Hearts in Harmony

by Gemma Brocato

  Mia turned a circle looking for her mom. “Uh-oh. I think she’s lost.”

  Laughter ripped out of his mouth. “She’s lost? Sorry kid, I bet your mom knows exactly where she is, but is probably worried out of her mind that you’re lost.”

  “But I know right where I am.” She continued counting pumpkins. “Orange is my mom’s favorite color. Mason’s is purple and mine is pink.” Mia looked at him and tilted her tiny head to the side. “What’s yours?”

  “Green,” he answered without hesitation, “like Christmas trees.”

  Who knew talking to a six-year-old would be such an eye-opening experience? He hadn’t remembered having a favorite color in years and his rapid answer to the little cutie’s question amazed him. Even more than the fact that he’d linked the color to the trees she knew he grew. Mia’s wide grin caught him by surprise and tugged at his heart. The kid was just too damn cute.

  “Do you think we should look for your mom?”

  Mia shifted her gaze to the booths around them, then lifted suddenly anxious eyes to his. “Will you help me? I don’t see her.”

  “What’s she wearing?” His eyes drifted over the crowd, looking for the familiar cap of shiny black curls.

  “Oh! Today she’s wearing green, like your favorite color.”

  Huh. Such an arbitrary thing shouldn’t make him grin. No way could the spitfire know about his attraction to the color. Shit, he hadn’t realized himself, not until this pint-sized replica of Pip asked him.

  “I’d be glad to help. Is there a place your mom said to go if you got separated?”

  “Oh, yeah! The cider stand. We’re going to get some to take home. Do you like cider?”

  “I do, kiddo. What do you say we head that way and see if we can find her?”

  “Okay.”

  Mia slipped her small hand trustingly into his and tugged his arm, eager to go. Little kids on the field trips this fall had done the same thing to him almost daily. So why did the warmth and pressure of this one small hand make him feel so…happy?

  11

  Pippa wheezed a deep breath into her lungs, struggling to hold her panic at bay. Losing it wouldn’t help her search for Mia. Discovering that Dewey had left his booth, she’d run to Mason and seized his arm with the same intensity as the iron fist of terror wrapping vise-like around her throat.

  “Mommy! You’re hurting me.”

  “Mason, did you see where Mia went?”

  She didn’t bother to hide the urgency she felt, and his eyes opened wide.

  “No, but she’s okay, Mom. She isn’t afraid.”

  She studied Mason’s face. In the unexplainable way of twins, her children shared a special connection, enabling them to feel what the other experienced, to communicate without words. They often spoke simultaneously or finished each other’s sentences.

  Knowing Mason believed Mia was okay eased the tension that had seized her when she realized her daughter had gone missing.

  “Alright, we’ll head toward the cider stand to wait for her. Mason, I want you to tell me if she gets scared, okay?” Shifting her purchases to her left hand, she took Mason’s in her right. They walked briskly toward the entrance of the market, Pippa swiveling her head to survey the crowds for a small navy blue sweatshirt. She asked everyone she knew if they’d seen Mia, her anxiety escalating with each negative answer. In spite of Mason’s repeated assurances that his sister was okay, she didn’t stop until she reached the picnic tables near the apple orchard booth. Mia wasn’t there.

  Setting the recyclable bags on a table, she spun in a circle, her gaze darting around sharply. She twisted her fingers together, debating how long to wait before locating someone to stay with Mason, freeing her up to go look for her daughter. She harshly shoved aside the horrible thoughts of what could happen to a lost child. Especially when men like Dewey were around. Those thoughts didn’t help. Stay calm, organized. People know Mia, and diligence has been my middle name when it comes to teaching both kids about stranger danger. Pip knew Mia would never walk away with someone she didn’t know. She’d scream bloody murder if anyone tried to snatch her. As a parent, Pip had drilled that response into her children’s heads.

  And that was only cold comfort now.

  While she finished the discussion in her head, she waved an agitated hand in front of Mason, shooing the bees attracted by the sweet tang of apples. She sat on the picnic bench, clinging to Mason’s hand, working out a plan to find Mia. Her eyes never stopped surveying the crowds in the aisles of the covered area.

