How to Lasso a Cowboy (9 page)

Harlan placed a finger over her lips. She stopped talking. Stopped breathing. “I'm not as evil as you think, Sophie.”

Damn. There was her name again, rolling right off his tongue. She wanted to hear him say it again. Wanted him to murmur her name against her lips. Just…wanted.

“I don't believe you,” she said, but her words were lacking in punch. Every ounce of her was acutely aware of his fingertip against her mouth, of the woodsy notes of his cologne, of the deep blue of his eyes, no longer shaded by his hat, but instead framed by his dark brown waves.

“Why don't you give me a fair chance? Treat this week like a real date. Let me court you—”

“Nobody says that anymore.”

“I say it,” he said, his words strong, determined. “Let me court you, and see if you still think I'm the devil's cousin after that.”

She took in a deep breath when he lowered his hand. Harlan watched her chest rise and fall, then his gaze zeroed back on hers. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen—as blue as the ocean on a bright summer day—and for a second, she got lost in that mysterious sea. “I…” She let
the sentence trail off, because she didn't know how to end it.

A grin quirked across his face and he leaned in closer. So close, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Hoped he would.

The moment held between them. Her heart beat. Once, twice. And still Harlan didn't move. She found herself leaning, ever so slightly, toward him, wondering, even as she knew she shouldn't, if he would kiss in the same sexy, slow way he talked.

Only a breath separated them, and Sophie knew if she leaned in just a millimeter closer, they would kiss.

“I'm not as bad as you think,” he whispered, his words warm against her skin.

A ploy. That's what it was, Sophie told herself. A ploy to get her to trust him so that then he could turn around and use the encounter to boost his ratings.

But oh how she wanted to believe different. Wanted to let Harlan Jones get closer. Much closer.

“And you're not as good as I think, either,” she said, then spun around and left the kitchen before Harlan Jones could wrap her in that cowboy spell again.

H
ARLAN
had done hundreds of radio shows. Had dozens of guests in his studio. And had never been as nervous as he was this morning.

Sophie Watson gave him a little wave outside the glass booth. He gestured for her to come inside, then dropped his headphones to his neck. “Perfect timing. I'm on a commercial break for the next sixty seconds.”

“I brought you some tea.” She laid an insulated cup before him. The Cuppa Java Café logo danced around the perimeter of the dark blue mug, a cute and friendly advertisement. Sophie held a second, matching cup, one that had seen much use. “Uh, where should I…?”

“Oh, sorry.” He jerked to his feet, sending his chair flying back a few feet. His headphones yanked him back, and he pulled them off, tossing them to the counter. As he came around the circular counter, he knocked over a mike and a stack of papers. Could he be more of an idiot? He was never nervous like this. What was it about this woman? “Right here,” he said, gesturing toward the opposite chair. “There's a pair of headphones for you, too. Just put them on and you can hear me and the whole show.”

She sat down, putting her coffee beside her. She slid the headphones over her head, then leaned forward. “And I just talk into this?”

“Yep.” He settled in his own chair and slid on the headphones. “It's easy.”

She let out a short laugh. “Easy for you to say. You do this all day. I'd feel much more comfortable behind the counter at the café, steaming some milk.”

“Life is all about stepping out of your comfort zone, darlin'.” The music for the advertisement break began to wind to an end. Harlan put up a finger to signal Sophie to be quiet, then he slipped back into place at the other mike. “Welcome back to
Horsin' Around with Harlan,
folks. I've got a special guest in studio with me today. Miss Sophie Watson, the owner of Cuppa Java Café. And the head of the Love Lottery.” He drew out the last two words, saw a flash of annoyance cross her face. He grinned at her, to show he wasn't all bad. “Welcome to the show, Sophie.”

“Uh, thanks.” She leaned in so close to the mike, she nearly kissed it. Harlan bit back a chuckle. “Uh, s-s-sorry.”

“Sophie, why don't you tell us a little about the Love Lottery?”

Her eyes widened with panic. “Uh, now?”

He chuckled. “Now would be a great time.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. Her gaze fastened on the microphone, and she backed up a bit, as if it might bite. She seemed frozen, and a second, then another, of dead air ticked by.

He remembered the speech she'd given in the park—and how nervous she'd seemed that day. Had inviting her into the studio been a mistake? Clearly, Sophie Watson didn't like speaking in public. Why had he thought the radio would be any different?

Another second of dead air—the worst thing that could happen to a radio show—passed. Tension curled in Harlan's gut.

