Dream of Me (Harmony Falls, Book 1)
Page 21
“That isn’t fair,” he said, scowling. “When I got here—before I met you—it was just a business deal. I was only doing my job—”
“Yeah, and we both know why you’re so willing to do Culpeper’s dirty work for him, don’t we, Harry?”
He narrowed his eyes sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, wanting to break through his impervious air of control, just as he’d pierced her defenses and probed her worst fears. “You’ll do whatever Culpeper says without question, won’t you? You clearly crave the old man’s approval—and I think we both know why.”
He stared at her. “What the hell are you talking about? He’s my boss.”
“Yeah, and you obviously see him as the father you never had.”
By the dim glow of the Porsche’s interior lamp, Bea saw Harry pale at her words and immediately knew she’d gone too far. She drew in a breath, shocked that she’d said it. But it was too late to call back the words once they’d already flown out of her mouth.
“Get out of my car,” Harry muttered with an icy stare.
She swallowed hard, knowing she should apologize. But—too stung, too proud, too stubborn—she refused. “Don’t worry, I’m going,” she muttered. Thrusting the door open, she climbed out. “And you can get out of my town.”
Slamming the car door harder than she’d meant to, Bea stood there trembling, holding her ground.
Harry wheeled his fancy little toy violently about-face and went zooming off down the drive, gravel flying.
Colby stared up at Bea, tail thumping; Dodd whimpered. Bea stayed rooted in place, heart pounding, staring until the Porsche’s red taillights had disappeared among the black trees.
When he had gone, tears of bitter disappointment welled up in her eyes as the shifting clouds blotted out the moon.
CHAPTER 10
Harry was still seething when the sun came up the next morning. He was itching to find a place in Harmony Falls with a punching bag where he could vent his frustrations, but he decided to settle for a good, hard run up a mountain instead.
How the hell had things gone so wrong last night? He wasn’t sure which of the barbs he and Bea had traded before going their separate ways hurt worse, his or hers. Knowing he’d hurt her feelings pained Harry almost as much as her shocking low blow had cut him.
Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut about her amateurish lack of strategy for attacking the problem of taking over her grandfather’s farm. But she, in turn, had sent him reeling with her observation about his father-son relationship with Curt.
He just couldn’t believe she had thrown it in his face like that, after he’d confided in her about his most personal secret. What kind of person did that? he wondered, hurt and angry, and still stewing from the moment he woke up, just as he’d brooded on it all night long.
The worst part was that some small corner of his brain wondered if she might be right. Was that why he overlooked so much of Curt’s crazy? Forgave the lapses in judgment, went the extra mile and then some, every time?
Most guys in his position probably would’ve checked out long ago. But no, Harry defended himself and his eccentric boss. He genuinely liked the old guy despite his flaws. The Texan had a big heart, a pretty wicked sense of humor, an inspiring can-do attitude. He gave a lot to charity…
Oh, fuck it. With no patience to figure it out or to try finding a boxing gym in this pain-in-the-ass town, Harry pulled on his workout gear and left his room. Soon he’d head back to Pittsburgh and shake the dust of Harmony Falls off his feet—she was the one who’d ordered him to leave town, after all.
What a waste of time. He wished he’d never seen this place, or Beatrice Palmer. But facing Curt wasn’t going to be much fun when he got back to the city. Harry couldn’t believe he’d struck out both with the deal and the lady.
Somehow on the drive home he’d have to figure out a way to make his failure here sound like a good thing. At least the old man should be mollified to hear he could now return to Silver Oaks. Yeah, that’s how he’d frame it. “Look, Curt, I just saved you a million dollars.”
Then he put his high-maintenance boss and the sharp-tongued little spitfire out of his mind as best he could, eager to lose himself in his workout. As he left through the lobby, Sharon directed him to the jogging trail.
“Nice time last night?” the plump woman asked.
Harry pretended not to hear her, already putting in his earbuds. As he stepped outside of the Sweetwater Inn, expecting the same chill in the air there had been for the last day or so, he was surprised to find it sweltering.
Weird. Disgusted with this place and its unfathomable ways, he shrugged off the mystery and jogged the three blocks Sharon said would take him to the footbridge. He was irked along the way at the quaintness everywhere, and the friendly waves and good mornings from the small-town folks as he passed.
Turning the corner, he found the bridge and crossed, growling under his breath at the memory of Bea nearly drowning in the river that ran beneath it. Ungrateful little shit. He thrust her out of his mind and listened to his music for a while, just trying to get into the zone as he tracked along.
The mountain air was thick and damp, the sky an eerie yellow-green hue. And it grew windy. Twigs and pinecones blew from the trees, bouncing off his shins as he huffed and sweated up the zigzagging dirt trail.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Bea crept back into his awareness.
The accusation that he’d been on the verge of sleeping with her under false pretenses struck an infuriating nerve—partly because he could see how she would think that—but he honest to God was not that kind of guy. He had just gotten swept up in the moment and, with her warm body undulating against his, any sort of business topic had been the farthest thing from his mind.