  “There she is!” Mason’s excited voice rose with his arm as he pointed out his sister.

  Mia skipped toward them, a bright smile illuminating her face, the sun shining on her hair, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Holding tightly to Clay Mathers’ hand.

  Pippa crushed her rising nausea and darted forward, falling to her knees in front of Mia, grasping her tightly and raining kisses over her head. “God, Mia! I was so worried about you. Where did you go?”

  Mason joined the group hug, squeezing his sister and mom tight.

  “I wanted to see the pumpkins. Mason, I saw one this big.” Mia pushed out of their arms and held her own in a round circle in front of her.

  “Mia, you scared me. What have we talked about when we’re in crowds like this?”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Clay said you’d be worried.”

  Mia and Pippa both looked at the man standing patiently next to them, adoration clear on the child’s face. The sight of Mason’s small hand clutching Clay’s, and the intense concern she read on Clay’s face, shocked her. And filled her heart.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am now. Thank you for finding her.” Unshed tears brimmed and she drew a harsh breath, fighting to hold her fear and relief in. She stayed on her knees in front of Mia, afraid her legs would be too wobbly to take her weight.

  Clay dug in his pocket and pulled out a couple of dollars. “Hey Mia, why don’t you go buy two glasses of cider. Then you kids go sit at the table and don’t move. Stay where your mom can see you.”

  Mia took the money and started toward the cider stand. She turned around before she’d taken two steps, and returned to Pippa’s side, feathering a kiss on her cheek. “I’m really sorry, Mommy. I love you.”

  Pippa’s breath huffed out. “I love you too. Do you have something to say to Mr. Clay?”

  “Thank you. Are you coming over tonight to see the trees?”

  “If it’s okay with your mom. We’ll talk about it while you’re getting the cider.” He pointed to nearby stand and smiled as both kids skipped away happily. He dropped a large hand to Pippa’s shoulder and squeezed, the gesture comforting.

  Pippa dropped her head forward, so the bill of her ball cap would hide her face. She drew several shaky breaths as she watched her kids make their purchase and walk to the table Clay had indicated. Clay’s large hand appeared in front of her face, and after wiping her eyes, she took it. The familiar zing of electricity scorched up her arm as she allowed him to pull her upright. Clay shifted his grip to her arm, supporting and steadying her until her legs stopped shaking. The warmth of his hand seeped through her sweater, spreading a glow through her chest, releasing the constriction that had clenched her heart the instant she’d run into Dewey.

  “Thank you. I can’t remember ever being so frightened.”

  “Mia’s fine.”

  She looked at him, taking in the hair neatly tied back, held in place by a backward facing hat, several gray strands at his temples standing out against his dark tan. Unmistakable concern colored his eyes to a deep jade green. She dropped her gaze to where black cotton stretched tautly over his firm muscles. Her heart pounded hard and she leaned her forehead against his chest. The steady rise and fall further eased her anxiety, replacing it with warmth…and desire.

  “What is it, spitfire? Mia’s fine,” Clay reassured her as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his comforting embrace.
/>   Mindful of being where her children could see her in Clay’s embrace, she stepped back.

  Clay shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight to one leg.

  “I ran into Dewey and then I couldn’t find Mia. When I turned around, Dewey had disappeared too.”

  “Dewey’s here?” Clay asked sharply. “Fuck!”

  “He was. I stopped to buy potatoes and didn’t realize it was him until I got my money out to pay. God, his look was cold. If it weren’t for the hate in his eyes, I’d have called them dead.”

  Clay cut a sharp glance toward the kids before craning his neck to scan the crowd. Emotions that echoed hers raced across his features: concern for her kids, anger at Dewey, and when he didn’t find any threats, relief. When his eyes met hers again she recognized the glint of desire, quickly hidden behind the warmth of friendship.

