A Song for Harlan (Pickup Men Book 4) Read online

  A Song for Harlan

  Copyright © 2021 by L.C. Chase

  Wild Roan Press

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners. Cover design is for illustrative purposes only, and any person(s) featured is a model.

  Cover design & layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com

  Cover model: Rob Lang Photography

  Editor: Danielle Poiesz, doublevisioneditorial.com

  ISBN: 978-1-952878-03-9

  First edition

  January, 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.C. Chase at [email protected]. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cowboy Harlan Bennett carries the scars of a broken heart left by his ex-husband, who walked out on him and their son four years ago. The last thing he needs is to get involved with another man who has his eyes on the horizon.

  Ben Marshall is a musician at a crossroads, traveling across the country searching for his purpose in life. He never expected to find the place he belongs—and the person he belongs with—in a small California town.

  One night was all they were meant to be, but a rare snowstorm and an inspired song may change everything.

  About A Song for Harlan

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Share Your Experience

  Also by L.C. Chase

  About the Author

  A Song for Harlan takes place in the fictional town of Santa Bella, California during the winter before Pulling Leather and ends the summer following. Each book in the Pickup Men series—Pickup Men, Let It Ride, and Pulling Leather—can be read as a standalone.

  “I’M TELLING YOU, LITTLE brother,” Hannah said loudly over the phone, her voice competing with a cacophony of clinking glass, music, and the rise and fall of multiple voices. “You have to come see this guy play. His voice is like an aphrodisiac.”

  Harlan responded with a harrumph that Hannah probably wouldn’t hear over the din at the Hangtown Brewhouse. The popular bar and grill she owned in their small mountain town of Santa Bella, California, near the Nevada border, hosted live bands and soloists three nights a week. Hannah personally saw every one of them, and if she was giving rave reviews on the weekend’s act, then Harlan knew it’d be worth checking out. He’d yet to be disappointed by any band she’d recommended so far.

  “What else are you going to do while Tanner’s at Mom and Dad’s?” she insisted.

  Hannah had a point. His eight-year-old son, Tanner, was at the grandparents for the weekend for some quality time. With rodeo season quiet over the winter months, Harlan had little to no work as a pickup man. He always had horses to train during the day, but in the evenings, without Tanner, he had no plans other than kicking back with takeout pizza, a couple of beers, and his guilty pleasure—a Louis L’Amour novel.

  “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll come by tonight. You feeding me?”

  “Of course.”

  He could hear the eye roll in her voice, and he smiled. She’d been his champion growing up and always looked out for him. More so since his ex-husband, Jason, had left him and Tanner four years ago, subsequently turning full parental rights over to Harlan. Jason had said Tanner was Harlan’s son anyway since Harlan had been the only one to contribute for their surrogacy.

  “Come on over and I’ll have today’s special ready for you,” Hannah said.

  “You’re the best, Sis.”

  “Oh, I know it.” She laughed and hung up.

  Harlan fed his two Australian shepherd dogs, took a quick shower, and changed into his good clothes—which were the same as his work clothes, only without the permanent odor of barn and horse. Not long after, he was walking into the brewhouse.

  “Hey, Harlan,” Hannah called from behind the bar where she was handing off a couple of cocktails to one of her servers.

  “Hey, Sis.” He pulled up a stool at the far end of the bar. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. “Feels like it’s going to snow out there.”

  Hannah moved down to his end of the bar and began pulling a pint for him. “I doubt it,” she said and then grinned. “But then, you are a walking Farmers’ Almanac.”

  “Ha-ha,” he intoned, but she had a point. He hadn’t been wrong yet when it came to a feeling about the weather.

  Hannah slid a perfectly poured frosty mug of her very own Hangtown Ale craft beer across the well-worn surface of the bar. “Dinner will be up in a few minutes.”

  He caught it and nodded, then raised his beer in thanks and took a long draught. The pale ale went down smooth with its perfectly balance crisp citrus notes and mild hops.

