How to Lasso a Cowboy Read Online Free PDF

her type anyway. He was obnoxious, rude and mean. And he owned the world’s worst dogs.
    If he didn’t make such darn nice chairs, she wouldn’t talk to him at all. Already, she regretted commandeering the furniture this morning. That’s where her impulsive streak got her—saddled with the last man on earth she wanted to spend time with.
    She had a business to run. A fundraiser to plan. Thinking about Harlan Jones would do nothing but raise her blood pressure.
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    Harlan watched Sophie come out through the door, a tray balanced in one arm, a determined, no-nonsense look on her face. He could see she didn’t want to give him the time of day, much less a smile.
    Ah, he loved a challenge. Especially one that drove her as crazy as she drove him.
    A twinge of guilt ran through him. He should be at work, trying to get the radio station back in the black. Tobias was counting on him—and that wasn’t a role Harlan took lightly. But for now, for just a moment, he wanted to enjoy himself.
    â€œMiss Watson, I do hope you intend to join me for that cup of tea,” he said as she laid his drink and some long, thin cookies before him. The water, he could see, was steaming hot, just the way he liked it. The cookies, crisp and fresh. The woman knew her stuff. He might just have to stay a while and make himself at home, considering how tempting she made the place. Surely he could find a way to work and take some time to annoy his neighbor—and all while enjoying a cup of tea.
    â€œI can’t sit out here with you,” Sophie said. “I have a shop to attend to.”
    â€œSeeing as how I’m your only customer, I think you can spare a minute or two to sit with me.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œHave you even tried these chairs you’re so darned fond of? Might as well plop your saddle in one and see how she rides.” He grinned. “Who knows? You may want to rethink our deal.”
    Sophie hesitated a second, then pulled out the second chair and lowered herself into it. A slight smile crossed her face and he knew, as his own behind told him, that the seat had done the trick. If there was one thing Harlan Jones could do, it was make a pretty good chair. Too bad he knew better than to try to make a living at it.
    Once again, the what-if questions flitted through his mind, but he pushed them away. He’d seen how a life built on a dream ended. His father had ended up penniless, with his wife literally working herself into an early grave to put food on the table. What food there had been, that was. Harlan had ended up getting a job at fourteen. He’d handed every paycheck to his mother, and still, there’d been lean weeks, lean months. Times when the temperature on the heat was kept so low, living through those cold winter nights was barely tolerable. And more than one night when dinner was a couple slices of bread slathered with store-brand margarine.
    Now Frank Jones relied on his sons to support him for the rest of his days. Not that Harlan minded doing it, but he was smart enough not to repeat those mistakes. His mother had suffered because of her husband’s selfish quest, one that drained instead of paid. Harlan would not make the same mistake. And he would take care of his brother for as long as Tobias needed the help.
    Harlan shrugged off the thoughts. It was the end of a stressful day. For five minutes, he was going to enjoyhimself and not think about the responsibilities that lay waiting for him outside of the tiny circle of Sophie Watson’s coffee shop. He could indulge in this oasis, and then go back to shouldering his burdens.
    â€œI have to admit you do make a nice seat,” she said.
    â€œWhy, thank you. Though I think since you’re sitting on something I have smoothed with my own two hands, you can start calling me Harlan.”
    Pink rose in her cheeks. “You are still a customer, Mr. Jones.”
    â€œTechnically, you’re my