Call Me: sold live on CBS 48 Hours (Barnes Brothers Book 1)

by Alison Kent

  “Give me ten minutes to shut ’er down and I’ll be ready to roll. And, Tyler, try to keep it under eighty on the way home.”

  Gardner slapped the hood of the Rover and trotted back to the plane.

  “He’s one to talk,” Tyler groused, slamming his door. He glanced Harley’s way from the corner of one eye. “You ever seen the Roadrunner? You know, the cartoon?”

  “A time or two.”

  “Well, that’s Gardner. ’Cept instead of a whirlwind, he whips up an acre of choke-your-mama dust. You can see the ol’ boy coming for miles. Gardner screws up shocks like we own Midas.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  Tyler snorted. “Not for Gardner. He’s got it made when it comes to slave labor.”

  It was hard not to grin. “You?”

  “Yeah. Me.” Tyler cranked up the engine and cut on the AC. “I’m real good at replacing shocks. But then, I’m real good at brake jobs, too.”

  Harley saw it coming. “The Roadrunner scenario?”

  “Gardner runs like the bird, I stop like him,” Tyler replied, a wily cant to his mouth. He lifted both brows.

  This kid was a heartbreaker. “How long has Gardner been flying?”

  “’Bout five years now.” Tyler draped his arm across the back of the seat, settling in to tell his story. “He was in Tulsa, ya see, and had what will go down in the Barnes family history as the layover from hell.”

  “That bad, huh?” Harley barely managed to suppress her smile.

  “Seems there were these women romance book readers stuck there waiting for the same flight. A couple of ’em tried to talk Gardner into participating in their cover model pageant.”

  Gardner motioned him forward. Tyler straightened and shifted into gear. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when Gardner told ’em he didn’t believe in love.”

  Yanking open the back door, Gardner climbed in. Tyler continued. “After that, the ol’ boy bought the Cessna. Guess he figures he’d rather risk his life than risk being thought of as a sex object.”

  Knowing he’d caught the end of Tyler’s tale, Harley glanced over her shoulder where Gardner had draped himself over the back seat of the Range Rover.

  Tyler chose that moment to floor the gas pedal, tossing Harley against her door. The Rover fishtailed back onto the dirt-and-gravel road. Gardner kicked the back of the seat.

  “Sorry ’bout that, Miss Golden.”

  “No problem.” Harley readjusted her seat belt, shot Tyler a quick grin. “I’m a big fan of Saturday-morning cartoons.”

  “Beep-beep,” Tyler said and floored the pedal again.

  “I see it didn’t take you two long to get acquainted,” Gardner grumbled.

  “You know me and the ladies”

  Gardner just rolled his eyes. Being the man that he was, letting his speed-happy little brother drive didn’t threaten his masculinity. Not that anything could, Harley thought, remembering the way he’d loved her.

  Then remembering Tyler’s words: Gardner didn’t believe in love.

  Gardner’s response to Tyler’s commentary on his belief, or lack thereof, was none. Zero. Zilch. No denial. Nothing. It was as if the subject was one he’d learned to tune out, or grown accustomed to ignoring.

  The way he ignored his good looks. The way Harley wished she could ignore those extra five pounds on her hips. Irrevocably. And forever. Harley sighed.

  While he drove, Tyler talked about his plans for school the following fall, a subject that segued into a dissertation on his true love—veterinary medicine. He described in great and gory detail the horse that had pulled up lame after Gardner’s all-night ride. The same horse Gardner had told her about following their first foray into—dare she admit it?—phone sex.

  Gardner didn’t respond to that line of conversation, either, ignoring, too, the guilt trip his animal-loving brother laid on thick. But beneath every punch Tyler threw, every jab, every barb, he breathed love for his big brother. Gardner had done a father’s job well.

  Harley wondered if he’d exhausted his parental reserves on Tyler or if Gardner planned to have children of his own. It would be a lucky woman who shared that with him.

  Too bad the man didn’t believe in love.

  Not that she’d ever truly expected anything permanent out of this… this… fling. This adventure. Sure, it had been easy to think he could be the man of her dreams when he’d had his hands in places that hadn’t been touched by a man in… well, in months. A lot of months.

