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

  “I’m just going to check if anyone’s inside,” Harlan said to Tanner, keeping his tone as even as he could. “You wait here.”

  Tanner nodded as Harlan flipped on his hazard lights and got out. He trudged through the snow to the driver’s side of the cab. A thick layer of frost covered the inside of the glass, preventing him from seeing in, but it told him all he needed to know. Ben was still in there.

  Harlan heaved the door open and found Ben slumped forward in the seat. His color was frighteningly pale, but he wasn’t blue and there were little puffs of air clouding in front of his mouth. He was alive and breathing, though his breathing was far too shallow. How long had he been out here without heat?

  “Ben,” he said. No response. “Ben, can you hear me?”

  Harlan cursed under his breath and fought back a panic that lurked just below the surface. He shoved it down, needing to keep his wits about him right now. He reached in and gently squeezed Ben’s biceps, trying to rouse him again. “Ben, come on. Wake up.”

  Ben stirred, and relief washed through Harlan. A gust of breath burst from his mouth, and his eyelids fluttered open.

  “S-s-so c-c-cold,” Ben mumbled through chattering teeth.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Ben shook his head, slowly, and grunted a barely audible “no.”

  With some effort, Harlan managed to pull Ben from his truck. He wrapped an arm around Ben’s waist and pulled him against his side, and then more carried than walked Ben to Harlan’s truck. He went around the passenger side and knocked on the window. Tanner opened the door and hopped out.

  “Help me get him in the back,” Harlan said.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Tanner asked, his eyes wide as he opened the back door of the quad cab.

  “As long as we get him heated up soon.”

  Harlan got Ben settled on the narrow back seat and securely buckled in. Ben wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering violently. Harlan took off his jacket and gently tucked it around Ben.

  “Th-thank y-you,” Ben chattered and then fell silent, shaking the entire drive home.

  Ben blinked his eyes open and frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. The comfortable bed he was lying on was at the far end of a large, Western-appointed room and faced a window that looked out onto snow-frocked trees and a spotless blue sky. A wood-burning stove in the far corner of the room softly crackled and popped with heat. He remembered sliding off the road in the snow, hitting a tree, waiting for help, and then Harlan had been there. There had been someone else with him, too. A short man? A kid? After that, Ben only had flashes of the night—Harlan’s hand running through his hair, Harlan lighting a fire. So where was Harlan?

  Ben sat up, his torso bare. Someone—Harlan, he assumed—had taken off his shirt and pants before putting him to bed. Beside the bed was a chair with his clothing neatly folded on it.

  He stepped out of bed and took stock of his physical symptoms—mild headache, stiff neck, pinched shoulder. All in all, not as bad as it could have been and nothing a good massage couldn’t take care of. He got dressed, crossed the bedroom to open the door, and froze. Sitting in the hallway outside his door were two good-sized Australian shepherds. One was a black tricolor with white markings and tan points, and the other was a red merle. They both stood up, seeming friendly enough with their tongues lolling from their mouths and docked-tail bums doing happy wiggles.

  “Hello, puppies,” he said, crouching down to their level. He rubbed his fingers in each of their long, soft ruffs. The black dog licked his face with a sloppy tongue while the merle one offered a paw for a shake. He chuckled. Nothing was better than puppy loves.

  Maple scents and low voices drifted down the hallway—a gruff rumble that had to be Harlan and a higher pitched, more animated voice. Definitely someone young.

  “Shall we go say good morning?” he asked the dogs and was answered with more phantom-tail wags and happy faces.

  The dogs followed on his heels as he walked toward the sounds. He stopped at the threshold of a modern country kitchen with stainless steel appliances, white cabinetry, and blue accents. Both dogs sat beside him, one on each side. Harlan stood on one side of a narrow, granite-topped island loading scrambled eggs and strips of crisp maple bacon onto a plate. He slid it across the island to a young boy, and the smile on Harlan’s face made Ben’s heart do a little skitter in his chest. There was nothing but paternal love in that man’s expression.

