’t. Instead, he clenched his fingers into fists and pressed them to his legs as he sat down across from her.

  “I’m sure I look a mess,” she said, smoothing her hair. “Not that it matters. I mean, not that you’d notice. I was just planning to finish cleaning while you ate, so you know, you could eat in peace.”

  “I’ve eaten in peace every night since my dad and Quinn and Max have been gone, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of my own company. I’m grateful to have someone else to talk to.” He picked up his napkin and spread it across his lap. “So, tell me about you, Harper Evans. I want to hear all the dirty details. I already know every fact about everyone else in this small town. It’d be nice to hear some new stories. And you must be fairly new around here because everyone around these parts knows everyone else and we haven’t met. So what brought you to our fair city of Creedence?”

  Chapter 4

  Geez. It was as if he’d asked her to divulge the secrets of national security, the way her face drained of color and she suddenly busied her hands by filling her plate with food.

  “Just taking care of some business,” she stammered. “Nothing too interesting to tell about me. Really, I’m pretty boring.”

  Logan arched an eyebrow. “I doubt that.” He wanted to know everything about her. Where she grew up, her favorite kind of dessert, and how she liked to be kissed. Did she like to take things slow and easy, or hard and fast? Okay, he probably didn’t know her well enough to ask her that. Heck, he didn’t know anyone well enough to ask them that. But he wanted to get to know her. Wanted to hear her laugh. To make her laugh.

  And he really wanted to know if she was already spoken for. Did she have a boyfriend? Was she married? She didn’t wear a ring, but the skin around her finger seemed to be paler, as if she had worn one in the past. Was she divorced? He couldn’t come right out and ask her any of that stuff. He needed to start with something easy.

  He took a bite of chicken, then scooped a pile of potatoes onto his plate and smothered them with gravy. “This chicken is delicious. Where’d you learn to cook? From your mom?”

  She snorted, then put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I almost spit some of that delicious gravy across the table.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I don’t get what’s so funny.”

  “My mom couldn’t cook her way out of a paper bag. She could barely boil water. Her idea of making breakfast was setting the cereal box on the table. My grandmother, my dad’s mom, is the one who taught me to cook.”

  “She did a great job.”

  Harper shrugged. “I guess. Growing up, I was too busy rebelling against my dysfunctional family to pay much attention to my grandma, but I’ve learned a lot from her in the last few years.”

  “I can see you as a rebel—staying out past curfew, sneaking beer from the liquor cabinet, bringing home the tattooed guy that your parents would hate.”

  “Yeah,” she mused. “You pretty much nailed it.”

  Hmm. From her expression, he reckoned he just got it all wrong. Although, did that mean she was a worse rebel, a real troublemaker, or had her comment been ironic and she’d really been a good girl who stayed home every night and focused on getting good grades? He wasn’t sure, didn’t know her well enough yet. He somehow had a feeling she could have gone either way.

  “I can tell you, my childhood was nothing like this.” She used the end of her chicken leg to point from the kitchen to the living room. “We moved from one crappy apartment to another every year or two. I went to ten different schools. I’ll bet you’ve lived here your whole life. You probably took a bus to school and came home every afternoon to your mom baking chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Not quite. I have lived here my whole life, and I did ride a bus to school. You’re right about that. But my mom never met us at the door with anything close to chocolate chip cookies. She despised living on the ranch—hated everything about it.” Especially me. “She left when I was a kid and was killed the next year by a drunk driver.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Logan shrugged and stared down at
his plate. He couldn’t look at her—was afraid she’d see the shame splashed across his face, the guilt of knowing he was the real reason his mother left. Why were they even talking about this? He didn’t talk about his mom. Ever. Hell, he tried not to even think about her. The familiar knot in his chest tightened to a hard ball, and he realized he was clenching his teeth. He let out his breath. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, but something like that can stay with you and sometimes feel like it just happened yesterday.”