  Okay, years.

  Yes, seeing Gardner, being with Gardner, was taking a risk. But after four years of calcifying along in her nonlife, she wanted to shake off Brad for good.

  Who better to help her on this voyage of self-discovery than one gorgeous cowboy?

  The ranch house was exactly what Harley had expected, though she’d had no overt expectations. Wood framed and decades old, the two-story structure looked out over acres and acres of West Texas prairie.

  With a covered porch snuggled around three sides and barn red shutters cuddled up to every window, the house had Home written across each board.

  Gardner’s home. And Tyler’s home. Camelot.

  After the roller-coaster ride across the grassland—and a short stop where Gardner introduced her to Excalibur’s King of Prince William’s Knight—Tyler rolled to an impressively smooth stop behind the house. Giving her a cocky sideways look, he flashed Harley a randy eighteen-year-old smile. Gardner’s hand on his shoulder pinned Tyler to the seat.

  “Your chauffeuring days are numbered, little brother.” Gardner leaned across and snatched the keys from the ignition, then swung open his door. “You’d best stick to doctoring cattle. After you’re done with your chores.”

  Harley pretended not to see Tyler deflate or hear his grumbled opinion on Gardner’s legitimacy. Instead, her gaze followed Gardner as he skirted the front of the vehicle.

  Why had she not noticed the way his jeans hugged his backside, the way his thighs flexed taut from a lifetime of gripping horses, the way his belt buckle drew her eyes to… Oh, God. What had he done with her panties?

  Still mentally searching for her underwear, Harley stepped out when Gardner opened her door. She glanced up, answered his grin with one of her own, then noticed his eyes were not smiling.

  Now, what was wrong?

  “Tyler, go find your uncle,” Gardner hollered across the hood at his dour-faced brother. “Tell him we’ve got company for the rest of the week.”

  A screen door slammed in answer. “I hear ya, Gardner. I may be about to kick off but I’m not deaf. And you know as well as I do that the downstairs guest room’s just waiting to be used.” Jud stopped beside Tyler, propped his hands at his hips and squinted narrow eyes at Gardner. “Your guest got a name?”

  Gardner rubbed at his forehead, then made the introductions. “Judson Barnes, this is Harley Golden. Harley, my uncle Jud.”

  Harley looked from Gardner to Judson to Tyler and wished she could bottle and sell the Barnes male genes. If Gardner was a drop-dead gorgeous hunk—which was a rhetorical comment if she’d ever made one—then Tyler was a teenage heartthrob and Judson… well, no man should look so good at any age.

  Tyler’s walnut brown hair was longer than Gardner’s but definitely short. Judson’s was longer still and sprinkled with gray. But all three men had those eyes. Long lashed and nature’s green. And their height didn’t vary by more than an inch. Eighteen-plus feet of West Texas rancher was an amazing sight.

  Harley stepped forward and extended her hand, wondering what other secrets Camelot was keeping to herself. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Barnes. Gardner speaks of you fondly.”

  “It’s good to know he talks about one of us.” Jud’s scowl was half-hearted. “He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

  Tyler nudged Jud with his elbow. “I think she’s the one from the phone.”

  “The phone?” This time Jud’s frown was legit. “You mean—”

  “Yeah,” Tyler interr
upted. “The phone.”

  “Ahh.” Judson drew out the sound then turned and cuffed Tyler on the shoulder. “Then don’t stand there gawking, boy. Help your brother with Miss Golden’s bags.”

  He turned back to Harley, his lip curled on one side in a Clint Eastwood grin. Harley decided then and there to find a year-round tanning booth. She needed a good blush defense.

  Jud gestured for her to precede him. “Let me show you around the house, Miss Golden. You’re just in time for supper.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Gardner barked, shoving Harley’s briefcase into Jud’s arms and her suitcase into Tyler’s. “You two take Harley’s things inside and let me have a minute alone with my guest.”

  With a minimum of grumbling and a maximum of speculation, the two men headed for the house.

  “You told them about our phone calls,” Harley whispered once Jud and Ty were out of earshot.

  Gardner shook his head. “Tyler picked up the phone. Once. He didn’t hear anything. It’s just that my lack of female companionship is a running joke around here.”

