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

by Alison Kent

  “Poor baby.” Harley snuggled deeper into his side, pulling her edge of the sleeping bag over her back. She rubbed her socks against Gardner’s. “Let’s see if you can predict five years into the future.”

  “Hell, that’s easy. I see you and me and”—he squinted his closed eyes—“what was the time frame? Five years?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, pulling in a shaky breath.

  “You, me, and three children camped under this tree. The kids are sleeping. Two of them have blond hair. One’s darker but his eyes are as blue as yours.” Gardner laid a hand low on her belly. “And the one you’re carrying will look just like me”

  Harley’s heart slammed against her chest. She had trouble finding her voice. “We’ll be living here, then?”

  He nodded, tucked both hands beneath his head. “The house will be full of your antiques. I’ll have to enlarge the stock pens and maybe add on to the barn. The kids have to have horses, you know.”

  No. She didn’t know.

  “We’ll have high chairs and cribs and tiny hats and boots scattered everywhere. The kids’ll have surrogate uncles coming out their ears. I can see it all. The perfect family.”

  “Like the family you have now?”

  He hesitated a minute. “What’s wrong with the family I have now?”

  “Not a thing. I just want to know what you think keeps you, Tyler, and Jud together”

  “Blood. The commitment that comes from that. Respect. Honor.” He shrugged. “Those things are all a part of being a family.”

  “What about love?”

  He came fully awake then. So fast, in fact, that when he levered up on his elbow, Harley fell back and hit her head. He hovered over her, his eyes stark and frightening. “I’ve seen love in my lifetime, Harley. You want to hear about it? You want to hear about a father who stares his son blankly in the eye as if he can’t remember his name? You want to hear about a husband who gets soused night after night and sleeps off his drunk on his wife’s grave?”

  “You want to hear about a man,” he said, his voice breaking, “who loves his wife so much that when she dies he decides to go with her and leave his two sons behind?”

  Harley felt the first stinging tears trail over her temples and into her hair She reached up to press her fingers to his lips but her hands trembled, and he dodged her touch, anyway. “That’s not love, Gardner.”

  “Damn right it’s not There’s no such thing.”

  “But there is,” she insisted.

  “No. I don’t believe there’s a single healthy emotion that gives one person such destructive control over another.”

  His gaze softened and he worried a wayward strand of her hair. “I do believe in you and me. I believe we have a future. I can give you security, happiness, financial stability. And I can give you children.” He stopped, pulling in a shattering breath.

  “But I cannot give you what I don’t have to give.”

  Gardner wasn’t sure if what he felt was sorrow, but nothing about this parting was sweet. With one hand gripping the frame of the Blazer’s window, the other splayed flat on the roof, he stood in the open doorway between Harley and goodbye.

  He needed to step back and let her go. Just let her go. Easier said than done.

  “You know,” she began, her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m not going to make it very far with you hanging on to the door that way.”

  He wasn’t ready for her to leave. He didn’t think he’d convinced her of anything but that he wanted her in his bed. Rolling the tightness from his shoulders, he said, “I don’t know. Might give the highway patrol something to talk about.”

  “I can see the headlines.” Harley diagramed a banner in the air. “Rancher Ropes Runaway Steering Wheel.”

  Gardner groaned. “Very funny.”

  Her expression changed, growing sober. She toyed with the buttons on his khaki shirt. “You knew this week wouldn’t last forever.”

  Had he? He glanced over the top of the Blazer to collect his thoughts. “What time do you think you’ll get home?”

  Slipping the tips of her fingers between the gaps of his shirt, she shrugged. “With good weather and good roads, I’ll be there by eight.”

  “I’ll call you at ten,” he managed, her nails rasping over the hair on his belly.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes.” He looked back down, watched her fingers move underneath his shirt. “I do.”

  “Checking up on your latest investment?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

  It would be so simple if that’s all she was “You know it’s more than that.”

  “Do I?” Her question was only a breath.

