by Gaelen Foley
When he had gone, Harry turned back to Bea expectantly.
She just stared at him, flabbergasted.
He arched a brow and looked her over with a curious glance; what he thought of her disheveled, sweaty appearance, she didn’t want to know. But, playing the gentleman, he stood up and motioned politely for her to sit down on the empty barstool next to him.
She begrudgingly obliged, shaking her head. “Unbelievable,” she muttered as she plunked down onto it.
Harry studied her, warily sizing her up with those piercing blue eyes. “Well, this is a little awkward, isn’t it?” he murmured after a moment. “I admit, not quite the circumstances I envisioned when I offered to buy you a drink.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Harry—if that’s even your real name.”
“Of course it’s my real name.”
“You’d better start talking. What the hell is going on?”
“Why don’t we start over?” His winning smile attempted to calm and cajole her, but only made her dig in her heels. “If you could just take it easy for a sec—”
“I will not take it easy. You lied to me!”
“I wouldn’t say lied.”
“Oh, really? You know what I think?” Bea leaned toward him, narrowing her eyes. “For all I know, you just rolled up to my farm stand pretending to be lost—so you could question me and get the inside scoop. Did Tammy put you up to it?”
“Whoa! Geez, Bea. Slow down,” he said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. If you’d let me talk—”
“Sure, talk.” She folded her arms across her chest, leaned back, and glared at him. “But how am I supposed to believe a word you say now?”
“Oh, come on. I never lied to you. You assumed I was here on vacation. I didn’t correct you, that’s all.”
She scoffed, but he shrugged it off and scoffed right back.
“I wasn’t aware your customers were required to explain their presence in town just to be allowed to buy a few pieces of your…luscious fruit.”
She ignored the innuendo, though she could feel her cheeks heating. “But you didn’t buy my peaches, Harry. I gave them to you, remember?”
“You insisted,” he reminded her with a knowing look. “You wanted me to taste them, as I recall.”
She pursed her lips, fighting back a wanton shiver. Oh, she could wring his neck for having this effect on her.
To her annoyance, Harry seemed to be enjoying their exchange in some strange way. And to her own extreme irritation, Bea was, too. She had no idea why. Everything she valued most was at stake. And yet being near him again gave her an undeniable thrill.
“Why didn’t you say anything when you realized who I was?” she demanded. After all, there was no point in talking about business until she got a better sense of him as a person. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to separate truth from lies. “Well?”
“Because you’re not the owner of the farm, Ms. Palmer,” he said bluntly. Her nostrils flared at the reminder of this cold, hard fact. “I had specific instructions to speak first to the person listed on the deed. Believe me, I was shocked when you gave me that brochure and I made the connection.” He hesitated. “And, yeah, maybe I should’ve mentioned my real purpose here at that point, but frankly, you threw me for a loop.”
“I threw you for a loop?” she cried.
“Yeah, you kinda did.” He stared at her for a heartbeat. “Nobody warned me about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He snorted. “I’d been told that a relative of the owner kept blocking the farm’s sale, but I…” He shook his head and looked away. “Never mind. You’re not what I expected. Let’s just leave it at that. Yes, I was genuinely lost, much as it pains me to say it. And, yes, I was—am—genuinely interested in taking you out. But then…”
Bea watched him like a hawk. “You decided to stab me in the back instead?”
“Oh, give me a break,” he muttered. “It’s just business.”
At that moment, Chloe arrived, all glistening and breathy, fresh from a jog. She pulled out her earbuds and gave Bea a half hug. “Hey, sweetie, what’s up?”
“You got my text,” Bea whispered in her sweaty ear. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I was afraid you’d be teaching Power Yoga.”
“No, we changed it to Tuesday nights. I was just down on the river trail,” she said, still catching her breath. “What’s wrong?”
Then Chloe noticed Harry sitting there and looked at Bea, discreetly cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows.
