Now, she knew it was very unpleasant.
“Ouch,” she growled at the guy standing over her. The cowboy with the thick, black beard had her leg bent, hastily attaching the rope from around her cowboy boot to her wrist.
Too focused on the task of winning, or maybe not hearing her due to the roar of the crowd, the cowboy continued pulling the rope tighter. She gritted her teeth, staring at the round ball of dust floating across the stage. Eight more days of this, then she would be done being part of Kinky Spurs’ Rope ’Em Up games.
A game that all began when Gerald Kinky sold the place to Megan once he retired. She had not only given the bar a fresh modern makeover, she’d taken inspiration from his name, and every night at ten o’clock she entertained the crowd with roping games between the customers to win a free dinner.
Nine months ago, when Harper started working at the bar since the place looked fun and she needed to figure out her next steps, she had loved the games. Then Chase entered, and everything changed after that. For the first three months after she came home, her life had mirrored the one she had before school in Denver. The three months that followed had brought Chase and Harper closer. For the last three months, after she’d gotten the nerve up to ask him to be her taste tester—all to spend more time with him—she only wanted Chase touching her. No one else. And somehow letting other men touch her, even in this way, felt like a betrayal to him. Though as she lay here, her cheek still pressed against the floor, she knew the time had come. She had to leave her hometown behind. In River Rock, all she did was wait. For happiness. For love. For her dreams to become realities.
The cowboy suddenly tugged the rope harder, twisting her leg into an unnatural position. “Seriously,” she snapped. “I’m a real person, you know.”
Again, he ignored her, only tugging harder to win the game.
Harper wisely kept her face turned toward the drum set on the stage. If Brody noticed her flinch of pain, this dude wrapping her up like a Thanksgiving turkey would be knocked flat on his ass. As it was, Brody barely tolerated these games, only doing so because Harper once told him if he did not back off, she would enter the wet T-shirt contest that Megan had at the Spurs every once in a while. That shut Brody up for good.
The cowboy squatting over her yelled “Done.” He threw up his hands, declaring himself the winner.
The crowd roared even louder in appreciation of his talents. Harper wanted to pluck out his eyebrows one by one. She lay on the floor like a prized calf that no one claimed. In attempt to free herself, she rolled onto her side, only to roll back onto her belly. “You have got to be kidding me.” She sighed, then she spotted familiar dark purple cowboy boots. “Megan,” she called.
Those boots came in her direction. Megan squatted by Harper’s face and smiled. “He just kinda left you, huh?”
“Please help me,” Harper grumbled.
Megan laughed and began untying the rope. Once free, Harper scraped her dignity off the floor and rose, rubbing her wrist where the rope had been. Megan’s mouth twitched, but her eyes outright laughed.
“That guy is a huge jerk.” Harper took a quick look at her wrists, spotting the thin red line. That mark better fade quick or that cowboy would get an introduction to Brody’s fist. She glanced at the cowboy, gathering up high-fives from the other contestants on his win. Double jerk.
“Are you okay?” Megan asked softly, drawing Harper’s attention back to her concerned eyes.
Of all the bosses that Harper ever had, Megan was the best. Harper supposed that had something to do with the fact that she and Megan had become close over these past months. “Yes, I’m fine, even though I’m considering putting a laxative in his next beer.”
Megan chuckled and winked. “Please don’t.” Not missing a step, she grabbed the microphone from the back pocket of her jean shorts, turned it on, then addressed the crowd, “Congratulations to our winner.”
Done with her part in the game, Harper jumped off the stage, discovering Brody sitting next to his beyond sweet, blue-eyed, blond girlfriend, Faith, who he had been dating since high school. With Emma tending the bar, and the slight sting of Harper’s wrist reminding her the red line had not faded, she spotted the overflowing garbage bin near the kitchen door. She quickly tied the string and yanked the bag out of the bin before replacing it with a fresh bag. When she entered the kitchen, Antonio was dancing, as usual, in front of the grill, with the other staff hustling around him. Harper smiled. Even if she’d grown tired of being used like she was cattle for the entertainment of others, she was going to miss this place in a bad way.
