Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  “No way. Then you might have changed your mind.” Or changed his idea of offering it to her free of charge.

  He opened the next door in the hallway. “This second bedroom isn’t too bad. It doesn’t look like he even used it, except to store a couple boxes of stuff. It’s small, but it has a twin bed and a dresser and a desk if you wanted to use it like an office or something.”

  Harper peered around his shoulder and tried to quell the excitement building in her chest. This room would be perfect to fix up for Floyd. She’d thought the place only had one bedroom, and she would have gladly slept on the sofa and willingly given the room to Floyd, but this was even better. She couldn’t believe this stroke of luck. The bunkhouse could change everything. Which meant she couldn’t do anything to mess this job up.

  Logan waved his hand through the air. “This room isn’t disgusting, but it’s pretty dusty. You can stay in the house again tonight, and I can get somebody in here to clean the place up for you.”

  “What? Like a cleaning lady?”

  “Yeah.”

  She raised an eyebrow and planted a fist on her curvy hip. “You realize I am your cleaning lady?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t really think of you like that.” His cheeks colored with a tinge of pink. “But this is beyond anything I would expect you to do.”

  “No. Really. I mean it, Logan.” She touched his arm. “This is beyond perfect. And it looks worse than it is. Get a mop and bucket in here and a little disinfectant, or maybe a lot of disinfectant and some bleach, and I’ll have the place sparkling in no time.”

  He shook his head. “If anyone can do it, you can. But I do feel bad. I thought I was offering you something great, but it turns out I should probably pay you to live here.”

  She grinned impishly. “Okay.” She laughed, glad to have them back to joking around and not swimming in sexual tension. “I’m just teasing. I’m thrilled with the place. All I need is some rubber gloves and a couple of hours to work. You’ll be amazed at what I can accomplish even in an hour.” Her fingers itched to get started. “I’d love to dig in now. If that’s okay with you. I don’t want to take time away from the main house.”

  “It’s fine. I can’t imagine what you have left to clean in the house. It seem like you’ve already scrubbed it from top to bottom.”

  “Oh, there’s always more to clean.”

  “I’ve got some boxes in the barn, and I can grab some garbage bags and help you clear the trash out of the place.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yeah, I do. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. I don’t want you having to deal with his raunchy crap.”

  She grinned, pleased that he was trying to protect her fragile innocence. “I can handle a dirty magazine or two.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to. Plus, I’m scared of what other craziness we might find in here. Who knows what else this guy was into? He might have a dead raccoon in the freezer.”

  “Geez, I hope so. Then I won’t have to make lasagna for dinner. Ever since we almost ran over those deer, I’ve been brushing up on my roadkill recipes, and I think I’ve found one for raccoon stew.”

  “Nice. Sounds delicious.” He chuckled, then shook his head. “Ugh, I just can’t believe he left it like this.”

  “I can. The guy doesn’t appear to have a lot of class. And he seems bent on getting back at you for firing him, whether it’s through a sucker punch to the face or leaving food to spoil in the kitchen.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I can handle the mess, and even the sock to the eye, as long as he doesn’t try to mess with the ranch. Or with you.”

  Her face warmed at the emotion in his words. “With me? Why would he try to mess with me?”

  “You did stand him up for that dance and left him high and dry after offering to buy him a drink.”

  She waved her hand. “Oh gosh. That guy was so drunk, he won’t even remember that happened. And I’m sure he won’t remember me.”

  Logan caught her eye, holding her captive in his gaze. “You’re pretty hard to forget.”

  Oh my. And he was making it pretty hard not to throw herself into his arms and beg him to strip her bare. Although the idea of getting naked in this place the way it looked now had her cringing, even if it was with the hot cowboy.

  He looked around the room, almost as if reading her mind. “I’ll go get those garbage bags.”

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, they were still working. But Harper was right, Logan thought as he finished cleaning the mirror in the bathroom. They had made a significant dent in the place.

  They’d worked together to clear out the trash, filling several bags with rotten food and empty beer bottles. She’d brought cleaning supplies over from the house and spent most of her time working in the kitchen and living room while he attacked the main bedroom and the bathroom. Harper said she’d work on the second bedroom later, so Logan had just moved Ted’s junk out and closed the door.

  Most of Logan’s job had been throwing stuff away, including the sheets and the old bedspread that had been on Ted’s bed. He couldn’t stomach Harper sleeping in the same bedding that animal had slept in. Hell, he would have burned the mattress, if they had any way for him to get a new one out here tonight.

  Thankfully, his sister was good at stocking things, and they had several comforters, mattress pads, and sets of sheets in the house that Harper could use.

  After ridding the bedroom of everything except the bed, dresser, and nightstand, Logan stripped down to his undershirt and donned a pair of rubber gloves to tackle the bathroom. Harper had assured him she could do it, but the place was worse than a truck-stop john, and he couldn’t put her through the agony of cleaning it.

  The bathroom wasn’t big—just a toilet, a sink, and the shower—and he’d sprayed everything with either Scrubbing Bubbles or Clorox cleaner, then swept and scoured every surface until it shined.