Then he had a brainstorm. “Sophie, why don't you tell me about the charity that the Love Lottery will benefit. I heard it's a great one.”

Her features relaxed, her shoulders lost their tension and a smile flitted across her face. “All proceeds from this week's events go toward building a community wellness center. We already have a space, but we need funding to renovate, furnish and staff it.”

“That sounds like something this town needs.”

“We do. One thing people in this town have been asking for is a place where they can go to take exercise classes, hold bingo nights, and community suppers. We're hoping the wellness center brings Edgerton Shores in new ways, and gives everyone a home away from home.”

That was it. When he tapped into her passion, Sophie opened up and lost her nervousness about speaking. It was as if she forgot what paralyzed her and just let go. “Tell me more,” he said.

And for the next five minutes, Sophie did. She talked about her grandmother, about how her declining health had been the inspiration behind the project. She talked about the community, about the contributions of everything from a penny to a hundred-dollar bill that had been dropped into the jar on the counter at Cuppa Java. She talked about the center's flexibility, about how it could become something for everyone.

Harlan listened, caught in the fervor in her voice, the animation in her features. He'd known Sophie Watson for nearly two months, and never seen her so energized before. It gave him a new perspective on her—and made him wonder if maybe he'd only been seeing what he wanted to see in the last few weeks.

Too quickly, the segment came to an end. Harlan
thanked Sophie for coming on the show, then switched the programming to music. “That went fabulous. Thanks.”

Her smile shook on her face. “You really think so? I think I rambled.”

“It was a good ramble.” He grinned. “Believe me, if you'd been boring, I would have cut you off.”

“Dragged me right out of there?”

He laughed. “Absolutely.” Through the glass, he saw Carl signal that he was stepping out for a while. That left him and Sophie alone.

In a small room.

With nothing to distract them anymore.

She ran a finger along the counter. “I'm surprised you do this job.”

“Why? Am I terrible at it?”

“No, really, you're great. It's just your furniture is so amazing that I'm surprised you don't go into business doing that instead.”

He scowled. “I'm not the entrepreneurial type.”

“I never thought I was, either, until I made the leap. I think if you're passionate about something, that makes being your own boss a lot more enjoyable.”

“I enjoy this job.”

But did he really? Hadn't he had that been-there, donethat feeling lately? He shook off the thoughts. He didn't need to be getting sidetracked by things that weren't going to happen.

“I just thought…” She shrugged and didn't finish the sentence.

“Just thought what?”

“That you're the last person I would expect to be working the nine-to-five kind of job. Especially when you have so much creativity.”

“Yeah, well, it can be hard to make a living off of
creativity.” Hadn't he learned that lesson firsthand? He didn't need to live it again to drive that maxim home. He'd already seen where selfishly pursuing dreams instead of dependable income got a man. And right now, his family was depending on him. That was something he wasn't going to explain to Sophie, or anyone else.

Even if her comments gave him a flash of pride, and sent his mind down that what-if path for a second.

“Anyway, thank you again,” he said. Hoping she'd leave. Hoping she wouldn't. “No, thank
you,
Harlan. I appreciate you letting me get the word out. And for not bashing me on the air.”

A twinge of guilt flickered inside him. “Darlin', you gotta know I was only joshing. I don't really think you're that terrible.”

“You don't?” The words came out soft, almost…vulnerable.

He stepped closer to her, even as he told himself not to, told himself he didn't have time or room for a woman in his life. He reached up, and cupped her jaw, his gaze locked on hers. Damn. She had about the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. “Not at all. I'm just doing a job, playing a character. I don't really think that about you.”

She opened her mouth as if she was going to reply, but didn't say anything. He stared at her parted lips, desire pounding in his veins, and wondered if she would be as passionate in bed as she'd been on his radio show.

He wanted to know that answer. Now.

He leaned in and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Everything inside him whispered only one message:
kiss her.

“You are…distracting,” he said. “And tempting.”

What the hell was he doing? He needed to get a grip. To get focused again.

The first song ended, and a commercial for a bank came on, sending a karmic reminder to Harlan. Concentrating on the beautiful Sophie Watson meant not concentrating on business.

Which in the end, meant letting down Tobias.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and stepped away from her. He turned toward the counter, picked up a sheaf of papers and rifled through them without seeing a word on the pages. “Uh, thanks again for coming in today.”

Confusion washed over her face, then she colored, and anger flashed in her eyes. “You're welcome. I'll get out of your hair now.” Then she turned on her heel and left.

Leaving Harlan to do what he should have been doing all along—get back to work.

