Kissing the Cowboy Page 3
“They were nice!” Mom tells me, and I almost forgot that I haven’t filled her in on who she actually is, considering she hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet.
“You think?” I ask, sipping my coffee, trying not to smash my cup with my grip.
“Oh yeah. What does she do again?”
“She runs Goat Soap Suds.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “Wait. Shayla’s the owner?”
I nod, wishing we could talk about something else. Anything else.
Mom shakes her head. “Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t realize that was her.”
My mom knows that company tries to steal our customers on a daily basis. I’ve told her how they stalk my social media and consistently copy my ideas. Between ripping off my content and being able to ship their products within twenty-four hours of ordering, it’s hard to stay motivated to keep producing. Shayla has a team of fifteen people who work for her and can do everything faster than I can alone. She’s a bully in the soap community who takes ideas from small businesses, not just mine, but the moment anyone calls her out, her cult following comes for us. It’s disgusting how silent we have to stay to avoid backlash.
She deserves to be punched in the face for all the shit she’s pulled behind the scenes. Thankfully, I can control my true Southern attitude, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.
“You hungry? Let’s go get something to eat. I heard there’s a great taco place down the street.” Mom quickly changes the subject, which I’m grateful for.
“Yeah, that sounds really good!”
Mom knows the way straight to my heart—tacos.
“Harper!” Mom calls from the back room where we keep the extra inventory for the shop. I finish adjusting my summer display of soaps. “Harper!”
“Okay, okay, coming!” I make my way to the back only to see a collapsed clothes rack with Mom trying to hold it up so the hangers don’t crash to the floor.
I rush forward and lift one end.
“Thank you,” she huffs. “I’m gonna have to stop buying this brand. They’re cheap!”
“Or you could stop putting so much weight on them. Jesus. How many shirts did you have stuffed on here?” We lean it against a folding table so we can take off the clothes.
“I should get your father to build me something more sturdy that can handle holding twenty shirts.”
I laugh and lift a brow. “Just twenty?”
“Okay, seventy-five,” she corrects, brushing perfectly curled hair from her face.
Mom had always dreamed of owning a boutique and went for it my senior year of high school, which sparked my idea to get a business degree. We get a lot of local sales from our storefront since we’re located downtown. Tourists driving through will stop in for souvenirs, but after I got serious about posting on social media and making videos, over half of our sales are from online customers worldwide.
“I can’t let these shirts get wrinkled.” She stuffs them on an already loaded rack, and I’m afraid it may break too because it’s bowing in the middle.
“Okay, I’m texting Dad right now,” I say, taking control of the situation before we have a bigger mess on our hands.
The front door chimes, and Mom meets my eyes. I take the hint and go greet them. I didn’t plan to work today. I was just stopping by to stock the soap inventory and rearrange the display.
“Harper, dear. How’re ya doin’?” Mrs. Jefferson asks.
“Real good. Just wanted to bring a few items in.”
She grins wide. “I was hopin’ you would. I just finished my lavender bar and heard through the grapevine that you had some new scents.”
I laugh and lift a brow. “Oh really? Well, I’m glad I didn’t change my plans then and stopped in today. But yes, I do. In neon colors too!”
Two other women enter and go straight to my display. I swear they’re either hoarding products or using them in every room of their house. They pick up so many soaps and lotions, they can’t hold them all. I give each person a small handbasket, and they load them full.
“Harper, you’ve outdone yourself,” Mrs. Brooks beams. “The lemongrass lotion is to die for. I’ve been putting it on my husband’s heels every night, and did you know it’s as smooth as a baby’s butt now?”
I hold back a snort. “That’s amazing.”
“A baby’s butt?” Mrs. Jefferson shrieks, adding three more lotions to her basket. “Jack has a bunion on his toe. Wonder if this will fix him right up?”
“It’s a miracle lotion, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Brooks confirms.
Mom greets everyone, and soon, a small line has formed in front of the shop because so many people are inside. “Did you announce online that you were bringin’ new inventory in today or somethin’?” Mom whispers.
“Swear, I didn’t. The only person I said anything to was…” I pause briefly. “Ethan.”
“Bet he told Rose.” She knowingly smirks. Ethan’s grandmother, Rose, loves to support local businesses and charities. The woman has been raising thousands for the food bank by running an annual bachelor auction. She has connections no one else in town has—her own little town gossip mill. If he mentions it in passing to her, Ethan knows she’ll spread it around faster than any post on social media could. It's the best free local advertisement I could ask for.
Soon, all the summer soaps and every bottle of lotion are gone.
“Do you have more comin’?” Mrs. Darla asks me after everyone’s paid and the shelves are bare.
“I should have some by the end of the week,” I confirm, realizing it’s only Monday, and I’ll be working overtime to make more.
She lowers her voice. “Do you know what day and time? I don’t want to miss out again.”
“Friday. Ten a.m.”
She smiles wide. “My credit card’s ready.”
