Dream of Me (Harmony Falls, Book 1)

by Gaelen Foley

  “Wow,” Harry said again. It’s actually working. Not that he’d lacked confidence in their plan. But you just never knew.

  Shaking off the daze of that excellent news, he checked next on Carlos, who was perched at the top of Finn’s thrilling zip-line treehouse, to confirm that he had enough harnesses to accommodate the long queue of eager flyers.

  “We’re good here,” the adventure guide said, waving.

  Zander’s helicopter soared overhead carrying a new group of passengers on a fifteen-minute aerial tour of the mountains in all their autumn splendor. As Harry passed by the petting zoo, he saw that Gordon had rescued his daughter.

  The doctor was now standing in line with both his kids outside the bouncy house; though he appeared to be half listening to every babbling word the children said, his face was set in grim lines like that of a man on a long, grueling endurance trek. Harry couldn’t even imagine what it was like to lose your wife at such a young age. Shaking his head, he turned back to the petting zoo to make sure the animals were behaving.

  All seemed well in their little corral, and he watched with a sense of accomplishment as dozens of children giggled next to bleating sheep, chased after clucking chickens, and ran away from snorting baby pigs. A smile crooked across his lips. He glanced to and fro, half wanting to pinch himself. The evidence was all around him: opening day of the Autumn Farm Fest was a huge success.

  It hadn’t been easy, but with so much help and creativity, Harry and his new buddies were able to pull it together in two short months. August and September had been a whirlwind. For his part, he’d spent that time bouncing between Pittsburgh and Harmony Falls, organizing everything, putting their plans into motion. By now, he could just about call this place home.

  Of course, his job situation was not yet resolved, but he was fine with his savings, and he’d had some great interviews.

  Unfortunately, accepting an offer from one of the companies most interested in him would mean having to leave Bea, and that was just not something he was willing to consider. At least not until he got desperate, which he wasn’t. Not yet.

  He supposed he could start his own firm, but if he had learned one thing from all the entrepreneurs he had worked with in his role as investor, it was that you really had to want it. He wasn’t sure he did.

  As for his old job, he had to admit he’d gloated when Dana had called and discreetly informed him that his former workplace had turned to chaos without him there to calm things down. Any plans Curt might’ve had of retiring soon had been wiped away. The old man wasn’t going to budge out of the big chair after all. Big surprise. In hindsight, Harry wondered cynically how long the cowboy might’ve strung him along if he hadn’t been liberated by getting fired.

  But all this was a question for another day, because, at that moment, he spotted Bea across the field that not so long ago had been a storm-battered mud hole. At once he felt his pulse quicken.

  She stood outside her hoop house at the center of a hilltop buzzing with a crowd of their festival guests: flannel-adorned urbanites enjoying the fresh mountain air, retirees sipping hot cider, middle-aged parents snacking on hot pretzels, kids peeling off strands of cotton candy from fluffy pink wads, and teams of twenty-somethings laughing as they competed in a raucous cornhole tournament.

  Harry marveled, watching his agrarian goddess off in the distance, gesturing as she instructed a group of attentive listeners. In her snug green hoodie, tan cargo pants, and work boots, her long locks threaded into a loose braid, she looked so beautiful, so confident, so at home.

  And exactly what he wanted, needed out of life. With his career temporarily stripped away from him, he had set his sights on a new dream.

  Loving Beatrice Palmer. She made him so happy, and putting a smile on that sun-kissed face of hers filled his life with new meaning.

  Her fiery soul was ablaze with purpose these days, he mused as she answered visitors’ questions during the greenhouse gardening demonstration that she was putting on.

  She’d balked when her friends suggested she teach an organic gardening how-to session at the festival, but her passion for her subject had soon taken over. It was certainly contagious, judging by the crowd around her. She was in her element, looking totally at ease.

  Just then, Harry’s walkie-talkie crackled to life with a message from Mike.

  The chief had been at his post out on Clover Highway conducting traffic all afternoon. “Harry, we got a limousine coming up the drive. There’s a big ol’ guy in a cowboy hat riding in the back, claims he knows you. Thought I’d better give you a heads-up.”

