Hearts in Harmony

by Gemma Brocato

  The man dropped his burden to the ground, raising a small cloud of dust, and waited for her to approach. He leaned on the shovel and mopped his brow with a red kerchief he’d pulled from his pocket.

  “Afternoon,” he called. “We’re closed. Our regular hours don’t begin until mid-October.”

  Pippa walked toward him. “I’m actually here to pick up a backpack my son left after his field trip today.”

  “Oh, sure. Mrs. Kerrigan called about that. I found it right where the little guy said he’d left it, and took it up to the front porch.” The man pointed toward the farmhouse.

  “Oh, thank you. I hope it wasn’t any trouble.”

  The man bent and hoisted the burlap sap back onto his shoulder, grunting as he straightened. “No problem. Happens a lot.”

  He waved, walking away around the corner of the building. Pippa shrugged at his abrupt departure and turned toward the house. She decided to walk the short distance instead of getting back in the Jeep to drive over. It was a nice evening and she’d been cooped up inside all day long.

  * * * *

  Well, what do you know?

  Clay watched the vehicle pull up to the gift shop from his desk in the front room of the farmhouse. The woman he’d thought about with great frequency since their encounter at the cemetery stepped out. What were the odds that she’d show up here this quickly? She’d been so intriguing when he first met her, standing up to him, bravely facing him down after Dewey left.

  And lovely to boot. Not classically beautiful, but a simple, fresh-faced, girl-next-door pretty. An unexplainable vibrancy about her drew him. Smart, sassy and funny, qualities he liked but didn’t necessarily seek out in a woman. Thoughts of her had distracted him during every phone call, every chore, even while he visited his mom.

  He’d told the woman to call on him if she needed an escort in the future. He hadn’t thought it would happen this soon.

  He had been so aroused by her aggression when she’d proven she could protect herself, he’d almost forgotten to move out of the way of her boot. He absently rubbed the bruised part of his knee where her blow had landed.

  But, damn! If she was going back to her dead husband’s grave again today, she must still be grieving for the man. He’d seen the date on the head stone. It had been years since he died. Shouldn’t she be over it by now? She was much too young and alive to bury herself in the grave with a dead man.

  Surprised to discover that the mere thought of her giving up on life pissed him off, he shook his head and pushed the emotion away. No way in hell would he try to compete with a ghost.

  Chewing the end of his pen, he quirked his lips into a grin as Scott pointed toward the house. The spitfire was looking for him. The urge to race to the door overwhelmed him, but drawing on his military training, he forced himself to remain seated, motionless. His eyes didn’t leave her as she walked up the slight rise toward his house.

  Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden stairs leading to the front door. From his vantage point in the bay window, he watched her hesitate as she scanned the area, like she was looking for something. The setting sun glared on the window, rendering him invisible to her.

  She crossed the porch in front of him and stooped to grab something off the ground. While he stared, she sat in the wooden rocking chair, pulled a kid’s book bag on to her lap and eased the zipper open, looking through the contents. After a quick glance, a relieved smile lit her face. Desire, hot and tingling like an electric shock, speared straight to his groin as her lush lips curved upward, making sexy dimples wink on her cheeks. She zipped the bag shut again and stood up to leave.

  Damn! He shot out of his chair when he realized she wasn’t there for him. She was picking up something left behind by one of the school kids from this afternoon’s tour.

  His sudden motion startled the woman. She peered into the window, cupping a hand to her brow to cut the glare. She had to sense he was there, but didn’t have a clear view of the interior. He tossed the pen onto the desk and strode toward the front door.

  The screen door creaked when he pushed it open and stepped onto the porch. He watched recognition and confusion burst across her expressive face. Some other emotion, not as easily identifiable, bloomed in her eyes.

  His step faltered as she smiled again. Ah, Jesus, there were those deep dimples again. A perfect frame for her lips. God, he’d like to see that look on her face as her head rested on his pillow. He thought briefly about what he’d do to make sure that smile stayed put until it turned sated.

