“You cook?”
He saw merriment in her blue eyes, a reckless curve of one corner of those lips of hers that called to him. “I do my best,” he joked, pointing to the table. “Why don’t you two sit down? I’ll make us a pot of fresh coffee and then we’ll chat.”
Shay nodded. “I’ll get the cream out of the fridge, and the sugar.”
“Thanks,” Harper said. He fell into a familiar pattern with Shay as they worked around each other in the L-shaped kitchen. “So? Am I no longer the lone rider here in the house?” he teased her.
Shay laughed. “We just had to wait for the right wrangler to show up. Now you’ll have company, Harper.”
He grinned, flipping the On switch to the coffeemaker. “That’s not a bad thing, Shay.”
“I didn’t think it would be,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.
Pulling out three mugs, Harper walked over to the table, set down two, and handed one to Tara. “You a coffee drinker?”
“Does the sun shine?”
Chuckling, he nodded. “You were in the military?”
“Yes. Marine Corps combat cameraperson. Most of what I did was black ops and top secret.”
“I’m a Marine, too. Used to be a combat medic.”
“Shay was telling me a little about you.”
“Uh-oh, Shay,” Harper called, his grin widening as he sat down, “you telling my secrets, are you?”
Shay came over, giving him a wicked look. “Hey, we were all black ops of one sort or another, Harper. I’ll let Tara discover you one wart at a time,” and she sat down.
He got up and went over and picked up the pot, coming back to pour each of them a cup. Setting the pot down on a trivet positioned in the middle of the table, he pulled up a chair.
Harper liked the way Tara’s lips pulled upward. She was at ease, her hands wrapped around the hot mug of coffee, warming up her fingers. “Well, that’s a forever task regarding all my warts,” he said with a chuckle. He sat down with Shay at his side, Tara opposite them. He could tell Shay was happy, and it was nice to have a positive outlook at the Bar C. Knowing she and Reese were on the hunt for a vet wrangler, he felt her happiness and, most likely, her relief. They desperately needed another hand.
“Oh,” Shay said, giving him a light jab in the ribs, “don’t make Tara think you’re one of those Neanderthal males, okay?”
“Me? Not a chance.”
Shay said to Tara, “He’s a big tease. But he doesn’t play mean jokes on people, so you can relax.”
“Good to know,” she said. “I don’t either.”
Mouth twitching, Harper liked her ability to come back and take teasing. That was a good sign because vets usually razzed the hell out of one another.
“Harper, you need to know that Tara is a local. She and I were born here in the valley, we went through twelve grades together and then we both enlisted in the Marine Corps at eighteen.”
“So you’re tight?” he asked, giving them a glance.
“We were best friends growing up,” Tara assured him. “We lost touch when we went into the military, though.”
“I would imagine you did.”
“But now Tara’s home,” Shay said. “And I’m really happy she’s back with us. She’s got a ranching background. Her father is a county judge and her mother runs the local hardware store.”
“Oh,” Harper said. “I’ve met your mother, Joanna Dalton. I’m always over there, buying stuff we need around here.”
“Yes, she runs the store. My dad has his hands full being a judge, but he helps on weekends.”
“Which is why I’ve never met him. I’m usually at Jo’s door at nine a.m. when she opens up,” Harper said.
“It’s nice you’ve gotten to meet my mom.”
“I can see the resemblance between the two of you,” Harper said. “You both have blond hair and blue eyes. Looks like you took strongly after your mother’s side?”
She nodded. “But I have my dad’s backbone and sense of fairness.”
“Was he in the military?”
“No. He went to college and, later, became a lawyer. He was born here, too, so he came home and set up his law office. Then things just sort of took off and he was voted in as a judge for Lincoln County, which is where he works to this day.”
“Jo is very mechanically inclined,” Harper said to her. “I’m amazed how much she knows about different types of screws and nails.”
Laughing, Tara said, “I grew up helping her in the hardware store.”
“But your expertise and use of that mechanical knowledge graduated to cameras and videos?” Harper wondered.