  Oh great, Harry thought, his jaw clenching. “Roger that, chief. Might as well send him up.” Now was as good a time as any to show the old man he was doing just fine without him. “Hey, Mike,” Harry added before ending their exchange. “Were you really the prom king in high school?”

  “Aw, man! Tell Jack to suck it. Over.”

  Snickering, Harry clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt.

  A few minutes later, the black limo crawled into view, plodding slowly up the long, winding driveway toward the farmhouse. Clusters of families carrying pumpkins moved aside to let it pass, peering to see if it was the promised pro ballplayers hiding behind the tinted windows.

  No such luck. The sports stars weren’t due for another hour yet.

  On his guard, Harry watched the car finally stop before the farmhouse. He locked his unflappable smile into place as Curt lumbered out of the back of the limo with a scantily dressed woman half his age. The Texan tugged down the brim of his cowboy hat and hiked up his pants as he looked around, his big gold belt buckle flashing in the sunlight.

  Harry hadn’t seen his ex-boss since the punch. He debated how to treat him, and determined to be civil. True, Curt had acted badly, but then, so had he.

  “Well,” the Texan drawled, catching sight of him, “look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Culpeper,” Harry replied evenly, keeping his hands in his pockets. Just in case he was tempted to go for round two.

  “So,” Curt said, glancing around, “this is what you been doing.”

  “This is the place,” Harry replied.

  “Mm-hmm.” Curt glanced around and sucked at his front teeth. “Now that I’m seein’ it for myself, not sure I would’ve wanted it anyway.”

  Yeah, right. Harry gritted his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait.

  “Barn ain’t much. House looks a little shabby.” Curt shrugged. “A whole lotta stink over nothin’.”

  “Well,” Harry said serenely, “to Bea, it’s home.”

  “Humph.” Curt studied the bustling festival around him. “Well, I will say this for you, Riley…” Curt’s gaze zeroed in on the carnival games, a down-homey twinkle in his eyes. “You do know how to throw one helluva hootenanny! Think I’ll go try one of them beers.”

  “Curtis!” his surgically enhanced companion exclaimed as he marched off toward Jack’s beer garden. Her spiked heels drilled into the dirt as she clambered after him. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t bother waiting for her. “Howdy,” he said, casting folks good-natured grins as he swaggered off into the crowd.

  Harry couldn’t help laughing as the gold-digger of the day hurried after the eccentric billionaire, pushing people out of her way and muttering under her breath about a bunch of low-class riffraff.

  It was only moments later that the thwap-thwap-thwap of Zander’s helicopter blades came hovering overhead.

  Two familiar faces peered through the chopper’s windows, waving like royalty toward Harry and the rest of the “peasants” below.

  Zander made a swift leftward arc and descended onto the mowed field that served as their landing pad. Even as the blades continued to spin, the helicopter doors swung open, and out stepped Peter Montclair in catalogue-worthy weekend wear, ascot included.

  Ever the gentleman and then some, he turned back to assist his aristocratic daughter. Tall and slender, Vanessa emerged fro
m the helicopter dressed in an English riding jacket, ivory jodhpurs, and tall black riding boots, like she had just swung down off her thoroughbred’s back.

  The two of them swept at once across the makeshift fairgrounds, heading toward Harry. As they approached, Curt must’ve noted their dramatic entrance, and apparently couldn’t resist returning to cause trouble.

  Uh-oh, thought Harry. He braced himself, certain there was about to be a scene. The only question was how big.

  He stayed on hand to act as security if needed.

  “Well, well,” Curt said as he sauntered back to taunt them, “if it ain’t Peter Montclair and Her Royal Highness. Slummin’ it today with the little people, huh? Don’t tell me you two are here to go bobbin’ for apples?”

  Monty grumbled under his breath about ill manners at his foe’s teasing; Curt laughed at him, but then Vanessa stepped between them.

  “Honestly, you two. Don’t start. Enough of this nonsense. I swear, you’re like a pair of overgrown schoolboys!” she scolded the two billionaires.