Once the store is empty, Mom laughs. “We just sold over two thousand dollars worth of soaps, lotions, and T-shirts.”
We exchange a high five.
“That’s awesome!” I beam, kinda shocked. I recently upped my prices due to the high demand but also knowing my worth. However, it hasn’t deterred anyone from purchasing them.
“Did you at least save some of the summer scents for your online orders?” Mom asks, tidying up the pile of shirts that she’ll probably fold another ten times before the day is over.
“I did. I’m launching the rest tonight. People are already messaging about getting early access. I’m gonna have to figure out how I can make more and faster. The cure time of three to four weeks is killin’ me. I need more hands on deck so my inventory is always stocked.”
“You’ll sell it with no problem. You’d still make a profit after paying your employees,” she says. “Might just need a bigger space to store it all.”
“Time to get a she-shed in the backyard,” I tease, though that’d help me out so damn much. I live in a small cabin behind my parents’ house and make all of my products there. It takes a lot of space to store everything, but I could make it work for now if I had more shelves and bought more supplies. Since I live alone, I’m the only person who has to deal with the racks being everywhere. Hell, I already do. But at this rate, I need double the inventory to meet my demand.
“You could post a sign about needing help on the information corkboard at the grocery store,” she tells me, but I’ve always been wary because I don’t want my recipes or secrets getting leaked. I don’t need any more competition in this industry or in the area. Hadleigh helps me on the days she’s not working at the hospital. With her nursing schedule, her shifts rotate three days on and four days off, so she comes over on her days off.
I love when Hadleigh works with me because it makes time pass faster. We catch up and chat. It reminds me of when we were teenagers, doing crafts, and talking about boys. Even though we’re both painfully single, it’s still fun to gossip. However, since she’s close friends with Kane Bishop—who also lives on the ranch—I have to share her with him too.
Once I’m in my driveway, I text Ethan and let him know what happened at the boutique.
Harper: Hey, assface. You could’ve given me a warning that you were gonna tell your grandma I was bringing new inventory in today! But also, thank you. It was a nice surprise.
He sends me a winky emoji before sending another message.
Ethan: What’s the fun in that? Gotta keep it spicy for ya. And you’re welcome. I’m glad it worked.
Harper: Those women bought everything! Stock is now completely out till Friday.
Ethan: It’s because you’re amazing and your products are great.
A smile touches my lips. Ethan’s always been my biggest fan and supporter, and it’s why he’s my bestest friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without him, considering he’s always been my hype squad.
Harper: And that’s why I love you.
Ethan: Because I tell the truth?
Harper: Because even when my recipes weren’t quite right and my sales sucked, you were still my cheerleader. You’ve always been my ride or die!
There’s a pause before I see his bubble pop up.
Ethan: Isn’t that what best friends are for?
Harper: Absolutely. BFFs for life!
Best friends. My eyes focus on the words for a moment. It’s a reminder of what we are and will always be even though Ethan’s the only man who’s ever given a damn about me.
Chapter Three
ETHAN
After I check on the goat's milk production this morning, I go home and get ready for the Fourth of July party. The big yearly celebration on the ranch is a Bishop family tradition, and the whole family attends. It always brings back great childhood memories, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. There’s always a ton of food and music while my uncles do the fireworks show.
When I’m out of the shower, I put on shorts and a T-shirt since it's so damn hot outside, then grab my baseball cap. Mom’s sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee while scrolling on her phone.
“Hey, hon,” she says when I grab a bottle of water.
“What’s goin’ on? Dad gonna make it on time?”
“Oh yeah. He’ll be home any minute actually,” she tells me just as the front door slams.
Dad walks in and kisses mom on the cheek, then turns to me. “Headin’ over?”
“Yes, sir. Gonna pick up Harper first, then meetin’ everyone.”
“If you can, let Jackson know I’ll be there in a bit. And tell him I said no water balloons this year.” He gives me a stern look to pass onto him, though it’s pointless. Uncle Jackson still acts like a teenager and will do whatever he pleases.
I chuckle. “I’ll give him the message.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I see a text from Harper.
“I’ll see y’all there,” I tell them before making my way outside.
Harper: I’m ready when you are!
Ethan: Be there in 15.
I glance at my truck and know there’s going to be way too many vehicles at the B&B, so I grab some keys to the four-wheeler we have in the shop. After I fill it with gas, I crank it and head to Harper’s.
Since her dad has worked on the ranch since he was a teenager with no plans to ever quit, Grandma offered their family a one-hundred-year lease on a piece of land to build a house. So in a roundabout way, we’re kinda neighbors too. I say kinda because the ranch is ten thousand acres.
As soon as the tires hit the gravel road, dust kicks up in my wake. I give it more gas, enjoying the warm breeze. The road curves, and I turn down the long driveway that leads to the two-story ranch house. I drive around it until I’m idling outside of Harper’s cabin. Loudly, I rev the engine until she swings the door open with a cute scowl.