  “You! Hello again,” she said, clutching the bag in front of her like a shield.

  So, she did remember him. But why the hell was she acting nervous? Clay didn’t like that one bit.

  “Yeah, me again. I’m glad to see you. Were you looking for me?”

  “Oh, God no!” she exclaimed, the words deflating him. Why the fuck wasn’t she there for him? Oh, yeah, because of the dead man. Delicate pink rushed into her cheeks. “Uh, no. My son left his books here today. He was on a field trip with school. I didn’t mean to bother you, but the other man left the backpack on the porch.”

  She had a son. That was a bit of a surprise. Clay gestured toward the ornately decorated box near the rocker. “My mom’s idea. The school kids leave stuff behind all the time.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way those youngsters are. Always forgetting things. Good thing they have mothers who are willing to run out and fetch for them.”

  “Yeah, a good thing.” He smiled and changed the subject. “I thought you might be here looking for some company for a trip to the cemetery.”

  She stilled when he reminded her of their first meeting. She was a tall woman, with legs underneath a khaki skirt that looked like they’d never end. Normally Clay found himself stooping to kiss women, so her height impressed him. He knew from their meeting yesterday that she fit nicely under his chin. She drew her slender frame even taller while he stared at her.

  “Not likely. That kind of company I don’t need. Dewey was bad, but when you showed up, things looked like they might be getting worse when you grabbed me.”

  “Hey, I was just trying to prove a point. You shouldn’t have been there alone at dusk.”

  She pushed her dark brown hair back from her forehead, tucking the short breeze-blown curls behind her ear. “Point taken. And given the circumstances, I managed, didn’t I?”

  He’d made her angry again, but it was worth it. The fire snapping in her eyes was nearly mesmerizing. “This time. But if a man is intent on getting his way, don’t think a little kick in the knee will make a difference. Especially when the woman is as pretty as you.”

  “Well, if I ever feel the need to have a big strong he-man stand by my side beating his chest, I’ll give you a call.” From her tone, Clay wasn’t sure if she was flattered or still ticked off. “But you shouldn’t hold your breath.”

  Yeah, he was going to have to go with ticked. He thought he’d just paid her a compliment. Obviously, she didn’t take it that way. He laughed, hoping to ease the tension he’d created with his words. “He-man. I like that. Seriously though, I’ve heard the Battalion rank and file has been getting violent at some of the protests. There have even been rumors that the protesters plan to send a big message soon. You don’t want to get caught up in any of that.”

  “And you know this why?”

  “It’s my job to know. I’m a…security consultant.” He wasn’t sworn to secrecy on his current project for Homeland Security, but he didn’t want Dewey and the other Battalion bubbas to get wind of his involvement if he could avoid it.

  The woman looked at him skeptically. “Oh. Well, thank you again for your rescue yesterday and for finding the book bag. I…uh… I’ll get out of your way.”

  He caught a whiff of lavender and vanilla as she pushed past him on the narrow porch. She smelled fresh, clean, very womanly. Without thought, he shot out a hand and grabbed her elbow to stop her. Jesus God, her skin was soft and smooth, like satin. Whe
n she attempted to jerk her arm away, he held on tighter. “Wait, I don’t even know your name.”

  Her bright blue eyes met his steadily, then lowered to where he’d seized her elbow. Her gaze returned to his, the challenge unmistakable. It was clear she didn’t appreciate the manhandling she’d gotten from him on their first encounter.

  He dropped her arm, but stayed close enough that the heat from her body warmed him. He extended his hand toward her in a gesture of friendship. “Maybe we could start over. Hi, I’m Clay Mathers.”

  She shrugged and put her hand in his. “Phillipa Sanders.”

  Yep, there it was again. The same electric shock he’d felt yesterday when he touched her. “Nice to meet you, Phillipa.”

  “You mentioned to call you at the Sleepy T Farms. I didn’t realize the Christmas tree farm the kids were visiting today was yours. I guess I didn’t put two and two together.”