  “How’s Poco coming along?” she asked.

  “So far so good,” Harlan answered. Poco, the only mare in the small herd of quarter horses he rode as a pickup man, was in foal for the first time. “I think she’s gonna make for a good mama come spring.”

  “Has Tanner sleuthed out that her foal is going to be his birthday present?”

  Harlan grinned. The best place to hide a gift from a snoopy kid was right under his nose. “Not yet.”

  She made a zipping motion across her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

  She went back to pouring drinks, and Harlan spun around on his chair to peruse the crowd. It was larger than usual this early on a Friday night and made up of mostly women. They’d taken over the round tables closest to the small stage, where a single stool stood in front of the microphone. A black acoustic guitar rested on a stand next the stool. Harlan grinned, guessing this weekend’s performer was not only talented but a looker, too.

  “Here you go, Harl.” Hannah placed a large plate in front of him. On it was a thick cut of sizzling Angus steak with sautéed mushrooms and onions, bacon-cheddar potatoes au gratin, and a hearty serving of baked asparagus. It smelled like heaven.

  “You’re too good to me. Thank you.”

  “Indeed I am,” she agreed with a grin. “But you are my only little brother, so enjoy.” Hannah moved down the bar to help customers, leaving Harlan to savor his dinner in peace.

  He was finishing up the last of his meal when a woody masculine scent with a hint of amber and aged whisky wafted toward him. Footsteps moved behind him, and the enthralling smell tickled Harlan’s senses. He turned to watch a tall, lean man head toward the other end of the bar. He wore a pair of Wranglers that hugged his firm butt perfectly, shiny dress cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat. His hair was brown with copper and wheat-colored highlights, and it hung just over his collar. The sleeves of a soft-looking chambray shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing strong forearms.

  Hannah met the stranger at the bar and the two exchanged words Harlan couldn’t hear. The man smiled. Hannah laughed, grabbed a bottle of top-shelf whisky, and went about mixing his drink. She poured with flourish,
and Harlan didn’t blame her for showing off. The man was attractive, even in profile.

  Drink in hand, the cowboy turned, and his gaze caught on Harlan’s and locked. Harlan was too far away to tell the color of the man’s eyes, but there was something inviting in them just the same. The moment stretched as the man held Harlan captive without words or touch, and awareness burst through Harlan’s veins. His skin felt too hot. The stranger’s mouth lifted in a crooked grin, and he dipped his chin in subtle acknowledgment.

  The cowboy was sexier than hell. He broke eye contact for the briefest of seconds to flag Hannah over. He leaned over the bar top and, with his eyes back on Harlan, said something to her. She looked over at Harlan, smiled in a way that made him suspicious, and nodded at whatever the man had asked her. His grin stretched into a smile that made dimples appear in both cheeks.

  Still not breaking eye contact, the cowboy pushed back from the bar and walked toward Harlan, his stride sure and graceful. He leaned close as he neared, close enough for Harlan to feel the tickle of warm breath on his neck. “You’re making everyone else in this bar look bad,” he said in a deep rumble. He continued on toward the stage with a confident stride, leaving the spicy scent of his cologne lingering behind.

  Harlan swallowed. Hard.

  The man hopped up onto the stage with practiced ease, picked up the guitar, settled on the stool, and adjusted the microphone. A single spotlight shone on him, and the brim of his hat cast a soft shadow over his face. Harlan might enjoy this man’s performance for more than his musical prowess.

  “Good evening, everyone,” the cowboy said into the mic. “I’m Ben Marshall. I’ll be playing some songs you might know and a few originals. I hope you enjoy.”

  Ben. Harlan bounced the name around in his mind. It suited him somehow.

  Ben tipped his head and began strumming a tune that Harlan recognized instantly—an old Ray LaMontagne song, “You Are the Best Thing.” Ben’s fingers moved deftly over the strings, and then he began to sing.

