by Kate Kisset
“The Owl isn’t much to look at on the outside,” Harlan explained, pointing to the sign above the door. Locals enjoyed the fact that their favorite bar looked like a cross between a massage parlor and a dive. The scuffed metal door and the black tinted windows offered no clues about its interior, and kept the tourists away.
He grinned, opening the heavy door. Georgia tossed him a pretty smile before cautiously stepping inside the building to a dark room with heavily paneled walls.
The Owl had been Harlan's home away from home when he first started to take his music seriously. With the massive dark cherry bar on the left, permanent stale beer smell, and small stage in the back, it felt welcoming. To Harlan, the scuffed floors covered with bits of popcorn and peanut shells were just part of the charm.
By midnight the tiny dance floor in front of the stage and the few scattered tables around the room would be packed—the whole space would become a dance floor with standing room only.
Before his first album, Harlan tested his songs there, having an open invitation to play whenever and whatever he wanted. Linda was generous that way, and had been running the bar since her father passed.
Linda caught his eye while wiping down the bar. She threw the rag over her shoulder and shot her hand up.
Harlan slipped his hand around Georgia's waist and snuck down next to her ear, inhaling the delicious fragrances of her skin. “C’mon I want you to meet someone." He ushered her over to Linda.
“Hey, Harlan." Linda greeted him with her never-ending, effervescent lilt. She grinned at Georgia, threw an approving smirk at Harlan before extending her hand. "Hey, honey. I’m Linda."
She shook her hand. “Georgia.”
“Peach.” Linda giggled, brushing an errant strand of blonde hair away from her face. Harlan shook his head, impressed with Linda’s consistent ability to peg someone in thirty seconds flat. She pointed to two stools. “Have a seat. What can I get you?”
"What's Peyton cooking tonight?"
“Meat off the bone ribs or barbeque chicken.”
“Looks like we’re in luck. Should we make it two chickens?” he asked Georgia.
“Absolutely.” She settled on the stool beside him.
“And two drafts?”
Georgia nodded in approval, relaxed, all smiles. Harlan soaked up her cheerfulness, loving the chance to watch her enjoy one of his favorite places on the planet. Was it too soon to take her on a trip? He didn’t stop himself from ogling her curves and couldn’t imagine not seeing her again soon. Maybe he’d take her somewhere warm, where she could show off that body of hers. Maybe the tropics?
“Two beers. You got it,” Linda said, quickly grabbing a couple of glasses as Harlan got comfortable watching Linda pour. She served them, carefully placing the glasses on coasters. “Enjoy!” She smiled. “Dinner’s coming right up.” Linda started to leave and then turned back with a grin. “It's good to see you out and about, Harlan.” She winked before taking off through the back door leading to the kitchen.
Harlan swiveled to Georgia. “You ready?” he asked, raising his glass for a toast.
“I’m way ahead of you,” she teased, coming in and kissing his cheek before clinking her glass against his. “To the story.”
“Page one,” Harlan said under his breath. They sipped, gazing at each other over the rims.
“Hey, Harlan." A light, breezy voice called out, and he caught a glimmer of something blonde and busty in his peripheral vision. He knew in a second who it was, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get away with ignoring her. He wasn’t that type of man anyway.
“Small town,” Harlan whispered to Georgia before he turned to find Kelly Sanders strutting confidently toward him. He set his beer down and wrapped his arm around Georgia, giving his old fling a fair and solid signal.
He could hardly be called a man-slut, but Harlan wasn't a saint, either. Before his self-imposed exile, Harlan had two women in town he'd call to keep him warm, and Kelly was one of them. Pretty, divorced with a young daughter, but he'd put the brakes on the relationship when Kelly wanted to introduce him to her little girl.
Not that he didn’t like children. Harlan just didn't want to give Kelly the wrong impression or make it difficult for her family. He cared for her, but after several dates knew Kelly wouldn't be the woman he’d settle down with.