  He lifted his hat, scrubbed one hand over his hair, then settled the wide-brimmed Resistol back in place. “I didn’t consider what I was getting you into. I’m sorry.”

  A man who knew the meaning of the word sorry. And even knew how to pronounce it. Just her luck he didn’t believe in love—

  Ugh. She had to get over that. She wasn’t here for a happily ever after, though it would be nice to know why she was… besides the sex. “Is that why you have that wrinkle?”

  “What wrinkle?” He frowned.

  “This one.” She reached up, ran her thumb across his brow. “Don’t frown. It makes it worse.”

  Gardner frowned, making it worse. “I don’t have a wrinkle.”

  “Yes, you do. And you have little lines. Right here.” She smoothed a feather-light touch over the corner of his eye, then stroked the spot to the right of his mouth.

  “You have a dimple, too. And the longest lashes I’ve ever seen.” She brushed them with a knuckle; his eyes drifted shut. Heat curled between their bodies in corkscrews of summer steam.

  “You could use a shave.” She cupped his jaw, played his lips with her thumb. “And your mouth tastes like heaven on earth.”

  “Yours tastes like a cherry. Sweet. Ripe.” He palmed the back of her head, brought her flush against his body. He leaned over, sucked her lower lip into his mouth.

  Turning his back to the house, he opened her wrap, slid his hand inside to cover her breast. His palm was a fire on her skin, his tongue a flame in her mouth. The kiss skipped straight over seduction and slid into sin. Gardner’s sex pumped to life, priming Harley’s body with precision skill and speed.

  Then he jerked up his head, bit off a curse and set her back a step with regret in his eyes. “Harley, there’s a gun under the driver’s seat of the Rover. If I come near you again, shoot me. Put me out of my misery.”

  He did look miserable. A cross between a kid with his hand in Momma’s cookie jar and a teen in the back seat of Daddy’s Buick. Harley reached out but pulled back her hand when he flinched. His misery now looked suspiciously like self-pity. And Harley started to laugh.

  Hands jammed at his waist, Gardner gave a disgusted shake of his head and kicked up a spray of gravel dust. “What is so damned funny?”

  “This is rich.”

  “What?”

  Harley swiped a thumb pad beneath each eye. “Here you are, you finally have me to yourself—you lecherous ol’ man—and we have two chaperones who could do double duty as Catholic school nuns.”

  “Don’t move.” Gardner held up one hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get your bags. You haven’t unpacked yet. Let’s get out of here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go back to Fredericksburg.”

  “You mean back to the fantasy?”

  “Right now that’s exactly what I want.”

  “Me, too.” And she really did. But she also knew that Fredericksburg had changed everything. “The fantasy’s been fun, Gardner, but it can’t go on forever. We both need to know where to go from here.”

  “You’re right.” Gardner glanced across the yard of Camelot, his eyes narrowed, his expression fierce. Finally, his focus returned to her.

  His eyes sparkled, his grin disarmed. “Let’s get on with that date. How ’bout some West Texas supper?”

  The man could charm the barbs off a fence. “Thought you’d never ask, cowboy.”

  FOURTEEN

  HARLEY PLACED HER FORK ON the rim of her plate and smiled across the table at Jud. “Your nephews are lucky men, Mr. Barnes. You’re a wonderful cook.”

  “C’mon now, Miss Golden. I told you to call me Jud. We’ve got a cash crop of Mr. Barneses populating the place and it’ll get mighty confusing if you don’t.”

  “Then Jud it is. As long as you call me Harley.” She let her smile widen. It was easy to do.

  “Harley.” Jud’s brows drew together. He waved his knife and fork over his plate. “Ain’t that the name of a motorbike?”

  Harley nodded. “Harley-Davidson. My parents rode when I was younger.”

  “Did you ride with them?” Tyler asked, coating his slab of bacon-covered meat loaf with ketchup.

  “I used to. But I haven’t been on a bike since I was ten.”

  “And anything else you two Mr. Barneses want to know will have to wait.” Gardner scraped back his chair, got to his feet. “If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to show Harley around the ranch before I have to run over to Sam Coltrain’s and check on the trailer.”