Bea gave her a subtle nod along with an angry eye roll in his direction, then she yanked her best friend by the wrist, forcing her onto the barstool next to her.
Chloe sat, her wide-eyed look communicating that she understood Bea was in the middle of something big.
Bea was enormously comforted with her best friend there; the willowy blonde’s Namaste serenity was always so soothing to everyone around her.
Jack returned at that point and instantly donned that same dopey smile that most males got whenever Chloe entered a room.
“Hey darlin’,” he greeted her.
Chloe smiled at him, and the two exchanged friendly pecks on the cheek.
Bea turned back to the now-scowling Harry, ready to lay into him again, when suddenly, she was nearly knocked off her barstool by an affectionate clap on the back.
“Bea-baby’s here! Chlo-ster! How are m’girls tonight? Yo, Riley, wait till you hear what song is coming on next! You’re gonna crack up.” Outdoor guru Finn swaggered up to say hello, offering Harry a slightly tipsy high five, which Harry gave him.
What is happening here? Bea wondered, watching, astonished. She and Chloe exchanged confused glances.
Finn had befriended the enemy, as well?
“Yeah, baby! Hitting the rapids tomorrow with my boys!” The bronzed ex-surfer dude and undisputed leader of the local extreme sports set reached across the bar to high-five Jack next. He turned to Bea and Chloe. “You two want to come with us?”
“Sorry, Patrick,” Chloe said. “I’m pulling a double tomorrow at the diner.”
Bea stared, unamused at his antics. “I thought you were working today, Finn.”
“You know I am opposed to work of any kind.” Finn flashed another rascally smile. “Naw, I finished an hour ago. Hey, you gals met Harry yet? New guy!” Finn bellowed to everyone around, giving Harry a cheery slap on the shoulder.
It was all Bea could do not to thunk her forehead down on the bar as Finn pointed at Harry and ordered all his devoted fans and followers around the bar to be nice to Harry New Guy.
Meanwhile, the unmistakable gravelly purr of Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” started playing on the pub’s thumping speakers, so, of course, Finn had to sing along for a few bars, slinging an arm around Chloe’s shoulders and causing her to sway with him to the beat. He quit when she shooed him off, laughing.
“Hey, Harry, you want to get in on some jukebox roulette?” Finn shook a fistful of quarters with a troublemaker’s twinkle in his eye. “It’s a thing we do around here. What about you, Queen Bea? You know ya love it.”
“Not right now, Finn.” Though she usually loved playing his game—spilling the ball onto the roulette wheel, watching it spin until it landed on a number, then finding which song on the jukebox that number matched, playing the song no matter how corny—this was not the time for goofing around. “Harry and I have got serious business underway at the moment.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Finn glanced from Harry to her and back again.
Chloe gave him a sisterly shove. “Go play.”
“Well, excuuuse me!” Laughing, Finn waltzed away to join a crowd of his admirers around the dartboard.
Harry gazed after him for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Is he wasted?”
“No, he’s always like that,” Bea said absently.
“Life of the party,” Jack drawled, amused. By now, the big guy had noticed that something was up between her
and Harry.
Without being asked, he set a glass of ice water down in front of Chloe at the bar and leaned casually across from her, and the two pretended to carry on a conversation while they settled in to eavesdrop on the exchange about to unfold.
Bea took the cue and cleared her throat, trying to be a bit more civil now than when she’d started out. Harry had her friends to thank for that.
“Listen, Mr. Riley.” She went for the formal approach. “Given that your…strangely generous offer to buy my grandparents’ farm today just came out of the blue, I haven’t had any time yet to do my homework on…Diamond Enterprises, is it?”
He nodded.
“I’m sure you’re a reputable company and all, but contrary to what you might’ve heard, the farm’s no longer on the market.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Ms. Palmer.” His easygoing smile clicked into place and never wavered as he turned to her politely in what she identified as full, cutthroat CEO mode. She could practically hear the Jaws theme song playing in the background. “Maybe I could clarify a few things for you if you have concerns. Let me buy you that drink we discussed, and I’ll tell you whatever it is you’d like to know.”