“Kelly,” he said, rising, giving her a her a friendly hug.
“How’ve you been?” Kelly’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement he knew too well. “I know you’re not touring these days, so how come I never see you around?”
Not about to get into a discussion, Harlan smiled magnanimously and let the question sail to the rafters. He had a perfectly clear conscience, knowing he clearly and carefully did not lead Kelly on.
He ran his hand up Georgia’s back and kept it there. “Kelly, this is Georgia.”
“Oh...” Her left eyebrow rose a fraction. Kelly teetered back in her high-heeled boots as if she hadn’t seen her. “Georgia,” she stated, like it was a foreign word. She fiddled with her hands, eyes roaming to Harlan and then to Georgia.
“Nice to meet you, Kelly.” Georgia cut through the crap with a friendly smile.
The gesture seemed to knock Kelly out of her funk, because her mouth curved into a gracious smile. “And what brings you to Lonesome?” Kelly zeroed in, inching closer to Peach.
“Boone,” Harlan interjected. “We're here to see Boone.” He gestured to the stage.
Kelly followed his gaze and then leveled it back on Georgia, and Harlan had had enough.
“Enjoy the show, Kelly. Good to see you again."
She nodded, without any obvious signs of hurt. “You too.” Kelly fluttered her eyelashes. “It's always a good time with Boone,” she commented, scanning the bar, and left.
With an inward sigh of relief, Harlan resumed his place at the bar and grabbed his beer.
“Popular man.” Georgia bumped him with her shoulder. He detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but thankfully she didn't appear to be the jealous type. Which was a good thing, because The Owl was the only place for music in town, and when Boone played, a typical slow weeknight out turned into a major event. Harlan was sure to run into friends and might see his other acquaintance before the night was over.
“And here you go,” Linda said, depositing their plates. She handed them their silverware bundled up in napkins.
“Do you smell that?” Georgia asked, waving the scent of garlic, cayenne, and spices up to her nose. She unrolled the napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “This is gonna be to die for.” She gathered a forkful of chicken.
“What did I tell you?” he asked with a grin as soon as she finished her first mouthful.
“Best. Ever.” She said, giving him a thumbs-up, looking like she belonged there.
“Hey, you never told me where you’re originally from.” He chuckled, watching her take another big bite.
She waved her hand in front of her mouth and finished swallowing. “Florida. And then we moved when I was in high school. When my grandparents sold their place in Lennox and moved to the Berkshires, my mom and dad—they were still together then—moved to the Berkshires to be closer to them. They still live there. I’m a three-hour drive away.”
“Now it makes sense.” He took hold of his napkin. “I didn’t think someone from New York would eat barbeque like that,” he teased, wiping a smudge of sauce off the corner of her mouth. Zeroing in on her sexy lips, he kissed the spot where the sauce had been, wanting to skip the damn show and drag her off somewhere private. “Have I told you I’m into you?”
She gave him a secretive smile and ran her hand up his thigh. “The feeling is mutual,” she said in a silky voice, just as the houselights flickered. “I guess they’re about to start.” Georgia leaned over so she could see around him, while Harlan turned to watch Boone and his band getting into position. His brother gave him a wave while he moved the mic stand to the center of the stage.
Cha
pter Twenty-one
THERE WAS NO WAY GEORGIA could possibly miss dark-haired, devilishly mischievous Boone, even if he wasn't waving, but the man sitting beside her had stolen her heart. She was in deep trouble. The kind of trouble people cried themselves to sleep over after they got home to New York.
She didn’t have any claims on Harlan. Logically she knew this. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a niggling of jealousy every time a beautiful woman practically broke her neck catching a look at him. Even if folks didn’t wave, or come over and say hi, Georgia could feel the hum surrounding Harlan like bees swarming honey.
He and his brothers were probably the most exciting thing to ever exist in Lonesome, Montana.
