HARLAN STOOD OUTSIDE THE Hangtown Brewhouse the next night as a light snow started to fall from darkened skies. He stared at the heavy oak doors and their bronze horseshoe handles, asking himself for the hundredth time what he was doing.

Ever since he’d left the motel the previous night, his mind kept wandering back to Ben. He wasn’t meant to be more than a one-time thing and one-time things didn’t linger, which was the whole point. No one wanted a man with a kid, not even those who claimed they adored kids. Like Jason.

His ex had wanted a family as much Harlan had—or so he’d thought. Through the whole surrogate process, through the birth of their son and his first four years of life, Harlan had believed they would be together forever. And then it turned out Jason hadn’t really wanted that life as much as Harlan had after all. Which was why he now stayed away from anything more than a night of mutual enjoyment.

Except here he was, coming back for more of Ben, who was sexy and talented—in more ways than with a guitar—and whose voice was like a siren song. Harlan’s mind flashed to fevered brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips, and desire cascaded through his veins. He’d been skirting the edge of arousal all day, which had made riding horses uncomfortable. He’d had to stick to ground training for most of the day.

Harlan took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back, and opened the door. He simply had an itch to scratch, and Ben was just the person to scratch it. That was all. Tomorrow Ben would be gone, so there was nothing to worry about. It was only in movies that one night led to true love anyway, and Santa Bella was a long haul from Hollywood.

He scanned the crowd as he crossed the brewhouse floor toward his usual stool at the end of the bar, anticipation rising and then quickly falling when he didn’t see Ben.

“Wow,” Hannah said as he sat down, her grin smug. “Twice in as many days. I wonder why . . .”

“Don’t even start,” Harlan warned but kept his tone light. “There’s good music here and food I don’t have to cook.”

“Uh-huh.” Still grinning, she tossed a coaster on the counter in front of him and covered it with a sweating pint of beer. “I take it that means you haven’t had dinner yet?”

“Nope. I’ll have whatever the special is tonight,” Harlan said, reaching for his beer.

“Fish tacos.”

He nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks, Sis.”

She drummed the countertop with her fingertips, and her expression changed to one Harlan knew well. If he didn’t head her off at the pass, she’d launch into another lecture about how she worried about him and Tanner, and how Harlan needed the love of a good man in his life, too. He’d had a lot of good men—for a night. That was enough. Maybe when Tanner was older and Harlan didn’t have to doubt men wanting kids, he’d think about finding love again.

Before he could speak, her gaze shifted over his shoulder, and her eyes lit. She threw a white rag over her shoulder and, with a wink, disappeared into the kitchen. Harlan had a feeling he knew what—or rather whom—Hannah had seen behind him, but before he could turn around to confirm, an already familiar baritone rumbled in his ear, sending a frenzy of shivers scurrying over his skin.

“I didn’t know we were on for an encore tonight.” Ben leaned against the bar beside Harlan. Heat radiated from his lean body and burned in his deep-brown eyes.

The man was downright heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Harlan sucked in a breath, attempting to play off the effect Ben was having on him with a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t want to miss the music.”

Ben leaned in closer and sensual notes of amber and sandalwood drifted from him to tease Harlan’s senses. “I know a lot of songs,” he said conspiratorially.

Harlan met Ben’s gaze and locked on, and the oddest sensation of falling came over him. One side of Ben’s mouth tipped up, and his eyes sparkled. The moment stretched, expanded, and filled with desire so tangible Harlan could reach out and grasp it in his hands.

Harlan was distantly aware of movement in his peripheral vision, of glass clanking on the polished bar surface, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Ben was the one who broke the moment by shifting his gaze and straightening up. Harlan followed his line of sight. Hannah stood on the other side of the bar, her eyes glistening and her smile soft. Harlan’s dinner sat steaming between them on the bar top. He knew that look, and that train needed derailing ASAP before she started thinking more was going to come from a weekend fling.

“Enjoy the show, Harlan,” Ben said. He tapped a finger to the brim of his hat and sauntered toward the stage. It was going to be torture waiting for him to finish so they could get back to his motel room.