Once she reached the back door, she unlocked the deadbolt and shoved the thoughts aside, doing what she had been doing since she made the decision to move to Las Vegas. She took one step forward, then another, then another, which was how she had managed after her parents died.
The warm summer air brushed across her face while she moved toward the dumpster near the back parking lot, bringing the not-so-pleasant scents of the city and trash with it. The night was eerily quiet. Her cowboy boots clicked against the pavement, the air seemingly unmoving, not even a tree rustling. She glanced next to her, toward the dark alleyway, her increasing heart rate demonstrating the fact that she had clearly watched too many horror movies lately.
Just as she reached the dumpster, a high-pitched cry stopped her. When the sound pierced the air again, she dropped the garbage bag, charging forward. She grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket, clicking the flashlight button and then, holding her breath to avoid the putrid stench, she peered into the dumpster.
Two frightened, barely opened eyes stared at her.
“Oh my God. No.” She stood on her tiptoes, soon realizing she was too short to reach inside the dumpster. “Help!” she screamed, glancing around for a box, a crate, anything to reach the puppy inside.
Footsteps thundered, coming toward her.
“Harper.”
She glanced sideways, finding Chase running in her direction. “God, Chase, come here. Quick.” He was six-foot-two. Surely, tall enough to reach inside. Her voice shook, tears making her eyesight blurry. “There’s a puppy inside the dumpster. I can’t reach it.”
Chase stood on his tiptoes, easily reaching into the dumpster, and Harper guided his way with the flashlight. The puppy’s cry pierced the air again as Chase grabbed hold of him. The moment he had the puppy out, Harper discovered three things. The dog was a boy, looked to be a full-bred chocolate Labrador, and he was barely alive.
She touched his head gently, scared to hurt him. He looked so little, so fragile. His eyes were shut. He was utterly limp, lifeless. “Oh, God, Chase.”
“Go inside, Harper.” Chase held the puppy in one hand, examining him. “Call the police. We need to report this.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He unbuttoned his shirt and tucked the puppy inside against his body, holding him tight to his chest. “I’ll take him to the vet’s.” He spun on his heels and sprinted toward the road. “Go, Harper. Now.”
With a fire burning in her belly to catch whoever did this, she ran for the bar’s door.
Chapter 3
Across town, at the River Rock Animal Hospital on Main Street, waiting on news of the puppy in the reception area, Chase stretched out in a black plastic chair. His nose wrinkled at the harsh scent of the sanitizing product in the air. Leah, River Rock’s small animal veterinarian, had taken the puppy into the back seconds after Chase stormed through the doors. Afterward, Chase considered all the things he would like to do to the person responsible. Not only for the puppy, but also for the pain that person caused Harper. Those tears had made him drive like the devil chased him to the vet clinic. The puppy had to live. No matter what.
The news on the flat-screen television hung up near the receptionist desk mentioned that a thunderstorm was rolling in later tonight. Chase took off his cowboy hat, placing it onto the chair next to him, running his hands over his face. No matter how mu
ch he had tried to get his mind on other things, his thoughts kept coming back to Harper moving to Las Vegas. For two months, he had been waiting for her to make a decision, hoping to hell she would decide to stay in River Rock. This was not the outcome he wanted. He tipped his head back against the wall, his eyes shutting tight as his mind returned him to a lesson he had never forgot.
On the porch of the farmhouse, Rick Blackshaw’s dark brown Stetson cowboy hat rested low on his face. His hard, brown eyes simmered with anger, while his finger pointed at Nash. “You made her cry, Nash. You made a sweet little girl cry because you were mean to her.” Chase and Shep stood next to Nash. That was how their father punished. When one brother got in trouble, they all got it. To learn from each other’s mistakes, Dad once told them. “What do you say for yourself?” he demanded.