His hand brushed against her bare arm, making tingles of excitement skip up to her neck as he shifted in his stool. Harlan was, after all, her date. He wasn’t spending time with anyone else, and she was determined to make the most out of every second they had left.
“Are you having fun?” Harlan asked in a husky whisper before ducking the brim of his hat under hers and leaning in. She held her breath as she felt the stubble on his cheek graze her skin. His yummy scent filled her senses.
Harlan kissed her cheek, slowly, softly, and carrying a punch, taking her back to their private, sexy moments. A feeling of warmth and longing ran through her, as if his smell and touch had awakened a kind of muscle memory deep within.
Georgia already knew what his kisses tasted like, and it only made her desire him more. Another kiss and they would be skin-on-skin back at the ranch, on the couch, in bed—all the places she’d heard him moan and call out her name. He gave her another peck before pulling back.
“I’m having so much fun,” she whispered.
Eyes dark and full of unspoken heat locked on hers, letting her know he felt the sparks too. That he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Feeling everyone in the bar watching, she tried to contain her giddiness, but her mouth won and curved up in a full smile.
Lonesome was his town, and now that Harlan was finally feeling comfortable enough to be out in public, Georgia wasn’t about to embarrass him by throwing herself at him, climbing on his lap, reaching around his broad shoulders and pulling him in for a deep kiss, but that’s what she wanted to do. “I can't remember the last time I was out on a date.”
His fiery gaze locked on her. “Oh...” He grinned, tilting his head, licking his lips. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
The volume of chatter lowered as customers found a wall to lean against or a place to set down their beers.
When the lights dimmed and a few amber spotlights flicked on, lighting the stage, she and Harlan clutched their beers and swiveled to face the band.
In a dark blue button-down shirt, dark jeans, and black hat, Boone swaggered onto the stage with a guitar slung across his chest. He stepped up to the microphone while the drummer took a seat behind the cans, and Boone’s friend Bobby and another tall guitarist moved into position behind him.
Boone waited, looking out over the small crowd. And after a few moments of shuffling, and chairs dragging across the wooden floor, the room quieted. There wasn’t a sound until the microphone made a muffled bang when Boone took it out of the stand and held it.
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Boone’s deep, luxurious voice cut across the room, making her heart jump because it sounded so much like Harlan’s. The depth and richness were unmistakably Beckett, and Georgia could only imagine how the two brothers sounded singing together.
She bet their harmonies were perfect in the way only siblings could sound. Georgia took another swig of her beer and adjusted her legs so the heels of her boots wedged over the low metal bar on the stool.
“I’d like to play a few new songs I’ve been working on,” Boone explained with a half laugh. It was obvious by his jovial, conversational tone that he was among friends and had done this before. “Hey, Linda,” he shouted, waving to the bar. Georgia pivoted to watch Linda behind her waving back. “Thanks for letting us play tonight.”
“Any time, Boone. Any time.” Linda grinned before getting back to her customers on the other end of the bar.
The first tune was a slow ballad, and it was then that she clearly heard the difference between Harlan and Boone’s voices. They were similar, for sure, but Boone had a little more of a twang and a higher range. Murmurs and shuffling followed as couples moved out onto the dance floor.
Linda took their dinner plates away, and Harlan ordered two more beers, inching his stool closer to hers so their thighs were touching.
Georgia sipped her beer, dreading that she'd have to leave soon, and it wasn’t only Harlan she’d miss.
What would it be like to live in a small community surrounded and supported by friends? There was something comforting about the thought of walking down the street, or into a place like The Owl, and having everyone know you, ask how you’ve been, and care about you.
Back in New York, sure, Georgia would go out with friends, and maybe the bartender would recognize her and say hi, but she'd never walked into a room where everyone knew her.
She noncommittally perused the dance floor before staring off at the rustic wood paneling and at the cozy way the foursome to the right were laughing, happy she’d had a taste of this side of life.
Boone’s band played a few fast songs and then slowed it down again.
