Wish Upon a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  “Those smell incredible,” Logan said, heading for the sink to wash his hands.

  She stood at the counter, and he walked behind her, not touching her, but she felt his presence as clearly as if he had. He stood at the sink, smelling like hay and soap and the subtle hints of his aftershave, and she wanted to wrap her arms around his middle and lay her head against his back. She might have if Zane hadn’t been in the room.

  The other man was a great buffer to keep them from talking about what had happened the night before, and she half wondered if Logan had planned that on purpose. He hadn’t brought Zane into the house for a meal before. Granted, the guy had only been working for him for a few days, so she hadn’t had time to observe their routine. And Ted had been fired before she’d started work. Maybe feeding the hired hand was normal.

  If so, she’d need to stock up on more groceries. Which would give her the perfect excuse to take the truck into town and provide her with another chance to try to see Floyd. She now knew what time his recess happened, so maybe she could catch him on the playground and at least talk to him through the fence. She just wanted to hear his voice and tell him how much she’d missed him.

  An ache settled in her chest as she tried to stay focused on what the men were talking about. Zane wasn’t much of a talker, but he listened attentively and occasionally added to the conversation. They seemed to spend a lot of time conferring about the cattle and discussing the weather. Which made sense since it was their livelihood, but it felt as though they’d already covered this ground. Maybe they were uncomfortable with her listening in.

  She’d just started to clear the table when Logan’s cell phone rang.

  He pulled it from his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Rivers here.” He paused. “Hey, Gus, what’s up?” Another pause. “You don’t say.”

  Harper stacked the plates but stopped as Logan put a hand on her arm and motioned for her to sit back down.

  “Well, that clears up our mystery. She’s one of our farm cats and just had a litter of kittens. We noticed she was gone after the storm but figured she got taken by the blizzard or another animal.” He paused again. “Yup. You too. Thanks for letting us know.”

  He disconnected the call and dropped the phone back into his shirt pocket. “Well, that was Gus. You know, the fellow that came by the other day to drop off the horse?”

  “Yeah.” Harper was sitting on the edge of her seat, reluctant to hear what the caller had said. She could tell by the frown on Logan’s face that the news wasn’t good.

  “Apparently Nacho, that mama cat, must have gone into his trailer the other day while we were dinkin’ around with the horse. He said she ran out when he got home and unloaded the trailer. ’Bout scared the devil out of him, he said. He tried to catch her, but she ran off. He’s been keeping an eye out for her, but he hasn’t seen her again and figured he’d call just to let us know, in case we noticed she was gone.”

  “We noticed,” Harper said, surprised by the sting in her throat. “Her babies noticed. Now they have to grow up without their mother.”

  Logan shook his head. “It’s a dang shame. I’m sorry, Harper. I know you love those little rascals.” His palm was still on her arm, and he slid it down to cover her hand as he offered her an encouraging smile. “We’ll just have to find homes for them. How about you? Want a kitten? I know you’re partial to Tink. You want to keep her?”

  “I can’t take a kitten. I won’t be here long enough to take care of her.”

  His smile fell as he pulled his hand away from hers. “That’s right. You’re leaving.” He stared at the table as he scratched at a dab of dried frosting. “But maybe you could stay. For the kittens.”

  The lump in her throat burned hotter. Had he just asked her to stay, as in stay with him, or did he only mean he wanted her to stay longer to take care of the kittens and the house and cook his meals?

  And how could she leave the three small orphaned cats? How could she leave him?

  She gave a start as another ringtone sounded. This time it chimed from the front pocket of her jeans. Digging it free, her heart leapt in hopes that it was Floyd. Or even Judith. Maybe she’d had a change of heart and was calling to set up a time for Harper to visit.

  Her soaring spirits sank as she finally freed the phone and saw her new friend’s name listed on the caller ID. She flipped open the phone and pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Bryn.” She almost smiled as she noticed the way Zane’s ears pricked up at the mention of the perky waitress’s name, but the alarm in the other woman’s voice kept her smile at bay. “Slow down. What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” the waitress wailed. “And I’m so mad at Otis, I could spit. I’m in trouble over here, Harper, and I don’t know who else to call. Can you come over now? Just for a few hours? I really need your help.”

  “Okay, take a breath. And hang on.” She lowered the phone and turned to Logan. “It’s Bryn, and she’s upset. I can’t tell if she’s scared or crying or just really mad, but she said she needs my help. Can you spare me for a few hours so I can go over there now?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, sure. What’s going on?”

  She shrugged as she lifted the phone. “I’ll be right there, Bryn. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to call someone? Is anyone hurt?”

  “Not yet. But there’s about to be. Just get here.” Harper heard her yell; then the phone went dead.

  “What happened?” Zane asked, pushing up from his chair. “Is she hurt?”

  “I don’t think so,” Harper answered, heading for her coat. “But she was pretty upset. I heard her yelling at someone, then the phone went dead.” She stopped and turned to Logan. “Crud. Can I borrow the truck? And can you tell me where she lives?”

  “I’ll drive,” Zane said, already across the room and reaching for his jacket. He shoved his arms in the sleeves as he pushed out the door and rushed down the steps.

