Tanner's Promise

by Kaylie Newell

  Tanner’s Promise

  A Harlow Brother Romance

  Kaylie Newell

  Tanner’s Promise

  Copyright © 2018 Kaylie Newell

  EPUB Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Publication by Tule Publishing Group 2018

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-948342-91-9

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  The Harlow Brother Series

  More books by Kaylie Newell

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The setting sun lit the Montana sky in a slow bleed of fluid purples and burnt oranges the likes of which Tanner Harlow hadn’t seen since he was a kid. At least not that he’d noticed since he was a kid. He’d always loved sunsets, though. The ending of days. It was the endings that had given him some peace growing up.

  “It was fast, that’s a comfort,” his aunt Vivian said on the other end of the line. Her voice was monotone, emotionless. It wasn’t that there weren’t feelings deep down, but this was how she operated in moments like these. No fuss, no muss.

  “Yeah,” he said, staring out his living room window. Charlotte, his Doberman mix, licked his hand while he rubbed her soft, floppy ears. “It was fast.”

  There was a pause, and he heard a deep exhale of air. He knew what was coming and he braced himself for it. His heart slowed to a dull thump inside his chest. Maddie…

  “It only makes sense that she comes to live with us, Tanner,” she said. “You know that.”

  Did he? That was the thing. He really didn’t. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Now was the time to nod and agree for the sake of getting through this shitty night. His mother had been dead for twelve hours. And he was finding that twelve hours was all it took to turn everything you thought you knew about your life on its head.

  He blinked, watching the sun sink toward Copper Mountain’s blue-violet hulk in the distance. “Yeah,” he said.

  “She can stay with you in Marietta for the summer. That’ll give us time to get things in order, then I can come out and pick her up. Have you talked to Judd and Luke?”

  His brothers were just as shell-shocked as he was. They’d both called—Judd from his layover in Boston, and Luke from where he was stationed in Afghanistan. There was no rule book for a sudden death in a family, no preset conversation that was supposed to take place. But they were on their way. It would be quick—long enough to bury Jennifer Harlow and put their arms around their eleven-year-old half sister, Maddie. Then it was up to Tanner to hold it together until Vivian could take her back to Hawaii in the fall. That was the plan, at least.

  Tanner ran his hand over Charlotte’s pointy head and the dog closed her eyes in simple canine content. She sat with a soft groan at his feet, maybe sensing he needed the comfort.

  “I talked to them,” Tanner said. “Judd will be here tomorrow. Luke, Tuesday.”

  “I got the first flight out of Honolulu in the morning. We’ll take care of everything when I get there, okay?”

  And what would that look like? Cleaning up the residual mess of his mother’s turbulent existence? Making plans to usher Maddie into another state, another life, where he and his brothers would most likely see her only on Christmas if they were lucky?

  But what choice did he have? He was twenty-six years old. He’d just started his landscape design business and it was fledgling at best. He’d just taken out a loan, and he needed time to devote to his work or he was going to retire a damn gardener. Which was exactly what his aunt thought he was. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Luke and Judd’s positions weren’t much better. Judd flew constantly and barely had a home base. Luke was in the middle of fighting a war, for God’s sake. Which left Tanner. The baby of his brothers. The one who’d stuttered until he was fifteen years old and had barely spoken a word to anyone for two years after that. He was going to be the temporary guardian of his little sister. A temporary father. At least until September.

  He swallowed the ache in his throat. His mom hadn’t been a great parent. She hadn’t even been passable for a good part of his life. But she’d been the only one he’d ever known, aside from a father he’d just as soon forget. And he missed her. He missed her at that moment more than she probably deserved.

  “Okay, Vivian,” he said into the phone. Charlotte pricked her ears at the sound of his voice and he looked down at her. His best friend. A dog. But Tanner Harlow wasn’t in the business of trusting most anyone on two legs. That was just the dirty truth of the matter. “Have a safe flight.”

  Chapter One

  Francie Tate listened to the guy talking at her from a few feet away. And that was an accurate description. Talking at her, instead of talking to her. Specifically, he was having a conversation with her boobs.

  Aware that her cleavage swelled over the neck of her white tank top, she crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back.

  “You’re just gonna have to take this here wall down if you want more room,” the guy was saying. He’d taken his cap off and was using it to fan himself. Sweat beaded along his minimal hairline, and his face was ruddy as a vine-ripened tomato. His gaze flickered to her chest and back up again.

