Ask her if she and her sister had a fight.
No. Bran promised himself he’d keep it friendly with Harper. Not flirty, just friendly. Treat her like he’d treat Les ... if Les had great big beautiful tits, the face of an angel, and an ass he’d like to take a bite out of.
Great. They were only ten days into this hired-hand business. He’d sworn last night he would cool his libido. How was he supposed to keep it businesslike?
Treat her like an employee.
Bran pulled his gloves on. “When we get back, bring me your time sheet and I’ll get it ready to take to the accountant.”
Harper never glanced up from zipping her coveralls. “My first paycheck or my final paycheck?”
“First. You’ve done a good job so far.”
“Thanks, boss.” She grabbed the bag with the empty food containers. “I’ll take this out to the truck and find my time sheet and give it to you now. That way I won’t have to come inside when we get back.”
“But—” he said to the door slamming in his face.
Even when Bran swore to himself that he’d done the right thing, reminding Harper of their employer/employee relationship, her clipped reaction stung a bit.
And he suspected it’d get a whole lot colder in the weeks to come.
Chapter Seven
Three weeks later . . .
The woman was driving him f**king nuts.
Keeping their interaction businesslike hadn’t cooled his lust—no, just the opposite. It had increased that lust exponentially.
Harper had morphed into the chilly blonde with an icy smile. She wasn’t rude, but she didn’t speak beyond answering his specific questions or asking questions. She showed up on time. She knocked on the door to let Bran know she was there, but she didn’t help herself to a cup of coffee. Nor did she come inside to get warmed up when they’d been working in the dead of night in the frigid cold. She climbed in the ranch truck and returned to town.
Goddamn, Bran knew it made him a hypocrite for wanting things to revert to the way they used to be—their sexy banter, the sweetness and thoughtfulness she showed him—because he was the freakin’ idiot who’d initiated the reversion to a purely business relationship.
And it amazed him how quickly Harper had caught on to everything in the daily, never-ending grind that constituted ranch work. She worked as hard as he did and rarely questioned his decisions—something Les hadn’t managed to do over the years.
With only about twenty calves left to drop, Harper hadn’t been returning at night. She showed up at o’dark thirty, worked until three o’clock, when her sister returned from school, and then headed to her shift at Get Nailed.
Instead of experiencing the usual wave of happiness that filled him at the end of calving season, Bran had spent the last two days in a foul mood. Really foul. He hadn’t snapped at Harper. Hell, he’d barely spoken to her. But he’d been watching her. Man, had he ever been watching her, consumed with jealousy.
Seemed Miss Harper had transferred the care and concern she’d briefly lavished on him to the assorted critters around the ranch. Including a hutch of bunnies that’d taken up residence under his front deck. She left scraps of lettuce and vegetable peelings scattered outside the rabbit hole, trying to coax them out so she could pet them, for chrissake.
So in his wisdom, or machismo, or whatever stick he’d had up his ass that day, he’d curtly told her to stop feeding them, tossing off the comment that the fuzzy targets were as good as dead anyway when he pulled out his twenty-gauge shotgun.
That was the only time in the past twenty-one days that Bran had caught a glimpse of the old, sassy Harper. She’d gotten in his face and told him if she wanted to feed the mama rabbit and her bunch of babies, she damn well would. And he could deal with it or fire her.
Yes, the clean-mouthed beauty queen who wouldn’t say shit if her life depended on it had sworn at him that day.
Fucking pathetic how much it’d turned him on.
So the wee wittle wabbits had become a point of contention between them. Harper continued to feed them; he continued to bitch about it.
Not only had the pied piper of Muddy Gap befriended bunnies, she’d made amends with the goats—by sneaking them treats. Lots of treats. Bran hadn’t been happy to discover that she paid for those carrots and apples out of her own pocket. But when he’d attempted to put an end to the gourmet goat grub, once again the woman flat-out ignored him and followed her own agenda. It’d gotten to the point that the goats didn’t give a shit if he ambled into view with an entire bucket of premium oats. They only had eyes for Harper.
A feeling he was beginning to understand way too well.
But despite their prickly relationship, Harper busted ass on the ranch from the moment she arrived until the moment he dismissed her. She’d cleaned out the biggest stall in the barn without complaint when Bran had brought his favorite pregnant mare in to foal. Harper had stuck around to watch the birth and cried when the colt had taken its first wobbly steps. That birth created a bond between Harper and the little guy, plus she’d paid the proud mama proper attention, so the mare and her baby were smitten with her.
Another feeling Bran understood only too well.
So she hadn’t seemed happy when she’d shown up at the ranch today and discovered Bran had turned the pair out. But she hadn’t questioned him, or confronted him, she’d just gone back to work. Bottle-feeding the calves. Indulging the goats. Baiting the bunnies. Goading him by ignoring him.