“Yes, it did.” Opening her hands, Tara said, “I was a little too good in the boot-camp testing and got put into that MOS after I graduated. I thought I’d end up in aviation or jet engines.”
Shay said, “But you’ve always loved photography. You know Kira, one of the other women wranglers, is a photographer, too? She’s not a professional like you, Tara, but she dearly loves to go out and take pictures when she can get some time off. You’ll have to meet her soon. I’m sure you two will have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, Kira’s always got a camera somewhere on her,” Harper said, “especially on weekends, when we’re riding fence line and fixing barbed wire and pulling rotted posts out of the ground and replacing them. She’s got lots of photos of all of us doing that.”
Tara sipped her coffee. She told Harper about her website and what she was doing to earn money for the Bar C with her skill set.
“That’s great,” he said. “If you ever want to photograph wildlife, I know a lot of places in the Salt River Mountains to the east of us that has plenty.”
“Oh, I’d love to do that. I know some spots where my dad and mom would go for fishing in the mountains, but I could use a guide. I need photos of elk, grizzly and antelope.”
“I know where they are,” he promised. “When we have some free time, we can plan a few side trips and you’ll get some great pictures.”
Tara rubbed her hands together, excitement in her voice. “That sounds wonderful, Harper. I’d really appreciate it.”
His heart thumped to underscore the winsome pleasure gleaming in her eyes. He wanted to please this woman and didn’t examine all the reasons why. Harper warned himself that someone as pretty and wholesome-looking as Tara must be hooked up with some guy. Yet, as he discreetly checked out her left hand, he saw there was no ring on it. Knowing she was a military vet, he also knew wearing jewelry wasn’t allowed, especially in the black-ops group. There was no necklace around her slender neck either. Sometimes, women wore one with a ring hanging from it. Trying to tamp down his response, hoping she wasn’t attached, Harper said, “Well, we’ll work something out after you get used to the rhythm of this place.”
“I know you’re really busy between school, your handyman jobs around the valley, plus working here, Harper.”
“Just a little,” he agreed amiably.
“I warned Tara that you might not see a lot of each other under the circumstances,” Shay said. “She’ll be setting up her computer and other digital camera equipment in her bedroom and working out of there. The rest of the time, I want her to work with you or Noah to get a feel for the ranch in general. With the snow starting to melt off and on, we can ride into some of those lease pastures to start looking for posts that have to be pulled or wire that needs to be restrung.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s Friday and I go to school at two p.m. today. I could take Tara with me on Saturday morning, around nine a.m., and get to that one pasture we’ve all been working on. That okay?”
Bobbing her head, Shay said, “That’s fine, but I want you to mentor Tara. I’ll leave it up to you to find her the right ranch horse. Show her the tack room and all that stuff, and then tell Noah.”
Harper quelled his sense of good fortune and kept a serious demeanor. “Of course.”
“Great,” Shay said with relief. “Listen, I gotta run. Tara?
Harper will show you the other bedroom, and I’m sure he’ll help you set up your computer with the Wi-Fi we have available here in the house.”
“Good,” Tara said. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to fit in.”
Shay got up, giving Tara a grateful look. “If you need anything, drop over to the house or call me. Harper has our landline number.”
“I’ll try not to make a pest of myself,” Tara teased, smiling up at her longtime friend. “Go ahead and leave. I’m sure Harper and I can work things out and get me moved in.”
Harper liked that Tara could take care of business on her own. She didn’t strike him as a helpless female in the least. And being black ops? Those women were strong and he knew that better than most men. He was positive there would be no bird-with-a-broken-wing routine with Tara.
His ex-wife, Olivia, had been just that: helpless-appearing. With the emphasis on the word appearing. But he didn’t blame her for their divorce. That was entirely on him. His ex-wife had no patience or the kind of love, he guessed, that could have seen them through that PTSD rough patch of his. It just hadn’t worked. They’d married too young, were too immature and not ready for the heavy burden of the PTSD that had split them apart.