  He peered up at her and didn’t see condemnation or scorn. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at him. She was looking out the window behind him, staring at something he didn’t think was actually even out there. “You sound like you know something about that feeling.”

  She glanced back at him, blinking her eyes as if trying to focus. “I guess I do. My husband was killed in an accident too. Motorcycle.”

  Well, that answered that question. But not the way he’d been expecting. “Dang. That’s rough.”

  Her gaze dropped to her lap, and she picked at a loose thread on the seam of her sleeve. “Yeah. It was. Still is. Sometimes, I guess. He’d survived four years in the military and two deployments—he was a real hero—then lost his life doing something as trivial and stupid as going out for a gallon of milk.”

  “On a motorcycle?” Logan held up his hand. “Shit. That was insensitive. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She shrugged. “It’s true. I told you it was stupid.” Leaning her head back, she pulled her hand through her hair. “Geez, how did we get on this depressing subject? I made all this great food, and this conversation is going to ruin your appetite.”

  “Not much could ruin this food for me,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m ready to go in for seconds.”

  “Good. Let’s focus on that. Or talk about something more exciting. Like what you want for Christmas this year, or why you kicked a wanton and willing woman out of your kitchen today.” Her eyes, which moments ago had been shaded in sadness, now sparked with mischief.

  “I didn’t exactly kick her out.”

  “The meat-loaf mountain says otherwise.”

  “Touché.” He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t have anything against Kimmie… Kimberly, I mean. I just wasn’t buying what she was selling.”

  “Why not? I mean, I saw her in the diner. She was pretty.”

  “Yeah, pretty angry. We have a history, dated back in high school until she dumped me for another guy. The one she married. All that stuff is in the past, stupid high-school bullshit. Except now she’s going through a divorce and convinced me to hire her because she needed the money. Although I don’t know if that was true or just a ploy. Whatever it was, I’m not interested in starting things back up with her. Fool me once, and all that business.”

  “And from the looks of things, she takes rejection well.”

  He laughed. “Honestly, it could have been worse. That woman has a mean streak a mile long.”

  Harper stood and reached to clear the dishes from the table. “Well, I can tell you I don’t have much of a mean streak, and I’m terrible at holding a grudge. So I think your kitchen is safe in my hands.”

  “Good to know.” He looked at her hands as she took the bowl in front of him and had a foolish longing to reach out and hold one, to twine his fingers with hers. Which was crazy. He hadn’t held hands with a woman in…heck, he didn’t know how long. But something in him wanted to touch this one, to pick up her hand and cradle it in his.

  Damn, he was getting soft. He needed to snap out of it.

  “Let me help you clear this stuff.”

  “I got it,” she said. “This is what you’re paying me for.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head at him. “You are paying me for this, right? We never talked about money.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I’m definitely paying you for the job. Do you want an hourly wage, or would you prefer a fixed rate for the week?”

  “I’m not sure. What were you paying Kimberly?”

  He told her the fixed amount he’d offered the other woman.

  “But did she make chicken as good as mine?”

  He grinned. He liked that she wanted to haggle. It made it more fun. “Nope. And she never did a single load of my laundry. In two hours, you’ve already surpassed her job performance.”

  She planted a hand on her hip. “And you haven’t even tasted my peach cobbler.”

  He groaned. “Okay, I’ll raise it by another hundred per week. But that cobbler better be worth it.” Apparently he was confused about how this haggling thing worked. She hadn’t even asked for more, and he was flinging money at her. It was the hip thing. He must be a sucker for a tough chick with curvy hips.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” she teased. “But I’ll take it. And my cobbler is definitely worth it.”

  He chuckled again and tried not to think about how perfect her butt looked as she walked back into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Harper stood awkwardly by the front door, unsure if she should interrupt Logan to tell him good night. He’d taken her for a tour around the ranch after she’d finished cleaning the supper dishes, but then he’d gotten a call and closed himself in the home office. She’d busied herself by inventorying the kitchen and making a list of groceries they’d need for the next week, but it was already dark outside, and it seemed strange for her to hang out any longer.