  It was more. How much, he was afraid to say. “I’ll feel better knowing you got home safely.”

  “Then let me give you a quick call when I get there.”

  “No. I’ll call you at ten. That’ll give you time to get unpacked and wind down.”

  “What if I’m asleep?”

  Head cocked to one side, Gardner leaned in close and captured her hand. “You ought to know by now that I’m worth waking up for.”

  “You and Tyler.” She laughed, tugging her fingers free. “I sure will miss my daily dose of Barnes ego.”

  “No. You won’t.” Reaching up, Gardner fingered a flyaway lock of her hair.

  “What? Are you sending Tyler to live with me?”

  He narrowed both eyes. “Let’s keep Tyler out of this discussion.”

  She laid her hand against his cheek. “I’m just trying to keep things light.”

  The problem in a nutshell. He wasn’t feeling light at all. In fact, he was feeling pretty damned depressed. He’d felt this down only once before—the day his father had chosen pills over his boys, leaving Gardner no chance to ask why. “Damn.”

  “What is it?”

  What it was was a realization he didn’t want to consider. “It’s nothing. Look. I better get on back. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

  Her expression fell. Her lashes drifted down. And then she looked up and over his shoulder.

  How many things besides hurting her feelings did he regret? “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, you’re right. I’ve neglected a lot this week, too.”

  “Was it worth it?” he asked, hating to.

  She answered with a nod. “I didn’t realize I’d been working so hard or that I needed a break.”

  “A break?”

  “How about a purely pleasurable distraction?”

  He thumbed up the brim of his hat. “Now I’m a distraction?”

  With one wrist draped over the steering wheel, she offered him an impudent grin. “The best I’ve ever had.”

  “When can you arrange to be distracted again?”

  “Not for a while, I’m afraid. The holiday season is coming up. It’s my busiest time.” She shrugged, her smile apologetic. “You know, that lay-of-the-land thing. Golden’s Touch comes first.”

  Why did his own words—hell, his own excuse— sound so lame coming from Harley? He understood, but his spirits refused to be lifted. “How does the future look from where you’re sitting?”

  “I don’t know.” Her sigh was long and slow. “That’s something we’re both going to have to think about.”

  “Why don’t you think about this, instead.” Threading his fingers through her hair, he cupped her head and sought her mouth. He knew her taste, the flavor of her need, the heady press of her body seeking his.

  His heart slammed his chest with a painful blow and he knew the greatest urge to scoop Harley from her seat and take her down to the ground.

  His desire was primal, raw, the basic hunger of a man for his mate. Survival and creation. The earth, the wind, the rain. Everything he felt, he’d fought against for a lifetime.

  Harley Golden lived beneath his skin. And now he knew his father’s pain.

  NINETEEN

  “Delivery time.”

  Holding the brown-paper package
under one arm, Mona waggled her way down the center aisle from the front of the store to the back. Bleary-eyed, Harley watched her assistant’s hip-swaying progress. Mona’s thematic dress of the day had gone too far.

  With every tiny step she took, she clanged and rattled like Marley’s ghost. Though bondage and antiques made for a strangely eclectic mix, Harley had to admit that Mona pulled off the combination with a Madonnaesque flair. Trimmed with ancient coins and links of chain, her bullet-studded bustier and black patent mini sucked up to her curves like white on rice.

  Rice. Harley shuddered at the thought. For three days she’d been suffering the stomach virus from hell and rice was the only food she’d managed to keep down.

  Life held no justice. Here she’d finished Dr. Fisher’s account and couldn’t even wallow in her success. Only in misery.

  “Who’s this one from?” she mumbled, cheek flat against the cool wooden surface of her desk. Mona read the name from the label and Harley poofed out a sigh.

  “One would think you might show more enthusiasm at receiving the final piece to Dr. F.’s contract,” Mona admonished.

  “You want to see enthusiasm? I’ll show you enthusiasm.” One finger crooked in a come-hither curl, Harley squinted up at Mona.