He wondered if Tara had PTSD. She seemed awfully calm, wasn’t tapping a foot or finger or moving around a lot in her chair, which would be telling of a restless nature. Those were all signs of PTSD among many of his Marine Corps buddies, including himself. He couldn’t sit in one place too long. When Tara turned her attention from Shay, after the other woman hurried to the mudroom to don her winter gear, Tara fearlessly held his gaze. It wasn’t a confrontational look, merely a well-what-do-we-do-next kind of expression. Smiling to himself, he finished off his coffee and stood, pushing back his chair.
“What do you have in the way of things to move in, Tara?”
“Not much,” she said, rising.
“Let me show you the house and your bedroom. Then we can start getting you situated. I’ve got chili for dinner tonight. My class at the college gets out at five p.m. and I’d figured on eating at six if that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds good. I’m not too bad in the kitchen, Harper. Is there something else you want to go along with the chili?”
“That’s good to hear because I’m pretty limited. I was going to mix up some corn bread to go with it tonight.”
“Show me where the box is and I’ll get it done.”
“I like your style. This way,” and he turned, sauntering into the kitchen. Might as well start there. He enjoyed her warmth and sincerity. That was unexpected. But nice. Mentally, Harper had two columns in his head: one of good traits and one of not-so-good ones for Tara Dalton. He was sure she had chinks in her armor, too, just like everyone else did. With them being thrown together, living under the same roof, he had to find out her strengths and weaknesses and how they stacked up with his less-than-perfect character.
*
Tara tried to ignore Harper’s eye-candy good looks. The guy had military short, dark brown hair, brows straight across his light gray eyes, and his face was square. He could have been a model instead of a combat corpsman. Until she’d shaken his roughened hand, her heart and body were off-line. The twinkle in his gray eyes told her this guy had a good sense of humor, which was something Tara appreciated in a person. Having taken R & R in France and gone to the Louvre Museum in Paris, she’d walked the marble-tiled halls for hours. She’d always loved the Greek and Roman era and so had chosen those exhibits to look at first. There was one statue of Apollo, white marble, that she’d seen and taken photos of. He had beautifully sculpted lips. And Harper was a twin, in that sense, to the Greek sun god.
He had character in his face, lines at the corners of his eyes and around the corners of his mouth. Tara intuitively sensed he’d seen a lot of combat. Even the corners of her mouth would pull in deeply when they were caught in a firefight with the enemy. And there were certainly some feathery lines at the corners of her eyes, too, because of squinting, even with sunglasses on, in that hot, unforgiving Afghan environment.
As Harper opened and closed different cabinets and drawers, showing her where everything was located, she tried to ignore his quiet, intense maleness. Shay had been right: Harper might appear to be a Type B, but underneath that teasing exterior of his lurked a Type A, no question. It actually made her feel better. Maybe safer was the word Tara wanted to use as he moved along the cabinets, showing her the contents and explaining where the bowls, pots and pans were stored as well. He was an organized person, but then, he had been in the military, and that was the place where everyone got discipline, organization and the drive to finish what they started.
“This way,” he said, gesturing toward the hall where the bedrooms were opposite each other.
Tara followed, enjoying watching Harper walk. He was boneless, and the only way a man made it look that beautiful meant he was in top shape. And whether she wanted to or not, she fantasized about Harper without his clothes, what he would look like. That awakened her lower body big-time.
Unhappy with her response, Tara knew the job was her priority. She hadn’t even thought about a relationship, still in free fall from leaving the military and fighting her PTSD anxiety 24-7.
As Harper moved down the hall, she couldn’t hear him at all. That told her he was definitely black-ops trained and most likely in a team either with the Marine Recons, the Navy SEALs or Army Delta Force. She knew that, often, the top Navy medics were in demand regardless of branch; 18 Delta medics, trained in the Army Special Forces, took in medics from other services to train them as well. She wondered if he was 18 Delta. Tara would almost bet on it but refrained from asking him that.
