Jesus, you’re pathetic. She’s working for you. Would you have these same thoughts if you’d hired a male hand?

No. Goddammit. He started to bail out of the truck, but she placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Thank you for giving me a chance. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know, Bran. You won’t regret hiring me.”

As Bran looked at her beautiful, earnest face, he couldn’t tell her he already had regrets. Because chances were very high that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off his sexy new ranch hand.

The front door slammed.

“Whose truck is parked out front?”

Harper stopped sorting through the pile of bills and glanced up at her younger sister.

With her square glasses, glossy brown ponytail, checkered school uniform, and enormous backpack, Bailey looked like the brainiac she was.

“It’s mine. For a while anyway.” Harper pointed to the plate of Rice Krispie treats on the coffee table. “There’s your snack.”

“God. Let me get out of this stupid uniform. I hate uniforms.” She stripped as she headed to her room and returned thirty seconds later wearing baggy gray sweatpants and a Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt. Bailey threw herself on the couch and grabbed a treat. “So tell me about the redneck wheels.” She shoved the entire square bar in her mouth.

“Alice fired me yesterday.”

Bailey choked.

Harper was right there, helping her sit up and handing her a glass of water. Bailey sputtered and swallowed.

When she got control, she said, “Warn me next time. God, Harper. You got fired? Are you okay?”

“It’s been bizarre. But hours after I lost the job, Celia told me that Bran Turner needed a temporary hired hand. Today he gave me the ranching lowdown, and I watched a calf being born—coolest thing ever, by the way—and he hired me. The truck comes with the job.”

Bailey’s green eyes widened. “You’re working for Bran Turner?”

“How do you know Bran?”

“Jeez, Harper. Everyone knows Bran. He’s a real cowboy, not a wannabe like some of the losers around here who put on shitkickers, a cheap cowboy hat, and a fake rodeo buckle. Dude. He’s got that mean, squinty Clint Eastwood stare that’s scary as shit.”

Bailey had hit it dead-on. Bran was the real deal. That was partially why he made her so nervous. She felt like an absolute idiot around him—even more stupid than she usually did.

“I wish you’d stop saying shit like that, Harper. You’re not stupid,” Bailey said.

She was unaware that she’d spoken out loud. “I’ll be working for him during the day. But he mentioned there’d be some late nights too.”

Bailey waggled her eyebrows. “Can I just say how jealous I am of those late nights? You and studly cattleman Bran. All alone. Cold. Sweaty. Dirty. Tired. Who knows what might happen.”

“I’m sure Bran will be a perfect gentleman while I’m his employee.”

“For your sake, I sure as hell hope not.”

Before Harper could rebuke her sister, Bailey’s cell phone buzzed. Immediately after digging it out of her backpack, Bailey glued the phone to her ear, walked to her bedroom, and closed the door.

Although Harper was used to Bailey’s tendency to drop everything when her cell rang, she wished for more time to talk. Yawning, Harper stretched out on the couch. Maybe she’d just close her eyes for a bit and relax before starting supper.

Harper arrived at the Turner ranch at six the next morning and parked the truck where she’d seen it the day before. But there was no sign of Bran’s vehicle. Huh. Where could he be? Out in the field?

Maybe he’s not home yet from his late-night sexcapades.

With his rugged features and the sexy, laid-back way Bran carried himself, no doubt the cowboy had his pick of women to share his bed. Would she face that situation in the coming months—a woman rolling out of Bran’s bed before they started morning chores?

That thought didn’t sit well with her. Neither did sitting around in the truck in the cold and waiting for him.

Maybe she should explore, get the lay of the land, so to speak. She’d dressed warmly enough to be outside. No reason she had to stay in the pickup with her hands primly folded.

Harper checked out the farthest barn first, wondering if Bran had parked to load up supplies for the still mysterious “ranch work.” No sign of him. The next metal building, filled with unrecognizable machine parts, had that same eerie emptiness. She wandered back via the driveway, deciding to check the old-fashioned wooden barn. As soon as she cleared the far side, something moved.

What the heck?

She waited. Sure enough, she saw that blur of white again and chanced a peek at an enclosed pen. Looked like she’d found the goats. Amused by their antics, she watched them, staying out of sight. A big one climbed on the highest point of the metal shed, which was enclosed inside the pen. Another one, smaller than the first, scrambled up on top too, as they played a game of king of the mountain.

Goats perched on the edge of the shed, peering over the side? Priceless. What a killer photo op. Harper slid her cell phone from her pocket and clicked the camera option. Keeping the lens trained on the curious animals, she stepped into their line of sight and said, “Say goat cheese.”

Almost in slow motion, the goats tumbled off the edge of the shed. They hit the ground with a muffled thud and then stayed still.

Horrified, Harper opened the gate and raced into the pen. She froze in front of the motionless white forms. Had they broken their necks? No blood spilled on the ground, but it looked like total carnage.