  So Harlan was a dad. Did that mean he had a wife somewhere? She’d better be an ex, given the two nights they’d spent together. But then, from what Ben knew of Harlan, limited though his knowledge was, he didn’t seem the kind of man to jeopardize a relationship for a fling.

  The young boy noticed Ben first. He had the same green eyes and dark hair as Harlan, though his face was round. He smiled the same lopsided smile, too. There was no mistaking him for anything other than Harlan’s son.

  “Hi,” the boy said, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Want some breakfast?”

  Harlan looked up, and his expression snapped shut—not only closed but iced over. The smile that had started to stretch across Ben’s face slipped. He had no doubt that if the boy hadn’t asked him to stay, Harlan would be showing him to the door right now.

  “I, uh, don’t want to impose,” he hedged. The open and friendly Harlan he’d spent the last two nights with was gone. There was nothing inviting about the Harlan currently staring at him with narrowed eyes. “I should probably just get going.”

  His stomach decided then would be perfect timing to let out a growl that sounded like a pride of roaring lions. Harlan raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips, and pointed to a chair at the end of the island. “Sit,” he ordered. To the dogs, he said, “You two go lie on your beds.”

  “Thank you.” Ben pulled the seat back and sat down as the dogs obediently scurried off. He tucked his hands under his thighs, as though that would help with the awkward situation. He could read a room, and what it was saying was that Harlan didn’t want him here.

  But for whatever reason, here he was.

  “Nice dogs,” Ben said, hoping that would be a safe start to a conversation.

  Harlan harrumphed. “Charlie and Cooper. Couple of troublemakers.”

  Okay . . . Apparently, that was all he had to say about them. Ben turned his attention to the boy, who’d been watching him like a hawk since he’d first noticed him.

  “I’m Tanner,” he said and leaned over with his hand held out.

  Ben grinned and shook his small hand. “Hi, Tanner. I’m Ben.”

  “Are you a friend of my dad’s?”

  Ben glanced at Harlan for direction, but all he got was a glare. “Um . . . ?”

  Tanner glanced from him to Harlan and back again with curious eyes.

  “He’s an old friend,” Harlan said with a cold edge in his voice. He poured a coffee and pushed it across the island to Ben. “He’s just passing through.”

  His meaning couldn’t have been any clearer: Ben wasn’t wanted here, and the sooner he left the better. Disappointment niggled in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling that way because he was just passing through. That was the plan. No reason it should change because of a couple of great nights with someone he’d met on the road. But some people you met were more memorable than others. That’s simply how it went.

  “Where are you going?” Tanner asked before shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  “Making my way down to San Diego.”

  “Do you live there?”

  “No.” Ben freed his hands and reached for the steaming cup of java. “I’m playing a gig there, and at a few more places between here and there.”

  “He plays guitar,” Harlan offered as he put a loaded plate of tantalizing food in front of Ben none too gently.

  Ben’s mouth watered. He loved maple bacon. Best creation ever.

  Tanner’s eyes lit up, and he fully turned to Ben, his breakfast forgotten. “Really? Can you teach me to play?”

  “He’s not going to be here long enough,” Harlan cut in before Ben could respond. But at Tanner’s crestfallen face, his voice softened and he added, “But maybe we can find someone around here to teach you.”

  “Okay.” Mollified, Tanner turned back to his meal.

  “Speaking of, where is my guitar?” Ben hadn’t noticed it in the room when he’d gotten up. “And, uh, my truck?”

  “You crashed, and we saved you,” Tanner said matter-of-factly, earning a charmed grin from Harlan.

  “All your stuff is still in your truck,” Harlan said. He leaned back against the counter in a pose that should have been casual, but the way he held his body was rigid and anything but. “Called for a tow last night so I’ll give you a ride over to the garage after I drop Tanner off at school.”

  “Thank you.” Ben’s throat tightened, and he had to pause to collect himself. If Harlan hadn’t come along, would he have been out there still? Would he have frozen to death? Surely not. At some point, road crews had to have come by to plow the snow. But Harlan had come along, and he’d taken care of him. “For everything.”