Bea let out a weary sigh. “Fine.” She could actually use a drink right about now. “Jack? I will take that shandy, after all.”
“Roger that.” Jack yanked a glass off the rack for her.
While Kenny Rogers sang on—probably trying to drop her a hint about knowing when to fold ’em—Bea ignored the advice, determined to ferret out the truth. “What I’d really like to know is how you came to be involved with Tammy Reese, and why you’re interested in our property.”
She waited expectantly.
But Harry paused for too long, drumming his fingers on his pint glass in thought.
Unsatisfied with the delay, she changed tack. “Okay, how about we try something a little simpler? Why don’t you start by telling me exactly who you are, then?”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Harrison Riley. I already told you that. What, you want to see my ID?” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open to flash his driver’s license.
She knew he was only joking, but she gave him a stern look and took his license anyway, inspecting it thoroughly. Showed it to Chloe on the sly.
“Too bad Mike’s not here,” the blonde whispered. “He could, you know, call it in, or whatever.”
Bea smirked. I wish. Well, maybe their dear town sheriff would swagger on into the saloon after his shift, she thought. Because a cop’s talent for seeing through BS would certainly come in handy right now.
“Okay. So now I know your full name and date of birth,” Bea said with a generous dose of sarcasm, handing Harry’s license back to him. “And that you’re a Pisces. Woo hoo.”
“What else do you want to know?” he said as Jack delivered her drink.
“Stuff,” she replied, and took a good, long, rather defiant gulp.
“Stuff,” Harry echoed, scratching his chin. “Let’s see… I live in Pittsburgh. Born and raised there, but I spent some time in New England while I got my degree.”
Bea scrutinized every word, waiting to find inconsistencies. Her lawyer dad would be so proud.
Now Sinatra blared from the jukebox, and a boisterous couple began awkwardly swinging each other around the hardwood floor.
“I travel a lot,” he said. “I don’t have any pets. I love baseball.”
Chloe leaned forward to chime in pertly: “Married? Divorced? Girlfriend?”
He laughed. “No, none of the above. Hi. I’m Harrison Riley.”
“Chloe Morgan. Bea’s friend.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Bea huffed and leaned out of the way as Harry reached across the front of her, stretching down the bar to offer the blonde a handshake.
Of course, Chloe was too nice to leave him hanging.
“No kids, either,” he added, glancing wryly at Bea. “Your grandfather asked me that. Great guy, by the way. And your grandma—adorable.”
“Yeah, I know. As you were saying?”
Harry noted her fiery stare and, with a mock-chastened look, submitted himself again to her interrogation. “Okay. Yeah, right. I work for Diamond Enterprises, which is a venture capital firm. My boss is a guy named Curtis Culpeper III.”
Now we’re finally getting somewhere, Bea thought.
“You know, I hear that term all the time,” she said, “but what does that even mean, venture capital? And don’t be vague.”
Just then, Jack caught Harry’s eye and pointed toward his empty glass.
Harry nodded. Jack grabbed the glass and held it under a tap, lingering there, pretending not to listen as Harry continued.
“You obviously know that people need resources to start new business ventures. Like, say somebody invents an app for your smartphone, or they want to launch some new kind of online retail store, for instance.”
“Or start an organic farm, perhaps, hmm?” Bea leaned against the back of her barstool, folded her arms over her chest.
“Sure.” Harry flashed his white teeth. “Any kind of new business. It can cost a lot of money to do that, which most entrepreneurs don’t usually have lying around. So they pitch us their ideas to see if we’ll give them startup cash.”
“Like on Shark Tank!” Chloe piped up.
“Exactly,” Harry said.
“Okay. With you so far,” Bea grumbled.
“If we think it’s a good idea, we invest. If we think it’s a dud, we don’t. A lot of it is Curt’s own cash. Other investors contribute to different funds. There’s a few of us guys working on different projects. It just depends.”