A seven-year-old Nash cried, “I wanted the swing.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted, son. Blackshaws are not selfish and cruel to others.” His voice boomed across the yard, and Dad always seemed so big and tall when he was angry. “Tomorrow, you’re going to bring that little girl wild flowers you’ll pick before getting onto the bus. Then you will apologize to her for thinking of yourself over her. Tell me you understand?”
Nash bowed his head. “I understand, sir.”
Dad glanced between the three brothers with a long slow look. “Remember this well, boys. A man does not take someone’s happiness away; he does what he can to enrich the lives around him. Am I clear?”
The boys nodded.
His father gestured Shep and Chase toward the house. “You boys go wash up for dinner.” To Nash, he flicked his chin toward the barn. “Go muck stalls. When you’re done, you come in for your meal.”
“Yes, sir.” Nash turned, dragging his feet to the barn, head still bowed.
Chase and Shep glanced at each other, then booked it into the house, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Dad’s wrath.
The high-pitched voice of the weather person on the television pulled Chase from the memory. He had remembered that time his father came down hard on Nash. Not that Nash didn’t deserve it. He often caused the most ruckus in the family. Though Chase remembered learning a valuable lesson that day, seeing the harsh disappointment in his father’s eyes. Chase never wanted to hurt anyone. He also heard the message his father had spoken and believed in it. He wanted to enrich lives, not selfishly take any happiness away. Not from anyone. And certainly not from Harper.
Though at the same time, now that she had made her decision to leave, everything changed. He was not in danger of stealing her dreams anymore. Somewhere between the weather reporter chatting away on the news and the sports recap, clarity hit him. Eight days, that was all he had left with her. He would not waste them.
With his next steps becoming all too clear, he dropped his hands from his face, settling his cowboy hat in place again when the front door opened. Harper entered the clinic, her eyes fraught with worry. A River Rock cop, Darryl, from Chase’s graduating class in high school, followed her in. Clad in his blue uniform, Darryl hadn’t changed much from his days of being the star quarterback on the football team. Still in shape, same scruffy beard, same dark, hard eyes.
“You’ve had an interesting night,” Darryl said, offering his hand.
“You could say that.” Chase rose, returning the strong handshake. “Any word on the person responsible?”
“Not yet.” A disembodied voice sounded from the speaker of his radio attached to his shirt. He turned down the volume, then added, “I’ve got the team at the bar checking the security cameras. I suspect we’ll catch the person that way.”
Harper’s gasp drew Chase’s gaze. She pressed a hand against her chest, eyes bulging. “You think whoever did this tossed the puppy into the garbage before going into the bar for a drink?”
Darryl nodded. “Why else would the perpetrator choose that garbage bin? I suspect they thought the pup was close to dying and wanted the fastest way to get rid of him.”
“That’s disgusting,” Harper snapped, crossing her arms, drawing into herself. “This person deserves to hurt. Like pull - your - fingernails - off - one - by - one kind of hurt.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Chase wisely remarked. Through the years of being Brody’s best friend, Chase had seen on a handful of occasions that an angry Harper was often a force to be reckoned with.
“Neither am I,” Darryl added dryly. “Believe me, we’ll catch whoever did this, and they’ll be punished to the full extent of the law.” He paused to scratch his beard, then asked Chase, “How’s the pup doing?”
“The puppy is fine.”
Chase glanced over his shoulder, discovering Leah, wearing a long white coat with her jet-black hair pulled up in a ponytail. She entered the reception area holding the puppy, wrapped up in blankets like a baby.
“He’s totally fine?” Chase asked in disbelief, considering the rough shape he had been in when Harper found him.
Leah offered Chase the puppy. “Well, I wouldn’t say totally fine, but he’s alive.” When he took the sleeping pup in his arms, holding him like a football in one arm, Leah turned to Darryl and continued, “I suspect the person who did this is a backyard breeder of purebred Labradors.”
Darryl took out his notepad and pen from the front of his shirt. “What makes you say that?”