  Harper followed, and Logan was right on her heels. “I’m coming too,” he said as he shoved the last bite of cinnamon roll in his mouth.

  * * *

  They made it to Bryn’s farm in record time, taking the turns in the road a little too fast, but Harper felt safe cocooned in the truck between the two men. The waitress only lived a few miles down the road on a small farm where she’d lived with her grandfather. Logan had told Harper that Bryn’s grandfather had died the year before, leaving the run-down but still functioning farm to his only granddaughter.

  Pulling up the drive, Harper took in the faded-yellow two-story farmhouse. It had a wide front porch, and a festive green wreath hung from the door. A few strands of Christmas lights had been wrapped around the porch railings, and handfuls of evergreen boughs wrapped in glittering red ribbon adorned the white clapboard shutters.

  The farmyard held a large barn flanked by corrals. Chickens roamed in the fenced-in section of a chicken coop, and what looked like a garden area sat to the right of the house. It was quaint and charming, but Harper had a feeling the layer of snow helped to give that impression.

  Zane pulled the truck to a stop and was out of the cab practically before the engine had a chance to die. Harper and Logan clamored out of the truck and followed him up the steps, hitting the porch as he knocked on the front door.

  A loud crash sounded from inside the house, followed by shriek. Zane’s shoulders tensed and he reached for the doorknob, ready to break his way in, but the door flew open before his hand reached the knob.

  Harper gasped. “Oh my-lanta. What happened to you?”

  Bryn stood in the doorway, her clothes in disarray and her hair poking up in sticky clumps. Globs of red and orange muck dotted the front of her pink waitress uniform, and the red goo was spread through her hair. The front of her bangs stood up in one spiky blob as if she’d pushed her hair back with a sticky hand and it had stuck that way. Harper was pretty sure there was a cherry stuck in there
as well.

  Bryn’s hands and wrists also held traces of the goop, and she was missing a shoe. Her face was as red as the cherry mixture, and her hands were clenched in fists at her sides. “Thank God you’re here. I was just about to get out the ax. One of us is going down, and it’s not going to be me.”

  “What the hell happened?” Zane asked.

  “I stayed up all night making fifteen pies for the church bazaar and left them cooling on the counter while I went in to cover the breakfast shift at the diner. The latch has been sticking on my front door, and I must not have got it completely closed, because Otis found his way in and either ate or destroyed every single one.”

  “Who the hell is Otis?” Harper asked, wondering how one person could devour fifteen pies.

  As if in answer to her question, a loud bleat came from inside the house, and Bryn pushed the door back to reveal a black-and-white billy goat standing in the center of her dining room table.

  Chapter 21

  Harper clasped a hand over her mouth. “Holy shit! There’s a goat on your table.”

  “Yes, I know,” Bryn fumed. “A goat that’s about to get murdered.”

  They peered into the house. The kitchen counters and floors were littered with the remains of what looked like cherry, peach, and apple pies. The table was askew, and two of the chairs were knocked over. Small red footprints dotted the floor, and a long smear of cherry pie filling streaked across the kitchen tile.

  “It looks like someone was already murdered in here.” Zane took a cautious step inside, glancing around as if assessing the situation. “You got a rope?”

  Harper and Logan followed him in, carefully stepping between the splotches of pie filling.

  Bryn pointed to the lead rope on the counter. “I tried that already. Then I tried luring him outside with more pie, but apparently he’s full. Fifteen pies must be his limit. I’ve been chasing him around the house for twenty minutes. I’ve caught him a couple of times, but the ornery bastard keeps slipping out of my grasp.” She looked down at her uniform. “Which accounts for why I’m wearing at least three of the dang pies.”

  “I got this.” Zane picked up the rope and gingerly approached the table, cooing to the goat in soothing tones. “What’s his name again?”

  “Otis. My granddad named him after his brother who he said was as ornery and stubborn as an old goat, but I can’t imagine my great-uncle being as cantankerous and willful as this animal has proven to be.”

  “Hey now, Otis.” Zane kept his voice soft and calm, but cocked an eyebrow at Bryn when a frightened whine sounded from underneath the table. “You got more than one pie-eating goat?”

  “No. That’s my dog, Lucky. He’s scared to death,” Bryn explained. “He’s been hiding under the table since I got home.”

  “Poor dog,” Harper said, peering under the table to see a medium-size yellow dog hunkered next to the legs of a chair.

  “What do you want me to do?” Logan asked Zane, stepping toward the back end of the table.

  “Nothing,” Zane answered, holding the gaze of the goat. “Just stay back. I’ve almost got him.” He took another cautious step forward, gently holding out one hand while keeping the circled loop of the rope loosely in the other and continuing to quietly coax the animal toward him.

  Like an old dog that knows its master, the goat stepped forward and dipped his head to let Zane scratch him between his ears. The cowboy chatted amicably with the goat as he carefully eased the rope around its neck, then slowly cinched it. The animal didn’t seem to mind as Zane led it off the table and walked it toward the front door. “Where do you want him?” he asked Bryn.

