But on the flip side, Bran knew they’d be in close quarters, especially for the next couple of weeks. He needed her focused on helping him finish calving, not focused on whether her boss was going to make a pass at her.
How long could he hold out?
Another night, for sure.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He snagged a pillow and his sleeping bag, then shut off all the lights before bedding down on the couch.
Any additional fantasies about Harper faded as exhaustion overtook him completely.
Chapter Six
Mmm. The blanket felt soft and fuzzy against her bare skin, but it wasn’t very warm. Harper shivered and rolled over.
Wait a second. She shouldn’t be able to feel the blanket against her skin, since she never slept naked. Too many years of the fear that she would run into whatever bar rat her mom had picked up the night before if she went to the bathroom or the kitchen.
She opened her eyes and jackknifed in the middle of a kingsize bed. Clutching the blanket to her chest, she squinted at her surroundings. Wood-paneled walls. Two dressers against the wall with a small window. Sliding doors that hid a closet. A ginger jar lamp on the nightstand next to an alarm clock. The red numbers flashed 3:15, but that wasn’t right. It felt like early morning, but not that early.
The whole space was impersonal. Bland even. She inhaled a deep, slow breath and the scent of man, of the clean tang of aftershave filled her nostrils. Harper was in Bran’s bedroom.
But where was Bran?
She’d slept on top of the covers. The sheets weren’t mussed. Neither were the pillows. She scooted to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor. Her clothes were in a pile.
Good Lord. Why couldn’t she remember stripping and falling into Bran’s bed?
Maybe Bran stripped you.
Shoot. That was definitely something she wouldn’t want to sleep through.
Harper shoved the blanket aside and dressed quickly, wrinkling her nose at the barnyard smell wafting from her clothes. She had a blurry memory of standing in front of the trailer door, waiting for Bran to let her in. Then . . . nothing.
She ventured out of the bedroom, passing the bathroom and two closed doors before she was in the living room. There he was. Warmth flowed through her when she saw Bran sprawled on the couch, his forearm across his eyes, the stubble of his beard darkening the angular lines of his face.
Although he was mostly covered, the lower part of his leg peeked out from beneath the fleece blanket. His sweatpants had slid up to his knee, revealing the dark hair on his leg and the muscled flesh of his calf. The muscles gave way to the stoutness of his ankle and the smooth white skin covering the top of his bare foot.
She’d never seen cowboy Bran without boots, or at least socks, on his feet. Seeing that vulnerable part of him—well, she wouldn’t have felt more like a Peeping Tom if she’d gotten a glimpse inside his boxers.
Don’t stare at his crotch.
She purposely scrutinized his foot, from his heel to the tip of his big toe. Mighty long. Hmm. She wondered if foot size really was an indication of the size of his . . .
“If you’re done gawking at me, I’ll get up and make us a pot of coffee,” he said gruffly.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Were you planning on takin’ off without saying good-bye again?”
That was the first time he’d mentioned her sneaking out. She honestly thought he hadn’t noticed. Or cared. “No. I just . . .”
Bran moved his arm and she was staring into his eyes. Oh. Not fair. Why were his eyes more blue than gray this morning? A bottomless blue like the wide Wyoming sky? She could totally lose herself in his eyes.
“Harper. You just . . . what?”
Her cheeks flamed as she realized she’d been gazing at him like he personally hung the moon and the stars solely for her. “What? Oh, right, I’m, ah, still pretty confused. I just don’t remember anything from last night.”
A dark brow winged up. “Nothin’?”
She blushed harder, if that were possible. “I remember you opening the door. That’s it.”
He shifted until his feet hit the floor. “Not much to tell. I helped you get your outerwear off. As I was takin’ mine off, you disappeared. I found you in my bedroom stripped down to your very sexy underthings and passed out on my bed.” Bran locked his gaze to hers. “I threw a blanket over you. Then I came out here and crashed on the couch.”
Such a gentleman.
Such a pity.
Get a grip. “I’m sorry if I was a problem.”
Bran grinned the wicked cowboy grin that fired every feminine molecule she had. “The only problem I had was walking away when I had a gorgeous half-nekkid woman in my bed.”
How was she supposed to respond to that?
Don’t. Ignore it.
Brightly, with a totally fake smile, Harper said, “I’ll make coffee.”
Was it her imagination, or was Bran . . . chuckling?
The coffee supplies were still on the counter from yesterday—had it really been only one day?—so she didn’t have to dig through his cupboards. She sat at the dinette table, surprised that Bran hadn’t changed out of his jammies.
Right. Like big, bad, tough cowboys called them jammies.
Silence. Complete silence beyond the gurgling noises of the coffeemaker. She couldn’t think of a blasted thing to say.
“Harper? Are you okay?”
“No. I feel like such an idiot. Not remembering what happened last night, not only after we got back here, but before that. Everything is blank after we pulled that last calf. I’m sure you’re used to hired hands who are tougher, able to go days without sleep. I just hit a wall.”