  Lord have mercy.

  Ben had only sung the opening verse, but his soulful, gritty baritone was the most beautiful sound Harlan had ever heard—smoky and emotive and somehow tangible. It reverberated deep in his own chest and wrapped around him like a lover’s arms. Goose bumps rose on his skin, and a rush of heat charged into his lower belly. Desire slammed into him with such unexpected force that his breath caught. He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair before plopping it back on his head.

  Jeezus.

  Hannah hadn’t been kidding. Ben’s voice was like an aphrodisiac. That little bit of visual foreplay earlier may have added the mystique, but damn . . .

  Every song Ben played, every word that fell from his lips, whether Harlan recognized the tune or not, felt like a courtship. Mesmerized by Ben’s voice, Harlan didn’t notice his sister had come around the bar and sat on the stool beside him. She was speaking, and for a moment, he couldn’t understand anything she was saying.

  “Sorry?”

  Hannah playfully smacked his shoulder. “I said, he’s amazing, isn’t he?”

  Harlan turned back to the man on the stage. “Incredible.”

  As if Ben knew they were talking about him, his gaze landed on Harlan and didn’t bounce away. Harlan couldn’t do anything but stare back. So immersed in the music and the voice, Harlan let himself imagine Ben was singing directly to him, that there was no one else in the brewhouse but the two of them.

  At some point during the set, Hannah got up and left him alone to his drooling. Which he really hoped he wasn’t doing. There was no denying Ben was gorgeous, and his singing only made him that much more delectable. Arousal burned low and steady in Harlan’s belly, and his jeans grew increasingly snug with every note Ben sang. He shifted on his seat and spread his legs in search of a little relief, hoping no one would notice why.

  Except Ben did.

  His gaze lowered, fixed for a moment on Harlan’s crotch, then met Harlan’s eyes again, boring into him. Ben raised an eyebrow and grinned wider, eliciting enticing hollows in both cheeks that Harlan suddenly wanted to lick.

  Harlan focused on Ben with rapt attention, losing all sense of time. He may even have been holding his breath given the gulps of air he sucked in every few minutes. His beer sat untouched, the glass no longer sweating. All he could see and hear and feel was Ben and his music and a voice that reached out like a lover’s caress.

  When Ben’s set ended, he sauntered over to the bar and motioned to the empty stool beside Harlan. “This seat taken?”

  “Only if you’re sitting on it,” Harlan replied gruffly.

  Ben lowered himself onto the stool, and Harlan took his eyes off Ben only long enough to signal Hannah with a swirling motion of his finger. She nodded.

  “What’s your name, cowboy?” Ben asked in that low, rumbling voice.

  “Harlan.”

  “That is a very cowboy-sounding name.” Ben offered his hand and shook Harlan’s in a strong grip. Callused fingertips trailed along Harlan’s palm as Ben disengaged, the sensation much like the sandpaper swipe of a cat’s tongue, and left his skin tingling in its wake. “Pleasure to meet you, Harlan.”

  “Likewise,” Harlan rasped as the tingles fanned out and spread up his arm, into his chest, and then traveled southward to his groin. His whole body shivered.

  Ben flashed that sexy grin again, as though he knew exactly how he was affecting Harlan.

  “Your drinks, gentlemen,” Hannah said, breaking into the bubble that had been forming around Harlan and Ben. She caught Harlan’s eye, winked, and with a subtle nod toward Ben, turned and wandered down the bar. He narrowed his eyes at her retreating back.

  “I got it,” Harlan said when Ben reached for his wallet.

  “Thank you.” Ben raised his glass, and Harlan tapped it with his mug.

  “Cheers,” Harlan said at the same time as Ben, and took a long drink of his beer. He didn’t know if Hannah had cranked the temperature in the bar tonight or if the heat was radiating off Ben. If the latter, that was a heat he wanted to get into—the sooner the better.