  She raised an eyebrow at Zane. “At the bottom of the lake right now. But I’d probably regret that decision tomorrow. You can just put him in the barn. In that first stall. He’ll probably get out again, but he knows where to show up if he wants to be fed.”

  Zane nodded. “I can’t imagine he’s going to be hungry any time soon.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She sagged against the kitchen counter. “Zane, you are seriously my hero. Thank you.”

  He dipped his head, a blush creeping up his neck. “It was nothing. And not the first time I’ve had to deal with an old goat.” He opened the door for the animal. “I’ll grab my tools from my truck after I put him up, then come back and fix this door.”

  “You’re a saint,” Bryn called after him as he led the goat onto the porch. After the door closed, she crouched next to the table. “You can come out now, boy. Come on, sweetheart.”

  The dog’s nose appeared first, just the end of it poking out from under the edge of the table. He sniffed the air, as if checking to make sure the screwball goat was really gone. Then he limped out from his hiding spot and hobbled toward Bryn. She opened her arms and cuddled the dog to her chest.

  “It looks like he’s hurt,” Harper said. “He’s limping.”

  “He was hurt a long time ago. He’s fine now. Well, except for being traumatized by the crazy durn goat.” Bryn pulled back so Harper could see the dog’s body.

  She gasped as she realized the dog only had three legs.

  “He was hit by a car and left for dead,” Bryn explained.

  “Another one of Bryn’s strays,” Logan said.

  That’s what he’d said about her the first day Harper had met him. That she was another one of Bryn’s strays. Now, she knew what he meant.

  Logan leaned down and touched Bryn’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a shower and wash the gunk out of your hair, and we’ll start cleaning up down here.”

  “Oh no. I’ve got too much work to do. And I can’t leave you with this mess.”

  “If you saw what a mess you were right now, you wouldn’t be arguing with me.” Logan chuckled. “You have a cherry stuck in your bangs.”

  “I’m sure you’ll feel better if you take a shower and put on some clean clothes. And we’ll be fine,” Harper assured her. “We’re used to cleaning up messes together.” She offered Logan a knowing grin.

  “Yeah, this is nothing compared to the disgusting disaster that Ted left in the bunkhouse. You go on now and get changed. We’ll have this picked up in no time.”

  Bryn nodded and headed down the hall to what Harper assumed was her bedroom.

  Searching the pantry, Harper found a mop, some paper towels, cleaning supplies, and a box of trash bags. Logan found the kitchen stereo and tuned it to a classic country station. The twangs of guitars and soulful crooning filled the air as they worked together to throw away the remains of the destroyed pies and wipe down the counters. Harper filled the sink with the empty pie pans and hot sudsy water as Logan mopped the sticky mess from the floor.

  After putting the mop away, Logan found a dish towel and stood beside her, drying each pan as she washed and rinsed it. They didn’t talk much, but she was aware of his every movement, feeling the heat of his body next to her as he dried the dishes and softy hummed along with the music.

  She was washing the last dish when Logan reached his hand into the water. “If you give me the washcloth, I’ll wipe off the rest of the counters.” His fingers brushed the back of her hand as he searched for the cloth, and a dart of heat raced down her back as she remembered the way his hand had brushed over her bare skin the night before.

  His thumb skimmed her wrist as he dipped his head to her neck. She closed her eyes, already anticipating the soft scrape of his whiskers against her throat.

  He pulled back as they heard Bryn’s steps coming down the hall.

  “Wow. It looks great in here,” she said, gazing around the room as she walked into the kitchen. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you got this cleaned up so fast.”

  “We’re a good team,” Logan said, offering Harper a wink. “What else can we do to help?”

  Bryn chewed on her bottom lip. “I hate to ask, since you’ve already d
one so much, but what I’m really hoping is that I can talk Harper into sticking around and helping me bake another fifteen pies.”

  “When do you need them finished by?” Harper asked.

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to have them to the church by five.”

  “Then we’d better get to work.” Harper peered up at Logan. “Are you okay if I stay?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll stay too.”

  “You?” Bryn asked. “You’re going to stay and help me make pies?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I don’t know if I have an apron that fits you,” Bryn teased.

  “You better look for one for me too,” Zane said as he walked through the front door. “I’m staying too.”

  Bryn shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Thank you. But you guys really don’t have to do this.”

  Zane arched an eyebrow. “You think you and Harper can make fifteen pies and have them delivered in four hours by yourselves?”

  “I figured we could dang well try.” Bryn studied the broody cowboy. “Have you ever made a pie before?”

  “No. But I’ve also never delivered a baby before, and I’m pretty sure I could if I had to. Besides, how hard can it be?”

  Bryn let out a surprised laugh. “Well, it’s a heck of a lot easier than delivering a baby.”

  Zane shrugged, his rugged jaw set in the same surly expression he usually wore. “I’ve helped deliver calves and foals, and it’s the same basic anatomy. And I’ve baked a cake and made cookies, so I’m assuming the fundamentals are similar. You and Harper can do the heavy lifting, and Logan and I can be your grunts. Just tell us what to do.”

  Bryn arched an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Even if I make you wear an apron?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”