CHAPTER 1

Harper

When I get a minute to catch my breath, as always, I use it to look around. I let my eyes run from one end of the bar to the other. As I scan the room, I don’t stop on any of the faces in the sea of people; I just take in the sheer volume of them. Pride and a sense of accomplishment swell in my chest. I had everything to do with this business from the ground up. Me and no one else. I love how it all turned out. From the gleaming oak bar and wood beam ceiling, to the industrial black chairs and festive lights over the pool table, every corner of this place has a piece of me in it. My unique mark. My eclectic taste. My bold personality. This place is mine. All mine.

And it’s a success.

We jokingly call it “Harper’s Bizarre,” even though it’s technically just called Harper’s. As the family wild child, this is a huge achievement. Most people doubted I could do it. Or maybe that I would. Most of them just shrugged at the idea of me opening my own bar. No big deal. It’s just a bar. Big whoop.

But that’s not how I feel about it.

There are only two things in life I’m good at—snark and tending bar. That’s not much talent, but damn it, I took what I had and made something of it. And I dare anyone to say otherwise. At least not within earshot of me. I’m likely to stick a boot up their ass. A nice one, too. Black leather Michael Kors knee boots at the moment. Just because I’m a snarky bar owner doesn’t mean I can’t wear cute clothes. I’m not an animal.

“Can I get a Bacardi and Diet Coke please?”

I’m still feeling dreamy when I meet the eye of the young woman ordering. She’s a beautiful brunette with shoulder length hair, crisp blue eyes, and a welcoming smile. She’s at that age, however, that makes me suspicious.

“Sure. You got I.D.?”

“I do,” she announces with a considerable amount of pride. I know why when I take the proffered driver’s license and see the date of birth. She just turned twenty-one four days ago.

I hand it back to her. “Happy belated birthday. Rum and diet coming up.”

“Thanks,” she replies, slipping the identification back into her purse. It looks like a Louis Vuitton. A real one. Not the first I’ve seen either. More and more, we’re seeing people with money coming to these parts.

It all started when my sister’s husband, Nixon (The Mastermind as I like to call him) entered the picture two years ago. He and my father turned our family home into one of the most successful dude ranches in all of the great state of Texas. It was Mastermind’s idea to use a parcel of the land nearest the main road to develop a mini-town. It was founded on the idea of providing a unique amenity for the ranch guests, something that no other ranch offered—a place they could go out on the town without actually having to go all the way to real town. But the key was in the exclusivity. Our town boasts all local artisans and not a single chain store or restaurant. It quickly grew as travelers began stopping along the way to destination unknown to get a bite to eat or find an interesting souvenir. Turned out to be a brilliant idea.

Aside from my bar, there is a small general store, a restaurant and bakery, a cozy art gallery, and a high-end apparel shop. It’s basically just a collection of the Brandt sisters’ dreams run amok. Hannah, the family chef, opened the restaurant. Hope, the family artist slash photographer, opened the gallery. And Haley, the family clothier, opened a second location of her very successful clothing shop. Our father, John, happily runs the general store and leaves the operating of the dude ranch to The Mastermind. I mean Nixon.

The “town” was designed to look like a street in the Wild West, which is part of what gives it its appeal. I like to think the other part is the pure awesomeness that each of us Brandts brings to the table, but that might be a slightly biased opinion. Whatever the main ingredient, no one can argue the success of the combination. In fact, we will be breaking ground on a boutique hotel next year because people are starting to come from all over the country to see Brandt’s Crossing.

I set the rum and Coke in front of the young lady. “Pay as you go or you want me to start a tab?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but a low, deep, very irritated voice cuts her off. “Kira, what the hell? I told you to stay in the car.”

My jaw goes a little bit slack when I glance over at the owner of said voice. I’ve seen some gorgeous guys in my life, but holy shit! This guy… He’s like a dark Adonis with his short black hair and olive complexion. He’s wearing a suit that’s cut to perfection and hangs lovingly on his tall frame. It doesn’t detract from his physique, though. If anything, it somehow enhances it. And that can’t be easy. He’s at least seven feet tall, after all, and four feet wide through the shoulders. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but he’s a big guy. Not fat.

Not fat at all, I think as I let my eyes wander from those broad shoulders to his flat stomach and long legs.

“Can’t I just have one drink, Bram?” the girl, Kira, whines, sending puppy dog eyes up at him.

Bram shoots a quick look at me and, unless I’m misreading him, which I’m totally not, he’s absolutely furious. “Sorry. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

“Twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and slides a twenty from his money clip, tossing it onto the bar. “Keep the change.” He grabs Kira by the upper arm and hauls her off the stool. “We’re leaving.”

She wants to protest. I can see it in every line of her delicate features. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t even try to resist. She just goes along with him.

Which is why I do what I do and open my big mouth.

“Kira.” When I say her name, they both stop and look back at me. “If I were you, I’d kick him in the balls and never look back. You should never let a man treat you that way.”

I smile extra big at both of them, even though each is just staring at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. After a few seconds, Kira dissolves into a fit of giggles. Unfortunately, that seems to take the domineering Bram from irritated to irate.

“Do I owe you twelve for that, too? Or is such sage advice free around here?”

I grab a glass from the shelf behind me and start shining it with my towel. “For her, it’s free. If you’d like some sage advice for yourself, it’ll cost you.”

He releases Kira and takes the few steps back to the bar in two long strides. With slow and purposeful movements, he reaches down and pushes the rum and Coke out of his way. When he looks back up at me, his features soften somewhat, the corners of his mouth curving up the tiniest bit. I meet his eyes, an impossibly clear dark blue, and my stomach does some weird flippy thing.

He tips his dark head, beckoning me closer. I don’t mean to move. I certainly don’t agree to lean in, but my body pays zero attention to my brain and is shifting toward him before I can stop myself. This guy is an asshole, my brain is screaming. He doesn’t deserve my time, much less for me to obey a nod of his imperious head. And yet, I do. And when I get a whiff of his cologne, my brain shuts off entirely and I have the inexplicable urge to lick my lips.

Or lick him.

Whichever.

“What’s your name?” he asks in the voice that, now that I think about it, is pretty damn yummy.

“Harper.”

“Can I give you some advice, Harper?”

I nod, treading water in his ocean-blue eyes. He reaches out and takes a piece of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers.

“You shouldn’t serve alcohol to minors in front of their older brothers. That could get you in trouble, no matter how gorgeous you are.” I feel my lips drop into an O.

“But her I.D. said—”

“It’s fake,” he explains, his expression turning hard again. “And if you ever suggest again that my little sister kick me in the balls when I’m just trying to protect her, I’ll come back here and give you the spanking she deserves.”

With that, he straightens, gives me a tight, cordial smile, and walks back to his sister. She’s looking over her shoulder at me as he hustles her away, mouthing, “Sorry.”

He opens the door and nudges her through it. Before it closes, he turns and gives me one last look. He’s frowning, but this time it seems almost…curious. Like he doesn’t quite know what to make of me. Before I can give it another thought, he disappears into the night.

Arrogant.

Uptight.

Domineering.

Asshole.

Why am I so turned on right now?