  “Wow,” Harper said, poking her head into the bathroom. “I thought I was gonna need a hazmat suit to tackle this room. But it looks amazing. You do great work.”

  He shrugged. The room did look pretty good. “I’m used to mucking out stalls, so it didn’t bother me. But I’ve had pigs that kept their pens neater than this guy. And don’t worry. I used a lot of bleach.”

  “Me too.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen and couldn’t believe the transformation. She’d washed and scrubbed the counters and sinks, and every surface gleamed. And she must have brought a candle down from the house, because the air smelled like pumpkin spice mixed with soap and cleaning solutions.

  “It looks great in here,” he said, marveling at the change.

  She’d stripped the dingy curtains, and they lay in a pile on the counter. “I’ll wash and rehang the curtains this afternoon, and I need to do more in the kitchen, but we made a great start. I dusted and straightened the living room. Now I just need to mop and vacuum the floors this afternoon, and then I can move in.”

  “Great. Let’s do it now. I can run the vacuum if you want to mop.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  He shrugged. “I’m getting there. But we’re so close, I’d rather knock this out, then go back to the house and shower. I’ll be able to enjoy my lunch more if I know we’ve got this ready for you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Thank you. That’s really nice. You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “The pulled pork you’re making me for lunch is payment enough. And that roadkill stew you mentioned sounded pretty tempting.”

  She rubbed her stomach and swatted him with a kitchen towel as she laughed. “Oh yeah, it’s got to be delicious. And a payment well worth the labor of an hour spent hosing down that disgusting bathroom.”

  He liked to hear her laugh, especially tha
t one, the loud bawdy laugh she used when he’d really amused her. But he was serious about this, and he wanted her to know how glad he was to help. He grabbed the end of the towel and used it to pull her a step closer. “Honestly, Harper, I wanted to help. And you’ve done plenty for me too.” He lowered his tone as he looked into her eyes. “I think we make a good team.”

  “We do,” she whispered, then looked away as if his words embarrassed her. “But you are paying me, so you’d better kick my butt in gear to get this floor swept and mopped.” She let go of the towel and kept her focus trained on reaching for the broom.

  He let out his breath. He had plenty of ideas about her butt, but none of them involved kicking it. And he was paying her, which was one more reason he shouldn’t be thinking about her butt. But damn, she had a great one.

  Time to get his mind on something else. Like cleaning the old potato chips out of this couch. He plugged in the vacuum and pushed it toward the sofa.

  An old radio sat on top of the refrigerator, and Harper had it set to a station that played classic rock. Logan had just pulled the suction hose from the vacuum cleaner when one of his favorite songs came on. “Hey, turn this up. I love this song,” he told Harper, who was sweeping the floor next to the fridge.

  “Me too.” She reached up and cranked the volume, then used the end of the broom as a microphone to belt out the opening lyrics. Her voice was gravelly and raw, and even though she was joking around, she still harmonized perfectly with the band.

  He chuckled as he used the vacuum hose to play an awesome air-guitar riff, then joined in the chorus with her. Except he made his voice extra deep and twangy as he imitated the lead singer. She broke into laughter, holding her stomach as she doubled over.

  The song ended, and she turned down the radio and leaned against the counter, trying to catch her breath. “Wow, if this ranching thing doesn’t work out for you, we could form a band. I think we’re almost ready to take it out on the road.”

  “I could see that. We could call our band the Cleanup Crew. I think you’re on to something.”

  “I think you’re a dork.”

  “A dork? Or a rock star? I’ve been accused of both.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bet not very often. I can’t imagine many people would accuse you of being a dork.”

  “That’s because they don’t all get to see my awesome air-guitar-vacuum-hose skills. I only make rare appearances.”

  She clutched her hands to her heart and made her voice go dreamy. “Then I must be one of the lucky ones. Can I have your autograph?”

  “I’ll consider it.” He offered her one of his most charming grins. “But you’ll have to give me yours too. You’ve got some pretty great pipes. You were showing me up with those vocals.”

  She tossed a kitchen towel at him. “Get back to work, rock star.”

  He chuckled as he switched on the vacuum.

  * * *

  The smell of barbecued pork met him as he walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. They’d finished cleaning the bunkhouse and come back to clean up and shower off the grime before lunch. He’d thought he’d been pretty quick in the shower, but Harper had beat him and was already back in the kitchen putting together sandwiches.

  She was still barefoot, and the sight of her wearing snug jeans and a light-blue Henley top that hugged her perfect breasts had him hungry for more than pulled pork. Her hair was still damp, and the scent of her shampoo hung in the air as he slid in next to her.

  “Anything I can do to help?” he asked, trying to control the urge to touch the soft waves in her hair. Her neck was exposed as the collar of her shirt dipped into a vee, and he wanted to follow the vee as he tipped his head and laid a trail of warm kisses along her throat and down her chest.

  “I’ve just about got it. I’d planned to make something more substantial like scalloped potatoes this morning but got caught up in cleaning the bunkhouse. Hope potato chips work.”