 

It took three hours of sawing, nailing and sanding in his garage woodshop before Harlan had worked the morning out of his system. The dogs had curled up in one of the shadowed corners, snoring lightly while they waited for their master to stop taking out his frustrations on a sheet of plywood.

Sophie Watson. Who'd have thought that woman could so easily get under his skin? He'd been so sure, when they'd been paired up by Mildred, that it would become an epic disaster. Especially given the way that first date had ended.

He hadn't expected to care about her. To wonder what made her tick. No, she'd simply been a means to an end—a topic of discussion on his show, something he could forget the minute the microphone was off. But she'd lingered in his mind, as stuck there as a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. Only sweeter. And definitely less annoying. But still a distraction he didn't need.

He'd spent the rest of his morning at the hospital with
Tobias. His brother had been in good spirits, talking about going home soon, but guilt had fallen on Harlan's shoulders anyway. Guilt that he hadn't been here before the accident. Guilt that he hadn't done more to boost the station in the weeks since. And most of all, guilt that he had let Tobias down all those years ago. Maybe if he hadn't—

Harlan hammered another shelf into the bookshelf he had started constructing. He drove the hammer too hard and too fast, and the wood splintered, cracking apart with a groan and a creak. “Damn!”

The dogs jerked awake, saw there was no emergency and went back to their nap.

“Am I interrupting?”

He spun around at the sound of Sophie's voice. Good thing he'd stopped hammering or he might have driven his thumb into the joint instead of a nail. “No, not at all.” A lie. She
was
interrupting his attempts at forgetting she existed. Considering he hadn't made it more than five seconds without thinking about her, those attempts weren't going so well.

“I just wanted to thank you again for this morning. And for yesterday, with my grandmother.” She stood in the doorway of the garage, partly in shadows, partly lit by the sun from behind. Her hair was tinged with gold, the sun's rays dancing on the blonde curls that framed her face.

Well, darn. He put down the hammer before he accidentally took out an eye or something.

“It was nothing, really.”

She stepped inside, and the shadows dropped away, leaving her bathed in the soft white lights of the garage. “It was a big deal, bigger than you know. Ever since my parents moved away, it's just been Grandma and me. I worry about her all the time, but she can be so stubborn and not ask for help when she needs it. She's independent and feisty—”

“Like someone I know.” Harlan grinned.

“Maybe,” she conceded softly. “Anyway, I…” She paused, and he could see it wasn't easy for her to be nice to him, which nearly made him chuckle. “I appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “Truly, nothing more than one neighbor helping another.”

“Well, given our history, I hadn't expected you to be…” Her voice trailed off as if she was searching for the right words.

“Nice?” Now he did chuckle. “I told you, I'm not nearly as awful as you think.”

Her gaze met his and another smile curved across her face. This one was the kind of smile that hit a man in the solar plexus and made him wonder if maybe he'd been missing something that was right under his nose.

“Maybe not,” she said softly, and the smile widened.

“And I want to say, I do feel bad about the plants my dogs dug up,” Harlan said, his mouth running like a overfilled stream because a part of him wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. “I know I replaced them and all, but I feel like maybe I should do something else for you, you know, as a way to repay you for the aggravation.”

“Really?”

“Sure, name your favor.” Here he went again. Getting more wrapped up with this woman.

She considered his words for a second. “A favor besides the footstools you owe me?”

The footstools. He'd forgotten all about that promise, with the busy schedule he'd been keeping at the radio station, and now the added commitment of the Love Lottery events. For a man who didn't want to be employed as a woodworker, he sure as hell kept getting asked to build stuff. If he was smart, he'd shut the doors of the woodshop
and stick to the job he did best—the one his brother was counting on him to do. “I'll have those for you soon, long as you make me a promise.”

“What's that?”

“You don't tell anyone who built them. The last thing I need is people showing up on my doorstep, wanting tables and chairs.”

“But—”

“That's the deal. Take it or leave it.” He'd build the footstools, and that would be it. Nothing more would come out of this garage.

She worried her bottom lip, something he noticed she did when she wanted to say something, and was debating whether she should. “Okay, I'll take it.”

“Good.” He leaned against his workbench and crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze traveled down the length of Sophie's lithe frame, lingering on the curve of her hips, the length of her legs, the heart-shaped muscles in her calves.

“You mentioned a favor?”

Harlan jerked his attention back to the topic at hand. Better that than thinking about what it would be like to kiss Sophie Watson. “Uh, yes, a favor. To make up for your torn-up rosebushes. What can I do for you, darlin'?”