  Harlan nodded, his gaze lingering on Ben a moment before his mouth dipped down at the edges. He turned around and started cleaning up the frying pans. Ben glanced at Tanner, who was watching the silent exchange intently. He grinned as if he knew something Ben didn’t and then went back to finishing his meal.

  After breakfast the three of them piled into Harlan’s truck and drove a few miles to drop Tanner off at school before heading to the garage in silence. The snow had finally let up, but there was a whole lot more than the “rarely get much” Harlan had said was normal. A good foot of the not-so-fluffy white stuff made the short drive slow going.

  They pulled into the parking
lot of an old gas station and auto repair shop, and Ben saw his truck raised up on a hoist through the glass garage doors.

  “Mornin’, Harlan,” a grizzled older man in a thick flannel shirt and grease-covered jeans said when they entered the shop. He wore a black ball cap with JOE’S emblazoned in white on the front. “What brings you by?”

  Harlan hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Ben here owns the truck you towed in this morning.”

  “Oh yeah, right over here.” Joe led them to a cluttered shop, and right away Ben realized the damage was a fair bit more than a dent or two.

  “Is it driveable?” Ben asked, silently sending out a plea to the universe that he could just hop in and go. “I need to be in Sacramento today.”

  “No, sir.” Joe shook his head. “Ain’t happening in this vehicle. Axle’s bent.”

  “Shit.” Ben ran a hand through his hair. “How soon do you think it can be fixed?”

  “About an hour, give or take, once I get the part,” Joe said. But just as he’d raised Ben’s hopes of being on the road today, Joe dashed them. “But it’ll be a couple days till I can get it here.”

  Ben’s shoulders drooped. He would miss his next gig completely. He’d need to be even farther west for the following show by the time his truck was ready to drive. He’d have to rent a car so he could go now. Then he’d have to come back after his gigs to get his truck, which would be a pain.

  “Is there somewhere I can rent a car in town?” Ben asked, hope risking a rise again.

  Harlan and Joe both shook their heads. Hope was proving futile.

  “Afraid you’re stuck,” Joe said unhelpfully.

  Ben sighed. He hated having to cancel shows. It wasn’t like they were huge events he couldn’t miss. They were purely for him as he took his time crossing the States, not for any quest of fame and fortune. He loved playing guitar and singing, but he was just as happy sitting on a bale of hay playing for the horses as he was onstage in front of an audience.

  “Can I get my guitar and backpack out of the truck?” Ben asked Joe, who nodded and pressed a button to lower the hoist. After gathering his gear, Ben turned to Harlan. “Mind dropping me back off at the motel?”

  “Inn’s all booked up,” Joe said. The man just couldn’t keep from piling up the bad news, it seemed. “Bunch of out-of-towners filled it up on account of the snowstorm.”

  “Shit.” Ben didn’t know how things could get much worse. “Is there another motel?”

  Joe shook his head. “Just the one.”

  And that would teach Ben for thinking things couldn’t get worse. His truck was out of action, he couldn’t rent a car to get to his gigs, and he had nowhere to stay in Santa Bella.

  Harlan sighed, and not making eye contact, he said, “Suppose you can stay at my place until your truck is ready.”

  FOR THE WHOLE AWKWARD, silent drive back home, Harlan berated himself for offering to let Ben stay with them. He still wanted Ben—badly—but he didn’t want Ben in his space. Not around Tanner. The small ranch was their haven from the rest of the world. It was security and safety, and Ben was a one-night deal. Okay, a two-night deal, plus breakfast. But Ben’s life was as unsettled as a life could be, and while Ben had been friendly and polite with Tanner at breakfast, he’d already proven that’s just how he was. It didn’t mean he actually liked kids.

  And what did Harlan care, anyway? Ben wouldn’t be around long enough that his leaving would break their hearts. As soon as his truck was fixed, he’d be gone.

  Except Harlan knew his son. Tanner had a way of making everyone he met a best friend, and Ben was a highly likeable guy. Harlan could stress that Ben was merely an old friend paying a short visit until he turned blue in the face, but Tanner would still ask when he was coming back with a hope in his eyes that would break Harlan every time. Harlan hated that deep down he’d be asking himself the same thing.