  The box balanced in the V of her elbows, Mona formed a crucifix using both index fingers. “You can keep your little germies all to yourself, thank you very much. I have a wedding to plan and I don’t intend to let anything stand in the way.”

  Harley had returned from Camelot a month ago to find that Gibson had indeed popped the question. And since Gibson didn’t do jewelry, Mona had decided to forgo the traditional engagement ring and wedding set. She’d had her nose pierced with a diamond stud instead.

  “I don’t know. I think your complexion could use more color. I’ll be glad to share my yellow.”

  “No thank you. The wedding will be black-and-white. Not bumblebee.”

  “Did I mention how happy I am for you?” Harley managed a thin-in-momentum-but-abundant-in-sincerity smile. Every woman deserved the chance at such incredible joy.

  “I’m happy for me, too.” A look of supreme contentment softened Mona’s features.

  Harley closed her eyes, ready to wallow in what-might-have-beens and Gardner—until Mona moved. She clanked and clattered her way to Harley’s desk.

  “Now, I’ll just set this box behind your desk. When Dr. F. stops by, I’ll point him in your direction.”

  “Give it here “Harley managed to lift her head. And to keep it on her shoulders. “You know Dr. Fischer. If I don’t bestow my seal of approval in advance, he’ll find the tiniest scratch and call it damage instead of age.”

  Mona handed over the package and hovered nearby while Harley rummaged in a desk drawer for a box cutter. “Getting a little too close to my germies, wouldn’t you say?”

  Propping her hip on the edge of Harley’s desk, Mona shook her head “I was kidding about the germs. I’m naturally immune.”

  “All your shots up-to-date, huh?”

  “Very funny.” Mona scowled.

  Harley groaned, the box cutter slipping from her hands.

  “Whatever’s wrong with you is affecting your motor control.” Mona reached out. “Quit moaning and give me the box.”

  “I need a vacation.” Harley sank into her chair.

  With a couple of swift strokes, Mona finished Harley’s botched job. “You just had a vacation.”

  Harley shook her head, then regretted doing so when Mona’s pointed breasts became four, then six. “No. I need a real vacation. Sand, sun, and no Dr. Fischer”

  “What? No wild-West show? No dude ranch? No dudes?” Mona added the last with a wiggle of both brows. The diamond in her nose reflected the overhead light.

  Harley had never thought of the Barnes men as dudes. Dude gave her the impression of big-city boys portraying cowboy-for-a-day. Tyler and Jud may have joked while they worked but she’d never seen them play. And the only playing Gardner had done involved feathers and cherry tomatoes and…

  “You’re flushed, Harley. Do you have a fever?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, feeling feverish and missing Gardner like she couldn’t believe These past four weeks of phone calls had lasted forever.

  The day she’d left Camelot she should’ve told Gardner she’d arrange to be distracted anytime, anywhere. That all he had to do was call.

  Oh, he’d called, all right. He’d talked his sexy talk, turned her ache into an obsession, and more than managed each and every time to distract her from the issue at hand.

  Love.

  Mona laid the back of her hand over Harley’s forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”

  “I told you I’m fine.” To prove it, Harley got to her feet. Slowly, but she managed. “Here, hold the box still while I trash the packing.”

  “What is it?” Mona asked.

  Harley peeled away the layer of bubble wrap. “A doctor’s bag, circa 1920.”

  “Dr. F. will love this,” Mona remarked as Harley turned the bag from side to side.

  Not as much as he would have loved the one in Gardner’s attic, Harley thought.

  The one Gardner kept as a manacle, shackling him to his past. He’d never spoken of the future, their future, except in regard to continuing the Barnes family name.

  How romantic, Harley silently mused. Come live with me and be my… brood mare.

  “Harley, you really don’t look so good.”

  Harley pushed off her depressing thoughts. “I’m just tired. Between Dr. Fischer and Mrs. Mitchmore, this last month has been a killer.”