  “What did you ask my sister earlier?”

  Ben’s eyebrows knit together. “Who’s your sister?”

  Harlan motioned toward Hannah with his beer.

  “Ahh . . . Thought I noticed a resemblance there,” Ben said. “I asked if she knew if you were single.”

  Harlan shook his head. Clearly Hannah was loving this. She’d been trying to get Harlan to date again, but he wasn’t having it. The men he’d met had no interest in children of their own, let alone someone else’s, and there was no way in hell he’d bring someone into Tanner’s life who wouldn’t care for Tanner as if he were his own. The odd hookup was all Harlan ever dared.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” Ben asked with an alluring smile, pulling Harlan from his thoughts.

  “Very much,” Harlan said.

  Brown. Ben’s eyes were brown, Harlan noticed now with him sitting so close and firing up his libido as effortlessly as he played guitar. Harlan would dare a night with Ben.

  He dropped his voice an octave and added, “And the musician.”

  Whatever Ben meant to say in response was cut off by a couple of smiling young ladies who insinuated themselves into their bubble. Harlan leaned back to make space for them, and Ben flashed him an apologetic look before turning his attention to the women. Harlan sipped on his beer, watching how Ben gracefully accepted their enthusiastic appreciation of his music, posed for a selfie, and accepted their phone numbers on a Hangtown Brewery coaster.

  When the women left, Ben placed the coaster on the bar upside down and studied Harlan. The deep golden brown of his eyes seemed to sparkle with warmth and mirth. Ben stood up, his body so close Harlan could feel the arousal radiating off him in heavy waves.

  Jeezus. Had he ever been this turned on by someone he’d just met before? He doubted it. He’d surely remember if he’d ever felt so on the edge of bursting like this, like one feat
herlight touch would make him explode.

  “Will you be here after my last set?” Ben asked, his hand brushing over Harlan’s knee.

  Harlan damn near jumped from his seat. “I think I will,” he rasped, acutely aware of the fire burning his skin from Ben’s soft caress.

  Harlan watched Ben’s ass as he walked away and hopped back onto the stage. Harlan took a few big gulps of his beer, praying for a fast end to Ben’s set so they could get out of there.

  BEN SAT DOWN ON the stool and picked up his guitar, ready to begin his next set. Even though the house was fully packed, the only person he saw in the audience was Harlan. He was a little shorter than Ben was but built like a linebacker, with broad muscular shoulders and thick thighs. He looked like he could snap a man in half, which sent a thrill of excitement skittering through Ben’s chest, but Harlan also had the kindest, greenest eyes Ben had ever seen. The second he’d seen the man he hadn’t been able to look away.

  The set went by in a blur. Ben played a dozen covers and two of his originals, and the small dance floor was packed with writhing bodies. Usually he would lose himself in the symbiotic energy of the crowd and his music feeding each other, and he’d forget that he was adrift in the world beyond this moment. Tonight, though, everything else was secondary to the gruff, sexy cowboy he couldn’t wait to get his hands on, whose solid body he couldn’t wait another moment to strip bare and worship.

  He wrapped up his last song, said his thank-yous and good nights to the audience, and then dashed to the small band room behind the stage where he put his guitar in its case and grabbed his jacket. Lust and anticipation coursed through his veins as he weaved through the crowd toward Harlan.

  “I’m at the Santa Bella Inn,” Ben said when he stopped in front of Harlan. He didn’t need to say more. They both knew what tonight was about.

  Harlan grinned, slow and sultry, and Ben fought the urge to step between Harlan’s legs, press their groins together, and take his mouth in a punishing kiss. But they were in public and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself at just a kiss. Instead of acting on his impulse, Ben nodded his head toward the door, raised an eyebrow he hoped conveyed that Harlan should follow, and started walking. He heard Harlan say something to Hannah, and then boot heels thudded behind him on the polished wood floor. His pulse raced.