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Reality. Catie. Sometimes the magnitude of owning a whole beef ranch overwhelmed him. “Sorry, just thinking.” He sat down in his father’s—his—chair. “I really think I’ll pass on the shower thing, Sis.”
“Please? Rafe is coming with Angie. They’re coming in from the western slope just to attend.”
“They haven’t seen Violet yet. They’re coming to see her, not for the shower.”
“So they’ll kill two birds with one stone.
”
“I suppose they will. I, however, have already seen my beautiful niece, and I plan to see her a lot. Just not during some girly shower.”
“It’s not going to be a girly shower.”
“Oh yeah? You getting a stripper?”
Another sigh from Catie. “Geez, Harp.”
“Sorry.” Though he wouldn’t mind seeing Amber Cross strut her stuff naked. Damn, she had the body of a stripper. Lithe long legs curled around a silver pole, platinum locks falling over rosy-skinned shoulders…pink nipples peeking through…
His groin tightened.
Christ. His body betrayed him. Amber was so not his type. Though she was a Texas native and the reigning Bakersville Rodeo Queen, she was about as far from the girls Harper had grown up with as Maine was from California. Cute Colorado farm girl? Hell, no. Nearly white tresses, long red fingernails, leather miniskirts, and sequined tube tops…
Damn, the woman was hot.
Hot, and a major pain in the ass with her couples shower. She’d had Catie doing all kinds of weird crap in the last year. Thursday night happy hour at The Bullfrog had become a tradition for his baby sister. She never missed it, even when she’d been big as a house with Violet. Virgin drinks, yes, but still out on the dance floor shakin’ her booty with her new BFF.
He couldn’t believe Chad allowed it. Heck, of course he did. The man was so whipped.
“So are you coming or not?”
“You know I love you and I love Violet.” He sighed. “But no. I’m sorry.”
“Have it your way, then. Everybody else in town will be here.”
“Tell everybody else I said hi.”
“Fine.” Her voice cracked. “Goodbye.” Catie’s phone clicked.
He didn’t want to hurt her, but a baby shower? Sorry, this cowboy wasn’t turning in his man card.
* * *
“Hey, Tom, give me a Fat Tire.”
“Comin’ up.” Tom Grayhawk, the bartender, smiled. “What’s eatin’ at you tonight?”
“Nothin’.” Harper turned and looked toward the door. “Oh crap.”
“Now what?”
“Here comes that damn Amber.”
Tom chuckled. “Damn Amber? She’s a luscious thing in my book.”
“Hot as hell,” Harper agreed, “but not my type.”
“Hot as hell isn’t your type?” Tom slid a bottle of beer across the wooden counter.