  “Then go upstairs and rest. The bag looks perfect. And I can handle Dr. Fischer.”

  Mona’s offer was heaven to Harley’s ears. As was the thought of bed and quilt and pillows and sheets. She wanted nothing more than to curl into a tiny ball and sleep the rest of the day away.

  She glanced down at her watch. It was only four o’clock. Still… “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Would I offer if I did?”

  “No.” Harley patted Mona’s fishnet-clad knee. “You’re one of the only truly honest people I know.”

  Leaning forward, Mona nodded, her eyes narrowing to slits of intensity. Or was it eyeliner? “That’s because I’ve learned to be totally honest with myself first.”

  Hmm. Another trait certain people could stand to learn “Then if we’re being honest here, Mona, can we talk about your clothes?”

  Standing, Mona pressed her palms on the outside curve of both breasts. “How Wonder Woman pulls this off I’ll never know. I feel like the prow of a Viking ship.”

  At that, Harley left, leaving Mona instructions on how to handle Dr. Fischer. Feeling only moderately guilty, she trudged up her stairs, dragging her weary body behind her. A hundred thousand pounds couldn’t weigh any more than her feet.

  That was probably it. The aftereffects of chicken-fried steak and meat loaf.

  She’d just stripped down to her panties, pulled on a wash-worn University of Texas T-shirt, and curled up beneath three inches of antique quilt into that oh-so-comforting, self-hugging ball when her phone rang.

  She knew it was Gardner. Without moving a muscle, without taking a breath, without another thought, she knew it was Gardner.

  His pursuit had become intense in nature, weakening her driving need to have him declare his love. A weakness she was finding hard to counter with her convenient list of rationalizations. A weakness she resented. She was so damned close to giving in.

  Before the answering machine picked up, she did.

  “’Lo?” she mumbled.

  “You don’t sound a lot better than you did last night.”

  Ignoring the roller-coaster rumble through her stomach, Harley pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “This too shall pass.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t I want you to go to the doctor.”

  Since she felt like warm death, anyway, his comment just settled in wrong. “I’ve b
een nursing myself through colds and worse for thirty years. I think I’m the best judge of whether or not I need a doctor”

  “Only if you’re thinking clearly.”

  Harley bristled. “Are you saying I’m not?”

  Gardner took a very long minute to reply. Not a good sign so early in this conversation.

  “I didn’t call to argue,” he finally responded.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” And she truly was. Eyes closed, she slowly counted to ten. “You caught me half-asleep. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight since we talked yesterday.”

  “I talked. You mumbled and moaned, which is one of the reasons I called back. To see if you’re feeling any better. Obviously, you’re not.”

  “These things usually last two or three days. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  “If not, will you consider seeing the doctor?”

  “I’ll consider it”

  “But you won’t promise.”

  Harley rolled onto her back and drew her knees to her chest, focusing on the repetitive circle the ceiling fan sketched overhead. “It’s just a bug. Nothing serious.”

  “As long as you’re sure.” Gardner verbally conceded the battle, though his tone wasn’t acquiescent at all.

  Harley didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or triumphant. Who was she speaking to? Camelot’s boss or her lover? “Hmm. All this concern. A girl might get the feeling that you cared.”

  “I do care.”

  She knew that. Just like she knew she was feeling like crud and taking it out on him. “Let’s chalk this up to a rotten day and start over. Did you call for a reason other than to hear my lovely voice?”

  “Well, if that’s the reason I called, I’d sure as hell be disappointed, wouldn’t I?” Irritation seeped into his tone.

  Harley rubbed her temples with forefinger and thumb. First her stomach. Now her head. She couldn’t handle a blow to her heart. “Gardner, why are we doing this?”

  “I’d lay odds that frustration is at the top of the list. The phone calls just don’t cut it anymore. And before you snap my head off again, I’m talking about more than sex. I miss you.”