by Gaelen Foley
“Holy shit.” Harry’s eyes widened. He put down his fork.
He knew the infamous avenue well, as did most everyone in Pittsburgh, even tourists. McArdle Roadway led up to the famous Grandview Avenue, with its clifftop platforms providing scenic overlook spots from which to admire the city and its three rivers.
McArdle consisted of a sharp bend atop the riverside cliff, followed by a long, steep, winding grade down to a busy four-way intersection, where the Liberty Bridge met the mouth of the long Liberty Tunnel.
Hell, even Finn would’ve been nervous coming down McArdle on an icy winter night.
The ways that an accident there could’ve unfolded were myriad, and all of them were awful. Harry pondered them in dread. You could bounce off the thick stone wall to your right, or crash up over the sidewalk and through the iron fence to your left, then tumble over the vertical drop and land on the train tracks that ran beside the river.
Or you could sled straight down through the red light and get T-boned on both sides by oncoming traffic. Instant death.
Bea’s face had paled noticeably. “Stephanie was in the passenger seat. Our dates were both I love you man drunk in the back, singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Then I hit that sheet of ice…”
“You don’t have to—”
“No. It’s okay.” She lifted a soulful gaze to his, shadows dimming the amber chips in her eyes. “It was just a really bad accident. We slammed off the big stone wall there, then rolled a couple of times.”
Holding her gaze, Harry fought the impulse to scoop her up in his arms and comfort her right then and there, like he had after their river journey. “Was anybody…?”
“Killed? No. Thank God,” she added. “Between being drunk and good German engineering, the guys were more or less okay in the back. A few scratches, some whiplash. Same for me. How that was, I have no idea. Must’ve been all those years of Grandma Jean praying for me. But Stephanie…” Bea looked down at her lap. “God, when I looked over, she was unconscious, covered in blood. Her side had taken the brunt of the blow. They had to life-flight her out of there. Broken bones. Punctured lung. Intensive care. When she finally got out of the hospital, she had to go through months of rehab, physical therapy, the works. It was all my fault.”
Harry reached across the table and laid his hand over hers.
She glanced gratefully at him for the comforting touch, then tried to lighten the mood with sarcasm. “Oh, but the poor car! Because, hey, that’s what really matters, right? You should’ve seen it. A crumpled-up tin can, it looked like.” She shuddered, looking dazed by the memory even now. “Was Todd ever pissed.”
Harry wished he’d never asked. Some date he was.
“So, yeah. I nearly got a carload of people killed for Christmas a few years ago.” Looking a little pale, she dropped her gaze to her plate. “How do you forgive yourself for something that stupid?”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” he said, leaning closer. “Black ice, Bea? Everybody knows how treacherous that is. You can’t even see it till you’re on it. It could happen to anyone. I’ve even heard of police cars getting into wrecks on that stuff, and they have special training in driving. What else could you have done?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I could’ve insisted that we stay at a hotel. Or called a cab. Asked somebody else to come and pick us up.”
“The ice still would’ve been there for them, too.” He frowned, searching her wide, haunted eyes. “You said yourself that you didn’t know the roads were frozen. And it’s not like you were driving under the influence.”
“Well, yeah. I was administered a comprehensive series of field sobriety tests to prove it,” she added in an official tone. “But it doesn’t matter. Whatever the facts were objectively, it became something bigger to me emotionally. You know? I had misgivings, but I didn’t listen to my own gut instinct, and my bad judgment caused a lot of people pain, especially my friend. Ex-friend,” she amended. “And myself.”
Harry frowned at her, leaning back in his chair. It was obvious she’d been carrying this burden around for far too long. It wasn’t fair to do this to herself for something that was truly not her fault.
“The worst part is that my boyfriend”—she made air quotes—“was more upset about his car being totaled than Steph nearly dying. Can you believe he actually threatened to sue me?”
“Are you kidding?”
“I wish. Thank God my dad’s a lawyer. I’m lucky he speaks legalese. He finessed me right out of that one.” Bea sighed. “I really owe my parents for putting up with me.”
So many things were locking into place in Harry’s mind. It all made sense to him now, why Bea was so hellbent on making her farm a success. She obviously had a lot more riding on it than he’d realized.
Like her self-worth.
“Steph and I grew apart once she got out of the hospital,” she continued sadly. “At first, she tried to say she didn’t blame me, but it was obvious that in her heart, she did. I guess she couldn’t help it. Life in our little apartment steadily got more tense, as you can imagine, though I did everything I could think of to try to help her and make her life easier. She was in a brace. Kind of limited mobility for quite a while there.”
“That’s tough.” Harry shook his head.
“Every time I looked at her, I felt horrible all over again, and pretty much ended up hating myself. We got into a fight one time over nothing, and she let loose and said I was a curse. I guess I started believing that, too.”
Harry gazed at her with an ache in his chest.
“It also messed up my college career,” she added. “I missed that final exam the next morning and, well, might as well admit it. I never finished my degree. I just gave up and walked away. Quit school. Always figured I’d go back, but so far…” She shrugged, scanning his face with a quick, close glance, as though waiting for signs of disapproval, but Harry gave her a gentle look.