She glanced up at Harlan, noting the intensity of his stare and the way he was no doubt rooting for Boone and probably analyzing his brother’s sound. She could feel his affection for Boone pouring off him.
Georgia set her beer down and snuggled against Harlan’s shoulder. “You wanna dance?”
Chapter Twenty-two
HARLAN STARED DOWN at her, tongue-tied.
“It was a simple question.”
“Simple for you, maybe.” He laughed. “I can't remember the last time I was on a dance floor.”
“So is that a yes?”
Harlan beamed at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Absolutely,” he said, getting to his feet and offering his hand.
“Thank you.” Georgia grinned, taking his hand, stepping down from the stool.
A heavy shoulder bumped him from behind, and Harlan spun around, poised to protect his Peach. He broke into an easy smile when he saw who the culprit was.
“Where do you think you’re going? I was just going to grab a beer with you.” Colt yelled over the music. His eyes traveled down to Georgia and he smiled.
“We’re on our way to the dance floor.”
Colt’s heavy eyelashes shot up. “Huh.” He studied Harlan again, and then cast his eyes at Georgia. “Okay, you’re dancing now, huh?”
“Yeah.” Harlan straightened, closing the subject. “When did you get here?”
“A while ago. I was standing in the back. Boone’s killing it tonight.” Colt scanned the bar area and came back to him. “Good to see you out of the house. Catch up later,” he said before turning away and snagging a stool just as a customer left.
Harlan gave Georgia’s hand a squeeze and continued cutting through the crowd. Yes, yes, Harlan Beckett is dancing, he silently answered a few of his buddies’ gapes as he led Georgia to the tiny snap and lock floor.
“Save a dance for me, Harlan,” an unknown brunette harped at him as he passed her. Not wanting to be rude, he answered with a customized flat expression that translated to, Not a chance.
Boone was singing the chorus of “It’s Just a Matter of Time” when Harlan found an open corner near the corner stage right, away from the throbbing amplifiers.
“This is our song,” she grinned, pointing to Boone.
“Your songwriting debut,” he smiled. “We’re going to pay you for your work.”
“It’s on the house, cowboy,” Georgia commented as he positioned her in front of him under the dim amber light. He firmly wrapped an arm around Georgia’s waist while holding her hand with the other. Honeysuckle and vanilla wafted up
from her hair when she adjusted her stance.
She peeked up at him with a quiet smile, completely unaware of how captivating she was, and glided her hand up the length of his arm, resting it on his shoulder.
A smile curved his mouth while he swayed to the music with Georgia fitting perfectly in his arms. Pressing against the small of her back, he pulled her closer, quietly lost in irrational thoughts. Harlan’s lips lingered against her forehead as they rocked in time.
How would he let her go tomorrow?
It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to trade New York for Lonesome, but he wanted to be selfish. It was like she had the ability to keep the sun shining around him, banishing all the dark clouds he’d been living under.
He wasn’t feeding her a line when he told Georgia he’d started writing again. His soul had connected with someone warm and true. Would it be fair to him if he let a woman with her depth walk away?
And it wasn’t only a sexual connection, especially after the first time. His bond to her had become more intense with every moment he spent with her, every time they slept together. How could he cut those feelings off?
“Harlan, are you coming up here, or what?” The question startled him out of his thoughts. “C’mon, Harlan, get your ass up here.”
Chapter Twenty-three
GEORGIA STIRRED FROM her dreamy trance against Harlan’s chest.
“What do you say we get my brother up on stage to sing for us?” Boone pointed, and the crowd started cheering. The dancers around them moved out of their collective huddles, forming a haphazard circle around her and Harlan.
She couldn’t count the number of concerts she’d attended, but she’d never been with a celebrity, not like this. Stiffening, Harlan pressed a light kiss on her forehead.
“Come on, Harlan,” Boone egged him on, and the crowd roared. Her heart raced, picking up on the excitement like a contagion.
“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to Boone, wearing the gracious smile she’d seen Harlan put on when he was uncomfortable.