  Her heart did a slow somersault when Clay looked back toward her kids. She hadn’t taken him for a man who’d be easy around children. Or even liked them. He was much too gruff and impatient to be comfortable around people under twenty-one. Honestly, he seemed wound too rigidly to possess the kind of intestinal fortitude required to be around small, demanding children. But the disquiet she saw on his face over Dewey’s presence at the market led her to believe she might have been wrong.

  “Where is he?” Clay demanded. “I’ll go have a talk with him.”

  “I’d rather just get the kids and go home.”

  “I don’t like that he’s popped up again.”

  “Clay, it has to be a coincidence. Dewey had a reason to be at the cemetery, even if it was an awful one. And he’d have no way to know I’d be here today. Really, what are the chances he’d run into me again? Here? Half of Granite Pointe comes to the Saturday market. I think we can chalk this up to bad timing or bad luck.”

  “Maybe.” Clay frowned and wrapped his hand around her upper arm, the warmth flipping her heart into a back handspring. His voice was flinty when he continued. “Dammit, I don’t like what I’m hearing from my contacts about Dewey and the Battalion. They’re up to no fucking good and when he keeps showing up around you, and now the kids, it makes me fucking crazy.”

  Pippa glanced toward Mason and Mia to make sure they hadn’t heard Clay’s salty language. Thankfully, they were laughing together, unaware. “Keep your voice down. I don’t expose my kids to that kind of language, Clay, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either.”

  Color flooded his cheeks. “Sorry, spitfire. But I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I. But both times I’ve run into him have been in public places. What’s he going to do here? I’d like to believe I’m safe.”

  “That’s faulty thinking, Pippa. You’ve run into him in public places, but how do you know he isn’t watching you, waiting for an opportunity when you’re alone, or somewhere not so public? The Battalion is loud, but they can be sneaky too.”

  She glanced around. “That’s unlikely, don’t you think? Do you believe that by talking to him, you’ll change his plans, or the Battalion’s, whatever they may be? What if you make it worse?”

  “You’re right.” Clay exhaled hard. “It won’t make a difference. But I’d feel better. For you and the kids.”

  “I’ll just have to pay more attention whenever I’m out, especially with the kids. But we’re okay. We’ll be fine.”

  Clay just gazed at her, dropping his hand to hers, wrapping his fingers around hers and squeezing. Emotions flitted across his face—worry, affection…desire. His eyes dipped and she was surprised to feel her tongue sneak out of her mouth, moistening her lips. Remembering how right his mouth had tasted when they kissed the other night, her breath shortened and her stomach did a slow, languorous roll, like musical notes on a scale.

  “Mommy? Are you ready to go?”

  She jumped back from Clay, her cheeks on fire. They’d just about shared another moment in front of her kids. God, what had she been thinking? First at the farm, and now in front of everyone and his brother at the market. A better question might be which part of her body was she thinking with? He still held her hand in his, and when she tugged, he dropped it. The loss of heat from his touch left her feeling lonely.

  Mia ran over from the picnic table while Mason followed, dragging the bags through the dirt.

  Clay called out, “Mason, buddy, pick up the bags. You’re bruising the fruit.”

  Surprise rippled through Pippa when her son immediately stopped and adjusted the cloth sack, hitching it high on his shoulder. Her gaze swung back to Clay, whose grinning approval transformed his face into a thing of masculine beauty. She’d found him attractive from the start, but now, interacting with her children, he’d evolved to the sexiest man she’d ever known.

  She collected her scattered thoughts. “Yeah, we’re ready to go.”

  Mia pulled on her pocket to get her attention. “Mommy, can Mr. Clay come over to see the trees?”

  “Can he, please, Mom?” Mason jumped in excitement next to her.

  “Can I, please?” Clay smiled.

  Confronted with so many requests for Clay to come over, she had to say yes. Who was she kidding? She wanted him to come over. It would be a good excuse to spend more time, in a relaxed setting, with this devastatingly handsome, gruffly kind man. A man who loved his mother and didn’t mind spending time with her kids. She was going to have to be careful to mask her feelings for him from her children.

  Because she feared they might all lose their hearts to him.