Harlan shifted in his seat, putting his back to the stage, and Hannah was still standing there, watching everything with far too intuitive eyes. He held his hand up and narrowed his eyes at her in warning. “I know what you’re thinking, but you can stop right now.”

Her smile widened, and Harlan shook his head. Sisters. What did she honestly think was going to happen here anyway? Tomorrow Ben would be a footnote in the book of his life.

She pushed his dinner plate closer to him but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. He could see every word she wanted to say written all over her face.

“No.” Harlan shook a napkin out and draped it over his lap. “He’s only passing through, Han. And even if he wasn’t, I’m not interested.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t come back.”

He ignored his sister and dug into his tacos. Ben wasn’t coming back, and Harlan didn’t want him to. Luckily, Hannah finally took the hint and dropped it, though she cast knowing glances at him over the next two hours until Ben finally finished and Harlan followed him out of the brewhouse.

Harlan cracked an eye open. An oddly bright light seeped through a gap in the curtains of a room that wasn’t his. Shit. He was still in Ben’s motel room. He’d meant to go home, but Ben had cuddled up to him after another incredible night of amazing sex and Harlan had been so sated and comfortable beside Ben that he must have fallen asleep.

And now there he was, the morning after, with Ben’s chest pressed up against his back.

He didn’t do overnights. He didn’t do second nights. But then Ben had happened, sexy and charming with a touch like home and a voice like sex, and Harlan had managed to forget all the lines he never crossed.

Harlan carefully lifted the blankets and quietly made to slip out of bed, but a strong arm slipped over his waist and trapped him.

“Don’t,” Ben whispered, his voice sleepy and rough.

Harlan closed his eyes. At another time in his life he might have stayed, but that life was behind him now.

“I gotta go home and tend to my animals,” he said, surprised by the reluctance in his tone.

“There’s an animal right here in need of tending to,” Ben said with a press of his morning erection against Harlan.

Harlan chuckled, tempted, but . . . “My animals don’t have opposable thumbs and need me to feed them.”

Ben sighed but didn’t release him. “Come back and have breakfast with me?”

He knew he shouldn’t. More time with Ben was a bad idea. He’d end up liking the guy more than he already did. Which was ridiculous because there couldn’t be anything between them. Hell, Ben didn’t even know Harlan had a son. And he wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want to see the shift in Ben’s eyes when he found out and suddenly had to be anywhere but there.

“It’s just breakfast, Harl,” Ben said softly.

Harlan’s heart gave a lurch at the reverb from Ben’s sleepy, rumbling voice when he’d shortened his name. How could he say no now? Ben was right. It was just breakfast and he wasn’t picking up Tanner from his parents’ house until later in the day. He pulled Ben’s hand to his mouth, kissed his knuckles, and against his better judgment said, “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

It had been snowing lightly when Harlan had left town earlier that morning, and it was still snowing when he headed back. Soft, fluffy flakes swirled and twined their way gracefully to the earth, silently blanketing Old Main Street’s tree-lined thoroughfare. Postcard perfect. Ben was leaning against a sleek, yellow, late-model Chevy Colorado with Tennessee plates when Harlan pulled into the motel parking lot. His stomach did a little flip. He parked one spot over and took a second to calm the hell down because the excitement in his belly at seeing Ben again was ridiculous.

“Thought you said it doesn’t snow much here,” Ben teased by way of greeting when Harlan hopped down from his truck.

“Pretty sure we rarely get much snow is what I said.” He chuckled. “Guess you picked a unicorn year to pass through.”

“Uh-huh.” Ben pushed off from his vehicle, grinning, and stepped toward Harlan. Ben’s breath mingled with Harlan’s as snowflakes danced lazily around them. “So where are you taking me?”

Back to bed. Harlan swallowed, hard, and motioned toward the street. “Santa Bella Diner. Best pancakes in all of California.”

Ben fell into step beside Harlan as they headed down Old Main Street. Harlan itched to touch him. “Tried ’em all, have you?”