  Francie forced a smile, because that’s what she did. She smiled whether she wanted to or not because she was bubbly and sweet. Everyone said so. She could almost hear her mom repeating it in her ear, while leaning down to fluff her hot roller curls. Now, smile, Francie! Show ’em what a nice girl you are!

  “I see,” she said, looking back at the wall. The room was cramped, that was true. She was no contractor, but she didn’t see how she would achieve more space without knocking it down, either. However, she wasn’t made of money. She loved this little house. She was so proud of the fact that she’d bought it on her own, no help from her parents, and on a teacher’s salary, too. That was no easy feat. But it needed work.

  Anxiety curled in her lower belly, and she pushed the thought away that maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  She extended her h
and. “I’ll have to think about it, Bill. Thank you.”

  He shook it, stepping into her personal space. He was the fourth guy she’d called to come out and take a look at the living room, and she vowed he’d be the last. She didn’t like how his eyes, small and set too closely together, kept taking her in like she was a slab of meat.

  By now she was used to workers coming in and trying to intimidate her. They never took her seriously. To them she was the clichéd petite blonde. And she went right along with it, because she didn’t know how to be anyone else. Even though it made her sick to her stomach. Even though what she really wanted to do was plant her foot right between their legs.

  “I don’t have to rush off,” he said, still grasping her hand. “We haven’t talked price yet.”

  “No, we haven’t. But I have a few other people coming over. I’ll have to call you.”

  “Don’t call me, I’ll call you?”

  She felt sweat prickle between her breasts. June in Marietta wasn’t the most comfortable without a working window unit, which she didn’t have. Plus, the guy had passed inappropriate a few seconds ago and was now working his way into unsettling, with a hefty side of weird. Where in the world had she gotten his name? From anyone reputable? She made a mental note to remember and kill them later.

  “Hello?”

  There was a sharp knock on the screen door, and Francie felt a rush of relief all the way to her toes.

  Bill what’s-his-face finally let go and put his cap back on as if he’d been about to do it all along. She wiped her hand on her cutoffs and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “One hundred and eight Bramble Lane? Hope I’m not too early.”

  Francie turned at the sound of the low, male voice. She didn’t care who it was. Didn’t care if it was the IRS coming to audit her for eternity. She wanted to kiss his feet.

  Standing outside the screen door was a tall, broad-shouldered man. Worn, dirty jeans, white T-shirt that was dirty, too. His baseball cap rode low over his eyes, and he leaned against the doorjamb with the casual confidence that only a man who was incredibly tall could pull off without looking too cocky. His dark hair was shaggy and stuck out from underneath the cap, brushing the nape of his neck. Her first thought was hot. Holy crap, this guy is hot. Her second was that he looked familiar.

  He was looking right past her, though, and directly at the contractor who jingled his keys in his hand.

  “I was just leaving,” Bill said, avoiding the other man’s gaze. “Let me know if you want a quote, and I’ll come back.”

  “No, thanks,” she bit out. Which wasn’t like her. Wasn’t like her at all. But there was something about the guy on her front porch, and the fact that she wasn’t alone anymore that gave her the confidence to be a little bitchy. The words felt liberating on her tongue. She pushed her shoulders back and stepped aside so Bill what’s-his-face could pass in a fragrant cloud of sweat and tobacco.

  He gave her a funny look, as though he didn’t know what in the world he’d done, and brushed out the door without another word.

  Francie looked at the guy on her porch again and smiled. The landscape designer. Of course. That’d explain the dirty jeans. The deliciously dirty T-shirt that was a loose fit, but it did absolutely nothing to hide the defined chest underneath.

  And there it was again—the sense that she knew him from somewhere, but she couldn’t figure out where. First of all, nobody she knew was that tall. She’d remember the height alone. It kind of commanded attention. But the way he held himself, that slight tilt to his shoulders, nagged at her subconscious.

  She walked over to the screen door, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. “Quaking Aspen Landscape?” She remembered the name because it was so pretty. Aspens were her favorite.

  The guy nodded, pushing off the doorjamb and putting his hands in his jean pockets. “Sorry. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  “With that guy?” She laughed. “Yeah, my murder maybe. Come on in.”

  She unlatched the door and pushed it open. The late afternoon sunlight slanted warm and golden into her little bungalow, making it hard to see his face.

  Shielding her eyes, she breathed deeply the musky scent of man and earth as he passed. Maybe a little soap from earlier in the day. It was more heady than she would’ve liked. Definitely more heady than she felt comfortable with. She’d sworn off men for a while. She wasn’t supposed to be noticing things like tanned forearms and jeans that rode low on narrow hips. Honestly, though, she’d just sworn off assholes. She couldn’t remember anything about swearing off super-attractive landscapers who showed up at precisely the right moment, wearing precisely the right clothing to make her ovaries sit up and take notice.