Leah leaned against the reception desk and held up one finger. “First, no good breeder would ever do this to one of their puppies.” She held up two fingers. “Second, he’s most definitely a purebred Labrador, probably around seven weeks old.” She held up a third finger. “Third, he’s got juvenile onset diabetes mellitus. It’s why he’s so little. His brothers and sisters are probably double the size. But this condition will definitely make him worthless in the eyes of the breeder.”
“Why worthless?” Harper asked, kissing the top of the puppy’s head.
Chase forced his body to ignore her mouth being so close to him, and he focused intently on Leah as she explained. “Because diabetes in dogs is a lifelong condition that would cost upwards of a couple hundred dollars a month. I suspect they might not have even known he has the condition, simply that he wasn’t growing properly and was sick.”
Chase didn’t like the sound of this. “Does he need to be put down?” he asked gently.
Leah shook her head, stroking the puppy’s head. “This little guy is a fighter. He can live a relatively normal life with proper care.” She glanced at Chase, her dark blue eyes alert. “Of course, he’ll need his daily feeding to be on a regular schedule and to provide a constant supply of sugar to keep insulin levels regulated. He’ll likely also need an insulin shot daily, and his levels always tested. I gave him a shot of insulin now to level him out.”
Darryl continued making notes while Leah talked. Once he finished writing, he said, “I suppose this theory would explain why the dog found its way into the dumpster.”
Leah gave a firm nod. “It’s very likely whoever did this thought the puppy was dying. Which, let me tell you, he was about as close as he could get.”
“Thank goodness I heard you cry.” Harper leaned in and kissed the puppy’s head again. “Poor little baby.”
Inappropriate heat filled Chase’s groin. Did she have to be so close?
He shifted on his feet, attempting to put some distance between his body and Harper’s mouth, when Leah said, “We can place a call to the River Rock Animal Rescue tomorrow morning and see if they have any foster families in their roster who will take on a puppy like this. But I’ll warn you, it will take some time. It’s often difficult to place a dog that has special needs.”
Darryl flipped his notepad closed and placed his pen back in the front pocket of his shirt. “And there is my cue to leave,” he said with a laugh. “I already have the station’s bloodhound, Tyson, living with me. I can’t take in another one. No matter how cute he is. My wife would kill me.” To Harper, he said, “You did a good thing for that pup tonight.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, snuggling her face into the puppy, giving a soft purr.
Chase’s cock twitched. He handed Harper the puppy while Darryl left through the front door. He could only take so much. “Do you need to keep him here tonight?” he asked Leah, staying on task.
She shook her head. “With the insulin and the fluids I gave him, he should be good for tonight. If you’re thinking of taking him home, I’d ask that you come back tomorrow morning at nine, so we can check his blood levels and keep an eye on him throughout the day.” She smiled, stroking the puppy’s floppy ear. “Though I do think he’d be much more comfortable in a home with people than here in the clinic all alone.”
Harper turned her sad puppy-dog eyes onto Chase. “I can’t take him home. Brody’s allergic to dogs.”
“Yes, I know.” Chase grinned, a gesture he suspected was packed full of promise and suggestive intent, revealing a lot about the clarity he had come to earlier. “We’re going to take him home to my house.”
* * *
The black truck’s headlights guided the way down the windy dirt road, the wipers clearing off the light rain spattering across the windshield. Harper sat in the passenger seat next to Chase, the sleeping puppy in her arms. The dog still had yet to open his eyes. She guessed after being sick for who knows how long, and after the night he had, maybe now that his sugar levels were normal, he could finally sleep peacefully. “Do you think Darryl will catch whoever did this to him?” she asked Chase.
He nodded, his gaze staying on the road, one hand resting atop the steering wheel. “Especially if they were stupid enough to go into the bar after dumping the puppy.” He gave the dog a quick look in Harper’s lap before focusing onto the road again. “It’s not going to take long for the cops to identify everyone that was there.”
Sweet-Loving Cowboy--A Kinky Spurs Novel Page 3