“Pretty much.” Harlan slanted a sideways grin at Ben.

“What is it you do for a living that takes you to all the pancake houses in California?” Ben asked, amusement coloring his voice. “Are you a pancake salesman?”

A hearty laugh burst from Harlan’s chest, catching him off guard. “Is that a job?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

Harlan shook his head. “No. I’m a pickup man for the gay and pro California rodeo circuits. You know, the guys who help cowboys off broncos after their eight seconds, and get all the horses and bulls safely out of the arena after each event?”

Ben whistled. “No shit?”

“No shit.” Harlan puffed his chest out. He was damned proud of the work he did. “And when I’m not doing that I train reining and cutting horses for working cattle ranches and stock shows.”

“Wow, so you’re a real Old West kind of cowboy,” Ben mused, his eyes alight with mischief.

Harlan stopped in front of the diner. “But without the handlebar mustache,” he deadpanned. He opened the door and motioned for Ben to precede him inside.

“Mornin’, Harlan,” Mabel called from the counter where she was taking a customer’s order. She’d been running the diner for as long as Harlan could remember and had always slipped him an extra treat when he was a kid. Usually just a pack of gum or some other candy, but she’d always made him feel special. When he’d come out, she’d been the first person outside his immediate family who had told him that if anyone ever hassled him, she would see to it they never did so again. “Grab a seat anywhere, and I’ll be right with ya.”

Harlan and Ben both shook the snow off their jackets in the doorway and hung them on the coatrack, and then Harlan led the way to a booth toward the back by the windows.

“Believe it or not,” Ben said as he lowered himself onto the bench seat across from Harlan, “I grew up on a sport horse ranch. Lots of thoroughbreds, warmbloods, and Hanoverians.”

“Not a lot of those breeds in rodeo,” Harlan quipped.

Ben snorted. “Yeah, well, not all cowboys ride quarter horses.”

“True. Some don’t ride horses at all,” Harlan intoned and raised an eyebrow, hoping Ben would get the innuendo.

Ben stared at him intently for a long moment. One side of his mouth lifted and a dimple teased his cheek. “I quite enjoyed my ride last night,” he whispered, low and gritty and full of meaning.

Heat flooded Harlan’s belly. He shifted on the seat and picked up the overturned coffee cup in front of him, righting it on its saucer. As if that would be enough to distract him from Ben.

Fortunately, Mabel arrived at their table to help pull his mind from all things naked bedroom rodeo with Ben. She leaned between them and poured steaming black liquid into their empty cups, her gaze rocking back and forth between him and Ben. Her hair color, which changed on the regular, was a deep burgundy that made the bright blue of her eyes pop. Even though the years showed in the lines on her face, she had a youthful glow and permanent smile that belied her age. Nothing’s gonna slow me down till I fall into my grave, she often said.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked.

“Oh, he—” Harlan checked himself from blurting he’s not my friend because in this moment, Ben kind of did feel like a friend. “This is Ben Marshall. He was performing over at Hannah’s the last few days.”

“Ahh, right.” Mabel’s grin took twenty years off her. “You’re the one with a voice like sex. Or so they tell me.”

Oh boy . . .

Ben laughed, and the sound echoed in his voice when he said, “That’s what they tell me too, ma’am.” He winked.

Harlan would have sworn Mabel blushed. She smacked Ben’s shoulder playfully. “Call me Mabel. ‘Ma’am’ is for old ladies.”

“You got it, Miss Mabel,” Ben said, and the kindness in his voice warmed Harlan’s heart.

This time she definitely blushed, and then she straightened her shoulders. “All right, you two. A couple of pancake specials?”

“Sounds good,” Harlan said and turned to Ben with a raised eyebrow.

Ben nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Silence fell over the table when Mabel left them, but Harlan found it oddly comfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down for a meal with someone who wasn’t family or a good friend.

“So, Ben Marshall.” Harlan leaned back on the vinyl bench seat. “How is it a musician from Nashville is playing a small bar in a dot-on-the-map California border town?”