  “Hold on a minute, boy,” Jud ordered. “Harley hasn’t eaten more than half a helping. Why don’t you sit back down here and let her finish up?”

  Harley stood. “I couldn’t eat another bite, Jud. Really. But it was delicious. Can I help you clean up?”

  “No, ma’am. This ain’t no dude ranch where you gotta work for your supper. And there’s no use cleaning up till the rest of the boys eat.” Jud pushed back from the table, unfolded his frame from his seat. “Speakin’ of which, I’d better holler down to the bunkhouse.” He started for the back door, then glanced back at Harley. “As long as you’re sure you’re finished.”

  “I am. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to a home-cooked meal. I tend to… graze. You know, popcorn here, an apple or carrot.” Jud stopped walking. Tyler stopped chewing. Gardner stopped to stare. Harley tried again. “A head of lettuce. A bowl of puffed wheat.”

  No use. All three men still appeared clueless. What did aerobically active ranchers know about cellulite? “I can only do meat loaf in bacon drippings and mashed potatoes with butter once a year. I have a problem with weight.”

  Now she really felt like a piece of meat. Jud gawked as if he didn’t understand the concept. Tyler understood but his grin was appreciative, and more leer than grin.

  But Gardner. Oh, Gardner. The expression m his eyes defied description. His gaze held a knowledge that came from intimacy, a desire that sprang from the same. The look frightened her, compelled her. She didn’t know if she could live up to what he expected.

  Her blood heated; her stomach knotted. She was totally, irrevocably lost. “So how about that tour you promised?”

  He must’ve read the panic in her eyes because he skirted the table and took her elbow in his hand. “Are you sure you’re up to it? It’s quite a climb to the attic.”

  Standing in the doorway between the washroom and the back porch, Jud sputtered. “The attic? I done showed Harley the house, Gardner. Why don’t you walk her around the homestead? There’s nothing in the attic but a bunch of old junk.”

  “Harley’s an antique dealer, Jud. She appreciates all that junk.”

  The inflection Gardner gave the word junk told Harley that Gardner and his uncle held differing opinions on whatever was stored in the attic. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

  And what it meant to Gard
ner.

  Before Gardner managed to move toward the doorway that led to the stairs, Jud nodded in his direction. “So I guess you’ll be wanting off breakfast duty this week.”

  Gardner pulled up short at Jud’s question. His hand tightened noticeably on Harley’s arm. Harley glanced up at his face—at his drawn expression, the tightness around his mouth.

  “Like you said, Jud. This isn’t a dude ranch. I’ll take care of my chores. Harley knows the lay of the land—that Camelot comes first.”

  So much for worship and adoration.

  Jud afforded Gardner a stern fatherly look. “I wasn’t expecting you to dodge your duties, Gardner. But I thought by taking breakfast off your hands, I could free you up a couple of hours to spend with your guest.”

  Tyler rose, carried his plate to the sink. “And unless you’ve got your heart set on going out to Sam Coltrain’s tonight, I can save you the trip. I’ve gotta pick up Guin from Doc Harmon’s after school tomorrow, anyway. I’ll run over to Sam’s and pick up the trailer.”

  “It’s ready?”

  “He called while you were gone.” Tyler dried his mouth on a dish towel. “Said the weld’s not pretty but it ought to hold up to whatever King gives it.”

  Harley glanced from Gardner’s face to the two men standing, arms crossed, on either side of the kitchen sink. The scene resembled a hostile standoff. But the emotion in Jud’s eyes wasn’t criticism but concern, the care in Ty’s gaze the same.

  Gardner crossed the width of the kitchen, reached out and shook each man’s hand. “You two aren’t half-bad to have around.”

  “We’re all Barneses,” Tyler said. “What did you expect?”

  With a final slap to both men’s shoulders, Gardner turned away. There was a story here. Harley wondered what it was. But before she could wonder further, Gardner laced his fingers through hers and led her up the stairs with a minimum of ceremony and a whole lot of haste.

  The landing at the top of the stairs branched off to the right into a hallway that ran the width of the house. Jud had showed her the bedrooms—his own, Gardner’s and Ty’s—before showing her the room in which she’d be staying. Downstairs.