  How was he going to balance the next couple of days wanting Ben in his bed but not wanting him in the house? He jumped out of the truck and into a foot of snow when they got back to the ranch. At least he had work and chores to keep him distracted from Ben and his gorgeous face, sexy dimples, and lean, hard body.

  “Go on inside and make yourself at home,” he forced himself to say as he met Ben at the front of the truck. “I have chores to do.”

  He whistled, and Cooper and Charlie came racing around from the back of the house—where they had a dog door to come and go through as they pleased—and danced around him and Ben. Even the damned dogs were already smitten with the man.

  “Can I help?” Ben asked, sounding eager as he bent down to pet the dogs.

  “Nope,” Harlan threw over his shoulder as he headed for the barn.

  “I know my way around a barn,” Ben called after him. “Helping out where I can around here is the least I can do to repay you for looking out for me.”

  Dammit. Harlan stopped, and his shoulders slumped. No should have been the only answer, but he could put Ben to work shoveling stalls while he worked the horses in the indoor arena. Then he’d have more training time while keeping Ben at a distance.

  Harlan turned around. “Fine.” He pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. “You got any boots other than those fancy ones?”

  Ben shook his head, and the bright light in his eyes began to dim. Harlan cursed himself for how well that didn’t sit with him. “I got a pair that’ll probably fit you in the mudroom. Drop your gear and meet me in the barn.”

  Ben nodded, heading for the house while Harlan went the other way. The dogs stayed where they were, their loyalties divided as to who to follow, and Harlan shook his head as they charged after Ben.

  Traitors.

  “What do you want me to do?” Ben asked when he entered the barn wearing Harlan’s boots, his two Aussies trotting along beside Ben.

  Harlan held out a shovel and pointed to a wheelbarrow. “Start with cleaning the stalls. I didn’t get a chance to this morning.” It wasn’t that he didn’t have time; it was that he had wanted to be in the house when Ben woke up. He’d hoped to have gotten Tanner off to school before then, too. “Soiled shavings into the wheelbarrow, dump it out behind the barn, then refill with fresh shavings under the lean-to.”

  “You got it, boss.” Ben grinned, causing twin dimples to make an appearance and Harlan’s body to take note.

  He scowled and headed for the tack room. Having Ben here was a stupid idea. Maybe he’d call Joe and offer to pick up the damn truck part himself so Ben could get going sooner.

  “You’re not cleaning stalls, too?”

  “Nope. Got horses to train.” Harlan left Ben in the barn, and for a while, his plan to keep his mind and body focused elsewhere worked. Almost.

  A couple of hours later, he was finishing up running patterns with a spirited gelding named Doc when Ben appeared at the arena gate. He hooked a boot on the lower rail and rested his elbows on the top. He didn’t say anything, and Harlan did his level best to ignore him. Unfortunately, he was at the end of his session. He grudgingly climbed out of the saddle and led his mount toward the exit.

  Ben opened the gate, and Harlan nodded his thanks as he passed by without making eye contact. Nonetheless, he felt Ben’s gaze on his back like a branding iron. He paused outside, waiting for Ben to close the gate so he could pull the large arena doors shut, hyperaware of Ben’s every move.

  “So, uh . . . your son, Tanner?” Ben asked the inevitable, his boots crunching in the snow as he trudged along behind Doc. Harlan was actually surprised it had taken him that long to get around to asking. “I take it you and his mom are divorced?”

  Harlan shook his head as he led Doc into the barn. “No wife.” Inside, he slipped off Doc’s bridle and replaced it with a halter, then clipped him into the cross ties before going about removing his saddle and grooming him. It annoyed him that people automatically thought if he had a son, he had a wife. Not all families were created that way.

  “I was married,” he said. “My husband and I wanted to start a family together so we went the surrogate route. But I wanted a family more than Jason did, it turned out. I just never saw the signs until after the fact. Tanner was born, and at first everything was great, but then one day Jason packed up his things when we weren’t home, and never came back. Divorce papers arrived shortly after.”