“I thought you were drivin’ your truck?”
“Nah. Wanted to bring it back old-school style, like how I’d pick you up before I got my license.” I slap the seat behind me and notice she’s wearing a short sundress with an oversized hat. Swallowing hard, I push away the thoughts of peeling that thin material off her body and devouring her.
Harper shrugs, then locks the door.
With one swift movement, Harper bundles the dress material in her hand, then swings her leg over. She scoots forward, snaking her arms around my waist, and I love how close she is to me. I tilt my chin toward her so she can hear over the engine. “Hang on, sweetheart.”
Seconds later, I do a donut in the yard before heading to the main road.
“You’re gonna pay for that, Ethan Bishop,” she scolds in my ear, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the sound of it. I slow down, not wanting this moment to end. As we approach the B&B, I notice how many vehicles are already parked on the side of the road.
“Now you know why I drove this,” I tell Harper. Turning off the engine, I wait for Harper to get off before I do.
“Smart.”
“Learned my lesson last year when my stupid-ass cousins decided to block me in for two days with ranch hand trucks.”
She chuckles. “Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that. Your grandma was pissed.”
“Yep. Threatened to ground them all. And I wouldn’t put it past her.”
As we walk around the big barn, the music gets louder. Tables are laid out with a massive buffet of burger patties, hot dogs, smoked sausage links, and desserts. At one end is a big bowl of my favorite pineapple punch.
“Is that what I think it is?” Harper beams when she spots it.
“It’s not the Fourth of July without it!” Before we make our way over to get a cup, my name is called. I turn to see Elle waving me over and know I can’t leave her hanging, so I grab Harper’s hand and lead her over.
As soon as I’m close, Elle holds out her arms. I lean down and try my best to hug her, but it’s a bit difficult since she’s seven months pregnant now.
“How’s my niece today?” I ask with a grin.
“Hot and hungry!” Elle playfully wipes her hand over her glistening forehead. “Harper! Lookin’ real cute in that dress. I’d bet anythin’ you get asked on a date by one of the ranch hands today.”
Harper blushes with a shrug. I’m gonna scold my sister later for that little comment since I know it was only said to irk me.
“What does your hat say?” Elle asks. She reads it aloud, “Single & Searchin’?”
I immediately look for myself because I hadn’t noticed it said anything.
Harper snorts. “No it doesn’t. It says ‘Hello Sunshine.’”
Elle looks at me with a raised brow. “Your reaction, though, told me everything I need to know. The classic I wish Harper was my girlfriend panicked look. When are you two finally gonna admit it?” She crosses her arms over her bump, and I scowl at her lack of filter.
“Admit what? That we’re best friends?” I keep up with my denial. For years, Elle has consistently teased about how Harper and I act when we’re together. I’m sure my sister’s hoping one day we’ll confess our undying love, and she’ll gloat about how she was always right. Sometimes it’s easier to just bury my feelings than to actually admit I’m in love with my best friend, especially since she doesn’t feel the same, and it’d just make things awkward.
“Mm-hmm,” Elle says, pointing back and forth between us. “You two ain’t foolin’ me. Just wastin’ time when you could be makin’ me an aunt. You’re my only chance to become one, ya know?”
I scoff. “No pressure.”
Wishing we weren’t having this conversation right now, I glance over and notice the water balloons, and my eyes widen in panic.
“What?” Elle and Harper ask at the same time.
“D
ad told me to tell Uncle Jackson absolutely no water balloons this year.”
Elle grunts. “Dad can’t control him. No one can. But damn, he’s gonna be pissed when he sees these special ones he got. I heard Kane say they ordered them months ago.”
“Are they supersized?” Harper asks just as Jackson holds up a water balloon five times bigger than the standard size. His gaze zeroes in on us—his targets. Seconds later, he’s running with it. Elle puts her fingers between her lips and releases the loudest whistle I’ve ever heard.
Conversations stop, and everyone focuses on her.
Elle clears her throat and points her finger at our uncle, who looks like he just got scolded. “I am pregnant. And I’ll kill you. So save it for someone else.”
“Don’t do it, Dad,” my cousin Kaitlyn adds. Soon everyone in the family is running off and begging Jackson not to throw it at them.
My eyes go wide as Jackson takes four steps forward before lifting his arm and throwing the balloon straight toward us. Elle screams at the top of her lungs moments before Connor blocks her and takes a direct hit. When Connor turns, he’s soaked. Olivia bursts into a fit of laughter, then everyone else does too.
Minutes later, Grandma’s hurtling through a crowd toward us.
“Jackson Joel Bishop!” No matter how old grandma’s children get, they’ll never be too old to get yelled at.
“Mama, calm down,” Uncle Jackson says, chuckling when Grandma takes off her boot and acts like she’s gonna whip Jackson with it.
“You never irritate a pregnant woman in her third trimester!” Kiera, Jackson’s wife and love of his life, scolds just as she throws two balloons in Jackson’s face.