  They scowled at each other, but Vanessa turned to Monty. “Daddy, you know full well I can handle this loon on my own, just as I know you’ve been miserable ever since this whole debacle began.”

  “That’s because everyone he knows bores the snot outta him except me,” Curt said, clearly enjoying his frenemy’s discomfiture.

  “Silence!” Vanessa ordered the cowboy.

  Harry’s eyebrows shot up. On second thought, why was he surprised? After all, he’d seen the lady shark in action at the bank.

  “Frankly, I’ve had it with both of you. Now, the two of you shake hands and make up, and put this foolishness behind you,” she said, lifting her chin. “That’s an order.”

  “Darling!” her father exclaimed, sounding stunned.

  “Enough’s enough. Don’t worry, Daddy. If Curtis ever misbehaves in my presence again, I’ll give him a swift kick right where it hurts,” she warned Curt with a no-nonsense glint in her eyes.

  “Hoooo-wee! Monty, you got yourself a little spitfire there! Er, yes, ma’am,” the cowboy amended when he saw Monty’s leonine glare.

  Curt cleared his throat and took off his hat, bowing his head to Her Highness. “Look, I owe you an apology, Miz Vanessa. I’m real sorry about how that went down. No offense intended. Sometimes I just get carried away.”

  “Apology accepted,” Vanessa clipped out. “There. Was that so hard? Humph.” She tossed her head, then went marching off to inspect the children on the pony rides.

  All three men were left standing there looking around awkwardly at each other. Harry was in shock. It was the first time he’d ever heard Curt apologize to anyone. Normally, he had been the one making his ex-boss’s apologies for him.

  “Hmm.” Monty was the first to recover from the tongue-lashing his daughter had just dealt them both. He still looked skeptical, but mollified, and cleared his throat. “I say, Curtis. Grouse and pheasant season is already upon us, and turkey’s just around the corner. It’s been such fine weather to be out in the field. You really ought to come out to Silver Oaks for a good weekend shoot.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Curt grinned at Monty, clapping him on the shoulder. “Aw, just admit it, ol’ pal. Ya missed me. That resort of yours is too damned stuffy without me around.”

  Monty’s lips curled. “Very well, you do keep things…interesting, Curtis.” Monty offered his hand, and, at long last, the two tycoons shook on it, letting bygones be bygones.

  Harry wondered with amusement how long the truce would last this time.

  Then the bimbo nudged Curt. “Can we leave?” she whined.

  Curt glanced sideways at her just as Jules took to the mic and announced the ten-minute countdown until the next raffle basket drawing.

  “My, my, you hear that, darlin’? They’re raffling off a designer handbag! Let’s go buy you a ticket.”

  She huffed but allowed him to talk her into staying for a while.

  When they had gone, Monty turned to Harry. “I must say, I’m very impressed, Harrison.”

  “With the festival, you mean?” he asked.

  “No. For the fact that Curtis Culpeper just apologized to another human being for the first time in living memory.”

  Harry chuckled. “I think he’s afraid of your daughter.”

  Most men were, truth be told.

  “Tut, tut, you’re too modest,” Monty replied. “I daresay it was you who taught the cowboy a much-needed lesson in humility.” He lifted his fist and chuckled, as though he couldn’t resist. “Well done. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that one.”

  “Well…”

  “No, please, don’t look sheepish, my boy. You cannot imagine how many times I’ve dreamed of doing that myself.”

  “Unfortunately, it cost me,” Harry said with a sigh.

  “So I hear.” Monty leaned closer with a confidential air. “But perhaps Curt’s loss is my gain. I could use a man of your abilities in my operation.” Monty paused and cocked his head to the side. “Can you spare a moment to talk business?”

  “Absolutely,” Harry said in astonishment.

  Then they strolled off to have a gentlemanly chat.