Ben shrugged. “The short answer is I needed a change of scenery.”

“And the long answer?”

“I joined a band because I didn’t want to take over the family business, but it turned out that wasn’t really what I wanted, either.” Ben blew on his coffee before taking a sip, and Harlan was transported to Ben’s motel room. The way Ben’s mouth had wrapped around him, taken him to the root, and brought him to the edge again and again . . .

“The band fell apart, and I was lost . . . purposeless, I guess,” Ben continued, and Harlan shook himself back to the present. “Figured a road trip to the California coast would be a good way to find what it is I do want. Plus, it’s a good opportunity to see some of this big country.”

Harlan couldn’t quite relate. He’d always known who he was and what he wanted in life. Being a rodeo pickup man and a father were the most important things in his life. He did understand the clarity one could find traveling across the country, though. Before Tanner, he’d worked rodeos all across the United States and into Canada, and he had loved exploring new locations. Now that he was raising Tanner alone, he stuck to California events only and took Tanner with him whenever he could.

“And what happens after you reach the coast? Back to Nashville?” Harlan asked, listening intently for Ben’s answer. It mattered when it shouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” Ben simply said. He looked out the window, his gaze distant, contemplative. “Guess I’ll find out when I get there.”

Their conversation paused when Mabel returned with their breakfasts—two plates stacked with thick, fluffy pancakes topped with blueberries and whipped cream, with juicy sausage links on the side. “Enjoy, boys,” she said, then refilled their coffees before leaving the table.

They dug in, and between mouth-watering bites, they talked music and rodeo and the meaning of life on the road. Harlan laughed with Ben more than he had with anyone in ages. He was easy to talk to, comfortable to be around, and for a moment, Harlan lost himself in a daydream where he and Ben were more than a brief interlude. Even after they finished their meals and Mabel cleared their plates and refilled their coffees again, they still kept talking.

Ben glanced out the window. “Wow! It’s like a winter wonderland out there.”

Harlan followed his gaze and was surprised to see how much snow had fallen while they’d been in the diner. He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows rose. Three hours had passed in what had felt like mere minutes, and their late breakfast had stretched into midafternoon.

“You should probably get going, I guess,” Harlan said reluctantly. He didn’t want today to end, but Ben had to get on the road and Harlan had to go pick up Tanner. “Snow doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

Ben nodded just as reluctantly, and after they paid the bill, they headed back out into the snow-covered sidewalk.

The trip back to the motel was quiet, and when they reached their trucks, Harlan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Ben did the same. He rocked on his feet and huffed out a hearty breath of air.

“Well,” Ben said in that low baritone Harlan was sure he’d be hearing in his dreams for weeks to come. “I enjoyed meeting you, Harlan.”

“Likewise,” Harlan said softly. What more could he say?

“Maybe I’ll see you again if I’m passing through some time,” Ben offered. He seemed as disinclined to go as Harlan was in letting him.

Harlan only nodded. Then he reached out and shook Ben’s hand, which felt wrong after the weekend they’d shared. Ben held on to his hand, the press of skin intimate in a way a simple shake shouldn’t be, and then he gave a squeeze before letting go. With a nod, Ben turned and climbed into his truck. Harlan stayed where he was, watching Ben drive away.

When the yellow truck was out of sight, a strange sense of loss settled over Harlan. He turned his face to the sky and let the white flakes kiss his skin. A niggle of worry for the man snaked into him. The snow really was growing heavy. But Sacramento was only a little over an hour away. Once Ben cleared the pass he’d be fine.

Ben kept glancing in his rearview mirror until he turned a corner and Harlan disappeared. He sighed. He really had enjoyed his time with Harlan and would have loved to stick around Santa Bella longer. The place had a good vibe to it. And of course, there was one very sexy cowboy living there. But the show must go on, as the royal “they” said, and he had a gig booked tomorrow night and more all the way to the ocean over the next couple of weeks.

Except he was still checking his mirror with a sense of anticipation that was quickly dashed every time all he saw was his own tire tracks fading in the falling snow.