“That’s a hell of a thing to go through, Bea. No wonder you’re so tough now.”
“You think so?” she asked with a reluctant smile.
“I know so. Especially after what I saw today on the river.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say.” She took a sip of wine. “Anyway, that whole debacle kind of threw me into a bad place for a year or two. Pretty soon, I quit working at the law firm. Everyone there knew what had happened. It was bad enough that I had embarrassed my dad, since he’s the one who got me the job. They all felt so bad for Stephanie—understandably so—but I couldn’t help feeling like they all secretly blamed me, too. It might’ve just been my imagination, but I couldn’t stand facing them every day. Plus, I didn’t want all my coworkers to feel like they had to choose sides between me and Stephanie, so I bowed out before she came back to work.”
“Were you still living with her at this point?” he asked, frowning.
“No, she eventually moved out of our apartment. Made up some excuse about how her family wanted her closer and moved in with her sister.” Bea toyed with her earring again. “With no job and no roommate, I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore, so…” She let out a huge sigh. “I had to move back in with my parents.”
She winced as she confessed it, but Harry gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like things just snowballed for you.”
“Exactly. There I was, back in my childhood bedroom. I felt like such a loser. Like I really was cursed. You have to wonder…”
Harry frowned.
She continued, “My mom gave me all these rules like I was a teenager again. Not that I blame her. From getting in the accident to quitting the job and dropping out of college, not to mention getting dumped by her golden boy Todd, both of my parents had pretty much decided by then that I was too immature to be treated like an adult. I knew they were disappointed in me, but the way they treated me like a prisoner in juvie just felt like salt rubbed into the wound, you know? It wasn’t long before we started arguing—a lot.
�
�Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I showed up on my grandparents’ doorstep one spring day with my tail between my legs and they took me right in. Heck, they were glad to have an extra pair of hands around, and me, I’ve always loved visiting the farm. Ever since I was a kid, it’s been my happy place, know what I mean?”
Yeah. And I’ve been sent here to take it away from you. Nice one, Riley, Harry thought, conflicted.
“You got a place like that, Harry?” she asked almost wistfully.
He considered, then smiled. “I’m partial to a good ballgame. Drop me into a seat at PNC Park when the Pirates are having a good night, and I’m happy.”
She flashed a grin. “A baseball guy, huh? I can see that. You play?”
“Sure.”
“Any good?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“I hold my own,” he said, grinning.
“Well, then. I’ll have to tell Jack and all the rest of your new buddies to give you a call the next time they’re getting a game together. But I have to warn you, those boys play rough.”
“I noticed,” he said. “But go on, finish your story. You found refuge at your grandparents’ farm…”
“Right.” She smiled wryly. “Planting, sowing, weeding, harvesting. Turns out these kinds of chores are perfect for helping clear out your head. It can be very Zen.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You should try it. Plenty of time to think, as a farmer. It’s demanding physically, but it can be very peaceful. So I dove in helping around the farm, just hoping to get some space after the accident. Sort things out. Figure out what I wanted to do next. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. And that was four years ago.”
Harry gazed at her thoughtfully. “You decided to stay.”
She nodded. “I ended up putting down roots—or maybe I should say going back to my roots. I found a new life here in Harmony Falls, one tied to the soil and my family…things that matter. And I made new friends, too. Real ones this time.”
“Sounds like it was meant to be.”
“Yeah. Farming’s in my blood.” The amber spangles in her brown eyes glowed brightly in the candlelight, reflecting her love for her chosen vocation. “Always had a green thumb… Anyway, it’s a good thing I had settled in for the long haul by then, because that way, when Pap was diagnosed, I was right there in the house with my grandparents, thank God, able to do whatever they needed for support. Otherwise, it would’ve been just Grandma Jean taking care of him all by herself out there—and trying to keep the farm going, too. It would’ve been impossible. Even for her.”
Harry gazed at her, impressed by her selflessness. “I promised I wouldn’t bring it up,” he said, “but since we’re already on the subject, why did your grandfather list the farm for sale in the first place?”
“Fair question,” she replied. “I guess he just panicked when he got sick. Three hundred acres is a big burden to shoulder when you’re over seventy years old and facing cancer. The farm’s expensive to run, and tasks need to happen at a particular time. You miss a season, you don’t get paid. In fact, you lose money. Most of all, he was worried about dying and leaving Gram in debt. Even with insurance, he had to take out a line of equity to cover the farm expenses along with the rest of the hospital bills. There were endless copays and regular visits, lab fees, follow-up appointments.”
“Right.”
“Of course, my dad offered to help him, but Pap refused to take any ‘handouts’ even from his own son. Do you believe that?”
“Well…having met him, yeah, I do,” Harry answered with a smile.
Bea chuckled. “He was in an especially ornery mood for a while there, going through all those God-awful treatments.”
“So, if I may”—Harry couldn’t resist—“why all the refusals, then? What changed his mind about selling?”