But he’d screwed up. Because by that time, the moment to tell her the rest of the story behind the scenes had passed him by. He hadn’t volunteered the information she had ended up overhearing.
And now he had no way of convincing her he was not the heartless bastard she had concluded, only out to use her for sex and career advancement.
Harry pushed his body hard out of anger, knowing he had done this to himself.
Still, how could the woman possibly think his interest in her was all fake? Didn’t she have eyes to see the idiotic look on his face when he was around her? Couldn’t she taste how much he wanted her in his kiss?
He hadn’t felt this way about a girl in a very long time.
And yet, Bea had basically called him a con man. Just like his dad.
The charge was totally unfair. From the moment he’d arrived, he’d been looking for a win-win that would both help her and get Curt what he wanted. He had shown more generosity toward her and her family than any of his rivals for the top slot at Diamond Enterprises would’ve done, that was for damned sure.
How did she think she would’ve fared if Curt had sent Sherman or McMonagle instead? They certainly wouldn’t have offered a million dollars.
The thought of his rivals pissed him off all the more, considering that after his failure here, Harry had likely just moved backward a step in the race for the CEO’s chair.
But screw it. He ran harder at the mountain, following the path up into the woods for about another mile. But the wind that had made the hot morning tolerable was blocked by the dense canopy of trees, turning the woods into a sauna. With mosquitoes and horseflies trying to make a meal of him, Harry finally turned around and headed back down the way he’d come.
Upon leaving the forest, he was once again able to see the sky and was surprised to find it overcast. Dark, threatening clouds roiled above, boding rain.
Great. Should be a real fun drive back to the city. But if he hurried, maybe he could beat the weather.
Determined to get ahead of the summer thunderstorm that looked like it might bear down on the town any time now, Harry quickened his pace, finished his jog, and hurried back up to his room.
Hell no. Get that idea right out of your head.
Deprived as he felt, that was not happening. There were any number of other willing women who’d love to get a call from him if he was that desperate.
Of course, the thought of them held no appeal whatsoever at the moment.
After toweling off, he quickly pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, buttoned his jeans, and threw on the last of his clean t-shirts, the charcoal gray one with the Pitt panther on the back. He checked out of the hotel, received an actual goodbye hug from Sharon, then bought a small carton of iced tea for the road. And just as he got his bags loaded into Ruby’s trunk, the rain started.
Anticipating this, he’d already raised the convertible’s black soft-top. He shut the trunk and rushed into the driver’s seat as the spitting drizzle from the skies quickly turned into a torrential downpour.
As he was about to pull out of the inn’s little parking lot, he thought he heard someone shouting his name.
“Harry! Hey, Harry! Wait!”
He looked over to the sidewalk. Through the sheet of pouring rain, he spotted someone waving to him. Tall, thin. Light blond hair.
When the woman came closer, he recognized her—Bea’s friend, Chloe. They’d met at the Knickpoint the other night.
Her slim, athletic form was clad in clingy running gear. She was already drenched and waving anxiously as she jogged over to his car.
“Hi,” he greeted her, rolling down his window, half expecting to get chewed out after his date with her best friend had gone so badly. Because of course it was always a hundred percent the guy’s fault. “What are you doing out here?” he asked guardedly. “This weather’s crazy. You should get inside.”
“I will. I live just around the block. Haven’t seen any lightning yet. Besides, I kinda like it.” Chloe shielded her light blue eyes from the rain, leaning toward him with a smile as she caught her breath. “Hey—you’re not leaving, are you?” she asked, sounding disappointed.
“Actually, yeah. I’ve got to get back to the city.”
Chloe offered a sympathetic wince. “Bea told me what happened. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“Yeah. So am I.”
The wind kicked up a few notches, and now the rain was pelting down.
Chloe was soaked—and when lightning flashed across the sky just then, she took that as her cue. “Yikes.”
“You’d better get home,” Harry said as the thunder rumbled after it.
“Yeah.” She nodded, rain coursing down her flushed, delicate face. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Harry.” She looked at him again. “I wish things had turned out differently. Bea does too,” she added, turning to jog away.
“You sure you don’t want a ride home? This storm looks a little dangerous.”
“Nah, I’m close, like I said.” She waved off his offer with a bright smile over her shoulder. “Besides, your car’s too nice. I’d get it all wet. Take care.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “Hey, Chloe!” he called out the window. “Do you think she’s okay? After last night, I mean.”
Her friend turned back around. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? You’ll pass her on your way out of town. Actually, maybe you could check on her. She’s working at the fruit stand.”
What? Instantly, worry for Bea’s safety washed over him the moment Chloe spoke those words. But the blonde whirled around, splashing off homeward through the puddles, as exuberant in the rain as a little kid.
Harry raised the window again, frowning uneasily. Why in the hell was Bea out selling fruit on the highway on a day like this?
He didn’t like it. Messed up as things were between them, the thought of Bea stranded out there on the roadside in a storm like this by herself…
Harry growled and threw his car into gear, speeding off for Clover Highway.
Dark clouds swirled as he turned on Ruby’s headlights. Neither they nor the windshield wipers helped much through the wall of rain.