  # # #

  Up at the hoop house, Bea was winding down her little lesson offering tips on winterizing the garden. “Once you do a good final weeding to clean out the soil, you’re going to want to put down three to six inches of organic matter on top of the entire garden bed. Mulch, hay, compost, whatever you like best. Like a nice winter blanket…”

  Her mind wandered as she answered a few questions for her audience. It was a hectic—though wonderful—day, but what had her really distracted was the fact that just outside the hoop house stood her parents.

  The Palmers were sipping mulled cider and chatting with some old neighbors, Mom with her designer sunglasses and pearls and a sweater tied just so around the shoulders, Dad grinning in Dockers and a casual brown blazer.

  Bea couldn’t believe they hadn’t found one thing to criticize when they had shown up today. They’d taken one look around at all the bustling activity and actually congratulated her, claiming they knew she could do it all along. Somehow she had managed not to scream at that bit of audacity, and instead focused on introducing them to Harry. He had schmoozed them in an instant—even without a job. He had put her mother’s mind at ease about his financial viability, and even made her laugh by charming her with his funny story about his poor doomed Porsche Boxster in a tree. Then he’d talked golf with Dad for a few minutes and that was that. He was in.

  Bea was pretty sure she had risen a few notches in her parents’ eyes by snaring such a catch. Then off he went to keep on running the festival.

  “So by the time spring comes around,” she continued, “you’ll be all set. Just make sure that you rotate where you plant different vegetables to give the soil a break.”

  She dismissed her audience a few minutes later and invited them to try the free samples of cut-up fruits and veggies from the farm, then stepped out to see how everything was going.

  In the distance, she spotted Tammy with a folder under her arm and a pair of wellies on her feet; the intrepid real estate lady was mincing out into the fields, leading a few different curious couples and families out to the parts of the farm that were now up for sale.

  Others studied the surveyor’s drawings of the lots posted on a corkboard under the quaint wooden marquee that Lance and the dudes had helped her build near the barn. Bea had a feeling the lots wouldn’t last long.

  Then she hurried down into the thick of the action to see how her Autumn Farm Fest was going. Along the way, she was amazed to see it becoming even more crowded. People seemed to be having a great time. Lines had formed at each of the carnival game stalls that the dudes had helped her build and paint.

  The concession stands were doing a brisk business, browsers were milling around the craft tables, and there was a long line at the ticket booth.

  We’re really pa
cking them in, she thought, encouraged.

  In hindsight, it had been a stroke of genius to have Finn voice the radio spots. That nut made everything sound so cool and innately fun that everyone in earshot wanted to be there.

  All the activity was also generating interest in her produce, Bea was thrilled to see. People were already signing up for next year’s co-op program that Harry had persuaded her to try. All she had to do was sign city dwellers up for a monthly subscription to accept prepaid delivery of whatever new fruit and veggies were being freshly picked next year, from the spring asparagus and cucumbers on through to the fall apples and squash.

  Sure, she’d have to drive up to Pittsburgh once a week to deliver the crates of produce to the farmers’ market in the Strip that would be her customers’ pickup point. It couldn’t hurt to try it. So many exciting new directions.

  But her heart filled up with joy seeing so many people loving their day at the farm as much as she loved it here.

  “Hey, Bea, looking good,” called the lady from the stationery store, waving to her as she passed. “It sure looks better than last time we were here.”

  “Oh, you were one of our cleanup volunteers after the tornado.” Bea rushed over to give Mrs. Hollis a hug. “Can you believe all this?”

  “You’ve certainly come a long way in a short time.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Bea said, “we couldn’t have done it alone. Make sure you stop at the raffle tent to pick up your special volunteer thank-you. All my cleanup crew members are entitled to one of Gram’s twister cookies.”

  “Twister cookies?”

  Bea laughed. “You have to see them. Chloe found a set of Wizard of Oz cookie cutters. We didn’t use the ruby slippers, but the tornado one was perfect.”

  Mrs. Hollis chuckled, and Bea hurried on in her grandfather’s direction. She was still keeping an eye out for Harry; he was probably running around here somewhere. In the meantime, she was dying to find out what Pap thought of all this.

  At last, she reached her grandfather’s side. She went over to the old farmer with a smile and cuddled an arm around his shoulders. “How about all this, huh?”