“He started getting better!” she exclaimed, and the way her face lit up nearly took his breath away. “He responded well to treatment, so the panic eased off. And believe it or not, Pap’s a bit of a softy. He loves that place. It’s been his home and his life’s work for decades. Of course he’d rather keep it in the family if there was any way to make that happen. So we started talking about me being the one to buy him out, as silly as it seemed at the beginning. He only had one stipulation, like I told you: no handouts. But I don’t blame him. As you can see, I didn’t exactly have the best track record when I arrived, sooo…”
“Gotcha. Kind of a character-building exercise, then, to make you prove yourself?”
“I guess so.” She paused. “They’ve both been incredibly gracious, waiting for me to get the down payment together.”
“And now you’re running the show,” Harry said, lifting his glass to her.
She smiled modestly. “I don’t know about all that. Pap is still the guy in charge, believe me. He consults with me on most things, but he’s the main decider.” She fell silent, gazing into her glass, as though weighing her life choices.
Harry stared at her. He could feel the tension rising within him, and he tried to block it, but it was no good. The inward boxing match had started taking shape this morning at the river, but now his sense of caring for her hit him like a sucker punch.
Self-recrimination speared through his defenses. What the hell am I doing to these people? The farm was Bea’s life’s work, her passion, her future. Hell, it was her family heritage.
For his boss, on the other hand, it was just a passing whim, born of a temper tantrum.
Unfortunately, it was also Harry’s golden ticket to the CEO’s chair. The pinnacle of all he’d worked for. The proof for once and for all that he’d made it, he mattered, and his dad could go to hell.
Damn. He’d expected this mission to be easy. But ever since he’d met Beatrice Palmer, it just kept getting harder. He took a sip of wine, wondering what the consequences for him would be if he tried explaining to Curt that the deal was a no-go. Then he thought about the consequences for Bea if he persisted. What impact would it have on the progress she’d made in building up her self-confidence again after the accident and all its ugly fallout?
This beautiful, intelligent, determined woman sitting across from him was the last person he’d ever want to harm. If he reached the top by stepping on her and her grandparents, could he really live with himself?
Glancing at her, he hoped that the intensity of his shifting emotions was not plainly written across his face, when all of a sudden, a hearty slap on the shoulder startled him back to attention.
“Glad you could join us this evening, Mr. Riley,” came a deep, mellifluous voice.
Harry looked up in surprise—and there, in all his wannabe aristocrat glory, and wearing his usual ascot, stood the owner of the resort, his boss’s frenemy.
The one and only Mr. Peter Montclair.
CHAPTER 9
Harry flashed an automatic smile, stood at once, and offered his hand. “Mr. Montclair, good to see you again, sir.”
“Hmm, yes.” Eyeing him skeptically, the tanned, square-jawed tycoon with salt-and-pepper hair and a suave demeanor clasped Harry’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake. “I trust you are finding everything satisfactory this evening?”
Monty enunciated each word with the theatrical poise of an aging Shakespearean actor.
“Far beyond satisfactory,” Harry assured him. “It’s without parallel.” He sent Bea a discreet wink as she smiled at the older gentleman.
Debonair almost to the point of comedy, Monty picked up their wine bottle, shrewdly inspecting the label. “Ahh, a lovely Bordeaux-style blend from Sonoma you’ve selected for this cool evening. An excellent choice,” he said, then turned an insinuating eye to Bea. “And who is this enchanting creature, Harrison?”
Harry noticed that the pompous Don Juan couldn’t take his eyes off his date, never mind that he was old enough to be her father. “Bea, allow me to present Mr. Peter Montclair, the owner of Silver Oaks.”
“Oh!” she said.
“The fair Beatrice. Named after Dante’s muse, surely,” said their host.
“Perhaps,” Bea answered with amusement.
Lord, he was laying it on thick, Harry thought, but Monty was only getting started. “Enchantée, mademoiselle. Peter Montclair, at your service.” Monty took her hand, bowing down to dust her knuckles with a near-royal kiss.
Bea’s eyes widened, and Harry got the feeling she was holding back a giggle.
He bit the inside of his cheek, watching. Nope, they didn’t make ’em like Monty anymore.
The aging playboy loved his luxury mountain retreat of Silver Oaks, but Harry suspected Monty was probably more at home in the chateau resort his company owned in the Loire Valley.
Bea had recovered her composure. “Il est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, monsieur.”
Montclair looked startled and delighted that she had answered his French greeting in kind. A conversation ensued that Harry could not follow. He sat there listening in wonder—though clueless as to what the pair were saying. Just because he could parse out the offerings on French menus didn’t mean he could follow and understand an actual conversation.
“Charming,” Montclair finally murmured. And having made this pronouncement on Harry’s choice of dates, the tycoon looked askance at him, as though his respect for him had just risen by several notches.
“Why don’t you join us, Mr. Montclair?” Bea said.
“Monty, please—and I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
“Do,” Harry brightly agreed. This would give him the perfect chance to fulfill the intelligence-gathering side of his mission here.
“Very well, if you insist.” Beaming, Monty pulled over a chair, then snapped his fingers at the nearest waiter. “Bring another bottle for my friends. On the house.”
“How kind,” Bea said, and the way she dimpled at him gave Harry a glimpse of what a man magnet she must’ve been in her party girl days, as she’d been describing.