  “That’s me. Say, did your son get a souvenir tree? All the kids were supposed to get one.”

  “My daughter came home with one, but Mason didn’t have one.”

  Huh. Okay, two kids. “The twins are your kids? Your boy had a lot of interesting questions. Especially when he saw my Ranger jacket in the barn. He said his dad is in the Army too.”

  Sadness flitted over Phillipa’s face. “Was. That was his grave yesterday. He died before they were born.”

  “Aw damn, that’s harsh. I’m sorry. The boy talked like he’s still alive.”

  The sigh she released sounded a bit exasperated. “Sometimes I think Mason wants to believe we’re all just having him on. That Mark is still alive. He makes up these elaborate stories where his dad is an undercover agent on a special assignment for the president. He can’t let go.”

  Sounded more like what Clay did, but he refrained from saying so. “Maybe it would be easier if you let go first.”

  Phillipa’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m just saying maybe if you weren’t so hung up on a guy who’s been dead for six years, your boy might comes to terms with it.”

  Anger sparked in her eyes. “You don’t know me—or my son—from Adam. How the heck would you know if I’m still hung up on my husband?”

  Okay, it was tread lightly time. He didn’t want to mess this up any more than he already had. Especially since his physical reaction to her was a clear indicator of the level of his interest. He held his hand out, palm up, a gesture of conciliation. “Hey, now. I didn’t mean it that way. I was trying to be helpful. I—”

  “Well, you can stop working that shift right now. I don’t need help from people who have no idea what they’re talking about.” She spun on her heels and started away from him, but swung around before she’d gone two steps. “You have some nerve. I met you like five minutes ago and you’re already passing judgment on me.”

  “Wait, I wasn’t passing—”

  “Even if I were still grieving for my husband, it wouldn’t be any of your darned business. I didn’t ask for your opinion. You don’t just wake up one morning and go, ‘Snap! I’m over that. Time to find my kids a new daddy.’” She made a slashing, dismissive motion with her hand, eyes glinting angrily. “Whether he died six years or six days ago, you can’t regulate the amount of time a person needs to get over the death of a loved one. How dare you?”

  “Look, I obviously hit a nerve. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

  Phillipa’s hand flew up in his face, cutting him off. She opened her mouth to speak again, snapped it shut and strode away from him, her skirt flaring around her knees, hips swaying gently despite her anger.

  Shit, he’d blown this. The second anger had sparked in her eyes, he’d quit thinking with his brain. Oh no, an entirely different part of his anatomy moved to the head of the class when she’d started her tirade. And he wasn’t put off by her ire. If anything, she was more appealing to him now than she had been at the cemetery.

  He couldn’t let her go away mad. She might never come back. He stood still for a moment before following, catching up to her as she jerked the Jeep door open and tossed her son’s book bag across to the passenger seat. He grabbed the doorframe before she could climb in.

  “Let go. Now.” She hissed between clenched teeth.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I guarantee if I miss your knee this time it will be because I’m aiming higher.”

  God, she was stunning. His knee twitched as she reminded him that she had kicked him. He was so turned on by her kick-ass-chick attitude that his knee wasn’t the only part of his anatomy twitching, in spite of her threat. He lifted his hand from the door and dropped his eyes toward her mouth, frozen in place by the sight of her lush, pink lips. The desire to kiss the snarl away overpowered his common sense.

  He dipped his head and raised his eyes, seeking permission.

  And didn’t find it.

  “Are you effing kidding me?” Phillipa’s tone held equal measures of incredulity and disgust as she stepped away from him. “Is this another helpful suggestion for how I could get over my dead husband?”

  He couldn’t keep the devilish side of his nature from peeking out. “Any time you’d like that kind of help, spitfire, just give me a call.” Hearing her sharp inhalation, he realized he’d crossed the line again. And felt bad. This wasn’t him at all. When was his stupid mouth going to learn to keep that shit to itself? “God, I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. I didn’t mean—”

  “You son of a B!”