There was a strange feeling in the air. Harry’s nerves tingled. The downpour drummed on the Porsche’s soft-top, dulling the engine sounds. He stepped on the gas while the gales buffeted the trees all along Clover Highway. His fast little car shook in the fierce wind as he sped down the windy road, more anxious by the minute to reach Bea.
Finally, as he rounded another bend, the farm stand came into sight—and there she was, next to her little wooden shed, drenched and struggling to tie down a stack of crates in the back of her godawful pickup.
Harry’s frown deepened as he pulled in beside her truck.
She barely noticed him park, get out, and run toward her, only looking over when he yelled her name.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demanded as he went to help her. “Are you nuts?”
She scowled at him.
“What can I do?” he barked through the blowing torrent.
“I need to secure this stuff!” she cried, fighting the wind to fold up a wide yellow sun umbrella so it wouldn’t fly away.
Harry leaped into action. He took the umbrella from her, clamped it closed, tossed it into the back of her truck. He swiftly helped her stack small crates into larger ones, then bungee down barrels to the trailer.
“What do you want?” Bea demanded as they worked, eyeing him distrustfully. “If you came to yell at me, I’m a little busy.”
“Of course not. I came to make sure you’re safe,” he said loud enough to be heard over the rumble of thunder and the steady shower splattering the gravel. “And…” He paused, hesitating. The rain coursed down his face, plastering his hair to his head just like hers, and soaking through his dark t-shirt.
“What?” she yelled from the other side of the truck’s bed, in a hurry.
“I didn’t want to leave it like that between us. I’m sorry.” He faltered. “I guess you’re not the only one with something to prove. They were gonna make me CEO if I got this done. But don’t worry, I get the message,” he said. “The Palmer Family Farm’s not for sale. You win, Bea. I mean it this time.” He gazed at her, repentant, chagrined. “You wanted to know what was in it for me.”
“Humph.” She eyed him warily.
Suddenly, something pelted him in the head. “Ouch! Sheezus! What the hell?” Harry squinted up at the sky, then glanced down at his feet and saw that it was hail.
“Ow!” Bea cried, getting the prickly spray, too.
Popcorn-sized balls of ice began slamming down upon them in a relentless barrage. It stung on their arms as it hit and made a sizzling sound, falling on the gravel.
They worked faster.
Suddenly, Bea stopped and looked at him. Alarm flashed across her wet face. “Are your ears popping?” she said. “My ears just popped.”
Harry hadn’t noticed, but when he swallowed, they did. “Yeah. Barometric pressure’s changing. This is bad.”
Another rumble of thunder, closer now. A deep, menacing growl.
Harry beckoned to her. “Come on, get in my car. We gotta get out of here. This isn’t safe. Just forget about this stuff.”
“Forget it? This is hundreds of dollars’ worth of my best summer produce—”
“Bea, screw it!” he roared, reaching out for her. “We need to get out of here now.”
At that moment, her stubborn gaze was distracted, flicking past his shoulder to the hill behind him, and her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Harry spun around and drew in his breath. “Is that…”
“It can’t be.”
A massive funnel cloud had formed over Harmony Falls and came bouncing along the horizon.
The frantically spinn
ing twister swept across Clover Highway from the west, dancing a mocking jig a few hundred yards away from them.
“Are you kidding me?” Harry shouted. “A fucking tornado? We’re in Pennsylvania! We’re not even supposed to have tornadoes.”
“Sometimes,” Bea said with a gulp, staring at the twister. “They’re rare. But, oh, this can’t be happening… Mother Nature hates me!” she wailed out of nowhere.
“Stop talking nonsense. Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, rounding her pickup and reaching for her hand. He was ready to sling her over his shoulder and toss her into his car if she refused to come willingly.
The soft-top wasn’t the best protection against the storm’s fury, but the Porsche could outrun the twister bearing down on them.
“No way,” Bea protested, digging in her heels as Harry tried to tug her toward his vehicle. Instead, she broke away from him and crouch-ran toward her farm stand.
“Where are you going?” Harry cried, chasing after her in a panic.
“You don’t try to drive away from a tornado, Harry! They’re too unpredictable. Don’t you ever watch the Nature Channel?”
“Not really,” he shouted, incensed.
“We need to take shelter,” she insisted.
“In that thing?” he exclaimed, pointing at the shed, a clumsily tacked-together cube of two-by-fours and plywood. “It’s made out of Popsicle sticks! We’ll die if it gets hit.”
She glanced at the fragile structure, then at him, giving in. “Okay, maybe not,” she said with a frightened gulp. “But we need some sort of shelter, Harry. Fast.”
They looked at each other, soaked through and dripping, helpless.
Bea’s fearful gaze swung from the shed to the swaying trees on the surrounding mountains.
Suddenly, Harry remembered the old covered bridge. “There! That’s it. Come on, you’re supposed to take cover under a bridge in a tornado.” Harry was pretty sure about this, and beckoned her toward it.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“What? They do it in movies all the time,” he said in exasperation.