  She finally decided to write him a note, figuring that would be the best plan to avoid having him ask any tricky questions about where she was staying for the night or, even worse, offering to give her a ride somewhere.

  She hadn’t completely thought through her plans beyond getting to town, but she was resourceful and had been in worse spots. She figured she could find a church to sleep in or a twenty-four hour café where she could nurse a coffee for most of the night. But she hadn’t planned on Creedence being such a small town and her all-night options being so limited.

  As they’d toured the farm, she’d come up with a plan to sneak back after dark and slip into the office in the barn. The room had been fairly warm, and she’d spied a space heater and a blanket and figured a night on that sofa seemed like a heck of a better plan than praying she could find a church to sneak into.

  She’d just picked up a pen to write a note when Logan barreled out of the office. The pen flew from her hand as her body jumped, and she let out a tiny shriek of fright.

  “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Logan said, grabbing his coat from one of the pegs by the front door. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

  “I’m just finishing up.”

  “Well, I’ve got hockey practice in town. In fact, I’m running a few minutes late. But I’d be glad to drop you somewhere in town. Where are you staying?”

  She waved away his offer as she shrugged into her jacket. “Oh, you don’t need to bother. I’ve got my ride picking me up any minute now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. They just called.” She hated the way the lie slipped so easily off her tongue.

  Thankfully, Logan was distracted as he gathered his hockey equipment and didn’t press her further. “All right then. You’re welcome to wait inside until they arrive. I hate to run out on you, but I’ve got less than ten minutes to get to the rink and get my skates on.”

  “You’d better get going then,” she said, handing him his hockey stick and following him out the door. “I was going to walk out to the road to meet my ride anyway. Stretch my legs. But I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “See ya in the morning,” he called as he tossed his equipment in the back of the truck and took off.

  Whew. His hurried exit made Harper’s plan a little easier, but she still made sure to walk all the way down the driveway before she doubled back and snuck into the barn. It smelled of hay and horses, a sc
ent that was almost comforting.

  Between the moon and the main yard light shining through the windows, she had enough light to cross the barn and slip through the door of the office. A bathroom with a toilet, a sink, and a small shower was tucked into the back of the room. She planned to hide in there until she was sure Logan had made it home and was finished with any nightly chores. A semiclean rug covered the floor, and she sank onto it behind the bathroom door. Maybe she should offer to clean the barn office in the next few days. Then she’d be sure it would be neat enough for her to sleep in.

  For now, she was just happy to have somewhere warm and dry to spend the night. With her knees pulled to her chest, she tried to relax while still keeping an ear out for any signs of Logan’s truck coming up the driveway. Getting caught in the bathroom would be awkward, but she could pass it off by claiming she’d needed to use it and hadn’t wanted to bother him in the house. She’d learned that if she started spouting information about it being her “lady time,” most men immediately wanted to change the subject. The topic might be embarrassing, but she’d used whatever it took to divert attention from Logan discovering her in his barn.

  Leaning her head back against the wall, Harper closed her eyes, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. Her body was tired, and she was close to falling asleep when a soft shuffling sound came from the office, and her eyes popped open. Had Logan come back, and she hadn’t heard his truck? Or was someone else on the farm with her?

  Suddenly the empty barn—which seconds ago had seemed quiet and comforting—took on a sinister silence. Bending forward, she cocked her ear toward the door, straining to hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

  She listened for several seconds, her hands gripping the edges of her backpack, her body tensed to run if she needed to, but she didn’t hear anything else.

  When she peered through the crack between the door and the wall, the office looked empty. Maybe it had been the horse she’d seen when she came in. Or maybe it was just the wind, or maybe it was the spirit of a long-dead ranch hand who still haunted the barn after hanging himself when his mail-order bride left him for another cowboy. Or maybe it was nothing more than her overactive imagination—which was evident in the fact that not only had she just imagined the barn as being haunted, but she’d also given the fictional ghost a backstory.