  He was her client’s son, a line she didn’t believe she should cross. Maybe Jack was right; she could see him and the kids would never have to know him as anything more than a family friend. Her heart skipped sadly as she acknowledged that Mark would want her to be happy. Her husband was gone, and couldn’t come back. It was time to get on with life.

  She looked at the three expectant faces surrounding her. Grinning, she met Clay’s eyes. “Clay, would you like to come for dinner?”

  12

  When Mason and Mia dragged Clay into the back yard, holding his large hands, Pippa turned the water off and dried her hands. Those rascals! They’d been playing in the living room and must have seen him drive up. Although she was miffed that they’d left the house without permission, the sight of Clay holding hands with them when they pulled him to the large trees he’d planted melted her ire. She’d have to warn them again about going outside without telling her, but, in spite of what most parenting books said, that talk could wait until later. No sense bursting their enthusiastic bubble about the tree man’s visit.

  The window over the farm sink in the kitchen afforded her an opportunity to watch unobserved while Clay interacted with her kids. His enthusiastic grin matched theirs. God, he was beautiful when he smiled. He’d pulled his dark blond hair back with a tie at his neck—a single errant strand had blown free, which he tucked behind his ear. He’d put on khakis and a button-down shirt, dressing up for dinner. She’d only seen him in jeans and a t-shirt, but this look suited him.

  She’d worried about her appearance, knowing that dressing too nicely would tip off her bright-for-their-age kids that this might be more than a casual dinner. They wouldn’t understand, but they’d recognize the difference. For her children’s sake, it would be better for them to believe Clay really was just a friend. Which was the truth, she thought with a touch of wonder. Despite his tendency toward off-color language, she considered him her friend.

  She should squelch this attraction toward him. He’d only be here temporarily. Nothing good could come from getting involved with someone who could steal a part of her heart when he left town. The knowledge that he’d leave sat like a boulder on her chest. Seeley showed signs of improving daily and could be home before Christmas. Clay had a life to get back to. One that didn’t include a ready-made family.

  Stomping down her fascination with him was harder than it should be.

  Her interest in him had led her to carefully apply mascara and blush, and pull a brush throug
h her hair until it shone. Champagne-like bubbles had danced in her stomach when she’d pulled on a pair of old black jeans and a bold, frame-hugging red sweater.

  Mason had declared that she looked mah-velous when she came into the kitchen to start dinner. Now, she pushed open the screen door praying Clay would think so too. She hid a grin and crossed the yard to where they stood gazing at the magical trees.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” she asked as she neared.

  Clay turned at the sound of her voice, a smile warming his features. “The pictures didn’t do it justice. These have to be ten times larger than what I sent home with you. I told you planting by the light of the moon would work miracles.” She had to give him credit; in spite of the desire in his eyes, he kept his posture and words easy and friendly.

  Mason hopped around Clay. “I told Bobby and Stuart what happened. They said theirs didn’t grow like this. Our trees must be special.” His voice rose to match the level of his excitement. “Mommy, Mr. Clay rode his motorcycle tonight. Can I go for a ride with him? Please, pretty please?”

  Before she could voice her objection, Clay put his hand on Mason’s shoulder, slowing the hop. “Sorry, kiddo, not tonight. I didn’t bring a helmet for a head your size. Your mom won’t let you ride a bike without a helmet, right? Well, it goes double for motorcycles. It isn’t safe, and it’s against the law.” Mason’s face fell in disappointment. “Sometime when your mom knows me better, you can come to the farm and I’ll give you and Mia rides in the pasture. Maybe I’ll let you drive the tractor too. What do you think?”

  Mason perked up at the invitation, and he and Mia both started hopping again, bumping exuberantly into Clay. Mason made motorcycle noises as he raced around the yard.

  Pippa laughed and shooed the kids away. “Go play on the swing set. Dinner won’t be ready for thirty minutes.”

  “Mr. Clay, will you push me?” Mia pleaded, tugging on his belt loop.

  Clay bent over, putting his face on level with her daughter’s, a grin lighting his face. “In a minute. I want to talk to your mom first.”