  “Chips are great.” You’re great. Oh man, he needed to pull it together. He was going full-on nuclear with his crush on this woman—one minute wanting to set her up on the counter and wrap her legs around him as he stripped off her shirt, the next thinking sappy sentiments.

  He liked to watch her work. Her movements were quick and efficient. She opened thick potato buns and buttered both sides, then set them on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven under the broiler. Setting the timer for two minutes, she turned back and dumped chips on each of their plates.

  “You want water or iced tea?” she asked.

  “Water, but I’ll get it.” The kitchen normally seemed good-sized, but not when he was sharing it with her. It seemed small and tight as they tried to maneuver around each other. He filled the glasses with ice and water. She’d had water with every meal so far, so he assumed she’d want it again.

  He shut the fridge and accidentally bumped his hip against hers. “Sorry.”

  She turned back, and their elbows bumped. “Nope, I’m sorry.” She tried to turn to one side to get around him as he turned the same way.

  “Wanna dance?” he asked, laughing as he held his arms out.

  “Only if you want your feet smashed. I’m a terrible dancer.”

  “I doubt you’re terrible at anything.”

  She reared her head back. “Why would you say that? I’m quite terrible at many, many things.”

  He shrugged, acutely aware of how close they were still standing. “I don’t know. From where I’m sitting, you can cook and clean better than my grandma, which sounds like a dig, but is actually high praise. You’re gorgeous without trying, smart as a whip, and funny as hell. You can drive a stick, and I haven’t seen anything you’re afraid of yet, including that giant spider we saw in the bunkhouse that you fearlessly stomped on.”

  She stared up at him and for once didn’t seem to have a response. Her eyes were big and round, and the light in the kitchen caught the gold flecks buried in the green. Her cheeks were flushed, and a smudge of flour dusted the top of one.

  “You’ve got a little flour on your face,” he said, reaching up to wipe it from her cheek.

  She stilled as his thumb brushed the edge of her mouth, and her lips parted as she inhaled a soft breath. He held his hand right above her face, barely caressing her skin.

  “You’re wrong you know,” she whispered. “I might seem brave, but I’m afraid right now.”

  “Don’t be.” His voice was low and husky as he whispered back. He pressed his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and dipping his head.

  “I’m afraid of all these feelings I have.” She licked her lips, and he almost came undone.

  He wanted to crush her mouth with his—to kiss her, to taste her. “Me too.” He leaned lower, closing the gap between their bodies as his lips hovered above hers. His heart pounded so hard against his chest that he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.

  She tilted her head, just the slightest movement, but it brought her closer still.

  Heat shot through his veins, and his fingers tingled with need. He wanted to haul her against his chest and take her mouth. But she’d just said she was afraid, so he knew he needed to take it slow. He brushed her lips with his, barely grazing her mouth and earning another soft gasp.

  Taking it slow was important, but it was also killing him—the anticipation of finally tasting her, of feeling her pressed against him.

  He couldn’t do it—couldn’t wait another second. His right hand was still holding her cheek as he leaned in and took her mouth, crushing her lips with his.

  Chapter 13

  The kiss—which started so softly—deepened with hunger as Logan pulled her closer. Harper’s lips were soft and pliant, and she gave back every bit of the passion he was pouring into her.

  Bringing his other hand up, he slid it along her neck and wound his fingers into her hair, finally abl
e to touch the silky strands. She gripped his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as she arched in to him.

  She moaned softly against his lips. He was ready to lift her onto the counter and tear her shirt open when the oven timer suddenly went off, its shrill beeping filling the room. She pulled away, blinking and shaking her head as if waking up from a trance.

  “Oh my gosh. The buns,” she said, opening the oven and reaching for the hot pads. A cloud of steam poured from the oven, but it didn’t compare to the warmth filling his chest from the intensity of the kiss he’d just shared with Harper.

  She was focused on pulling the pan from the oven, and he was just standing there trying to recover from the best kiss of his life. Damn, that woman had an amazing mouth.

  “Do you want to put the glasses on the table? I’ll have these sandwiches ready in a minute.” She transferred the buns to the plates and filled them with pulled pork.

  Screw the sandwiches. He didn’t give a fig about lunch. He wanted to get back to kissing her. Her mouth had been delicious, but he’d only grazed the surface of the places where he wanted to kiss her.

  It seemed the moment had been lost.

  Even though her lips were still swollen from the kiss, her focus was on getting lunch on the table. She’d had everything else ready, so he followed her lead and carried the glasses to the table, then sat down across from her.

  “Dig in,” she said, busying herself with the jar of barbecue sauce and avoiding his eyes.

  He took a bite of the sandwich and groaned. The combination of warm, buttery bread with the pork slathered in sweet, tangy sauce was incredible. “This is outstanding.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you. It’s all about heating the buns.”

  “I do enjoy warm buns,” he teased, trying to get her to laugh.

  She grinned and shook her head. A small victory, but it seemed to have broken the awkwardness, and she was able to look at him again.