“Stand.” Then Fletch did the oddest thing; he dropped to his knees in front of her. He poked her lower abdomen through her shirt.

He’d moved up a couple of inches to test her ribs when Bran barreled in. Lordy, lordy. Bran was mad enough he didn’t take off his boots. He clomped across the carpet, leaving muddy footprints and chunks of snow. “What the f**k do you think you’re doin’ with your goddamn hand up her shirt?”

Fletch didn’t acknowledge Bran at all. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

Two more soft pokes under her bottom rib on the opposite side. “This?”

“No.”

“I can’t see . . . Maybe it would be better if you unbuttoned your shirt, Harper.”

“You gonna start humming the melody from The Stripper?” she asked lightly.

He chuckled.

Bran wasn’t laughing at all.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Bran almost seemed ... jealous.

Ha. Wrong. She had to be misreading him. Bran Turner didn’t even like her. He thought she was a bunny-saving fat cow, for crying out loud.

As Fletch watched, Harper tried to keep from blushing, tried not to notice the avid stares at her chest, tried to keep her hands from shaking as she slipped the top button free from the buttonhole.

“Enough,” Bran said hoarsely. “Goddammit. Enough. If she needs to be examined that closely, I’ll take her to the damn doctor.”

Fletch rolled to his feet. “Fine. I’ll remind you that you called me, Bran. I have one more reaction to test.”

“Do it quick.”

He unclipped a pen from his pocket and clicked it. A tiny beam of bluish light streamed out the end. He held her jaw firmly in his big hands, with his thumb pressed into the left side of her jaw. “Just a quick concussion check.” He centered the silver pen in front of her nose. “Follow the movement of the pen with just your eyes. Not your head.”

Harper did.

“Good. So, how did a beautiful woman like you end up as this guy’s hired hand?”

“Fashion merchandising and marketing jobs are a little hard to come by in Muddy Gap. So I had to improvise.”

“Is that what your degree is in?” He switched the pen to the other side and slowly moved the beam of light.

“I’d have to finish school to have a degree.”

“Do you plan to go back to college?”

“Maybe. Probably. I hope so, but not for a few years until Bailey and I are settled someplace.” She gave him a brief rundown of why she was stuck in Muddy Gap.

“If you change your mind and want to stick around, I can always use a veterinary assistant in Rawlins. But fair warning, we’d be on the road together. A lot.”

Was that a snarl coming from Bran? No, it was a sarcastic bark of laughter. He said, “Yeah, Harper is a real natural with goats.”

“I am a bit of a greenhorn with livestock.”

“We all are at some point.” Fletch winked. “Bran must have really pissed off his last girlfriend, Charlie, to have gotten those fainting goats from her as a breakup gift.”

Charlie was a woman? Seemed Bran had left out that factoid. No wonder the goats’ names were Pox and Hex.

“Now stare straight ahead. I’m gonna shine this in both your eyes, but I don’t want you to look at the light.”

The instant that light hit, her eyes watered.

“Doin’ okay, Harper?”

“I guess. For you searing my retinas into ash with that light.”

“You can swear at me if you want.”

“Thanks, but I don’t swear.”

“Ever?”

“Almost never.”

“Why not?”

“Because my mom and my sisters have taken cursing to a whole new level and I couldn’t possibly compete with some of their more . . . clever uses of the f-word.”

Fletch chuckled.

“Plus, swearing like a cowboy is frowned on in the pageant system. Even in Wyoming.”

“I hear ya. Just one more. There. We’re done.” Fletch clicked the penlight off and ran his hand down the side of her face. “You did great. I don’t see any signs of a concussion, but I imagine you’ve got a helluva headache.”

She nodded.

“I have to head back to town. Can I drop you someplace?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No problem.”

“I have a problem with it,” Bran said tightly. “She is my responsibility. She can crash here until her head feels better. I’ll get her some aspirin and make sure she’s able to drive before I send her home.”

“She is capable of answering for herself, boss,” Harper reminded Bran with false sweetness.

“And . . . that’s my cue to leave.” Fletch reached inside his coat, pulled out a business card, and pressed it into her hand. “You need anything, call me. My personal cell number is on there too.” He stopped in front of Bran, who was rather pointedly holding the door wide-open. “Don’t even think about bitching at me when you get the bill.” Then he was gone.

Harper sagged to the couch.

And Bran, the always confident, always gruff Bran, actually looked . . . nervous, remorseful, and a little scared.

Served him right. But he also looked so ... lost she just wanted to wrap herself around him.

He jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and restlessly shifted his feet. “Ah, hell, Harper. I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea, havin’ Fletch show up.”