She digested this. “And then what?”
He quirked a brow. “What do you mean, ‘and then what’?”
“I don’t imagine you just go tossing money around out of the goodness of your heart. Somewhere along the way, you’re profiting off all these new businesses.”
“Obviously,” he replied with a patronizing smile.
Don’t look at me like I’m a moron. Bea could feel herself getting testy. “Sounds a little parasitical to me.”
Ooh, he didn’t like that at all. A flash of steel passed behind the deep sapphire of his eyes. “On the contrary, Ms. Palmer,” he said with a no-nonsense stare. “We give entrepreneurs a shot at their dreams that they might otherwise never receive.”
Bea dropped her gaze with a low humph. Too bad I didn’t talk to one of those people before I started all this. She flicked the traitorous thought away.
“What else do you want to know?” Harry inquired.
“This boss of yours. How did he get so rich?” she asked, sullen.
“Mr. Culpeper started out as a Texas oilman. The shale boom brought him north a few years ago, but he’s got interests everywhere, in a wide variety of sectors.” Harry paused, relaxing again. “Curt’s a good guy. Some say he’s eccentric, but I find him kind of endearing in his own, brash way. Guy’s lived the American dream.”
“And he’s the one who wants to buy our farm? Why?”
Harry propped an elbow on the bar. “This would be a personal acquisition for Mr. Culpeper rather than coming through one of our investment funds.”
Aha! Bea thought. There was the rat she smelled, though she couldn’t exactly pin down why. “Why is he so interested in it?”
Harry shrugged, smooth but being a little evasive, she thought. Well, he’d already made it clear that he did not feel obliged to tell her everything.
“Mr. Culpeper is determined to find a large property with acreage in the area. He likes the fact that it’s next to the state forest, and feels the property is being underutilized.”
Bea couldn’t deny that many of Pap’s fields had lain fallow for a few years now. He had pulled back from farming the full tillable acreage ever since he had turned sixty-five. It was a lot of ground for one old guy hitting retirement age to cover—and that was before he’d gotten si
ck.
Nevertheless, the word underutilized made her uneasy. She knew it meant “development” in business-speak. Images of bulldozers leveling the house and barn and tearing up the fields, ripping out the trees, filled her with alarm. She would never allow her grandparents’ life’s work to be obliterated like that. Nor would Pap ever stand for it.
“Any further questions?” Harry asked.
“Just one.” Bea looked askance at him. “What’s in it for you, Mr. Riley?”
“Come again?” he asked in surprise.
“That’s what she said!” Jack whispered to Chloe, pretending to wash pint glasses. A joke to break the tension, of course—but he’d said it loud enough for Bea to get annoyed.
She eyed the marine in disapproval, and Chloe quickly swallowed the giggle that had started to escape her lips. Instead, the blonde caught herself and put on a serious face for Bea’s sake.
A glint of humor sparkled in Harry’s eyes when Bea turned back to him, only to catch him grinning at Jack like they were a pair of errant schoolboys.
Bea scowled at the bartender. Not helping! Then she stared firmly at Harry, determined to keep him on track. “Well?”
“Uh, what was the question again?” he asked innocently. Stalling, no doubt.
“I asked what’s in it for you. I mean, it’s Culpeper’s money. How do you fit into the picture?”
Harry sat back in his chair, raised his coal-black eyebrows, and chose his words with obvious care. “I guess you could say I’m the one who gets to decide whether we go after certain opportunities or not.”
“So let me get this straight. Some rich guy has authorized you to spend his money any way you please?”
He nodded, grinned. “Basically, yeah.”
“Sweet gig,” Jack murmured. “Beats some of mine.”
“I’ll bet,” Harry said, nodding toward the faded photos hanging on the wall behind the bar, of Jack with a group of heavily armed men dressed in desert camo, weapons in hand.
Bea brought him back to the matter at hand. “So your boss really trusts you.”