“What are you expecting?” he admonished himself aloud. Harlan to come racing up behind him, flashing headlights imploring him to pull over, turn around, and stay?

A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered, Yes.

He shook his head, berating himself. He was being an idiot, and the snow was getting worse. He flicked on his windshield wipers, for all they helped.

“Shit.”

It was getting harder to see the road. He shouldn’t have stayed half the day with Harlan—shouldn’t have even stayed for breakfast. Or he should have stayed the rest of the day and gotten snowed in with the cowboy . . . It couldn’t keep snowing much longer. Once he cleared the pass and the elevation started dropping, the roads would be clear. At least, he hoped it wasn’t going to be snowing all the way to Sacramento.

Just when he thought he was getting closer to the pass, a yellow road sign flashed ROAD CLOSED AHEAD. Great. He turned around, no choice but to head back to Santa Bella. He tried not to feel a little pleased at the change of plans as he drove around a corner. He glanced away for just a second to find a weather report on the radio, and then everything happened too fast to process while time simultaneously slowed down. There was deer in the middle of the road. Too close. His heart shot into his throat. He shouted a curse that he couldn’t hear.

Adrenaline exploded into his body, and his knuckles turned white from his death grip on the steering wheel. He braked hard instinctively, knowing at the same time he shouldn’t brake on snowy roads. The truck swerved to the right, thankfully missing the deer, but the tail end swung out. He clenched his jaw hard enough to crack teeth as he torqued the wheel in the same direction. But he overcorrected, sending the truck into a full-on spin.

The vehicle listed sharply to the passenger side as it slid off the road. The truck bed slammed against a tree, and even with his seat belt on, Ben was tossed like a doll, banging his head against the driver’s-side window. Finally, the truck came to a deafening stop, with the front end lodged downward in the snow and the back end up in the air.

His hands shook where he still gripped the steering wheel and then full-blown tremors racked his body. His jaw unclenched, leaving an ache he was sure he’d feel for days, and his heartbeat thrashed in his ears.

When the shakes finally started to ease, he pried a hand free and checked his head. No blood but he was going to have a wicked headache, if the size of the lump forming on the side of head was any indication. He took a few moments to settle his racing nerves and catch his breath before struggling to unbuckle the seat belt. When he was finally free of restriction, he shouldered the door a couple of times before it would open.

He dropped down into a bank of snow a good foot and a half high and braced himself against the door until his knees solidified enough to walk. He trudged up the short slope to the road to assess the damage. The truck bed was bent from hitting the tree. The front end was probably dented, too, but he couldn’t see it without climbing down into the snow. One rear wheel wasn’t even touching the ground. He wasn’t getting out of there without a winch. Even then, driving it in this condition looked iffy.

“Great. Just what I need,” he muttered.

He flipped the collar of his jacket up to cover his ears and looked around to get his bearings. The snow was coming down in fat flakes, creating a sheet of white that obscured the world. He couldn’t see more than a hundred yards down the road. He checked his phone to call for a tow, but there was no signal.

“Shit, shit, shit.” What was he going to do now? He couldn’t walk back to town wearing cowboy boots that weren’t meant for trekking around in the snow. His feet would freeze before he got anywhere safe.

He had a basic roadside emergency kit in his truck, but nothing in it would get him out of the ditch. All he could do was light a few LED roadside flares to alert other drivers and turn on his hazard lights before anyone slammed into him, and hope someone came by soon who could help him.

But damn it was cold.

He climbed back into the cab, hoping to turn the truck on and crank the heat while waiting for help, but it wouldn’t turn over. Great. Why hadn’t he left Santa Bella earlier? Or was he not meant to leave at all? A smile ghosted Ben’s mouth. He wouldn’t mind staying longer if it meant spending more time with Harlan. He should be embarrassed about how he’d given himself over so completely to a stranger, but Harlan had felt like anything but from the moment they’d met.

He shook his head. Dismissing thoughts of anything more with the gruff cowboy than the weekend they had, he grabbed an emergency blanket from his roadside kit, cocooned himself in it as best he could, and waited.