  He walked in, the floor creaking under his weight. With his back still turned, she wondered again where she knew him. She hadn’t been back in Marietta long enough to have crossed paths with anyone new. She must recognize him from before. Francie wasn’t an egomaniac, but she had been a self-absorbed teenager with a doting fan base. As an adult, she was used to people in town knowing her, but not being able to place them right away. And that always led to awkward moments like these that made her feel like a complete jerk.

  She hooked her thumbs in her back pockets as he took his hat off and turned around. The absence of it left a sexy, athlete-style ring around his hair that she immediately pictured running her hands through.

  He was tan. Really tan. There were white crinkles radiating from the corners of his brown eyes, a dark shadow of a beard along his jaw. She was positive now. She definitely knew this guy…

  “I was wondering if that was you,” he said. He didn’t look at her when he said it. He held his hat in both hands, pinching the rim between his thumb and fingers. His gaze, that gaze, was averted. The one she recognized as being so shy that it had broken her heart once. In high school?

  She felt her mouth go slack. She couldn’t help it. The memories came rushing back then, in a torrent so powerful, they nearly knocked her over with their vividness.

  “Tanner?” she managed. “Tanner Harlow?” But it couldn’t be Tanner. Tanner was still a boy. Skinny, with a terrible stutter that made it almost impossible for him to talk at all. He was the kid who’d tugged on her heartstrings in first period English. The kid that her asshat boyfriend, Guy Davis, had picked on relentlessly, no matter how often Francie tried to intervene.

  He looked at her then, just as he had all those years ago. Those deep brown eyes. How could she have forgotten them?

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

  She didn’t know what to say. How long since she’d seen him last? Eight years, maybe? Nine? And he looked so different. She’d heard of boys having their growth spurts late, but she’d never really seen the result of one until now.

  And the stutter was gone. That awful stutter that had tormented him and broken her heart. Tanner Harlow was all grown up and standing here in her living room. And she’d just been staring at his butt, for God’s sake.

  Cheeks burning, she stepped forward to hug him. “I can’t believe it.”

  He bent and hugged her back, his arm encircling her waist. His body felt just as hard as it looked, and for the first time in a long time, Francie found herself flustered. She didn’t usually get flustered. When other people laughed nervously, Francie flipped her hair and smiled. When other people struggled for the right words, Francie had a basketful of them, and then some. It was her schtick.

  Stepping back, she beamed up at him. Sweat now crawled at her temples. She fanned herself with her hand and shook her head.

  “You look great,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you. You’re so different than…” Shit, shit, shit.

  His eyes cooled a little.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wanting to bite her tongue in half. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. No more stutter, right?”

  Her pulse quickened. “No. But you’ve grown up, too.”

  “So have you.”r />
  She touched her hair, pulled back into a messy bun. All of a sudden, she realized how she must look. Murphy’s Law. Put lip gloss on, and you saw nobody. Go without a shower for two days, and bump into your entire graduating class.

  He put his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. His jaw muscles were working, though. Clenching and unclenching underneath that stubble.

  “It’s been a while, Francie,” he said. “You’ve been away from Marietta for…how long now?”

  “Since high school. I came back this spring. My dad isn’t doing well, so I wanted to be close.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s working out, I missed home. And I’ll be teaching third grade in the fall.”

  He smiled, two long dimples cutting into his cheeks. “You were always good with kids.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But I do love them. What about you? A landscape designer? I’m impressed.”

  He shrugged, glancing out the window. “I’m lucky. Get to be outside. Get to work with my hands.”

  Before she could help it, she wondered what else he could do with his hands.

  “Do you ever see anyone from high school?” she asked, clearing her throat. Then realized it was a dumb question. She couldn’t think of anyone from school Tanner would want to see.

  “Not a ton. Allison Sanders is still around. Billy Reeves, that group…I see Guy sometimes.”

  At the sound of the name, she stiffened. There was something in his expression that suggested he might be poking her a little. Seeing what her reaction would be. Guy had been an absolute jackass as a teenager. He was still a jackass, but he had money, and money tended to make people accept the jackiest of asses. She’d seen him around, too. He kept trying to make a coffee date to “catch up,” and she kept coming up with lame excuses. Why didn’t she just tell him to take a long walk off a short pier?

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ve seen him a few times, too. We’re all getting so old.”