  Laughter erupted, beginning at his gut, rumbling through his chest like a small locomotive. She might be the toughest chick in Granite Pointe and the most exciting he’d met since he moved to town, but he found her inability to cuss funny.

  She actually growled at him before jumping in the car, nearly slamming the door on his fingers. Gunning the engine, she glared through the closed window as she shoved it into gear, waiting for him to step back. He moved away, but continued laughing as she backed up, then cranked the wheel to pull away.

  He grinned and watched her as she raced out of the parking area and bounced wildly down the rutted lane leading to the main road. The grin faded from his face as he realized the strength of his attraction to her.

  Aw, shit. He was in trouble now.

  5

  When Pip picked the kids up from her parents, they needed another hour to finish their homework. They were tired, making it hard for her to channel their energy toward the project. Even the bright colors of the newly formed crystals didn’t hold their interest.

  Once they’d wrapped up their work, she was tempted to forgo baths until she discovered enough grit behind Mason’s ears to plant potatoes. He must have rolled in the dirt on today’s field trip. And that was enough to cause her to start fuming about Clay Mathers again as she sent the kids to different bathrooms to shower.

  The nerve of that man. Did he really think she’d consider getting over Mark by messing around with him? Her husband had been her universe and he’d made sure she knew that his world had revolved around her too. He was the father of her children, even if they’d never known him. He always would be. She would love him until the day she died.

  But the idea of her mourning his loss forever would make Mark angry. He’d be the first to tell her to get on with her life.

  And she had. Although the contestant pool in Granite Pointe’s dating sweepstakes wasn’t huge, she’d seen other men occasionally. Once the kids had reached an age where leaving them with sitters wasn’t a terrifying thought. A few men might have been willing to take on the package deal of her ready-made family. But only two had made it to the mattress with her. Frankly, even they hadn’t sparked her interest beyond satisfying a need.

  Until Clay.

  He was obnoxious. And overbearing. And a bunch of other O words she couldn’t think of. Including out-of-this-world sexy. She could not deny the attraction she felt, even when she was bite-nails-and-spit-nickels angry with him.

  To her chagrin, Pippa found herself doing a
n unconscious inventory of his appearance while the twins took turns reading to her before bed. He was as tall and good-looking as anyone she’d met. Maybe more. His shoulders were broad enough to shield her from the protester at the cemetery. And she couldn’t think of a man who looked nearly as good in jeans as Clay Mathers. Remembering how his strong arms felt wrapped around her made her breathless.

  She tossed and turned in her lonely bed thinking of him, alternating between intensely angry and ridiculously turned-on.

  Discovering she was out of coffee the next morning when she dragged her tired body out of bed set the tone for a craptastic day. Mason melted down when he learned his souvenir tree had been left at the farm. In her anger at the farm’s owner, she’d raced out of there without collecting the small pine he sobbed about now.

  “Mom, every other kid has a tree. I want mine.” His wobbly voice cut like a knife through her guilty heart. “You were supposed to remember. It was with my book bag.”

  “It wasn’t there.”

  “No, you forgot it. Now you have to go back to get it.”

  Mia put her arm around her brother’s shoulder. “You can share mine.”

  “I want my own!”

  His whiny tone pushed Pippa right over the edge. “Stop it, Mason.” She cringed at her strident tone and took a deep breath to modulate the harshness in her voice. “Mia is being kind by offering to share. That isn’t the way you say thank you to your sister for her generosity.”

  “But Mom…”

  “I’m not kidding, Mason. I don’t want to hear any more about that darn tree this morning. Do you understand?”

  His crestfallen look tore at her. She knew she’d overcompensated for the lack of a father by indulging her children on simple requests. And there was an easy fix to this problem.

  At least she felt that way until her normally sweet son stomped his little foot.

  “Mason Sanders! That is unacceptable behavior. Get your stuff and get in the car. Now.”

  “It’s not fair!” Her little man scowled as he snatched up his book bag and pulled the science project roughly from the table.