“Okay,” Harper said, halting and pushing open a door, “this is your bedroom. Actually, it’s more like a suite. When Shay and Reese had the blueprints drawn up by Steve Whitcomb, who’s an architect, they wanted a large-enough room so you could have a small office, but also your own bathroom as well.”
“Oh,” Tara said, impressed as she walked in, flipping on the light switch, “that’s great.” She halted, gazing around. Harper came and stood near her, his hands on his hips as she surveyed the room.
“Shay loves the eighteen-hundreds and antiques, which you probably know if you grew up with her,” he said. Gesturing toward a huge oak rolltop desk that had a lamp on top of it, he added, “She chose all the furniture for the homes. I hope you like it,” and he looked down into her eyes.
“Love it. Shay and I would root through our only antique store, which was owned by Mrs. Abigail Beazely. She was ancient, but she loved us girls coming in after school let out and allowed us to touch, sit and listen to her about a certain piece’s history and provenance.”
“Kinda took you for old-fashioned,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving upward.
Tara gave a short laugh. “Because I already look like an antique?” she shot back. Instantly, Harper’s dark brows flew up and a distraught look came to his gray eyes.
“No,” he managed, flustered. “No, not at all.”
She gave him a wicked look. “I give as good as I get, Sutton.” She saw relief come to his expression, honestly thinking that, at first, she had been insulted.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin, “you do.”
“You should be used to it. We’re both military.”
“Well, yes,” he muttered, “but you’re new here and I wanted you to feel at ease and welcome. I’d never tell a woman she looked old. That’s a death warrant.”
Reaching out, she touched his broad shoulder. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been around SEALs for too long. They play hard and fast and they’re merciless about ragging one another.” Not wanting to stop touching him, Tara could feel the hard warmth of his flesh beneath the blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt he wore. He had a sheepskin vest over it, and his chest was well sprung. Forcing herself to lift her hand away, she added, “I’ve been home less than two weeks, so I’m still coming do
wn from being in the teams.”
“I forgive you,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You’re regaining your footing. Took me a good six-to-nine months after getting out to start behaving more like a civilian than a military type.”
“Mmm, I don’t want to lose everything about the military,” Tara said, walking into the room. “I’ll probably always tease the daylights out of you, Harper. But you look like you can take a little baiting. Am I right?” and she smiled into his gray eyes.
Tara noticed when Harper thought he’d called her old-looking, his eyes had gone a darker gray. Now, they were a lighter color. She noticed little things, but that was partly because she was a photographer, and the other part was her training in black ops. If one didn’t notice the details, it could get her or her team killed, so they were important to note. His cheeks had gone ruddy, too, when he thought she’d taken his teasing the wrong way. That was endearing because the SEALs she’d worked with never blushed. It told her Harper was a lot more sensitive than the average guy. And he was quick to right a wrong, unafraid to fess up if the occasion called for it. Looking down at his hands, she saw no ring on his finger. Why was she doing that?
“Listen, you check out your room. I need to get going. We’ll meet at six p.m. in the kitchen and sit down and have our first supper together,” he said.
“Sounds good. Thanks for everything, Harper.” She saw him nod, turn and silently leave. The man was an interesting enigma, she thought, surveying her new home. Shay did love antiques, no question. Tara’s bed had a brass head-and footboard straight out of the 1850s. There was a bright, colorful quilt on the full-size bed, as well as a hand-braided rug of similar colors, beneath it.
She loved that rolltop desk, walking over to it and sliding her fingers across the sleek, polished surface. The golden wood gleamed with polish and care.
The wallpaper was cream-colored and there was one wall, behind the bed, that had tiny pink rosebuds scattered over it. The other three walls were painted the faint pink color of rosebuds, and Tara liked the feminine appointments. She knew Wyoming winters were long and hard. There were heavy dark-pink-and-white-striped velvet drapes to keep the cold out at night. They were open now, showing a transparent white set of curtains that could be opened, bringing light in from the double windows.
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